I lost my husband almost 10 months ago to a motorcycle accident. We had been together since high school and married only a few years after that. I always thought myself so lucky. Lucky to have found my person so young in life. The person that completes you and brings safety and comfort to your life. Yet here I am now. 28 years old and a widow surrounded by a shattered life left cold and isolated in the wake of overwhelming grief. 

I miss Tyler. I miss the way he held me in the night when I woke up from a bad dream. I miss the way he kissed me when the world felt like it was closing in and somehow that always melted away the stress and fears of life. I miss the way he made me smile, especially on the bad days when I thought nothing in the whole world could raise my spirits. I thought we had the rest of our lives to be together, but it seems we only had his life time to build a life.

Truthfully, ever since Tyler passed away, I had become a bit of a recluse. That is not uncommon according to my therapist. People grieve in different ways, but when my friends approached me trying to convince me to get back out there and welcome the world back into my life I was hesitant to say the least. I must admit they raised a few good points. Spending your days in sweat pants, watching rom-coms until you cry, and not showering for a week on end is not exactly the picture of a healthy grieving process. That being said, I cannot say going out to clubs every Friday night, listening to loud music, and basking in the flashing lights while every other guy works up the courage to run a pickup line by you doesn’t exactly scream mentally healthy either.

I think the kicker for me was that 10 months felt too soon. When Kim, my best friend of nearly 20 years, first floated the idea of downloading Tinder by me I nearly tossed her out of my apartment.

“I just don’t understand why it is such a big deal Claire.” Kim said. “It’s not like you are looking to get remarried anytime soon. Hell you don’t even have to sleep with someone, but it’s just about putting yourself back out there and having some fun.”

“It… it feels too soon.” I said as I ran my fingers through my hair. 

“It’s been 10 months… I know relatively speaking that is not a long time, but-”

“No shit it’s not a long time! Tyler has probably barely started to… to…” All my feelings for the last 10 months crashed over me in that moment like an ocean wave tearing apart the remnants of an old forgotten sand castle. I felt tears sting the corners of my eyes and before I could even feel Kim’s arms wrap around me I started to sob.

She held me close for what felt like hours as my tears seemed to never stop. They ran down the backs of my hands and dropped into pools on the faux leather of my living room couch. Kim, the anchor she had always been, just stroked my hair softly as she held me close, and for as mad at her as I had been for even mentioning going back into the dating scene I was just so happy I wasn't alone again that night. When the tears finally stopped and my hiccups dissipated Kim spoke softly to me.

“I am going to tell you something. Something I don't want to have to say, but I think it needs to be said. Okay?” she whispered as she held my face in her hands. After a contemplative moment I nodded softly in agreement. “Tyler is gone Claire and I am so sorry about that. It fucking sucks. It really fucking sucks. But life fucking sucks sometimes. It does, but the thing is you are still here, and you still have so much to offer the world. And the world still has so much to offer you too. I just want you to be happy, and I know Tyler would want you to be happy too.” She hadn't even finished her sentence when tears started to fall in streams from her own cheeks.

“I… I want to be happy. I just d-don’t know what that looks like for me anymore” I said solemnly. I fought back every urge within myself to cry. I didn’t think I could spare even another single tear.

“Maybe putting yourself out there would help you figure that out. At the very least it’d get you out of this shrine to Tyler.” She waved her hand around the apartment Tyler and I had shared together the last 3 years. Pictures of us hung on nearly every wall. Even his favorite ball cap still rested at the very top of the coat rack. “Also girl your hair is greasy as shit” and with that we both started to laugh. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed that hard.

After another 2 hours of talking Kim had finally convinced me to at least download Tinder and create a profile for myself. Truthfully, I mostly did it so she would let this ‘Get yourself back out there’ idea drop. After the app finished downloading we spent some time tailoring my profile. We scrolled back through at least 12,000 photos in my phone’s photo album to find 5 pictures that somewhat did me justice as profile pictures. Then we started to carefully craft my bio, my likes, my dislikes, etc. Had Kim not been there I probably would have left my account with 2 photos that barely passed for me as well as a one sentence bio, but she was determined my profile required a novel of text to describe just how ‘kick-ass’ I am.

When it was all said and done I had a brand new dating profile that I hadn’t even wanted. Kim was also kind enough to snatch my phone from my hand and swipe about a hundred different profiles for me. 70% of those swipes went to the left, but here and there she would gasp or say “He’s cute!” then swipe right without even asking me. 

At the end of the night Kim finally gave me back my phone with a yawn as she stretched and checked her phone for the time. 

“Shit, It’s almost 1 am. I got work at 7. I am so fucked” She giggled. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stay over tonight?”

“No, no that’s okay. Thank you, but I don’t want to keep you. I know you have to be up early.” I said, faking a smile. She sighed then placed her fingers to her temple and pretended to blow her brains out. We laughed a little more as she packed up her stuff and made her way to the door. Before she left she turned and hugged me.

“I know it feels wrong, but I think in the end you will be happy you did it. I love you” She whispered as she rubbed my back.

“Love you too” I smiled. “Have a good night”.

She bid me good night as I slowly closed the door behind her and locked the deadbolts. I turned with my back against the door and slid down to the ground trying to decide whether or not to cry again. In the end I settled on another 10 minutes of crying on the floor before I felt good enough to go brush my teeth and hop in bed. 

Just as I was preparing to stand up I heard the ding of a notification on my phone. I pulled my phone from my pocket and tapped the screen to life. As it turns out it was my very first Tinder notification. The little banner read “It’s a Match!” followed by the name “Adrian”. For a moment I just stared at the notification digitally etched across my screen before I stood up. I tossed my phone onto the couch then made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I remember thinking to myself that this whole Tinder profile idea was an absolute mistake. I was wrong to ever doubt that feeling.

About a week went by after that night and although my phone was consistently notifying me of matches and messages, I never really logged on. I just had no desire whatsoever to chat, or flirt, or swipe, or any of it. Honestly, there were several nights where I contemplated just deleting the app off of my phone, but every time I went to do it I thought of the things Kim said to me. I thought about how this was her way of just trying to help and that was enough to pull me out of that decision.

Then one night after a particularly long day of work I decided to crawl into the shower to let the hot water wash away yet another week’s worth of grime. After pulling myself out of the shower and toweling off, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. I swept my hand gently over the fogged reflection of myself which gave way to greater clarity. For the first time in months I really saw myself there staring back at me. I saw a heart broken person whose face told a story of suffering that only those who have truly loved and lost could see. But I also saw a person who wanted to be happy again. Someone who had been through hell and was ready for a glimmer of joy to be restored back into her life. Then that person faded away as the steam from the shower refreshed the mirror in a misty haze. 

I moved to my room and finished dressing then made my way back into the kitchen to microwave yesterday's leftovers when my phone buzzed with yet another notification from Tinder. I picked up my phone and looked at the notification that hovered over a picture of Tyler and I on a hike in Tennessee from 2 years ago. I sighed and whispered “What do I have to lose?”. It was then that I decided to click the banner and see what the world still had to offer.

As it turns out, most of what Tinder has to offer are creepy guys and fuck boys. It seemed like every other message I got on Tinder was just a guy trying to sleep with me or someone who 4 messages in was asking deeply personal questions about me. In particular, what kinds of underwear that I liked to wear to bed. Things had never been this weird or awkward with Tyler, but I had to remind myself that Tyler and I had not originally met online. This was brand new territory entirely.

Against all the odds I pushed forward. After the third day of using the app I actually found it in me to swipe through a few more profiles. Most were left swipes, especially for guys in cowboy hats holding a fish by a fishing line, but for every dozen or so left swipes I would find at least one guy whose profile intrigued me enough to swipe right.

After another week of semi-active use I was about ready to give up entirely. I probably had talked to at least 50 guys at that point and every single one went absolutely nowhere. A part of me had even felt guilty doing this. Like I was cheating on Tyler or sneaking around his back. I had even brought this up to my therapist who assured me that this was a natural part of the process. “I won’t tell you whether or not to continue pursuing it, but I will tell you that opening yourself up to people puts anyone in a very vulnerable position. Especially an individual, like yourself, who is already in a very vulnerable position. If using this app helps you process your grief then there is no harm in doing it, but you are the one that has to make the call on how far you are willing to go. No one else can do that for you.”

That same night as I was laying in bed, waiting for sleep to take me, I decided to check my messages once again. Unfortunately it was more of the same. I swiped through another 2 dozen profiles when a notification flashed across the top of the screen. It was a new message from some guy named Adrian. I paused then navigated back to the message screen and tapped his message.

“Hey, how is your night going?” he asked.

Naturally, I decided to check out his profile. I didn’t remember swiping on him, but his profile was definitely one I would have swiped on. His photos told a story about him. He was tall and, unlike most men, actually had a good sense of style. He had wavy black hair that fell to the sides of his face in thick curtains, and what few strands were free from there were often tucked back behind his ears. He had a jaw so sharp it looked as if it could cut diamond which was also devoid of a single hair. His eyes were an emerald green that seemed to sparkle in the photos contrasted against the dark tones of his outfits.

Needless to say, he was very handsome. However, although looks are one thing, personality was another and in my 2 weeks of Tinder experience it seemed that the more attractive a guy was the less personality he seemed to have. But as I read through his bio I saw a glimpse of who this person was, and it was real and raw. He mentioned that he loved to read and listed some of his favorite authors. He painted himself a traveler who had already spent his formative youth seeing a world that I had never known. His profile read with wit and humor and an authenticity that I hadn’t seen before on this app. By the time I had read through his entire profile I had decided that I would give Adrian a shot. I flipped back to our messages and crafted a short reply.

“It’s going well, but it may be a bit early to tell. How is yours going?” I asked.

“I couldn’t complain even if I wanted to. Bit early to tell? What would ruin your night? Only asking to make sure I am not the cause of any further suffering haha.” I have to admit some weird twisted dark humor part of me did get a laugh out of that.

“Lol asking for nudes or for me to come over would definitely put a damper on tonight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind **rapidly deletes message drafts**” 

“Lol, very funny…” I replied. I hadn’t anticipated this, but as the conversation continued on it just felt right. The words and humor came naturally with no air of awkwardness or hesitation. It was just… easy.

After about an hour of texting about ourselves and our interests I decided it was time to go to bed. I told him that I was going to log off for the night and thank him for the conversation. In reply, he hearted my message and thanked me back. Then he ended it with a single text: “I would love to talk again soon”. After a moment of thought I messaged him back. “I would like that”. Before I went to bed I spent another few minutes looking over his profile. Rereading the words that he wrote and flipping through his pictures. It all seemed perfect. He was nice, handsome, and funny. There was no sign of a single red flag to be found anywhere. However, just for a moment, it didn't feel real. It felt like a facade or a mask of a mask trying to fabricate perfection for a grieving girl who had spent her nights alone in her room crying. For the briefest of moments a thought popped into my head: perhaps perfection is a red flag in its own right. But as I drifted off to sleep that thought slipped through my fingers like water running from the faucet.

The following weeks were filled with near constant communication between Adrian and I. At first I kept the conversation going simply to fill the void of my life with noise. It was nice to wake up to text messages and have someone to say good night to. Soon my feelings on the matter changed from apathy to apprehensive enthusiasm. He seemed to be a genuinely nice guy who, although flirted, never put me in any situations that made me uncomfortable. He never asked for nudes. He only ever asked about my day or my hobbies and interests and when I told him how I loved to read or crochet in my free time he asked me questions that followed my answers.

On the one month anniversary of downloading Tinder I decided to delete my profile entirely, but only after I had given Adrian my actual number. As we got to know each other better and better it started to make the distance between us harder. Approximately 1,345 miles separated his world from mine and although I was far from in love I was curious about the man I had been carrying in my pocket these last few weeks. We spent long nights on the phone just talking about nothing. On a handful of occasions we even Facetimed and watched movies together, and yet a part of me was desperate to meet him. Finally, one day while we were debating which type of cheese is best ( the answer is Swiss ) he sent me an unexpected message. 

“You should come visit me” I read those words and my heart leapt from my chest. I couldn’t quite tell if it was excitement or nerves, but after a minute I crafted my reply.

“You mean just go out to Maine?”

“Yes. Assuming that is something that would interest you”

“I mean I think it would be fun, but logistically I don’t know how that would work” I tried to kindly lower his expectations. Without Tyler to split the bills anymore money had become tight and buying a plane ticket and taking a week off of work just was not in the budget for me. Still I must admit it sounded fun.

“What is stopping you? Sorry, I don’t mean to be pushy at all.” His replies had always come back so fast. It was one of the things that I really liked about him. Someone who wasn’t afraid to show you that they wanted to talk to you.

“No, you’re not, I promise! I just… I have work.”

“Isn’t everyone entitled to a vacation?” This was followed by a GIF of a man thinking while rubbing his chin.

“I guess, but… god this is going to sound so lame, but financially I just don’t think I can make it work.”

“Ah, that is totally understandable” his words felt heavy as I read them and a small part of myself felt bad for letting him down, but what else was I to do?

“Thank you for understanding :)”

“What airport would you like to fly out of?”

“Wait what?”

“What airport is most convenient for you to fly out of? I can book you a flight myself”

“Adrian, no seriously I could not ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. I am telling you that if you tell me what airport you want to fly out of I will buy your ticket tonight.”

“That is very nice of you, but I also have to think about work. I have bills and I am absolutely not going to let you pay me to come see you because then I would feel like a prostitute lol...”

“So then book a 3 day weekend. You can come by Friday, stay the weekend, and be back to work first thing Monday morning.”

“I just…” I was looking for any excuse not to go. I wanted to go, but something felt wrong about it. Like it was too fast or maybe… maybe it would make me too happy to go.

“Don’t overcomplicate this Claire. I want to see you and I am pretty sure the feeling is mutual. I am not expecting anything to come from this. If you are concerned that my intentions are less than cordial I assure you I merely want to meet the woman I have been speaking with face to face. I have a spare bedroom you can stay in. There’s a beach just 10 minutes from my home and if that doesn’t entice you there is this little nook down town that has this new little book store I have been dying to visit. If the answer is no I will respect that and not speak another word of it, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping you would say yes.”

“I would like to. I just… Can I think about it?”

“Of course! The offer does not expire. Think about it and when you make a decision I will be here. I always am.” 

With that last text I sighed and kindly wished him good night. I didn’t think I was ready for this, but another part of me was angry. Angry for not jumping immediately at the opportunity. Did I not have the right to be happy? Would it be so wrong to see someone that, up until that point, had been making me so happy? I laid my phone down on the bed then made my way down the hall and just as I crossed the living room to get a drink from the fridge I saw an old familiar photo hanging from the wall. It was Tyler and I when we visited his Aunt in Florida 2 years ago. We looked so happy then. At that time we thought our journey together had only just gotten started. Suddenly, the last few weeks came crashing over me and I slipped to the floor and started sobbing into my knees, shaking uncontrollably. Desperate, in that moment, to never feel that alone ever again.

A few more days passed since Adrian’s offer had been made and I had given it a great deal of thought. I had even called Kim and told her everything hoping she would somehow talk me out of it, but as I should have expected she jumped at the idea.

“You gotta go! This is exactly what you need!” she said following her text with a half dozen excited GIFs.

“It just feels too soon. I just… I just don’t know if I can do this.”

“Claire. It’s not like you have to sleep with him if you don't want to. Think of it just as a little get away. With the added benefit of a cute guy.”

“You are not helping.” I scolded, but I felt a hint of a smile reluctantly curling at the corners of my lips.

“Then you don’t seem to want help. All I am saying is a change of scenery and some good company could do you wonders. Plus when was the last time your feet touched the beach?”

“I don’t know… a year?”

“Exactly! You have got to go!” She followed this with a few sand and water emojis accompanied by a winking face.

Although annoying, I found myself wondering if, in her own weird way, Kim was right. Maybe it was time for a change. To see new sights and let the depressing world that I had been surrounding me all day everyday melt away if not just for a weekend. 

That night after my shower and night time routine I made my way back to my bed and checked my phone again. Adrian had responded to my last message which had been about nothing real at all. So, I returned his original random message with another.

“You swear you aren’t like a serial killer or something?”

“What?” he replied.

“Wrong answer…”

“Lol sorry just caught me off guard. No, I am not a serial killer.”

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say…”

“How about ‘cross my heart’ scouts honor” which was accompanied with a little bear GIF saluting me which made me laugh.

“That just sounds like something a creep would say lol”

“Guilty then lol” I sat there with my fingers hovering over the keys knowing what I wanted to write, but something inside me fought against it. A little voice in the back of my mind whispered ‘don’t’. But, in the end I chose against listening to my instincts. All I wanted anymore was a weekend to be free.

“Trenton Valley International Airport”

“So then it’s a yes?” he asked. I could feel his hesitation through his texts as if he was concerned that even one wrong message would change my mind entirely.

“Actually, that was an airport, but yes I would like to come visit. Assuming the offer still stands?”

“Like I said, it never expires :)”

“I am free next Friday if that works? And although I will let you buy me a ticket I promise I will pay you back.”

“Only if you insist :)” he replied.

His message was followed with an apple wallet share request. I clicked the link and suddenly a boarding pass popped onto my screen. A round trip to Blackwater Maine. Boarding time was 5:45 PM that Friday. It hadn’t actually felt real until that moment, but as I stared at the digital pass that rested across my phone screen my anxiety started to spike once again. I thanked Adrian a few more times which he always replied with a light hearted jest or a message that read something remotely like “I am looking forward to seeing you soon :)”. 

The next week flew by faster than I had wanted it to. It felt like every day that passed seemed to pass by faster than the day before and before I knew it it had been Thursday night. I spent most of that night organizing my belongings and packing my bag for my trip. I even had to pull down my big suitcase from the attic. I couldn’t remember the last time I had needed it. Finally, by the time I was ready for bed, my bag was packed and waiting by the door. Now, all that was between me and my trip was tomorrow’s work. 

Adrian and I had continued to text all day and just before I went to bed I sent him a photo of my bag all packed and ready. He simply replied with “I cannot wait to see you!” which made me smile.

For as fast as the last week had passed, Friday seemed to crawl. I found myself checking the clock periodically praying for 4pm. Had I finally fully come around? Was this a sign that maybe I was ready for this if not at the very least excited? The work day produced the same old challenges it did every day, but the stretch of time made it nearly insufferable. But finally the day did break. I checked the clock one final time to see it read 4:01 PM. I smiled, shut down my laptop, and packed it away in my backpack as I made one final round through the house to make sure everything was set. 

The flight was going to be a straight shot from Trenton Valley to Blackwater. The estimated flight time read three and a half hours. So, I decided to dress cute but comfy. I pulled on a soft pale blue half hoodie with matching sweats. Debating whether or not I should curl my hair, I decided to just pull back into a pony tail leaving behind a few trailing bangs that fell below my chin. I even took the time to do my make up before leaving. I hadn’t even been entirely sure why I felt the need to do my makeup and yet it felt good to put myself together again. 

I stood in the bathroom finishing my eye liner when my phone notified me that it was time to go. I took one final look in the mirror and smiled. For the first time since Tyler died I actually felt pretty. Then my eyes trailed down my throat and collar bones as my gaze rested on the thin silver chain that hung down from my neck. It had been a gift from Tyler on our first anniversary. It was a long silver necklace that reached down to my breast bone and hanging from the very end of it was a tiny lowercase t that seemed to shimmer in the light. Tyler had always said he liked keeping his initial close to my heart and ever since he passed I hadn’t dared take it off. It was a little piece of him I could still carry with me everywhere I went. I took the t between my fingers and rolled it around in my palm. It felt wrong to leave it on now, but just as I had gone to undo the clasp a pang of guilt and regret came over me. At that moment, I found that it felt even more wrong to take it off. It was the only piece of my husband I had left with me and some part of me just could not leave him behind.

A sense of calm and peace washed over me as a pained smile crept across my face. I raised the little t to my lips and kissed it then hid it back underneath my shirt. “You would want me to be happy. I know you would.” I whispered entirely alone. I wiped away what little tears my eyes had watered then made my way out of the bathroom and back into the living room. With one final check I took my bags and left my home locking the door behind me. 

Surprisingly, for a Friday night, the traffic to the airport had not been bad. I had even arrived with half an hour to spare which gave me plenty of time to check my bag, make it through security, take 2 separate bathroom breaks, then sit at my terminal. I sat there playing solitaire on my phone only occasionally looking up to check the TV screens to ensure my flight had not been delayed. After a while the staff announced that it was time to board the flight.

I made my way through the line and walked through the jet bridge as the sounds of the plane's engines roared just outside those walls. I entered the plane and pushed my way down the aisle periodically apologizing for bumping into a person or two then took my seat. It had been a window seat that gave me the perfect view of the runway. As everyone else finished boarding I stared off into the distance. The sun had begun to set in the horizon painting the sky with vibrant cascades of red and orange with only the faintest flecks of yellow. It was one of those sunsets that looked like a water color painting spread open across the sky. 

Just then the captain’s voice came on overhead letting us know we were about to depart. The stewardesses made their rounds through the aisle asking us to raise our tray tables and put our phones in airplane mode. Within minutes the engines of the plane roared back to life as the plane slowly began to creep back away from the terminal. It turned effortlessly with great care of the captain and made its way to the start of the runway. The motion of the plane started slow then accelerated faster and faster as we started to tear down the runway. I felt my stomach drop as the inevitable lurch of the plane threw me forward. A second later our wheels left the ground below and our craft began to ascend. I had always hated that part. Whenever Tyler and I had flown together I would always bury my face into his shoulder, but this time I was alone with no one to comfort me. Then I realized that this had, in fact, been the very first time I had ever flown alone.

I hadn’t noticed at first, but my hands were trembling in my lap. I wasn’t sure if this had been due to the take off or the new adventure that lay ahead of me, but with no other escape from my nerves I looked out my window once again. The sun was moments away from setting in the distance as all of the beautiful colors faded away to black with it. Finally, the last of the light faded into a clear night sky. I finally checked my messages now that my mind wasn’t preoccupied with the take off. The last text I had sent to Adrian was right before we left letting him know we were about to leave. He exclaimed my text then replied with “I have a driver scheduled to meet you at the doors of the airport. See you soon”. 

A driver? I hadn’t anticipated that. I had only assumed he would be the one picking me up, and yet now that I thought about it we hadn’t really discussed who was going to be picking me up at all.

I wished I had thought to bring this up before we took off, but by then it was too late. There was no signal and definitely no Wi-Fi on the plane so as far as me and my phone were concerned we were on a desert island. I locked my phone and slipped it into my bag as I pulled my hood up over my head and made myself comfortable in my seat. Then I rested my head against the glass of the window to watch the stars. I slowly closed my eyes hoping to pass the next three hours with some sleep. But, just as I began to slip away back into my dreams, his final text echoed in my mind: “See you soon” and something about those words made me shift slightly in my seat.

The Intruder

Inspired by Sylvia Plath.
It was 1983; Robert Harrison, a former soldier turned burglar, 35, scruffy black hair with an overgrown moustache and an unkempt stubble. He has a slender frame hidden by a black raincoat, a rolled up ski mask, black wool gloves, dark green cargo pants, and black army combat boots. His pockets carried only the essentials - a knife, some cigarettes, and a lighter. Leaving room to take what he wanted. Over his shoulders he carried an empty backpack, unzipped - a darkness in the backpack, filled but never full. He had walked past this apartment before, it had always seemed… hollow… but now - something has changed. Maybe it’s nothing - but the building called to him. Not by name, not literally… but he felt it - the house was calling to him. The windows echoing and yearning for him as if it was looking at him - beckoning him. The streets of Brooklyn were dark, this particular street you would think was abandoned if not for the street light illuminating one red door at the top of a flight of stairs. Beautiful carving covered the door and a large knocker with the face of a bull sat in the middle. The sidewalks were covered by a damp layer of orange and red leaves as a mist of rain covers the city. It is a perfect wall of sound for what he will be doing.
His boots hit the floor in a consistent march - tick, tick, tick, tick. Step, step, step, step. He keeps this rhythm with every job; keeps him focused, fast, quiet. He can’t help but hear the leaves below him - crunching, the sound irritates him but he won’t be slowed by that - not anymore.  The house was tall - cold. Robert didn’t notice though, if he did he would’ve noticed the burnt drapes that hung from the windows. Or the colorless flowers that fill a planter on its porch. He was silent as he ran up the frontsteps, he turns and climbs to a window on the left; He goes to pry it open and it opens without struggle. In one effortless motion the man slides it open,  turns and stands inside. Robert scans the room; noticing photos of an old couple, many photos of the lady - she seems to have passed. He goes for the first set of cabinets he sees, the shelves are full of scrapbooks - pulling one out he sees the lady from the photos dated “11/1/1955” His curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the book. There are no pages, there is one photo and it displays Roberts troupe the day they were sent off. Filled with confusion and slight anger, he tears out the rest of the scrapbooks. Empty. All of them are empty. He jumps back, unable to look away. The cabinets suddenly begin tipping over, slamming down in front of him. He is snapped out of his trance looking at the wall behind the cabinets. There’s a rusted key, dangling from a strand of hair - nailed to the wall. He grabs the key and yanks it off the wall. The nail flies out and blood begins oozing from the hole. A darkness emanating, it calls to Robert. He steps towards it, looking inside. In an instant, hundreds and hundreds of bugs spew out. He recoils, stomping and swatting, smacking them off his body the best he can but he’s overwhelmed by the sheer amount and is chased down the hallway into the only open door - a closet, shutting it behind him, he holds his breath, listening. The bugs go silent. He opens the door slowly and is met by a completely different hallway. This one is lined with beautifully hand carved wooden sidings with a deep forest green wallpaper on the top. Illuminated by gas lamps there is a single door at the end of the hallway. He begins walking towards it, he goes past various paintings depicting small animals, all killed in different manners - not by other animals, but each other. A bunny shredding into its mothers neck, a duck pecking through its own skin, and mice eating through a fawn. Robert ignores it. Walking up to the door he notices it doesn’t match the room - rusted and decrepit, he remembers the key. It seemed to match perfectly. He inserts the key and with a loud click the door opens.

Stepping inside, he finds the walls covered with moldy wallpaper, and a pungent black goo seeping from the corners. He didn’t have time to even comprehend what he was looking at because as he turned he saw the woman from the photos downstairs, tied up. She’s passed out and she smells awful. “Jesus christ- are you okay?” He asks frantically as he drops his bag, and lunges down for the ropes, trying to untie her but is interrupted by the door slamming behind him.  He hears the lock turn and click as he runs to the door and tries opening it, but it won’t budge. He screams “LET ME OUT”, banging on the door he continues “OPEN THE DOOR YOU SICK FUCK”. He is met with silence. Robert turns back to the woman and starts untying her, but she doesn’t move. He tries shaking her lightly, but nothing. Rob checks her pulse and doesn’t find one. He jumps back and begins hyperventilating, pacing back and forth he can’t think of what to do. He begins screaming and banging on the door. “LET ME OUT PLEASE” he begins begging. His voice quivering as he bargains with the kidnapper. “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” The man cries, his yells now unintelligible, his banging slowing down as he tires and slides down the wall. He cannot be stuck here. He will not die like this. With a second wind he gets up and bangs harder, yells louder; he starts throwing himself into the door in hopes it will break down. Nothing. Robert steps back and begins examining the room.  Suddenly he is on his feet - ripping everything off the walls, hoping to find something, anything, to get him out. The man rips the wallpaper in the corner of the room and is met with a sliver into an empty void. Not entirely empty though… as Robert stares he can hear a jumble of voices whispering, talking, and screaming, all on top of one another. The voices all saying something different; some angry, some begging, some happy, it was overwhelming. He goes to put the wallpaper back up but as he turns back he is met with a being indescribable to human perception. Somehow larger than the world he inhabits, evershifting wheels of agony and power, unseen to the human eye. It speaks to Robert. Nothing in any language discernible to the human ear, yet he understood nonetheless. Robert turns to the woman on the floor, as if he was being controlled he walks over, kneels down, and begins ripping chunks of rotting flesh off of her arms. Next he goes for the back - digging his nails into her shoulders and ripping downward, it took a few tugs but he manages to get it in one piece. Moving onto her legs he begins clawing from the middle, he manages to get a finger under as he rips ligaments and whatever muscle was left out of her calf. After finishing with the body he begins laying the skin out in a pattern - finishing the pattern the walls around him falls away. He is not met with an endless darkness but the town he’d been in before - the rainy streets, the dark alleys, flickering streetlights, nothing had changed. He looks down at the skin laid out before him. An unending, everchanging, kaleidoscope of human flesh lies before him. He takes a step and falls directly in. Something has been awakened. It was bigger than him now. Robert awakens and is now in the woman's arms. She is no longer torn apart and she smells like his mother. He turns back and sees nothing. Not even a room nor the city around him. He is in a field, tall grass surrounds him and he looks upon a field centered by a large willow tree. Blanketed by a warm moonlight Robert walks to the tree, he lays down against it, and as he sits there, he smiles. “The Moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.”

Part 1

 The frosted crunch of the tent liner underneath me was the first sound I was greeted with, as I rolled over to my side. The unrelenting cold makes icicles hanging on the tips of my beard like little people dancing, just on the edge of a field. In a cough and a wheeze, I summoned all the courage I could to brave the morning air. What was left of my glorious hole filled roof flapped halfcocked, across my living expanse. Offering far little in the way of shielding my now freezing face from any more breaching of its haul, by the electric currents of the undulating morning wind.     

   Unsheathing myself from my mummy like sleeping bag and abandoning the comfort of my cocoon, I readied myself to prepare my morning coffee. Also to enjoy the company of my little woodland friend. Living a life of few amenities, I dawn my double coat attire and sweatpants holed with cigarette burns. Making sure to grab my morning salvation before unzipping my tapestry thin tomb. My glorious, but oh so cheap, instant coffee.

   As if it was a scheduled communion; before I even have the chance to sit down on my dilapidated camping chair, the air is filled with the chorus of a single songbird beckoning me. Drawing nearer by the second, in a swirling motion from the treetops down to me. Synchronized sizzling swiped at the back of my head. Letting me know my little pal was as excited to see me; or maybe more accurately, his food, as I was to see him.

   Plopping open a not quite rancid water bottle, I tossed in the instant coffee with the same vigor as a crack head loading a pipe. Seeing as how I'm not too far off from that monicker myself, I give a quick chuckle to myself as I light up my first cigarette of the day.  Still bent and dried out from the previous night, adorning the inside of my chair's cup holder. A hair clip of a misfortunate hairstyle.

   Lighting it up and inhaling the satin river of smoke in, then out and pouring water into my plastic cauldron. I greeted my little friend with an outstretched arm as I blew out the opposite of his direction.

"How are ya this morning, my feathered friend?" I asked as if he would respond back with anything other than a fluff-up and an inquisitive look. He tweeted beckoningly is response surprisingly enough. Asking the unspoken question, I knew already. Anthropomorphizing him in my mind, that question is always the same.

"Could ya just get on with it and drop some food already man?"

   As if I heard the urgency in the request, I get on with it, tossing a handful from the object of his affection. A seed bag I stole that was for some bird feeder, last time I raided a cabin.

   As he pecks away incessantly at the scattered remains of the pile and my cigarette plumes wasted relief through the air, the gravity of my life's situation comes back into frame.

   You see as cozy and free as this situation seems, it's only a snapshot of a life at the end of its rope. Exiled and denigrated to the fringes of society. Because you see, I've been homeless since 1996.

  I won't lie to you, as I did to myself and those around me back then. I have no one to blame for the current state of affairs but myself. Years upon years of a spiral against all hope and help, burned bridges so intensely you’d be hard pressed to say there ever was a bridge there to walk on.

Drug fueled diatribes and endless nights of he said she said fiascos plagued those years. Culminating in the final straw breaking for parents at a loss for how else to write the wrongs of a man who lost all hope for himself.

Thinking of that final act of overt disrespect, even now, reminds me of pressing a hand firmly on a stove top left on. The unexpected, jolt of inferno with the sustained pains of roadkill begging for a bullet. Still haunts me to this day in ways I’m still figuring out. But in the interest of setting the stage for how a man comes to make a lonely shack aside a tree and a bird his only company, I'll relive that horrid night for you now.

 

That night started out like most did back then. The slosh of a wine glass and the contempt that came with the nightly ritual of overconsumption by a woman who had estranged herself from her son light-years ago. And a son who due to that very excommunication had dug himself into a pit deeper than the cavernous Marianas Trench.

  An ever-expanding trench. Thickly lined with the sticky tar that had taken hold of many souls like him, in smoke filled dens across Europe and France in the mid 1900's all those years ago.

   The daily squabbles of domestic disturbance had gone unabated for many years between the two by now. Aside from a few brushes with the law that took center stage on a front lawn like a grand exhibition between two addicts of different tastes, we managed. But on this night, it reached a fever pitch at a particular argument gone too far.

   She had busted down my door in a fiery rage, hellbent on finally destroying my stash, with a new liquid courage that her bottle usually afforded her. Saying,

  "This is it!!! Where is it!?! Where is it Jaaaaaake!?! It ends tonight!!!"

   Her eyes locked onto what was left of mine.  I hadn’t even registered her words before the thought occurred to me to hide the pipe that I was actively caking my lungs with. Now exhaling into her face before she continued in a frantic search for what lay right by my side.

   "What in the fuck is actually wrong with you Jake? You know as well as I do we set a line in the fucking Sand the last time we had to get you clean. We told you the next time you slipped up. It’s over. We've tried and tried and tried!!! To no end Jake! No en-"

   "Ff .. ffuuuuu. Fuck you."

   That was all I could muster out, as a familiar blissful darkening of the corners of my vision closed in on all sides. Tentacles of something beyond anything God's light would dare venture near anymore. Something holy decrepit and all-encompassing in its comfort wrapped up my damned mental coffin in its grasp. The last words I heard from my mother's lips; before I leapt into the arms of that unholy maker were,

   "We're going to have to have you admitted honey."

   Ya know? It’s funny to me to think now how nice it might have been to go along with it all. It's not like I hadn't been before. But something about this time. It was different. An abhorrent avalanche of repressed layers of my subconscious slipped down to meet that little house in Appalachia on that day. Leaving in its wake a burnt cross that'd burn down the halls of that poor house forever more.

   The hallow night that lay before my perceived nightmare scenario created a nightmare of my own making. Threefold. I Shuddered back to reality at 3:36 in the morning. Upon the horror of realizing my stash was gone, I had the same mission my mother did when she came into my room earlier that night. But she didn't adorn herself with the illustrious kitchen knife I did on my journey. Especially not with the crimson eyes of bloodlust I had to my gate, as I stormed into her room to reclaim what the devil’s temptress was in one of its worst forms. Tempting me to forever change the hands of fate towards a new venue.

   I shudder even now, thinking of how I left her. Most people that kill say it was all a blur, or don't remember it at all. But I can tell you one thing. That wasn't the case for me. I remember every facet of ever fiber detailing that moment and that night. It lives forever now to haunt me in what are only ever nightmares anymore.

   To this day I still shudder that my father had to remember it all in the same horrid detail. When he got back from his latest business trip in the following days. To find he not only lost his son, but his wife that day as well. He also lost any hope of answers from the one person to crescendo these events into motion. Because that night I excommunicated myself from civilized society.

   Choosing to more than likely die out there in the unforgiving unrelenting mass of nature's midst, than the sheer solitude of a life of walls upon walls and no sane voice to ever etch the halls in a soothing tone again. Forever condemned to a hell scape of man's own making.

   Instead, I heeded the beckon of a world far more ancient than any man had ever created. Bathed In the blood of my drug fueled rags I took to scaling mount Appalachia. Never to grace the halls of a home again. Though I never really thought of that place as much of a home anyway.

Part 2 https://www.reddit.com/u/LucyLove3912/s/n6h8QwcFAU

Part 3 https://www.reddit.com/u/LucyLove3912/s/nmGS6Pk54R

Part 4 https://www.reddit.com/u/LucyLove3912/s/aC7mnMtwlX

Part 5 Fanale https://www.reddit.com/u/LucyLove3912/s/1m4oXh8mDC

Dear diary,

Something strange happened today… Today was my Pawpaw’s funeral. I absolutely hate funerals; the socialization always wears me out. After the funeral, I needed to get away from everyone and just sit alone. I was sitting on the couch scrolling through social media. In my peripheral vision, I saw someone walk past the living room door and down the hall. It was my grandpa. I know for a fact it was him. It couldn’t be anyone else; everyone was dressed in their best black clothes. Pawpaw wore a navy blue jumpsuit for work, and that's exactly what he was wearing as he passed by the door. Also, he’s the only 6’5 person in the family. I thought I could be wrong, but I checked the hall and all the rooms in the house, and I was the only one inside. I even went out and asked to be completely sure. I was, in fact, the only one in the house.

Dear diary, 

I NEED to tell you about what just happened today! Just as I do every night, I turned off my lights, turned my fan on high, and closed my bedroom door. As you know, I’m an extremely light sleeper. So light that the sound of Mama inserting her key into the front door in the early hours of the morning, when she got home from work, wakes me up. 

Tonight I fell asleep rather quickly; the house was silent, only the sound of my ceiling fan whipping through the cold air. I did not dream tonight. The sound of the front door creeping open woke me. I assumed it was my mama trying her best not to wake me after work. But her slow and heavy footsteps were not what came through that door. It was a fast and quiet scurry of claws against the hardwood floors. The footsteps stopped at the start of the hallway. The loud click of the light switch, then the slow taps of the claws, continued. Tatatatap… Tatatatap… Tatatatap… Tatatatap… I tried to open my eyes and move, but I was stuck in place. 

In my mind's eye, I could see its shadow approach from the gap beneath my door. It slowly cracked my door, creeping inside. Tatatatap… Tatatatap… it crawls its way up the leg of my bed and under my covers. I could feel the weight of its body as it touched the mattress. Its claw grabs my leg, jolting me out of my perilization with a guttural scream. 

Mama slams into the room, frantically turning on the light. “What's wrong, what's happening, are you okay?” 

“Something grabbed my leg, something grabbed my leg!” I scream as I scoot to the far corner of my bed. My mom rips the covers off, nothing there. “I heard it come in the front door and turn on the hallway light.”

“The hallway light is off, and the doors are locked and bolted. I think it was just a nightmare.”

“But I know what I felt.”

Diary, I Know. What. I. Felt.

Dear diary, 

I’ve started having these terrible nightmares every night since that thing that grabbed my leg. It’s always something different. One night, a werewolf was chasing me, but I just couldn’t run fast enough. My chest heavy, my lungs burning. I can’t scream my, no sound will leave my lips. He catches me and pushes me to the ground. He pins me down with no way of freeing myself, but still I try. With every movement I make, his grip tightens on my arms. His mouth opened and his jaws unhinged, drool dripping on my face. His teeth are sharp and stained with blood. I try once more to scream, but still nothing comes out.  In an instant, he chomps down on my throat, and my eyes shoot open. Yet I still cannot move; a shadow looms over me, pinning me down. I cannot breathe; it feels as if something is still crushing my throat, digging deep into my skin. I try with all my might to move. If I can get even the smallest part of my body to move, I could free myself from all this. With great effort, I was able to get my pinky finger to move. It started with my pinky, then the rest of my fingers, but still nothing else. It felt like I was suffocating, something was sitting on my chest, and choking me. One last try at screaming. A small moan gurgling up in my throat, more, I needed more. That gurgling moan erupts into a crescendo of a scream. And at its climax, I jolted up with a heavy gasp of air. I was finally free. I can’t go back to sleep, so I think I'll just scroll on my phone for the rest of the night.

Dear diary, 

It's been 6 long months… I'm so tired… Every single night, I wake up screaming. I’m so exhausted. I haven't had a complete night's sleep in so long. I know I’m too old to be sleeping in mama’s bed, but some nights the dreams are just so terrifying that I’m too scared to go back to sleep, and being next to her really helps. I guess I’m lucky to have such a kind and loving mom. Thought I do wish I didn't wake her up every night, too. I really hope the night terrors stop before I move into my dorm room. I’d hate for the girls I room with to have to deal with this bullshit as well. 

Dear diary, 

Good news and bad news. Good news, the night terrors stopped the night I moved into my dorm room. Bad news, I absolutely hate this school, and I'm transferring to a more local university and moving back home. I can’t wait to have my own room again and go back to having a queen-sized bed. The ones at school are absolute ass and ridiculously small. 

Dear diary, 

I dropped out of school to help take care of Grandma. We’ve been having to take care of her every winter. It seems she only gets sick when the weather is cold. She sleeps in my room when she stays over for help. Im hopping now that I’m not preoccupied with school work, I should be able to be of more help this time around.

Dear diary, 

It’s summertime, but Grandma is still sick. We’re going on vacation to the beach, and I hope the warm weather and sun will help her feel better. I’m so excited to spend some time with her and the rest of the family outside of the house. 

Dear diary,

It did not help. Shes passed away a week after we got back from the beach. I think I’ll take a break from everything and everyone for a while.