[Fiction] Date Unavailable

 Janine first noticed the issue with her calendar app when she went to add a meeting in two weeks and couldn't select that day. She tried opening it up and scrolling in day or week view, but it wouldn't go past the 16th. She assumed it was some weird glitch and decided to try again in the morning.

The next day she still couldn't get it to work, so dropped an email to IT. By the end of the day, the case was closed with instructions on how to add an event, which she tried following to the letter just in case she'd been doing something stupid. It still wouldn't work, so she emailed them again.

A few other weird things happened that week. Her coffee subscription service was cancelled, and when she tried to restart it, the website kept throwing out errors. When she rang the dentist to book a check-up, it all went well until the receptionist tried to enter it into their system and then all the appointment slots "vanished" and they were so sorry, could she call back later? And despite back and forth with IT, and finally a Zoom call with a confused and frustrated technician, the calendar glitch could not be resolved. 

When the 16th came, Janine was walking her dog when she got an unexpected notification from her bank telling her she'd received money from her landlord. The transaction was labeled simply "refund" and was about half the amount of her monthly rent. Confused, she texted her landlord, but was interrupted by a string of further notifications as one after another, all her direct debits were cancelled. She called the bank helpline and finally got through to an actual human being who told her that her account was marked for closure. 

Frustrated, she asked how and why, as she stepped into the road. She did not hear the answer. She did not see the truck.

[Fiction] A Walk Through the Forest at Night

CW - bereavement

---

I'm not an idiot. I know what I am going to do is impossible, or worse, unwise. I've read books; I've seen that episode of Buffy. I know the dead cannot come back, at least not to the way they were in life. I'm going to try anyway. 

I leave a note explaining where I'm going and why. I hope no-one gets to read it. Barney gets excited when he sees me put on my shoes and coat, so I give him a biscuit and lots of scritches while explaining calmly to him he can't come with him, even though I know he doesn't understand. I take an actual torch rather than just my phone although I may not need it: it is, by necessity, a full-moon and therefore even the depths of the forest should be fairly visible. I gather the other bits and pieces I need and set out.

It is colder than expected, and I soon regret not bringing gloves. Hands rammed deep into my pockets, clutching my various treasures, I breathe heavily into the collar of my coat to feel the heat reflected back onto my face. As I walk, I try to concentrate on the crunch of my footsteps: practicing mindfulness even now. If I only think about this moment, right now, I do not have to think about what's to come.

-

It is a strange experience to wake up a wife and go to bed a widow. To lie there trying to wrap your head around the enormity of what has happened while hearing the sounds of the world carrying on as normal. To wake the next morning, and remember. For day after day to have a brief moment of uncertainty--was that a dream?--before the certainty crashes back down. To then have a day without that moment, to just know deep in your bones as you know the name of the town you live in, to just have it as part of the background of your world. To go back to work, and carry on with your life, as everyone else has carried on with theirs. To pretend to others that everything is ok, and over time to pretend to yourself as well. Only for it to suddenly hit you again, with the full force of a 40-tonne truck.

-

After a while, I get used to the chill. I lift my head slightly, to see the trees ahead instead of just the path. It is, in fact, a beautiful evening, with few clouds masking the moon. I briefly pause and look straight up at the stars, taking in the enormity of the universe. Then I continue, reciting in my head the words long committed to memory, the folklore found in a forgotten book in the library that guides me tonight. 

-

When we viewed the house that would become ours, she fell in love with it all. A 1930's semi, just like the ones she grew up in, she went from room to room gasping and suggesting colours and furniture arrangements. She grumbled a little at the out-dated kitchen but immediately saw the potential for improvement, how it could be turned into her dream. My only contribution was saying, on entering the second bedroom, this could be a library. She laughed and hugged me and said of course I could have my library. It's not that she didn't also like books, she read more than me, she just had so many other hobbies and I only the one. She also had such a vivid imagination — walking around that half decorated empty building, she saw our future home. I saw only the work that would be needed to make it that.

When I called the estate agent that evening to put in our offer, she was surprised. I thought you weren't that keen, she said. Don't rush into anything if you're not both committed, it's a big step. Are you kidding, I said. It made my wife so happy. 

-

Eventually I reach the edge of the trees. It seems further than usual, probably because I'm so impatient. I just want to get there, to get it done. I slow, not wanting to miss the spot. I still walk past it at first, only doubling back after a few minutes when I realise I've gone too deep into the woods. My dress rehearsal a few days before, when I walked as much of the path I could, was in broad daylight. Everything looks different now and I curse my mistake. A thought crosses my mind: I should prepare more and try again another day. I dismiss the idea immediately and concentrate on lighting the tea light I've placed on the flat stone. I pull the photograph from my pocket and look at it by the flickering flame before tucking it under the candle. I carry on.

-

Her death was unexpected but unexceptional; the coroner's office sympathetic but efficient. Once the post-mortem was done and the funeral was over, I was left with a few pieces of paper and a houseful of memories. A dog who was grieving just as much in his own way, but who still needed walking every morning. Friends who came round to make sure I was eating. I made my way through the to-do list of admin, tied up loose ends. I was gripped by a desire to do everything, and now. All the decorating we'd put off. The garden revamped. A neighbour helped me take box after box to the tip and the charity shop. I went through her clothes three times, each time picking a few more things to give away, and each time breaking into tears. I refused to leave anything to another day that may not come. I made a will. I filled a notebook with account numbers and passwords. I didn't know who would be left to tidy up after me, but I made it as easy as possible for them. I visited friends and family. I went to restaurants, cinemas and concerts alone. I bought every book, and eventually more shelves to put them on. I joined social clubs, tried new hobbies. I gave so much money to charity, any charity. I took up jogging. I taught myself to cook.

That lasted almost two years. Then I shut back down again.

-

The wind is picking up, and a few spots of rain touch my cheeks. I look skywards again, wondering at the lack of clouds. It is darker, but I resist getting out the torch. I plod onwards, until I reach the second stone. This one is taller and easier to spot, but the top is rounded and harder to balance the tea light on. I have to shield the match from the wind in order to light it, but my fears it would blow out straight away prove unfounded. I turn her wedding ring over and over in my hand, reluctant to let it go. But I take a deep breath and place it carefully by the light. I start crying as I walk away.

-

We planned our fantasy wedding for years. One of us would see a dress, or venue, or photoshoot and send it to the other. We made a list, updated frequently with budget estimates. She crafted menus, I curated music. She even made a spreadsheet with seating arrangements. 

When the law of the land finally caught up, our planning document had a country estate as the venue, her dress custom made by a friend, my suit from an Etsy store, a local band for music, and food from our favourite vendor at the street food market. We booked a date at the registry office and invited six friends.

-

The rain is coming down hard, washing away my tears. I can barely see. There is no longer really a path, I just trust I am going the right way. I stumble into the first of the standing stones and find the one with the hole by touch as much as sight. It takes four or five matches to light the candle, which impossibly stays lit as I place it in front of the stone, the precious strands of hair wound into a small knot beneath it. I crawl through the hole and stay on all fours on the other side. I am overcome with weariness. It should not have been a long walk to get here, but it feels like hours. Dragging myself towards the mound, I pull myself to my feet again. I must go on. I must.

-

I first saw her in the common room, explaining a board game to a group of freshers. I eavesdropped for long enough I lost interest in my book and wandered over to stand awkwardly nearby, watching the game. She started including me in her explanations, and when the game was over, asked me if I wanted a drink. I still thought I was straight and couldn't quite understand why I was blushing. It only took a few weeks of game nights, coffees, and late-night requests to meet at the bar for me to work it out. We spent nearly every day since together, with only a few conferences or family visits breaking the streak. When I finally worked up the courage to tell my parents she was more than a friend, they already knew. Of course they did. It was obvious to everyone. She'd transformed me. 

-

Three times widdershins, although I can barely walk. The words I'd memorised, although I can barely speak. I push forward, ignoring the rational part that insists I would hit solid ground. I push forward, into the wet earth and the darkness. 

-

She'd always loved dogs, and I was always hesitant. We were too busy; it would be unfair. We needed to get the rewiring done, a new kitchen. We'd need a bigger car. We wouldn't be able to go on holiday as often. 

She'd walk it, feed it, pick up its poop. She saw the picture of Barney on social media and forwarded to me. Just go and meet him, no commitment. I couldn't say no. I could never say no to her. And while I fell in love too, and welcomed him into our lives whole-heartedly, he was always her dog. 

-

I keep my eyes closed, although it makes no difference as there is no light here anyway. I fall to my knees again, from fatigue and from fear. I quiet the screaming voice inside--this is impossible!--and crawl forward. The smell of damp earth closes in around me. I keep moving, as I have kept moving all evening. All sense of time and distance has left me. I know only here and now and to keep moving forward. I hear the running water ahead. 

-

She played the piano so beautifully. She lived to teach, and her students loved her. She never remembered when it was bin day. She was deathly allergic to penicillin and often forgot her medic alert bracelet. She filled our house with abandoned projects, and the smell of home-made bread. She learned new games, facts and concepts on a daily basis, and explained them to anyone who would listen. She took pictures of flowers, Barney, and me, but never of herself. She made me laugh. She made me laugh so much.

-

I cannot breathe. I am sobbing too hard. I reach the edge of the river, my hands splashing into the cold water. I can't remember what I am supposed to do. I can't think of anything else but her. I try to say her name. It comes out a hoarse whisper. I repeat myself again and again, trying harder and harder until I can hear myself, until I am screaming. I reach into the cold depths, push my head under water and fall forwards. I panic. And then I consider letting myself fall. I feel the riverbed below me and stand. I break the surface again and gasp. Crying her name, I reach forward and down. My hand touches something. An arm. I grasp hold and pull.

-

I wasn't there when she died. The neighbours found her and called the ambulance. By then time I got home she was gone. I can't remember the last words I said to her. I can't remember her last words to me. I can't remember the last time we kissed. It has been five years and there is so much I can't remember.

-

I pull her into my arms. It is her, it feels like her. It smells like her. I whisper her name. I open my eyes. I still can't see. I hold her tight and tell her I need her. I feel her face and pull her mouth to mine. It tastes like her. Come back with me, I whisper. 

"I can't." It does not sound like her. Not quite. 

Please, you must. I need you. 

"You don't." It is her voice, altered. Broken.

I do. I can't do it alone. I can't do it anymore. I cling to her and cry. 

"You must." It is a whisper. But it finally sounds like her. 

She pulls away. I scream, don't go. Don't go. She slips back into the water. I need you. Don't go. 

She is gone.

I pull myself onto the shore. I lie, curled up. Don't go. I need you.

I need you.

-

I awake on my back, shivering. The sun has risen, and there is a mist covering the grass. I am cold to the core. I stand, and looking round, recognise the field I am in the middle of, a few hundred yards from the forest's edge. 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I open them, and head home. There's a dog there that needs me.

[Fiction] Smile

CW: blood, gore, extreme violence, everyday sexism

---

"Smile, love!"

He was hanging, as is the way, from the passenger side of his best friend's car, as it sat stopped at the traffic light. She, or rather, the creature he had assumed was a she, was standing by the roadside as if waiting to cross, head dipped and gazing fixedly at the ground. At his shout, it lifted its head, and its unblinking stare caught him full on. The face split into an unnaturally large, rictus parody of a grin, unveiling rows of too small, too sharp teeth. Suddenly less sure of himself, he stammered out a feeble, "Wh-what's the matter wi-" before the lights changed and they drove off. 

He slunk back into his seat and said to his friend, "That was weird." But before he could elaborate, his friend glanced in the rear-view mirror and swore, "She's fucking chasing us! Why'd you always have to say something?" Turning round, he could see that the creature was indeed running towards them, down the middle of the road, completely ignoring all the other traffic braking, horns honking, drivers cursing. His friend sped up, missing their turning to stay on the main road longer and put some distance between themselves and this crazed being. 

Impossibly, it was gaining on them. 

"What the hell? How is she doing that?" the driver asked, glancing repeatedly between the mirror and the road ahead as he swerved to overtake the cars that were sticking to the speed limit. 

"I don't think that's a she," he replied quietly. He watched the creature's dogged pursuit in the wing mirror he'd repositioned, slunk down in his seat. The horrific grin was visible even from this distance and grew ever larger as the creature grew closer. 

"Oh shit!" 

They'd ran a red light, turning a corner too fast and his friend had to slam on the brakes to avoid crashing into stationary traffic. While the driver collected himself, he urged "Get on with it, go that way," pointing through the oncoming cars at a car park some distance ahead.

"I can't go that way, are you crazy?"

But it was too late. While they weren't watching the creature had caught up with them, and the first they knew about it was when it landed heavily on the roof of the car. 

"Oh shit," his friend said again, and desperately started manoeuvring the car to escape the traffic jam, but stopped when the creature's grinning face appeared in the windscreen in front of them. 

The windscreen glass shattered as one arm punched straight through it, and the creature, hanging from the car roof with unnatural flexibility, reached straight through and pulled him from the passenger street onto the bonnet. It jumped down on top of him, cutting short his screams with a second punch that tore through his flesh into his chest. Its hand re-emerged from his torso, dripping in viscera, and the creature mashed the bloody, unidentifiable, organ into its gaping open mouth. 

All the while his friend looked on, unable to hear anything above the sound of his own screaming.

The creature feasted until his friend finally stopped being able to make a sound, his throat red raw, tears streaming down his cheeks, pressed into his seat as far away from the thing as he could make himself. It turned and looked at him unblinkingly, jaw still stretched wide, blood smeared across its face. In a broken, inhuman voice that sounded like nails on a blackboard it said,

"Smile."

[Fiction] Twenty-Five Years of Submissions to My Favourite Dubious Advice Podcast

 I've been listening to a lot of Dear Hank and John so inevitably keep thinking about what I would ask, but as "*gestures at everything* help?" wouldn't make a great question, I decided to write a story instead.

----

Dear Hank and John, there's a really cute girl in my quantum mechanics lectures and I kind of want to ask her out but everytime she even looks at me I just forget how to form human words. Heeyyelp?

Dear Hank and John. What are some good second date ideas?

Dear Hank and John, how do you decide on a phd topic? I've wanted to be some form of scientist since I was very young and decided to study mathematics and theoretical physics at university - I figured by the time came to do a PhD I would have an idea of what I found interesting and what I might be good at but the problem is...everything is kind of interesting? And finding something new, something genuinely new that no-one else has ever done before (which is what you need for phd) seems way to big and scary. Obviously I'm getting lots of advice from my supervisor and other researchers but I'm worried that whatever I choose I'm going end up stuck trying to make progress on for the next few years and what if I get it wrong? Am I making a terrible mistake and should I just go get a job instead? Any dubious advice is greatly welcomed.

Dear Hank and John, is a Batman themed wedding a terrible idea? My fiancée and I have been engaged for just over a year now and what started as a joke became a serious plan as we looked up ideas for accessories to add to our clothes, themed cocktails and food, invitation designs etc. We're both pretty psyched about the whole thing but my parents are convinced we're joking. I don't know how to convince them we're not, and I'm starting to wonder whether they'll just refuse to come if they find out we're really going ahead with it. 

Dear Hank and John - thank you so much for answering my question about the Bat-wedding! Just to update you, we talked to my parents and it turns out my mum thought we were going to be wearing full cos-play rather than just, you know, taking a few photos wearing masks etc. When we explained that no, my fiancée would be wearing a dress, I would be wearing a suit, they came on board with the whole idea and ended up having a great time. Attached are some pics from the big day. 

Dear Hank and John. I'm going to become a parent. I'M GOING TO BECOME A PARENT. AAAARGHHHHH!!!!!!!! HOW DO YOU BRING UP A WHOLE HUMAN BEING??!!!

Dear Hank and John,  do you think there'll be long-term consequences for all the babies and children growing up under lockdown? I understand why we need to stay isolated and try and get this worrying disease under control, but I'm worried about my little girl, as she hasn't really been able to interact with anyone other than her parents. At first I suppose that didn't really matter because she was so small and we were just trying to get used to having a baby and meeting her basic needs, but she's growing so quickly now and it feels like this isolation is going on for a lot longer than we thought it would. Will she just totally freak out if someone other than us picks her up? What if this goes on for years and she doesn't get to meet kids her own age? Sorry, I guess that's unlikely. The uncertainty is getting to me.

Dear Hank and John - what do babies dream about?

Dear Hank and John, so I'm finishing off my phd and I have to start looking for jobs (and probably should have started some time ago) but I don't really know what work I want to do? I don't want to stay in academia, partly because I'm just burned out but also because it's so hard to find a permanent position and it seems unfair on my family to uproot them every two to three years as I chase postdoc places around the country. I just can't imagine what else I might be good at though, and every time I look at vacancies nothing leaps out at me as being interesting or, frankly, doable. Do I even have marketable skills? I'm a mathematician, but I can't do statistics or much coding and have pretty severe social anxiety which rules out a lot of jobs. What is there left? 

Dear Hank and John, how do you pick a name for your second child - it took us long enough to decide on the first one! If it's a boy, we're fine, because we have the unused boy's name from our first child, but we already used up our favourite name for a girl. Suggestions welcome.

Dear Hank and John, how does my four-year-old know more dinosaurs than me? Do all children go through a dinosaur phase? What's your favourite dinosaur?

Dear Hank and John, when is it ok to give up on things? Obviously just abandoning something as soon as it gets hard is not a good way to get better at doing that thing, and I do get that sometimes things that are hard are worth perservering with. But when you've been trying and failing to do the same thing repeatedly does there become a point when continuing is just creating misery for yourself? How do I give myself permission to accept there are some things I just won't be able to do?

Dear Hank and John, why are there swear words? Did we just decide as a society that some words are...bad? And if so, why?! Thinking of this as I desperately try not to accidentally teach my two-year-old swears....

Dear Hank and John, does my dog *really* understand what I'm saying?

Dear Hank-sorry, Dear John and Hank, so here's a weird situation. The window cleaner left a ladder down the side of our house, presumably by accident, but he hasn't been back to collect it and we have no way of contacting him. It's been three weeks. Do we just own a ladder now?!

Dear John and Hank, at the end of job interviews when they ask if you have any questions for them, what are you supposed to ask? All the advice I've read suggests you should ask, like details about the job or the facilities but not things like how soon you can book vacation or whatever. But...actually all the interviews I've been to have been pretty upfront about everything I would possibly want to know. The advert usually states expected start date and what the job will entail, they usually give a tour of the office so I know where I'd be sitting etc. But not asking anything makes it seem like you're uninterested apparently?! What am I supposed to do?

Dear John and Hank, HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO F***ING IRON FITTED F***ING SHEETS? Or should I just not bother?

Dear John and Hank, what the heck happened to the AI revolution? Weren't we all supposed to be out of jobs by now?

Dear John and Hank, how much salt is "a pinch"? 

Dear John and Hank, why are teenagers? Just why? Was I this awful at that age? Should I go and apologise to my parents right now?

Dear John and Hank, I've been trying to "get fit" and have taken up running and...it's kind of just awful. I've heard other people talk about how good they feel after a workout etc but I just feel exhausted and, at best, relieved it's over. Am I doing it wrong? Do I need to be running harder or for longer? Or does not everyone get that "runner's high"?

Dear John and Hank, did you really think you'd still be doing this podcast now when you first started? Do you have a favourite episode or are there just too many to keep track of?

Dear John and Hank, what can I do as a parent to help my child with exam stress? She seems to be having a much harder time than I did, maybe because I was weird and actually enjoyed exams, or maybe because there's just so much more pressure on kids these days. I'm really worried, and no matter how much I try to reassure her that things will be ok regardless of how well or badly she does, she just seems to be getting more stressed. What can I do to help?

Dear John and Hank, wait - Americans don't use the word "fortnight"?!

Dear John and Hank, what's a polite way to tell people you don't want to "get over it" or "get through it" and maybe they shouldn't assume there is some kind of normal you can get back to. Like, actually, some things have changed forever, and we should acknowledge that. 

Dear John and Hank, what do you do when you feel like your life is...kind of over. My partner died last year, my kids are mostly grown up, my job is...ok. I don't have any real ambitions any more because any I did have I put aside to concentrate on my family and now just don't mean the same to me. I'm not the same person I was twenty, twenty five years ago, which was the last time I was by myself and I'm not sure what I want from life now. It all feels a bit pointless. I know i have friends and family that still care about me, it's not like I'm feelling suicidal, I just don't know what I'm supposed to *do* now. What is the point the life?

[Fiction] Doppelgängerin

Well, it was Sunday afternoon and I was just doing a bit of ironing when there was a knock at the door. I wasn't expecting a parcel or anything so I was a bit confused, but when I answered it...it was me. 

No, I mean on the other side. There was this woman who looked exactly like me, well almost - at first I thought there was something wrong but then I realised it was because I'm so used to seeing myself in a mirror and of course I don't look like that to other people, it's all reversed. But she looked just like me, even wearing clothes similar to ones I've got, only all bedraggled and stuff. Didn't look like she'd brushed her hair in days, that sort of thing. 

No, no I had not been drinking! I told you, it was the afternoon. 

Ok, I know it sounds crazy and that's what I thought - this is crazy. Maybe I've finally lost it. But she, the other me, was also just staring at me and before I could say anything she started yelling at me and barged her way in past me. She was screaming "Who are you?" and "What are you doing in my house?" and the like. Then she started asking what I'd done to Jo and Sam - 

My partner and my son. Sorry, I should have said, they were out getting Sam new shoes for school.  I didn't go because I really can't stand shoe shopping and his uniform needed ironing before Monday - 

What? Oh, the door was locked. It's just habit, I lock it behind me as soon as I get in. Don't want strangers just being able to walk in, hah! 

Sorry, I guess it isn't really funny. 

So I was getting scared, there was this crazy woman in my house, she knew about my family, and she was getting more and more agitated. I tried asking her to calm down and asking who she was, saying she must have the wrong house, stuff like that. She was tearing from room to room and I tried to get in her way a bit and stop her going upstairs - definitely stopped her going into kitchen but as I said I was scared and she looked so...so demented...

Of course I thought about calling you, I tried to grab my phone at one point but also didn't want to take my eyes off her. 

She slowed down. After a bit. She stopped running around and just stood staring at a picture of the three of us - me, Jo and Sam that is - and was muttering under her breath. I said something like, "You really have to leave," and that's when she just turned on me. Yelling, screaming, really. "You've taken over, you're taken my life! What are you? You won't take them from me!" 

She just ran at me, hands out like she was going to...I dunno...scratch me? Strangle me? Just shouting "What are you?" over and over. I guess that was when I picked up the iron. It was just self defense. 

I...I don't remember anything after that. Until I heard the sirens. I guess the neighbours called you?

[Fiction] The Demon in the Ladies

"I really should have forseen this," Breesha thought to herself as she stared, dismayed, at the small fiend perched on the toilet seat. And she really should have.

The invitation to attend the Theoretical Infernal Engineering Foundation's Fifth Congress was last-minute, and therefore so was her acceptance. Her work bordered only lightly on that of the TIEF, but she found it interesting from an academic point of view, and her background in aetheretics made her one of the few from her own research group who would be able to follow the engineers' arcane jargon. Yes, she occasionally found their gung-ho enthusiasm for new theories and methods a little too uncautious at times, and yes, they often understated the "theoretical" nature of their work, trying to claim real-world applications with minimal evidence that their technical assumptions hold even in part. But the same could be said of all demonologists, to be frank, and they weren't such a bad bunch to spend time with. So she jumped at the chance of kicking back for a day or two and maybe even learning something.

But the problem with being a demonologist, even a strictly observational one, is that it is hard to leave the demons at work.

Not literally, obviously, except for that one time the containment field failed, and many, many, backups and safeguards have been put in place since then. But rather, previous interactions with demons is the highest predictor of encountering another demon, a still currently unexplained fact that means this sort of situation was an occupational hazard for demonologists. 

Breesha dumped her backpack on the floor, took off her glasses and sighed as she cleaned them methodically on her shirt tail. "Right then," she said out loud as she put them back on, "what manner of beastie are you then?"

The fiend turned to look at her as she spoke, but sadly did not helpfully supply an answer. It just continued to chew on the end of the toilet paper as it stared at her with large, doleful eyes. She tentatively moved closer, bending over to almost eye-level with it as she mentally ran through the basic checklist of Spina's taxonomy. 

"Definitely an imp of some kind," she mused. "Not entirely obvious by size alone, you do get some quite small devils. Probably an emotional manifestation: personal, judging by size of spines and tail. Quite young too." Without thinking, she stood straight and went to grab her backpack and the imp startled, jumping away and clambering onto the stall divider, perching preciariously on top. 

"Ah crud, Anxiety." Breesha paused, but the lack of screams or otherwise from the neighbouring stall confirmed her suspicion they were alone. Avoiding any more sudden movements, she fished out her multi-rune from her bag and quickly thumbed across the smooth stone until her friend Elske's symbol came up and she squeezed the stone tightly as she raised it to her lips and whispered, "got an anxiety manifest in the hotel loos, not sure if I have the right gear with me."

Now Hilda, Hilda would have known what to do. Breesha felt her loss exquisitely, the pain sudddenly sharper than it had been in months. But before she could become lost in those feelings, she heard Elske's gentle voice in her head, "tell reception, they should be able to help?"

Of course, that was an eminantly sensible and practical suggestion, but Breesha bristled at the idea that she couldn't handle this herself. She was a professional after all. Not a professional demon hunter exactly, but still.

The Anxiety Imp crept along the top of the divider until it reached the front of the stalls and peered down at the floor as if in preperation of a jump. Breesha whispered back into her multi-rune, "it could be gone by time they get here, might just try and contain it." Before Elske could respond with any further rational advice, she shoved the stone back into her bag and pulled out the over-sized shawl she kept in there "for emergencies". She has never been entirely clear what type of emergency would require a large knitted wrap, but could definitely say this wasn't what she had in mind. 

Gently lowering her bag to the ground so as to not make any noise which may startle the creature, she unfolded the shawl, stretching it between her hands, and crept closer to the Imp.  It was still gazing downwards and didn't appear to be taking any notice of her, so she was both surprised and frustrated when, just as she was about to jump up and attempt to envelope it with the shawl, it suddenly glanced at her, yelped, and jumped a stunning four feet horizontally to the open window and disappeared through it.

"Why didn't I close the window first?" Breesha wailed out loud as she scrambled towards it, attempting to stand on tiptoes and pull herself up to the narrow recess in order to look out. The tiles were too smooth and the window too high up - the reason she had overlooked it in the first place. "No way I would fit through it anyway," she grumbled and she ran back towards the door, snatching her bag up on the way.

She barely saw the confused looks from other TIEF attendees and brushed off one "Ah, Dr Faragher-" without even noticing who was speaking. She beelined for the entrance, and once outside, made her way round the side of the building to where the toilets would have been, hoping beyond hope the Imp had not already gone far. This hope was quickly shattered when she rounded the first corner and spotted the distinctive small shape vanishing into the tree line of the hotel's vast gardens. She sighed, hoisted her bag further up her back, and set off at a light jog, waving apologetically at the gardener who shouted at pointed angrily towards the "Keep Off The Lawn" sign. 

Once she reached the wooded area, Breesha quickly realised she'd lost all trace of the demon. She slowed and then stopped and listened carefully. It was surprisingly quiet here, despite still being in the city centre and only meters away from the bustling hotel. But the trees deadened outside sounds, and there were few birds singing at the moment. That, in itself, may be a sign that the imp was nearby. For a while, all she could hear was the sound of her own heart thumping. Then, a rustle. As she turned her head to try and pinpoint the origin of the sound, she heard a quiet gurgling snicker from above. Moving ever so slowly, she turned around and looked up into the trees. The imp was sitting mere feet away watching her closely. It stuck out its tongue and blew a raspberry at her.

"Oh, that's it!" she snapped, and threw her bag down. Apparently so startled it froze instead of flinching away, the imp just stared at her as she leapt at the tree and scrambled up the branches before pulling herself into a seated position alongside it. She then held out a hand in a conciliatory manner and said softly, "My name is Breesha. I don't want to hurt you, just send you back home." It tilted its head at her, like an inquisitive puppy, then looked down at her hand. Gingerly, it placed its own clawed hand into hers, and hissed and clicked something in its own language she would have been able to translate if she hadn't left her multi-rune in her bag on the ground. 

Patiently she waited until the demon felt comfortable enough to climb onto her, and she clung on tight to it as she jumped down, winding herself slightly but managing not to break anything or sprain her ankle too badly. She murmered comforting sounds at it as she fished out her multi-rune and quickly swiped to the shortcut for banishing rites and squeezed. The necessary arcane symbols shimmered in the air in front of her; she found a stick and copied them into the ground as best she could, one-handed as the imp still clung to her front. She unpeeled its arms from around her and held it firmly in the centre of the improvised circle as she incanted. Finishing off the rite with one drop of blood, easily drawn from her fingertip by the stick, she whispered "Goodbye" to it as it faded from this plane of reality, trying not to notice the look of betrayal on its face. 

She sat on the floor of the woods, in complete quiet, and wondered why she felt sad. As tears started to well up in her eyes, she fought them back, and hurriedly gathered her things and started to walk in what she hoped was the way out. In no mood to go back to the Congress, she resolved to go home, sending Elske a quick update on the way. However, spotting some yellow flowers, she picked one, and headed instead to the cemetary, to place it on Hilda's grave and tell her the whole the story. 

[Fiction] The Sweet Shop

 When the sweet shop first opened, all the parents in town grumbled. The kids were obsessed and would nag incessently for pocket money to go and spend there, and surely this would just mean terrible things for all the children's teeth? But as soon as they caved and allowed a visit, they started to come round - it was quaint, really, the rows upon rows of jars of sweets, the old-fashioned scales with genuine weights which made a pleasing clicking sound, the paper bags, just how sweet shops should be. Everyone's favourite sweets were there: jelly beans, rhubarb and custard, half a dozen different flavours of bon-bons - just ask and if they didn't have it then they would by the next time you visited. The owner was a pleasant man, who the kids just seemed to love, and a couple of the neighborhood teens even got weekend jobs there and served customers with none of the usual teenage sullenness. Business was booming, lines outside the shop at opening and rarely half an hour went by without at least one visitor. Overall, everyone agreed it was a wonderful addition to their small town.

Stacey was the first child to "disappear". She was off school sick one Thursday and just never came back. Her parents also retreated from public life, when they did bump into someone at the bank or supermarket, they made vague statements about an illness: "oh nothing serious," they'd hasten to reassure people, "I'm sure she'll be fine in a week or two." But the weeks went by and still so sign of her. And in those weeks, her classmate Tony and an older child Rebecca also became mysteriously "ill". Rumours started circulating about the nature of their ailments, a water-based infection perhaps, pesticides used at the school, some of the more unkind townsfolk even saying they just didn't want to go to school and the parents were pandering.

The twins Riley and Sebastien were only four, and their mother was the local doctor, so people started to pay more attention. Their neighbour Mrs Jones whispered all around town that terrible noises and yelling could be heard at all hours from their house, and the gossip got so frantic and so lurid that the police paid them a visit, and then went to the other afflicated children's homes. They were unusually tightlipped about what they found there though.

Another few months went by and more and more children stopped attending school. Other strange phenomena started to appear as well - gardens were vandalised in the middle of the night, accompanied by such strange and ghastly rackets that no-one dared investigate. The nosy Mrs Jones was found dead in her living room sat by the window, her face contorted in a visage of fright. An unspoken dread had descended on the town and everyone started to go about their lives as quietly and inconspicuously as possible, all knowing something was dreadfully wrong but unable to pinpoint exactly what. 

Inevitably, attention eventually turned to the newcomer, and the only shop in town still getting regular customers. Despite the dwindling numbers of schoolchildren actually going to school, the sweet shop's queues didn't seem any smaller. One evening, a rare meeting of friends in the local pub led to some hushed discussion and as the pints went down "somneone should do something" turned to "we should do something". Bravery fueled by the beers they'd had, the group of four or five parents marched straight to the sweet shop, each hoping by the time they go there someone else would have come up with a plan as to what to do. To their suprise, the lights were on and the door unlocked, despite it being several hours past the posted closing time.

They walked in, and the proprietor smiled at them from behind the counter. The place was full of children of all ages, talking to each other happily and sharing bags of sweets. But as they took in the unexpected scene, they slowly realised that the children did not look quite...right. Their skin was different, unnatural colours, of reds, purples and greens. Their mouths opened too wide as they laughed and their teeth were pointed. And poking out of every forehead were two small yet perfectly formed horns...

While most of the group could only gape in horror, one, slightly braver and slighly drunker than the rest, turned to the sweet shop owner and blustered, "Now look here! You need to leave our town, and leave our children alone!"

The man frowned, looking more hurt than angry, then a slight smile returned to his lips. "Oh, I don't think so. Children?" All the kids in the shop fell silent and looked to him. He leaned forward and in almost a whisper said, "I think it is you who should leave." 

With no visible signal at all, the children attacked. 

[Fiction] A Morning Adventure

Inspired by fragment of dream just before waking and hastily written up over breakfast.
--

Daddy left the play pen gate open. He was grumpy as he was most mornings, but he'd come when he called and picked him up gently and taken him downstairs. He put him in the pen then headed straight to the kitchen to let the dogs out – they barked excitedly when they saw him and drowned out the faint calls from the front room.

So he pushed open the gate and stepped out of the play pen. He followed Daddy to the kitchen and found he wasn't there and the back door was also wide open. A blast of cold air came from it; there was a sprinkling of snow on the ground and an eerie sort of pale light that looked much whiter than daylight usually did. He picked up his sippy cup that was lying on the floor under the table and shook it. It was empty.

He headed out into the back garden. He could hear Daddy and the dogs but couldn't see them, they must have gone round the side. But something caught his eye in the woods that started just the other side of the hedge – a glimpse of bright red moving among the trees. He toddled down the lawn and squeezed through the hole in the hedge that the dogs kept making.

He'd wandered some way into the woods before realising he'd lost sight of the red and that he was starting to get cold. He stopped and looked round for Daddy or Mummy but couldn't see either of them and was getting ready to start crying when he saw the red again and was captivated. It was a man, taller than Daddy, wearing a bright red coat that went all the way below his knees, and a bright red hat too. The coat and hat had white fur along the bottom, like Mummy's big coat, and the hat had a ball of white on top that bobbed up and down as he walked. He was carrying a bag over his shoulder, and walking alongside him was something that looked like a horse but with horns, something like a cow's but much bigger and branching off.

He forgot about crying and went towards the man and his not-horse, who seemed to slow down just for him to catch up. When he reached them he was a little scared, the man and beast were both so big, but they stopped walking and the man turned and bent down to look at him and smiled. He handed his sippy cup up to the man, still a bit too shy to say anything, and the man didn't say anything but put his bag down and took the cup. He put the cup into the top of his bag and pulled it out again straight away and handed it back.

He snatched it and drank greedily – it was full of slightly warm milk which tasted better than anything he'd had in a long time. The man started walking again, so he stuck his hand up and the man took it and together they walked through the woods, the not-horse following behind, snuffling slightly and breathing warm air down his back. He didn't feel cold any more.

They left the woods and turned down an alleyway and onto the main street that he recognised from going into town with Mummy. The man led him right to his front door and gave it a slight push – it drifted open just wide enough for him to slip through. The man let go of his hand and he looked up at him. The man smiled again and put his bag down, reached into it, and brought out of piece of toast with butter melted in. He took it, it was still warm, and bit off a mouthful. He finally felt brave enough to say “bye-bye” and waved, dropping bits of toast from both hand and mouth. The man just nodded and turned to walk away.

He went inside and immediately heard Mummy and Daddy calling for him. He tottered down the hallway – there was a bang as the front door closed behind him – and went into the front room. Mummy came in from the kitchen and shouted in relief. She rushed up to him and picked him up and hugged him and kissed him. The Daddy appeared in the doorway and exclaimed “Thank God!” and then frowned. “But where did he get that toast?”

[Short-short story] Incubus

He haunts my dreams. I don't recall for how long. Just that at some point, he's always been there. Handsome, with urbane wit and a sly smile, I fell for him instantly. Hard. There was no seduction involved and none needed; the attraction was too strong to be resisted and with the conversation-less ease that exists only in dreams, I went from seeing him, to being in his arms, to being in his bed. I was his.

Each night he returns. The dreams started getting longer, wilder, more intense, and I started waking up exhausted. I'd think about him more and more during the day, ignoring more and more of my life to lose myself in my fantasies. Thoughts of him lay heavy on my mind and I longed to see him again, welcoming each night as a chance to return to his embrace.

Now he haunts my days as well. I barely need to close my eyes to see his face, his voice answers unspoken thoughts, and I can almost feel his touch as if he were right beside me even now. And as much as I long to be with him, to feel his soft skin against mine, I know I need to find a way to escape.

Because I'm starting to get afraid. He's more arrogant, more demanding, crueler. As he pushes his way into my waking life, he becomes more confident, more eager, hungrier. I don't know what he wants and I daren't ask, but I have worked out what he's using me for and I'm scared that the right thing to do is to stop him. Scared because I don't think I can. I don't think I have the strength to tear myself away, to ignore him and push him away. To forget.

I love him so very very much.

[Short short story] It follows me everywhere

I was nervous at first. Well who wouldn't be? Something that big wandering around on its own....But it just followed me and didn't seem threatening so I started to relax. It followed me all the way home. It stayed outside the first few nights then managed to sneak in somehow. Don't ask me how. I was sure my landlord would object, but no amount of cajoling would get it to leave again so I gave up. It sleeps at the foot of my bed.

Well I say sleeps...

No, I never fed it. Actually, it doesn't seem to need to eat. Strange creature really. Kind of beautiful with those deep eyes and glossy black fur....and so large it should dominate the room but so quiet most of the time no-one seems to notice it. Which is kind of why I was surprised you asked. See, this may sound crazy, but I thought I was the only one who could see it....

I know! But all my friends and family - they haven't said a word. My landlord didn't object after all and even work let it in without a fuss. I suppose it must be because it's so well behaved. Never makes a sound. Just follows me around, keeps me company. Only...I think it scares other people. I mean, my friends - I have friends. Honest. They just don't seem to come round any more. And no-one at work talks to me much (not that they ever did mind). So it keeps me company instead.

I wouldn't say like. I've just got used to it. What else can I do really? It follow me everywhere.

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