The first light of dawn falls through the bedroom window and flood over the pillow and onto the slightly wrinkled face. Although his eyes are already closed, he squeezes them harder trying to ignore the bright rays ripping him from his sleep. He feels in no way ready to get out of bed. After all he only got into bed a few hours ago after a cleanly executed job. It had been a complicated affair last night. An executive of a fortune five-hundred company needed to be taken out, but it had to look like a prominent member of the board was to blame for the executive’s untimely demise. Loosening a few tyre bolts, making sure to leave visible scratches on both the tyres and the tools. Leaving said tools in the car of the board member to blame. Calling the police with an anonymous tip, that someone at the company wanted the executive dead. (Which was true as well, only it was not the framed board member). Then waiting for the executive to crash his car and verifying that he died. So many details, that had to work in perfect harmony for the scheme to be successful. And of course, everything had worked like clockwork.

He throws his legs over the edge of the bed and sits up with a moan. Covers his face in his big rough hands for a second. He shakes hid head slightly before he gets up and puts on a shirt and pants. Time for breakfast. He goes into the kitchen and starts the kettle. It still has water from yesterday and the mug is still loyally on the tabletop. He scoops a few spoons of instant coffee into the cup and leaves it next to the kettle. Grabs a slice of stale bread from the bread bag and throws it in the toaster.

He should feel good this fine, sunny morning since he just completed his first class 0 job, making him officially one of the seven best contractors in the world. He doesn’t feel great though. He feels just as gloom as every morning. The coffee is still muddy, the bread is still stale. Nothing has changes since yesterday. He goes to the front door to check for notes from the office. There are a few things that has dumped through the letter slot early in the morning. He picks up the lot and goes back to the kitchen, where the water has boiled. Pours the hot water in the cup. Throws the toasted bred on a plate. Sets both at the dining table. No butter in the fridge. He sighs; then sits at the table. Stale toast and muddy coffee. Breakfast of the gods. If the gods were poor and lived on the street.

He looks at the mail on the table. The top item is the newspaper. There is already a story; front page; about the executive who, according to the paper, may or may not have been the victim of a convoluted plot. He skims through the article. The journalist concludes that it was either the most tragic and random accident the town has seen in years, or a cold-blooded murder, committed by a board member. The paper has all the details exactly as they were planted the night before. They even have a picture of the board member being led to a police car.

He smiles and takes a big bite of the toast. Maybe today isn’t that bad after all. Toast and coffee is actually a great, yet simple breakfast. He doesn’t bother to read the rest of the paper. They only ever print tragedies anyways.

He picks up the next item of mail. An envelope that he knew would be there. The expensive paper and neat handwriting are easily recognisable. He opens it and pulls out the letter. As expected, it is a letter of gratulation for a Mr. Samuel Ames on his tenure at the University of Greenwich. Codewords, to ensure the letter means very little to someone reading it, who is not employed at the office. He, of course, understands that the letter is a confirmation that the job was executed to perfection, and the target has perished as requested by the client. What he didn’t expect was the plastic chip enclosed in the envelope. He picks it up and studies it for several seconds. The plastic disc looks very much like a sobriety chip. The little poker chip-like medallions given to addicts to mark milestones in their recovery. On the back it has the inscription, just like a sobriety chip: “God grant me the serenity to accept things I cannot change; courage to change things I can and wisdom to know the difference”. On the front it has a triangle and words along the edge, “To thine self be true”. A regular sobriety chip would have the words Unity, Service and Recovery around the triangle, and the time it represents in the middle. This chip however has the words Commitment, Stealth and Loyalty. And in the middle is a big zero with Class written under it. At a quick glance, most people would mistake this for a regular sobriety chip, or even a poker chip, for those who doesn’t know better. But the subtle difference makes this chip very special. So far only seven of them exist in the world.

He admires the chip for a few minutes before remembering there was one more letter on the table. He puts the chip in his pocked and picks up the last envelope. The paper is not nearly as nice as the other one, and the handwriting is somewhat messy. Like a child wrote it. There are three stamps on it, all crooked and way more postage than what was needed for sending this letter. He opens it hesitantly and pulls out the contents. The envelope contains a neatly folded letter, a picture and 22 dollars and 58 cents, all in small change.

He opens the letter and finds sloppy handwriting and plenty of spelling mistakes. The first line is what catches his attention: “Dear Sir. I know that you make people disappear.” He reads the line again, like he got it wrong the first time but there is no mistake there. He stares at the page and read the first line over and over. His heart is pounding, and he is completely forgetting to chew the mouthful of toast in his, now slightly open, mouth. This can only mean he is compromised, and someone knows what he does, and where he lives. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe. He was trained for this. All he has to do is pack the absolute essentials, give word to the office, and then disappear himself. In a few days he will have a new name, new apartment, and a new assignment. He is just about to get up, but something makes him stop. He looks at the letter, still in his hand, and decides to read the rest of it. As much as he needs to hurry, he is also very curious to learn where this letter came from.

He reads carefully through the letter. It turns out a young girl is asking for his help. She is not threatening to expose him or turn him over to the police. She is simply in need of his expertise. Apparently, she has given him all her savings that she earned from doing chores at home, as payment for the job. The letter is signed “Olivia, 7 years old”.

He looks at the letter for a few seconds and then leap to his feet. No time to waste. He starts throwing some clothes in a suitcase while dialling a number on his phone. He keeps packing while the phone rings. Finally, a young woman picks up “You have reached the offices of John and John, how may we be of service.” He responds while grabbing his toiletries and throwing them in the suitcase as well. “A number three, please”. The woman sounds confused now “Sir, this is not your regular pizza place”. He closes the suitcase as he is ready to leave the apartment. “With extra anchovies” he says, ignoring her confusion. She understands exactly what he means but keeps the confusion in her voice for effect. “Certainly sir. We are happy to help.” She hangs up the phone. He throws his on the floor and stomps on it. He is storming through the kitchen, on his way out, when he freezes by the table. The coffee cup is still steaming slightly, and the half-eaten toast sits patiently on the plate. He grabs both the letters from the table and gently stuffs them in his jacket pocket. Then he picks up the cash from Olivia’s letter and stuffs it in his trouser pocket, before finally hurrying out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Written 28/02-2021

I don’t know what to put on these wretched pages. It has been eighteen days since I started this endeavour, and I have written only ten stories. I have plenty of conceptual ideas, but when it comes to actually writing them on paper it seems the words escape me, time and time again. I have tried to change my surroundings, and I have tried writing at different times of the day.

Occasionally, I find a groove that seems to work well, and a story drops from my fingers, to my keyboard. Unfortunately, what works today may not work at all tomorrow. It is almost like each story has its own setting in which it must be written. My work desk in my apartment seems all emptied out, like every story that exists in that setting has been written. I am now sitting in a scout house not far from where I live, hoping to get more words on the pages.

I am stressed. Not just from this book project, but from work, working from home, having dozens of projects I never seem to finish and have just as many chores, I can’t find the energy to do. I thought I was over the whole stress period. I thought I found a way to overcome it. And then it came back. A lump in the throat. The inability to fall asleep at night the lack of energy through the day. The constant nagging sensation, that no matter what I do, and how many things I finish, there will always be twice as many things that I still have to do. Never getting to the bottom of the pile and being able to just relax. And it only feeds the feeling, when I try to get something done, and nothing happens. I have important task at work, that I know how to do. But when I sit down to do them, I find myself staring at a screen for hours, with what feels like no progress to the task at hand, at all. This cycle of inactivity is slowly, but surely killing me. The feeling that I am stressed because I never get anything done and at the same time being unable to get anything done, because I am stressed.

You might think that working from home might at least offer some help on the matter. Saving time on transport and having more freedom to do whatever I want whenever I want. But in my experience, it has the opposite effect. When working from home it is much easier to postpone every task until later. Having the freedom to do whatever, whenever also means that I don’t have to do any specific task, right now. Everything I plan to do can technically wait till after lunch. Or till after one more short video on YouTube. Or till tomorrow if I don’t get it done today. Or till next week because I should relax over the weekend. Only I can’t relax. Every waken hour I am tense from the knowledge that I am highly inefficient at my work, hopelessly behind on chores, only less than half done with a series of projects and always struggling to do anything about any of this.

Right now, I’m working on this very ambitious book project. Thirty short stories in as many days. When I started it, I was in a good place, but over the last few days the stress has started to get to me. I have considered scrapping the project. Throwing in the towel, and calling it quits. Then I would at least have one less thing to worry about. One less thing that I am behind on. But if I do that, I will forever look back at this half-finished project and ask myself: Why didn’t I finish that one? I have everything I need to finish it, since all I need is a way to write these stories. Even though the stressing factor of having to write stories every day would be gone, another stress would surely ensue. The stress of failure and disappointment. A sense of freedom, of course, from not having this very tight schedule. But a sense of freedom, largely overshadowed by the feeling of inadequacy. The feeling of never being able to finish anything. The crippling feeling that I will never get out of this spiral of stress and self-loathing.

That is why I have set my mind on completing this project, no matter how ambitious and undoable it may seem at times. It has to be finished, and on time. No cutting corners, no pushing deadlines and no giving up because it is hard. It has to be done, because it has to be my proof to myself, that I can actually accomplish somethings, if I dedicate myself enough to it. This is my prophecy; a prophecy I will live to fulfill or die trying: When the thirtieth story is finished, on the thirtieth day of the project, I will finally be able to relax. I will enjoy that evening and I will sleep well that night. Now I know very well that the chance of finishing this project magically curing my stress, anxiety and wealth of self-inflicted mental issues is about as great as the chance of world peace by the end of this month. But the hope that it might help and the belief that it can, at the very least, give me one thing to be proud of, is what keeps me going. And I have to keep going!

Written 26/02-2021

I’m lying in my bed, like I am every night. I’m counting the dots on the ceiling. There are fifteen of them. I know, because I count them every night before I fall asleep. Thirteen clear black spots, one dark gray smudge and one tiny pink-ish dot far of to one corner. You have to really look to see it. But I know it’s there, because I count it last every night. The pink dot. My best… no; my only friend at this point. Every time I see it I know I am still awake, and not yet drifted off into the darkness. It is the only thing that tells me I am not sleeping. I count the dots slowly. Thirteen, fourteen and fifteen. Exactly fifteen dots. As always. I look over at the nightlight for a second. Then back to the ceiling. Counting the dots once more. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen… Fourteen? I desperately search the entire room to find the last dot, but I know it is futile. It won’t be there. And sure enough, before long the banging on the window starts. I try to hide under my blanket, but it sounds like the window will soon be smashed. Then the sound stops. Total silence. I know he is already in the room now. I tumble out of bed and scurry for the door and pull it open. But it’s already too late. He is standing outside the door. His large grin, never fading. His huge glaring, black eyes, like dead holes in his giant face. His pale wrinkled skin. Gray like dust. His ragged clothes, like clown’s garments, but ripped and torn and dirty. And the smell. The smell of death and fear and pain and hate all at once. I want to slam the door in his face, but there is no door. We are in a big open room. Nowhere to hide. I turn away and start running away. After a few steps I stop, dead in my tracks, as he is in front of me again, towering scarier than before, the faint light glinting in his eyes. I scream and open my eyes, back in my bed. It is quiet. I look up. Dots. Thirteen, fourteen… please, just one more. I start to panic. No, no, no. please, just one little dot in the corner. But no.

And sure enough, before long the banging on the window starts again. I try to hide under my blanket, but it sounds like the window will soon be smashed. Then the sound stops. Total silence. I know he is already in the room now. I tumble out of bed and scurry for the door and pull it open. Even though I know it’s already too late. He is standing outside the door. His large grin, never fading. His huge glaring, black eyes, like dead holes in his giant face. His pale wrinkled skin. Gray like dust. His ragged clothes, like clown’s garments, but ripped and torn and dirty. And the smell. The smell of death and fear and pain and hate all at once. I want to slam the door in his face, but there is no door. We are in a big open room. Nowhere to hide. I turn away and start running away. After a few steps I stop, dead in my tracks, as he is in front of me again, towering scarier than before, the faint light glinting in his eyes. I scream and open my eyes, back in my bed. I am drenched in sweat by now. I look at the ceiling. Dots. Thirteen, fourteen… Fifteen! Yes, finally I can breathe easy again. At least for a while. I consider getting up to get a glass of water. I know it will all start again soon enough. Just a few more times and then the sun will come up, and I can relax. I decide to get the water and start to pull my blanket away. Then I hear someone banging on the window.

Written 16/05-2018

It has been exactly 836 days since our shipwreck, that left us on this remote island, somewhere west of Hawaii. In that time, we haven’t heard or seen anything from the civilized world. We are here, completely alone. Left to our own demise. I think we have done all right, so far. We have food to go around, we have clean water, and shelter to protect us from the weather. We even have our own justice system. A fairly simple one, granted, but it works. Basically, when someone does something that the tribe cannot forgive, they are sent out in one of the lifeboats, or a homemade raft, to look for help. The idea is that you redeem yourself, with the tribe, by bringing back a rescue team, or you die trying. Simple. Fair. Easy to remember. The only issue is that I’m currently on trial for stealing fruit from the community stock. Honestly, I have been sneaking the odd apple or banana now and again, but in the greater scheme of things, I’m sure it makes no difference.

There is great debate among the others on what to do. Some want to set an example, to show that stealing food is not tolerated. Others want to send me out to sea, because ‘Stealing food is attempted murder on the entire tribe’. A few want to pardon me, for the relatively small crime. In the end it comes down to the majority ruling. And as expected, one of the last few lifeboats are soon prepared on the beach. They pack it with food and water for about three or four days. They also put in a fishing spear, some rope and some of the spare clothes that are too hot to use on the island. A set of ores are the last thing they put in the boat. Maybe to give me a chance to sail back to Hawaii. Or maybe to make sure I sail away from the island.

It is an early Friday morning. The sun is only just crawling over the horizon, throwing all manners of colourful lights on the beach. I check my gear one last time and say my goodbyes to the few people I ever talked to on the island. Before long I’m in the boat and a few of the other men are pushing it off the beach. They push the boat out far after it cleared the beach sand. They only stop pushing, when I start to row, and they can’t keep up anymore.

The little boat is rocking gently on the ocean water. I suppose the ocean will be far less gentle when I get further out, but for now it’s a nice, easy ride. I make sure not to expend all my energy at once. I have a long trip ahead of me, so I decide to take it easy. I do want to get as far away from this island as I can, but I also know that rowing like a mad man on the first day, will come back and bite me like an angry chihuahua later on.

I row for about two or three hours. It’s hard to keep track of time out here. My arms are starting to get tired, and the repetitive motion is starting to hurt my shoulders. I can still see the island, but it already looks really small from here. As I’m taking a break from rowing, I realize that there are so many things out here that could potentially be dangerous to me and my boat. There are definitely sharks in these waters, so taking a swim might not be the best idea. The weather could pick up in a matter of minutes. Right now, it’s still calm as a Hindu cow on a Sunday, but thunderstorms are not too rare on this part of the map. There might also be giant squids or seamonsters hiding in the deep, dark ocean beneath me. It is hard to say what secrets the ocean keeps.

The water is fairly clear still, but light only penetrates the first few feet down. After that it is pitch black. I’ve run out of scary things to think of already. Which immediately sparks the next scary thought: The thing on this boat that is most likely to kill me, is boredom.

I can’t eat or drink to pass the time, as I would have back home in my apartment. The food and water I have are scarce and needs to be rationed properly to last me as long as possible. I have no books to read here, and It’s not like I can go for a walk. The only things I can do are fishing and rowing. Both get old, really fast.

The first day on the boat goes by slowly, and the night just the same. I wake up and the sun is already over the waterline far out to the east. I sit up and look around. There is still not much to see in the boat or around it. The water is still calm, the boat is still small and boring. I pick up the ores and start to row again. My arms are sore from yesterday, and it is not very motivating to row, when you have no reference points left. I can feel that I move the boat through the water, but I can’t see that I am making progress, since there is only water all the way around me.

After a while I decide to try out fishing with the spear. I was never really good at that, but now it is my only way to get fresh food. I hang over the side of the boat with the spear up, ready to strike. I see no fish in the water. No sharks or giant squid either. There is literally no life in the water around my boat. I’m hanging like this hopelessly waiting for something to swim by for what feels like hours. I thought rowing made my arms tired, but after holding the spear ready over my hear for so long, I realise that rowing is the easiest of my two jobs on the boat.

Throughout the day I eat only exactly what is necessary to not die. With no luck fishing, my food stock seems to dwindle faster than I like. As for water, there is no way to replenish that supply. I could drink sea water, but the salt content of that would be higher than that of my pee, meaning my body would have to spend water diluting the sea water before letting it back out. And drinking my own pee is not an option. That’s just too gross.

The second night, the third day, the third night and the fourth day all seem to blend together. Rowing. Fishing. Sleeping. Rowing. Fishing. Sleeping. I swear if the sharks don’t get me soon the loonies will.

Late on the fourth day I run out of food. I only have about a cup of water left, and I haven’t had any luck fishing, yet. I can’t say my hopes are very high at this point. I will most likely die on the stupid boat within a day or two. For stealing a few apples. I decide to go to sleep early tonight. It’s not like there’s much else to do.

I’m rowing my boat over the flat ocean water, when suddenly I find myself going into a drive-through at a fastfood restaurante. That in itself is a little odd, but when I come up to the window to get my food (That I don’t remember ordering), a shark is wearing a chef’s hat, sitting at the window. I stare at the shark for a good long while, from the discomfort of my boat, before finally asking it for my food. The shark looks me dead in the eyes and says ”Sorry, ate it.” then slams the window shut. In my hunger and frustration, I decide to just keep rowing. Away from the rude shark, and away from the restaurant in the middle of the ocean. I row and row, and the sun rises and sets fifteen times, before I take a break. As I look back where I just was, I realize I havent moved anywhere at all. The drivethrough is still right behind me, less then a boats length away. I panic and throw one of my ores at the building, but amazingly it misses, and lands in the water instead. Feeling horribly impotent I do something I haven’t done, since I embarked on this crazy adventure: I jump in the water. It doesn’t feel cold, as I would have expected. And as it turns out, I can breathe under water too. After a few minutes of diving deeper and deeper, my biggest fear is realized. A giant squid swims up from the deep darkness and wraps its arms around me, squeezing the air out of my lungs, like I was some plush toy.

I jerk awake and sit up abruptly in the boat. Nightmares. Just what I need for my trip. Having to row even in my sleep, only to get eaten by imaginary giant squids. The sun is coming up once again. I realize it is still only day five on the boat, and I’m absolutely losing my marbles. I drink the last of my water. What a breakfast. Now there is truly only rowing left in the world. I pick up the ores, disheartened, tired, hungry. Just as I’m about to start rowing, I hear something odd behind me. It almost sounds like a small engine. I turn around and see a small dinghy racing over the water straight towards me. I can’t believe my own eyes. I must still be dreaming. I put down my ores and turn to face the strange boat. I still don’t believe it is real, and I fully expect it to come closer and turn out to be a cloud or wave or something like that. As the dinghy comes to a stop next to mine, the driver looks at me confused. “Hello mister. What are you doing out here? You really shouldn’t row this far off the islands”. I clumsily crawl over to his boat. I grab his arm to make sure he is actually real. I even slap myself. When I look at the man again, I’m seeing spots as well. I might have slapped myself too hard. I gather my thoughts and explain to him that I was on a cruise ship that wrecked over two years ago. It takes a while to convince him, but when I tell him the name of the cruise liner, he suddenly remembers the news articles about it disappearing. He gives me water and a chocolate bar. It’s the only food he has on the dinghy, and I tell him about my rowing trip. After a while he asks me if there are other survivors from the wreck. He wants to send the coast guard out looking for them.

I look into the horizon far west. This is my chance to redeem myself with the tribe. Clear my name of my crimes. Save hundreds of people from that miserable, primitive island. After considering it for a bit I turn to the man on the dinghy. “No. I was the last survivor. There’s no one else left.”

Written 09/02-2021

The bell chimes through the long, wide halls and reaches every office. Everyone wraps up what they are doing as the coffee break starts. A small group of co-workers meet up under the big, old trainyard clock in the foyer. They talk cheerily for a few minutes while a few more of their colleagues join the group. When everyone is there, they leave the large, white office building and stroll down the street, talking about the beautiful weather. The bright summer weather is inspiring the local songbirds to fill the air with the most beautiful tunes and songs. The small trees along the road are blossoming with a spectacular array of colours, ranging from bright pink to deep green and warm yellows. The fragrance of the many flowers and trees gently blend with the aroma of freshly baked bread from the bakeshop. Further down the street a few kids on summer break are playing hopscotch and laughing ecstatically.

As the group finds their way to the coffee shop, they talk about all the interesting art the coffee shop has. It is a fairly large shop with a big glass facade presenting the odd sculptures and cosy little tables to the street outside. In front of the shop are a few small wooden tables with cute little chairs, each with its own decorative carvings. Some talented artist has spent countless hours perfecting his woodcraft to create these interesting shapes and images in the furniture that is now matching the look and feel of the shop so perfectly.

The group enters the shop to find more of the curious and intriguing art. One wall is covered in paintings by local, upcoming artists. A section of wall has dozens of embroidered wall hangings, in various shapes, sizes and colour pallets. Behind the counter is a range of framed photos taken in the local city and parks, by customers, throughout the years and at different seasons. A young woman with ocean blue eyes, and wavy chestnut-brown hair hanging playfully over her shoulder is ready to take the coffee orders of the group. Her eyes are kind and friendly and her smile makes her feel very familiar, even to people who have never met her before.

The group orders their coffees and continue admiring the art in the coffeeshop while the young barista prepares the coffees. She works with incredible precision and professionalism, while still smiling and even humming along to the gentle music from the vintage radio in the back of the shop. A few minutes later the coffees are ready, and the group gathers outside the shop, to sit in the sun and enjoy the rest of their break in the warm summer breeze.

While the group is sipping their coffees, a busy little bee is humming joyfully. It lands on a flower to collect the sweet, sweet nectar to bring back to the hive in the park. For several minutes the bee hums from one pretty flower to the next, before finally taking flight and setting course towards the park with its loot.

Just like the bee returned to the hive, so must the group return to the office, as the coffee break is coming to an end.

Written 01/03-2021

I found myself in a light forest, standing in a small clearing. There was a lovely smell of flowers and nature. I was a bit confused at first, but sort of just accepted that I was here. Then there was a noise. It sounded like a madman laughing, deep within the forest. I tried to see where it was coming from and started moving towards the trees. All of a sudden, a creature jumped out, straight at me. It was some sort of small gnome or something. Only about three feet tall and with a thin, bony body. Its skin was pale, almost white, and sort of shining a little. And it had wings on its back. I jumped back as it came at me, and stood there, only a few feet away. It was looking at me with large, deep blue, mad eyes, and a grin on its face. It was laughing madly at me. Then it jumped forward, as if to attack me. I dodged it, but it lunged at me again. I started running into the forest, as I heard another grin from the other side of the clearing. As I ran, I heard more of the creatures joining what had now become a hunt through this beautiful forest. I didn’t understand a thing of what was happening, and frankly I didn’t have time to. I ran as fast as I could, and I could hear the creatures falling behind, still laughing madly.

After what felt like half an hour, I fell to my hands and knees in the forest moss. I could no longer hear the creatures at all. As I was trying to catch my breath, I noticed something in the grass a bit away. It looked like some sort of metal. I crawled over to take a closer look, and found a sharp, shining sword laying there. I picked it up and looked at it. I wondered what a sword, this beautiful, was doing here, in this forest. Before I had a chance to give it any further thought I heard a loud grin from the treetops, and as I looked up, another one of the creatures jumped down towards me. I only just rolled out of its way, and stumbled to my feet, still gripping the sword. The creature jumped at me, still laughing, and claws first. I swung the sword and cleaved the creature in half, stopping the grinning. But I didn’t get time to gather my thoughts before another one lunged at me from behind. I turned around, swinging the sword with all my strength, but this time I struck metal. This creature was wielding a sword as well. I swung again and again, but it kept blocking my attacks, grinning all the time. We fought back and forth for a good few minutes before I finally managed to drive my blade through its pale, bony body. Once again, I was alone. But not for long. I could hear more of the creatures creeping nearer, laughing insanely. I started running again. I ran and ran for, God knows, how long, before suddenly exiting the forest. Out of the forest there was only about twenty yards of grass, before the ground just ended. I ran to the very edge and looked down at nothing. The light blue sky just continued around the ground, and beneath it. I backed away from the edge, scared and confused. I heard another grin, and only just dodged the creature jumping towards me. It continued over the edge, still laughing. I could hear the crazy laugh for a while, as the creature fell. It didn’t sound like it landed, but at least it didn’t seem to be able to fly either, making me wonder what the wings were for.

I looked along the edge, to see if it ever ended, but it seemed to go on, in a small bend, until it disappeared behind the forest, far away. I looked back at the trees and heard more laughter. I didn’t wait to see how many of them were coming, I just started running, along the edge, as fast as my legs would carry me. I ran for hours, only stopping when one of the creatures jumped me from the forest, and I had to fight it off. There was barely any time to rest at any given time. I was constantly tired, but never grew hungry, or needed to sleep.

It continued like this for what felt like days, even though the sun never went down. Actually, the sun never went anywhere. It seemed to be stuck in the same place, at all times. I was about to lose hope of ever finding out what was going on, when I saw something laying in the grass further ahead. It looked like a small person or something, but it didn’t move. As I got close, I realized that it was one of the creatures. Dead. I had killed it. I was certain that this was one of the creatures I had killed on my path. At first, I was confused, and didn’t understand. Then it dawned on me that I had made a full circle. This whole area was one large, round, floating island.

There were no creatures to be seen around here. Live ones anyways. So, I sad in the grass, trying to understand this for a while. Then I decided to explore the forest further. I got up and started running straight into the forest. It wasn’t long before the creatures were on every side of me, and I had to fight them more often. They seemed to be spawning somewhere in the forest. I couldn’t tell where though. I had lost all sense of time at this point, but I kept running and fighting, running and fighting, running and fighting. Until I reached a large clearing. A perfect circle with no trees, and a person standing in the middle. I couldn’t hear the creatures at all here, and my confusion was greater than ever. I lifted the sword and ran towards the person. Didn’t feel like trusting them. When I was about halfway, I heard a voice. Maybe in my head, maybe from the forest. I wasn’t sure. It was like the sound was everywhere. A single word: ‘stop’. So I did. I didn’t mean to, but I did. Then I dropped the sword and fell to my knees. It took me a while to be able to speak, I was so exhausted, and my mouth dry. When I finally could speak, I only asked a simple enough questing:

“Where am I?”, my voice trembling a little.

“You are in the forest”, the voice answered calmly. I didn’t laugh. I tried again.

“Who are you? What is this place?”. My voice was regaining its strength. The person in the clearing turned to me and spoke in the softest voice.

“I am Me, and this place is my creation, like everything else”. She didn’t exactly clear things up this time either.

“You are going to have to explain that a little clearer. I have no clue what you are talking about. How do I get out of here?”. She calmly looked at me with her beautiful eyes.

“I have many names. I am Me, and I am You. I am everybody, and nobody. I am the father and the mother. I am the creator and the destroyer. I bring life and I take life away. I am God”.

What followed was five seconds of awkward silence. Then she continued.

“This forest has many names as well. Some call it Jannah. Others Valhalla. Some call it Heaven, but I have heard you refer to it as Paradise. The eternal Garden of Eden”.

I was about to speak again, but she raised her hand, and I stayed silent, as she spoke again.

“To answer your last question, there is only one way to leave Paradise. But is that truly what you want?”.

I didn’t think twice about it, before answering.

“Yes, please, if this is Paradise, I defiantly don’t want it. I want out!”.

She was silent for a few seconds. I thought I saw compassion, or even pity in her eyes.

“So be it. You will have you wish”. She disappeared. Gone into thin air, leaving me in the forest.

I got up and was about to yell something angry about her promising to let me out, but before I spoke a word, the sky fell dark. For the first time since I got here, it was dark. I looked at the sky, confused. Then I heard a sound from the forest and looked towards it. But the forest was no longer light and beautiful. It had gone dark as well. The trees seemed older and worn by time. There were black shadows in the forest now. I only just realized that even with the large trees, the light forest had no shadows at all. Now it was so dark I could barely see between the trees. Even the grass and moss had turned dark, like it was withering in the night. I started to feel hungry, as a laugh came from the forest. It was a new laugh though. The creatures in the light forest had a high pitch, fast, crazy laugh. Whatever resided in this darkness had a deep, slow, and controlled laugh. I took a good hold of my sword and waited for the creature to come out. And it did. And it was not small and white. What came out of the forest now was about eight feet tall, muscular, and dark skinned. And it didn’t have wings on its back. Instead, it had horns on its forehead. And it was wielding a large, dark sword. I realized I had made my whish just a little to rash. I knew now where I was, and why God had had pity in her eyes. If the light forest was Jannah, Valhalla, Heaven or Paradise, this would be Jahannam, Niflheim or simply, Hell. And unlike God, it is unlikely that Lucifer will grant me any wishes, should I ever manage to find him.

Written 16/06-2016

The International Council of Astral Reconnaissance and Unification in Space, also known as ICARUS, has been working round the clock since the data from the latest solar scanners came back. No one knows what to make of it, but everyone agrees that there must be some mistake. ICARUS is the largest international cooperation in history. It was formed after a series of events on earth suggested that everything, we knew about the sun, was completely wrong. The Council was founded with the purpose to find new ways to explore the sun and all its secrets. After several years of scanning the sun and trying to predict sun storms, solar flares and black spots, the results are finally in. The latest generation of highly technology advanced scanning probes have generated a report on the status of the sun. The only problem is that the report cannot possibly be true. It clearly states that the sun is decaying much faster than what was ever before predicted. But more importantly it states that the behaviour of the sun can be predicted, not just enough to help earth, but with 100 % accuracy down to the millisecond. It was always the general consensus that the sun, and all other stars for that matter, would be unpredictable to some extend, due to the nature of fire and dynamic, natural events. But the report from the latest scanning is conclusively proving the opposite and includes an algorithm to predict any and all events occurring on the sun. The discussion now is, weather that is possible with any natural phenomenon, and the answer from all scientists, is no. We cannot even predict our own weather, or the tides of the ocean with that precision. This has led to a range of theories on what is controlling the sun, and if it is mechanical or technological in any way.

To further explore this, a team of highly trained astronauts have been put together to go on the first manned mission to the sun. Just a few decades ago the idea of even flying close to the sun was completely unheard of. Now the Council is discussing weather the solar mission should attempt to land on it. The team of astronauts has been carefully selected for the mission, but given the nature and risks of the mission, they have not been allowed to use their real names, since they were invited to the mission. Every member of the team is referred to by the name Icarus, and a number.

Icarus 1 is the mission commander, who is responsible for the overall success of the mission. Icarus 2 is a communications engineer. His task is to keep a live feed back to NASA. Icarus 3 is the weapons and technology officer. He makes sure the team has any gear they need for whatever they face on the mission. The last member, Icarus 4 is a biologist with expertise in foreign flora and fauna, as well as classification of new species. The entire team has been isolated in a training facility for almost two and a half years leading up to this mission.

When everything is ready the mission and the team are prepared, and the spaceship is launched from the International Space Station, on course to the sun. With state-of-the-art booster technology and an AI pilot the craft reaches a low solar orbit in just a few days. The first part of the mission is to survey the surface of the sun from orbit in an attempt to figure out if the surface is solid, and if so, if there is a suitable landing site. It is quickly confirmed that the surface is solid, but in spite of that it is constantly moving, like sand dunes, shifting in a strong wind. Only the sun surface is moving much faster. As the team survey the surface further, they come across several small spots that have a different texture and are significantly darker. They confirm that these areas correspond to the coordinates of the dark spots that have been observed from earth. Eventually though, the craft moves around the sun, to where it cannot be observed from earth, as the sun is rotating to always have the same side facing earth. After about seven hours the team spots an area that looks like the other dark spots they have observed, but with a much larger diameter. As they grow closer it seems like there are different colours on the ground, and what looks like structures. They don’t hesitate long, but decide to set the craft down, when they get to the area.

After a smooth landing the team exits the craft and start moving over the completely blackened ground. It looks and feels like solid rock but is black as coal. The entire team is in awe, not just about walking on the sun, but a few hundred meters away from the landing zone, there is a house. It is a big white house, with a black roof, a porch, and a small balcony on the first floor. In front of the house is a lawn, with a small fountain, spewing a slow-moving green liquid, and around the lawn is a white picket fence, with a gate facing the team.

The commander, 1, walks in front of the rest of the team. Right behind him is 3, the technology officer, with a fancy tool for measuring air pressure, toxins, radiation, and roughly 800 other parameters. After a while 3 stops and calls 1. “If my measurements are correct, and they usually are, the air here is perfectly breathable. We can take of the helmets, and we will be perfectly fine.”

The commander looks back at him, sceptically. “No. That’s too dangerous. There could be things in the air we don’t know to measure for. Helmets stay on.” Unfortunately, 3 was never one for following orders, or even waiting for them to be given. His helmet is already off. “Well, commander, it seems fine. Smell kind of funny though.” The commander is shaking his head, but soon the rest of the team remove their helmets as well, before moving on towards the house.

As they enter the front lawn, they notice the grass has a slightly bluish tint to it that you don’t see on earth. 3 is taking samples from the fountain and the grass and the other are preparing to go into the house.

As they enter, they find themselves in a large hall leading to a living room. Everything seems eerily like a regular house you could have found back on earth, only everything feels a little off. The colour of the leather-ish couch is a little off and the smells are not quite earth-like. As the team explores the house, they find it to be very similar to a large suburban family home. It has bathrooms, an office, and bedrooms.

As 4, the biologist, opens a door to a room, he finds what looks like a little girls’ room, decorated with pillows and bright colours. And at a small writing desk under the windows, sits a young girl, with her back to the door. As it opens, she turns around to face 4. “Hi. Do you know anything about trees?”. 4 is completely baffled by finding a girl, or any lifeform in fact, on the sun. It takes him a few seconds to find the words to answer her question. “Uhm. Yes, I know quite a lot about trees and plants. But who are you? How did you get here?”. He speaks as he is slowly moving closer to the girl. She has long brown hair, gathered in a ponytail. Her eyes are a deep blue, and she has little dimples when she smiles. Suddenly she jumps out of her chair and walks up to 4. “I’m Maggie. I live here.” She extends her hand and 4 hesitantly sakes it.

“Come on then, we need to go plant a tree”. She walks past him out to the hallway, and as 4 follows they are met by the rest of the team, coming around the corner. Everyone freezes in their tracks. At first the team is confused, but after quick introductions, they all go outside to the large garden behind the house.

At the far side of the garden, they find a small tree in a pot, standing on the grass. Next to it is a spade, and Maggie explains that she needs help digging a hole for the tree and planting it safely. The team decides to split up again. 4 is helping Maggie with the tree, as the rest of the team explores the large, gorgeous garden and all the different plants, trees, and flowers.

While they all work, 4 decides to try to get to learn more about Maggie. “I have got to ask you this, and it might seem a bit strange, so please bear with me. Are you human? Or are you an alien?”. Maggie looks at him with her big, beautiful eyes. “Of course, I’m not human. That would be weird. But I’m also not an alien. Technically, you are the aliens here. Even though you are also humans”. 4 has to think about this for a while, but in the end, he realizes it makes perfect sense.

“All right. So, do you live here on your own, or with your parents or something?”. Maggie glances towards the back of the garden. She looks a bit worried. “There are no other people that live here. But I’m also not living alone exactly. The little helpers are here too. I’m sure you will meet them soon enough.”

4 is just about to ask another question about the little helpers, when the rest of the team come running around a corner. They all hold weapons and scream at 4 and Maggie to get back in the house. They all run to the house as about fifty robots on wheels follow them, shooting at them the entire time. As soon as the team get into the house and lock the doors, the robots drop the pursuit, but they keep roaming around the garden, as if patrolling it for other intruders.

Maggie is hiding behind the couch in the living room with 4. “Now you met the little helpers. They protect the garden from outsiders. Only they also attack me when I try to do garden work. Look.” She pulls up her shirt to reveal a small scar on her pale belly skin. “They almost got me a while back. Still hurts sometimes. They don’t like it when I dig in the grass or flowerbeds. I wish I could set them to passive mode, but I don’t know how to use the panel.”

3, the technology officer, joins them behind the couch. “Hi. What panel is that exactly? Like a control panel?”. Maggie looks up at him and nods. “Yes. In the basement. The panel controls everything here. I think something is wrong with it though. There’s a red button that has been flashing for quite some time now.”

3 grabs Maggie’s hand and pulls her on her feet. “Show me the basement!” he says enthusiastically. The team and Maggie run through the house and soon find the stairs down to the basement. It is a large rectangular room with concrete walls, and nothing in it, but a massive control panel in the centre. The panels have hundreds of buttons in various colours and almost as many switches and knobs. 3 immediately starts pressing buttons and hooking up some of his own gear to the panel interfaces. After a few minutes the panel plays a loud beep and 3 cheers. “Yes! I cracked it. There is a damaged flash sector that forces one of the protocols into a constant boot-loop, making the gravitational vectors unstable.” The rest of the team stares at him confused and he realizes they don’t understand tech talk. “The sun is a computer and some of the software is not starting. That makes the rest of the software malfunction, and that is the abnormalities we have seen on earth. A quick reboot of the control software. Hold on.” The team stares at 3, patiently. “There we go. The sector is repaired, the protocol is booting properly, and the software is automatically correcting the rest of the errors caused by this. We saved earth! Also, I set the defence system to recon and report only. So, the garden robots will be much friendlier now. No more shooting little girls.” He smiles at Maggie, and she smiles back at him.

Back in the garden, Maggie and 4 help each other finish planting the tree. Even though they don’t know each other, they have grown quite close over the last few hours. But now it is almost time that the team must leave, to return to earth. They have all gone out to the spaceship, and the team is preparing for launch, while 4 and Maggie says their goodbyes.

“I’ll see you soon, right?” she smiles and looks around at him. He looks her in the eyes as his smile fades a little. “Maggie, you know where you live. We can’t come here again. This was a one-time mission”. She looks up at the spaceship and then at 4 again. “Oh. Ok, I just thought you would come visit sometimes.” She seems sad. 4 squads in front of her and opens his arms for a hug. Maggie immediately wraps her small arms around him. “I’ll miss you.”

Written 20/02-2021

I don’t know if I should go home or go and see if she is in the park, walking the dog. I do know I don’t want to go home, so does it really matter what the right choice is?

I decide to go for a walk. Weather she is there or not, I need the exercise. It isn’t long before I meet her though. She is out walking the dog, just like I hoped. She seems happy to see me for some reason. I’m very happy to see her as well, of course. The difference is she is a good person, who anyone should be happy to meet. I am not.

She opens her arms as we walk towards each other. Apparently, she likes me enough to want a hug still. She must not understand what I am. I smile and hug her tightly like she deserves. It is nice holding such a graceful creature in my arms, feeling her small warm body and long soft hair.

For a while we walk through the park and talk about everything and nothing. She tells me about her day, and I listen and offer my two cents when needed. As we get closer to the end of the park, the dog starts to seem more alert, like something is coming our way. When we are a few hundred meters away from the entrance of the park, two people turn the corner. She stops dead in her tracks and grabs my arm tightly.

“Dragons!” she whispers through her teeth. I don’t understand. They look like people to me.

“Don’t look at them! Just keep walking”. She starts walking again and drags me along. I can feel her pulse pounding through her fingers where she is holding my arm. The dog is hiding her tail between the hind legs, and she is walking very close to us. I follow along, making sure not to look at the people as we pass them. She looks up and nods at them, and they greet us politely. After a few feet she finally let go of my arm and takes a deep breath.

“That was close. I’ve never seen dragons out at this time a day. I thought they were under strict curfew”. I look at her sceptically. “I’m sure they aren’t dragons though. They are just people”.

She rolls her eyes at me; “You don’t get it because you can’t really see them. I can, and they are definitely dragons”. I guess she knows best, so I leave it at that. We don’t talk much for a while after that, but eventually the conversation starts back up, and once again we can talk comfortably. I really enjoy her company. It is by far, the best thing to happen to my day. Hell, seeing her even for a few minutes is the highlight of my week.

We are passing my apartment, but I offer to walk her home, and she accepts. For some reason she seems to enjoy my company almost as much as I enjoy hers.

We are about halfway to her house when the same two people from before, show up from a small side road. They must have gone all the way through the park as we went around it. Once again, she and the dog grow tense and freeze on the spot. The two people turn away from us, only fifty feet away. They don’t seem to have noticed us at all. We start walking slowly, as we are all going the same way. I can feel she is nervous. Fearing that they will turn around and see us. She is barely breathing and every time one of the people in front of us turns their head even slightly, she squeezes my arm again. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was ready to jump into the bushes to hide, if one of the people turned all the way around.

Eventually they turn down a small dirt road, leading them away from us, and once again she seems to relax a little.

Five minutes later we reach her home. I tell her I don’t want to go home, and she jokes that she can walk me home if I like. Only catch is I would have to walk her home after. Honestly, I would have loved walking with her all night, talking, joking, and hiding from dragons apparently. But she needs to get home to her family. We hug again. I press her in tightly and I never want to let go. When I finally do, I have to fight to master a smile for her. I don’t want her to go, but I can’t let her know just how badly I want to stay with her. We say our goodbyes, and she goes inside. For a few minutes I stand there silently watching the small house wishing I could go in there with her. Then I walk off, trying to find my way home. I’m not too familiar with the area here, but I guess I can find my way all the same. I take a detour home, just to stretch the time. I really don’t want to go home.

After a few minutes I get a text from her. She says thank you for the cosy walk, and I text her back, telling her how much I enjoyed it too. Although I can’t tell her exactly how much she means to me, I try to let her know that I do appreciate the time we spend together.

When I reach my apartment, I still don’t want to go inside. I know nothing good is awaiting me in there. Nothing bad either. Nothing is in the apartment really. Only my own loneliness.

I’m in the apartment, staring into the mirror. All I see is a hideous dragon, and I wonder, how can she be afraid of dragons, and still see a nice, friendly person in me, when I am in fact the worst of them?

Written 19/08-2021

For centuries we have simply accepted that dragons are one of the few constants in an ever-changing world. We have learned to live with them always being close. Always being a threat. Our houses have been fortified to withstand the strong jaws and claws of the humongous creatures. Our livestock are under constant guard. Our children can only play inside the village walls. We all know that the dragons could easily break through the village perimeters if they decided to do so, but we have defended ourselves so well that they have stopped trying. We have managed to be too much work compared to our nutritional value. To keep this relative peaceful state, we send out a few sheep or cattle every so often, to wander away from the village. We assume the dragons take them eventually, but we have no way of knowing for sure. A few brave souls have tried their luck hunting the beasts, but all who have tried, have been unsuccessful. Only a few have even returned from dragon hunts, and those who do have either seen no dragons at all or have spotted one too big to hunt. When I was just a boy, I dreamed of being a great dragon hunter one day. As did most of my friends. We would spend hours on end telling the tall tales of how we would slay or trap the dragons when we grew up. Some said they would train so hard they could kill a dragon with their bare hands. Others would come up with elaborate trap designs or awesome weaponry. It goes for every last one of us that we grew up to be men, smart enough not to try our luck hunting those, seemingly unkillable monsters.

For the last few months, I and a team of craftsmen have been working on a new defence weapon. It is a larger version of a ballista, that can fire a six-foot-long bolt at a much steeper angle than what we have ever had before. Our hope is that any dragon flying too close to, or even over, our village will be persuaded to find other hunting grounds, after we hit it with one of the bolts. We have set up three of these contraptions at strategic locations in the village. Between the three, we should be able to hit a dragon anywhere over the village, as well as a far way outside it. We haven’t seen dragons near the village in over a year, which is odd since we traditionally get one or two dragons visiting each year. Some say the dragons have finally moved away, so we are safe. Others think they died out. But most of us believe we have just managed to keep them fed enough with our sheep offerings that they didn’t need to go looking for food near the village. And if we, the sceptics, are right, what happens when the dragons realize we have even more food inside the village? Or when they grow so much in numbers that the livestock, we send out is no longer enough?

We can’t afford sending more resources into the dragons’ den and getting nothing in return. Our only option is to fortify and defend when the dragons come. And sure enough, only a few days after the new ballista’s are installed, the horn from the southern outpost echoes over the village. Most people know exactly what to do, and the rest figures it out in a matter of seconds. Everyone scrambles to get inside their houses. People gather up their children, husbands and wives, pets and smaller livestock and barricades themselves. Only a few of us stay outside. We are the ones tasked with manning the defences, trying to keep the dragons at bay. I man one of the large ballista’s just as the shadow glides over the village. It seems to be a young dragon. A male about thirty or so feet long. It has dark grey-green scales covering its entire body and a set of black horns on its head. The neck is as long as the tail and its wingspan is as wide as it is long. It has short thick legs, that seem mostly useless as the creature flies over the village, but it is said that the grip strength of the feet will easily squeeze the life out of any man.

The dragon does a great big turn over the village and before I have a chance to aim my ballista properly, a bolt from one of the other ballista’s emerge from behind a row of houses. The large wooden pole soars through the air with incredible speed and hits the creature on the belly. The tip of the bolt splinters against the large, armoured scales of the monster and the remains of the bolt fall to the ground. The dragon turns its head to see what attacked it and lets out an ear-ripping screech. It sounds almost like a sword getting dragged sideways over a large steel plate. Only much louder. The sound is terrifying, and I find myself covering behind the ballista, even though the dragon is nowhere near me.

As the dragon turns to the right to investigate the origin of the attack, I notice something strange on its side, not far behind the left wing. It looks like a large open wound where the scales have been peeled off to reveal the flesh underneath. The dragon has spotted the ballista that fired the first bolt, and it is now circling the area, preparing for its own attack. I take aim and when it turns the left side to me again, I fire my ballista with great precision. The bolt soars through the air for only a second, before boring into the flesh of the creature. The bolt sinks in deep and the dragon screams more bone chilling than before. It flaps its wings frantically and seemingly uncontrolled, as it tumbles towards the ground. It crashlands near the town square with a loud thump and lays still on the ground. I stand frozen for several seconds, half expecting the dragon to jump up and start ripping the houses apart around it. But it doesn’t. When I finally run to the dragon, the rest of the defence squad shows up almost at the same time. They have brought swords and spears, in case the monster turns out to be alive still, but we quickly determine, it is dead. Its eyes are still open, but they are fixed and seem almost unreal or glass-like. For a few minutes we keep our distance to the creature and poke at it with long spears, still expecting it to jump up and eat us. After thoroughly determining that the dragon is actually, properly dead, we decide to go closer and inspect it. None of us have ever seen a dragon this close before. No one in the village has ever seen a dragon dead before. Now we have one lying on the ground, right in front of us.

I examine the place I hit the creature with the bolt. I was correct in my assumptions. There is a big open gash where the scales seem to have been ripped off. I managed to hit it right in the only spot where it was not protected by the armour it usually caries. What is more interesting though is the marks on the scales around the wound. Long deep scratch marks made by a claw significantly larger than the dragons own and obviously stronger than the dragon scales. The same dragon scales that we have always believed to be impenetrable.

We discus for a while what could have made these marks on a dragon and a few theories are presented. The most common aspect of most of the theories is that the dragon has been in a fight, but that doesn’t add up to me. First of all, if a dragon fights another dragon, it doesn’t get away alive unless it wins and that seems unlikely, given the size of the opponent. Second of all, if it had been a fight, the front of the body, the neck, the head and the front legs would have been mostly exposed. But this wound is on the back half of the body, behind the wing. To me it looks more like a wound of someone trying to escape an attacker. Which leads to the question: Who, or rather what, attacks dragons?

Unfortunately, we don’t have much time to discuss the matter. While we are talking the horn echoes again from the south. Another dragon is on the way here. Just as we are all about to set off to man our posts the horn sounds again. And again. We look at each other confused. Dragons mostly fly alone. To see more than one dragon in a day is highly unlikely, but if the guard at the outpost is correct a whole horde of them is heading towards the village. Even if they all have wounds like the one, we just downed, three ballistas are not going to save us now. We have all frozen in our place and are staring to the sky in the south, nervously awaiting what may come through the clouds.

Before long the dragons start pouring through the cloud cover. There are more of them than we had feared. Literally hundreds of dragons are filling the sky, and in a few seconds, they start blocking out the low hanging sun. We can’t do anything but watch the creatures fly closer and closer. Without even talking about it, we all agree that we must accept this to be our last day living on this brown soil. Then the first dragons cross over the village walls but they don’t slow down. In fact, they don’t seem to notice the village at all, and before long they cross the wall to the north and fly away from the village. The rest of the flock follow the same path straight over the village, without even looking down.

One of the other men mention that the dragons fly almost like a flock of birds scared away from their tree by a predator. I’m still looking towards the sky in the south. Nervously waiting to see what creature has scared the dragons from their tree.

Written 26/02-2021

The last light has faded away and the full moon is shining bright over the city. I am about ready to start preparing to go to bed. I fold the newspaper and throw it casually on the dining table.

I go into the garage to check that the door is properly locked. I check the camera as well. It is important that the camera lens is clean, and that the camera is pointing at the garage door at the right angle so that it also captures the door leading into the house. Everything is good in the garage, as always. Next is the patio and back door. The patio needs to be lit by the small lamps on the house wall, the door needs to be locked and bolted, and the camera needs to see the whole backyard and the backdoor. All seems good here too. I do my round to check all the downstairs windows. They are all closed and hasped. I go to the front porch to check the lights here as well. The porch is well lit, and the camera is on, and pointing in the right direction, capturing the entire front yard. I lock the front door and secure the sliding locks. I also arm the security system so I will be alerted if anyone tries to enter the house. I take my final round downstairs, to doublecheck that I haven’t forgotten anything.

It is now time to go upstairs. I leave the lights on in the kitchen, dining room and hallways downstairs. The security cameras easily produce a full high-definition image, but they need proper lighting. I take my round on the first floor as well, checking that the windows are all securely locked. When I am confident that the house is secured, I go to the bedroom and pull the door almost closed. I like to keep the bedroom door ajar, just a tiny crack, so I can hear any noise from the house. Most nights the only thing I hear is the creaking of the old house settling, though.

I make the bed and turn on the security monitors. I like checking that all cameras are broadcasting a clear image before going to bed. I only have two monitors for the time being, so they cycle through the camera feeds on a loop. It takes about two minutes to see the whole house. I leave the monitors on, while putting on my pyjamas and finding my book.

When I glance over at the monitors, one of them is showing the feed from the kitchen, and for a second, I could have sworn there was someone there. Before I get a proper look at the image, it changes to the next camera. I practically leap to the table and grab the remote to turn the monitor back to the previous camera feed. When the image from the kitchen comes back on the monitor, I study it intensely. But there is nothing there. I look for shadows or something out of place. An open cabinet, a window ajar, anything to suggest something is not right. But I see nothing. I must have imagined it. I sigh deeply and shake my head. Just as I am about to turn around and go to bed, the light on the other monitor flickers. It is the feed from the garage. I freeze in place and stare at the monitor, but again there is nothing to see. Everything is exactly as it is supposed to be. I back away slowly and sit on the edge of the bed staring at the monitors as they flip through the feeds. There is nothing out of the ordinary on any of the cameras. Yet I still keep staring at the monitors for a long time, just to be sure. After almost thirty minutes another light flickers. This time it is in the kitchen. Shortly after that, the light in the hallway flickers as well. I am now sure something is off. I reach under the bed and pull out my aluminium bat, and a small black box. I put them both on the bed and open the box. The taser is neatly packed in foam, and the battery is ready and charged. I take it out and put it next to the bat. Just in case.

I turn my attention back to the monitors. If anyone is in the house, they must show up on one of the cameras eventually. I wait patiently for several minutes before the light in the hallway, by the stairs flickers again. This time it seems to be more persistent. Like the light can’t properly recover. I change the monitors to be fixed on the camera pointing down from the top of the stairs, and the one in the hallway, covering the bottom of the stairs. The lights in the hall flicker, still, and before long the flickering spreads to the staircase lights. Then a shadow brushes over the hallway camera. I can’t tell what it was, but it didn’t look like a person. I hear a creak from the bottom steps of the stairs and instinctively look towards the bedroom door where the sound came from. When I look back at the monitors the staircase light has turned off altogether, and only blink once every few seconds. There is definitely something on the stairs now. At first it looks like a big shadow, but as I see it a few times in the tiny flashes of light I can start to make out a shape. It seems to have short, thin legs, but a significantly wider upper body. Its head seems to be more animal than man, but not quite an animal I have ever seen before. It has large horns like a wildebeest or a highland cow. The entire body is covered in what looks like dark brown fur. Although it is only about a meter high, the mysterious creature is freaking me out. It hasn’t set off the alarms, and it doesn’t seem to be wild or rampant. It moves almost like a person would and it is making its way up the stairs. Slowly but surely, it is coming for me.

I am trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever horror this creature has in store for me, but how do you prepare for a monster crawling up your stairs, really?

Just a few more steps and it will be at my bedroom door. Then it slips. On the very last step on the stairs, it misses the step by an inch and abruptly tumble down the stairs. I see the monster on the monitor, rolling down the long, unforgiving staircase. At the same time, I can hear every bump and thump through my bedroom door. I stare in awe. My eyes are opened wider than they have ever been before, and my jaw has dropped halfway to the floor. The noises stop as the monster comes to a rest on the hallway floor in front of the stairs. The camera isn’t too good at this distance, and the hallway camera downstairs can’t get a good angle on the creature. The lights are mostly back on, but still with some flickering, making it impossible to see the monster properly. The house is completely quiet for several long seconds. Then I hear a faint whimpering from downstairs. Based on what I hear and what I see on the monitor, I think the monster is crying. I can’t believe what just happened. I get up from the bed and slowly go the bedroom door and push it open. I carefully move to the top of the staircase where I stop and look down at the creature lying on the floor.

I stand there staring down the stairs for several long seconds before gently calling out to the creature. “Are you OK?”.

Written 23/02-2021