Short dress, big chest, freckled cheeks. She’s almost too pure.

“Thanks again for the ride, mister.”

I’ll be damned if this hitch-hiker is a day over eighteen. She’s fluttering her baby blue eyes in my direction.

It’ll all be over soon. Keep calm.

“Not a problem,” I lie.

She crosses her long legs, flashing up a wink of black lace.


The engine revs.

Just make it quick.

“Say, mist-”

By the time I turn the passenger seat is empty, stained black leather stretching back into its usual form.

I lean forward and gently tap the dash. “Feel better now?”


A cold, quiet domicile. Perfect.

Then, sirens. Sounds. Painful, unwanted noise.

They scream, panic. Usually at my hands. Today, something else.

A growl, slowly building. I sense it.

They hide on the second floor. Watch from windows. I lurk, unseen, silent.

Sirens drowned out. Now, only a roar.

They see it. A rising carpet of blue and black. They hug, pray, whisper. I simply watch. For a moment, the warmth of normality.

But the blue rises.

And rises.

And swallows.

Soon, the domicile is gone. So are they. Their screams washed down.

I drift away. Searching for somewhere new to rest.


Wednesday 18

Not a good day. Trapper sick.

Thursday 19

Trapper worse. Overheard Daddy say he’ll have to “deal with him.” He thinks it’s the Infection. Mom agreed.

Friday 20

Saw Mom stroking Trapper and crying. I snuck out of my room earlier and said goodbye to him myself. He just led there.

Saturday 21

Trapper is gone. Daddy took him into the backyard and then came back in shaking. Mom hugged him but I ran upstairs.

Sunday 22

Daddy is sick. Mom’s crying.

Monday 23

Mom says we’re leaving. I’m packing now.

Tuesday 24

Daddy is dead. Mom won’t say what happened. We’re going to Aunt Ruth’s.


Short red dress, long auburn hair, tight creamy thighs; she stood out from the rest. He pulled over.

“Chessels, please.” Her voice was soft, careful. She slid inside.

Mirror adjusted, he watched her, red dress riding all the way up.

“I do believe you plan on raping me.”

His body stiffened. “I’m-”

“Except, you will not. You see, if you were like me, you would already know what was soon to occur. And, importantly, who I was.”

A half-formed realisation was blasted from his consciousness. Pink and red painted glass.

A short roll and a sudden stop later, she was gone.


The winter chill bit hard. John tightened his scarf and rushed Megan out of the front door. The garage spotlight, long-since on the blink, fought valiantly against the dark.

John slammed the door behind Megan as she slid onto the back seat. He climbed into the car himself and turned the ignition.


He took a short breath, then tried again.

Not even a splutter.

“It’s fine, dear. It’s fine.” He almost believed it himself.

She shifted behind him.

“Daddy,” Megan whispered softly. She hadn’t called him that since the day Andrea died.


“There’s a man sat next to me.”

The Purge

It was always quiet at the end.

Most of the humans had already perished. Mother Nature, as they’d naively called it, had taken care of that. They had no idea who had been pulling the strings all these years.

There were survivors, sure. They had proven to be a stubborn species, the humans. But even the strongest of them would cease to exist after what would happen next.

Jacob listened to their voices, quiet whispers and final, desperate prayers from across the planet. Despite his apathy, he’d learned to cherish them.

After all, he wouldn’t hear any again for a millennia.

The Wild, Limited

“You’re only as good as the creature you hunt.”

My father, three days before he was slain. I was nine.

Forty years on and things have changed. The War left nothing to hunt.

So I created my own wild. The pitting of man against the deadliest creatures to have ever walked this earth. Any beast, past or ancient past.

Science, eh.

Now, man is hunting again. Winning. One man in particular. Marshall Marcus. He’s rich and he’s deadly. And he’s killed everything I have to offer.

Well, almost.

After all, it’s been a while since I’ve been out in the wild.


The Devil will end you, the Devil will end you, the Devil will end you.

Jane whispered slowly, as instructed.

She stared at the candle-lit photo on the table in front of her, as instructed. She focused on his cheating face.

She waited.

“You’ll know if it has worked, dear,” the shopkeeper had told her.


Jane closed her eyes. “The devil will end you, Max Haggins.”

Not as instructed.

A sharp pain shot through her stomach and everything went warm. Her limp body was raised up from the floor. A cold whisper trickled into her ear.

The Devil ends you.

A Dying Nightmare

Admittedly, it’s been a while. There are reasons, some strong, some weak. But alas, less about me! Here’s a thing:

A Dying Nightmare

You only work when they’re sleeping.

Silently whispered from the moment of my inception. The unwritten Rule governing my entire way of being.

Am I a being?

He is. My creator, my host, my warden. He knows not, but he’s the reason I am here and the reason I will soon fade away.

I don’t breathe, yet I’m suffocating. Thirteen days trapped neither here nor there. In the Inbetween. Thirteen sleepless nights. Insomnia they call it.

I need for him to let me do my work. I can’t hold on much longer.

Will I break the unwritten Rule? I’m considering it.

The Last of Us

I remember awaking to the sound of lightning. But to say the sound was ominous would be to falsely claim the foresight for which I so sadly lack. If I had, could I have saved them?

I sit here eating beans from a can. Hunger pays no attention to God. God pays no attention to anything anymore. His decrepit creation is abandonment and anger wrapped in darkness and silence. Their screams have long-since ceased to be echoes.

They titled me immortal. We’re about to test this claim. When the earth is nothing but ash and bone, what purpose do I serve?