The door bursts open and slams against the wall violently, putting yet another dent in your rent-controlled apartment. You resist the urge to roll your eyes when you see who’s standing in the doorway, looking pissed.

“What the fuck, Chris?” Damien shouts, red eyes narrowed to slits.

You sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew this was coming. “Now, before you get started, just listen for a-“

“No! Fuck you and your ‘conflict resolution’!” Damien hisses, punctuating his words with air quotes. He stomps into your shared living room and points an accusatory finger at your chest, his sharp claw worrying close to you.

“You killed my brother’s fiancée! You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You knew how excited I was to be an uncle!”

You curl into yourself a little, biting the inside of your cheek. Your boss told you to make sure to prevent vampire reproduction wherever you could, so when you heard that Damien’s brother was trying for a kid…

“Look, man, I’m sorry. I really am; but you know how Church is. If I don’t bring him results, I don’t get paid, and I’m already hard on cash.”

Damien scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His red-eyed glare could probably burn through titanium, judging by how harshly your feel it burning through you. You can’t find it in yourself to look him in the face.

Eventually, after a few tense minutes pass, Damien sighs.

“She was kind of a bitch anyway.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Yeah. She tried to sell out your brother instead.”

Damien’s mouth falls open in disbelief “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“That bitch!”

You nod, standing up from the couch and finally looking Damien in the face. “Sorry about your brother’s loss, though. Really.”

“Oh, please. This is the fourth fiancée he’s gone through in the past two hundred years,” Damien says, waving one hand dismissively at you. “He’ll get over it. He always does.”

You clear your throat, scratching the back of your neck in a nervous tick that you’ve never managed to grow out of. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“So…” Damien starts, drawing out the word for a while.

“Yeah?”

“Can we call it even for when I killed your aunt?” he offers, giving a crooked grin. You look down to see he’s extended a clawed hand to you. After a moment, you chuckle, reaching down to take it.

“Alright. We’ll call it even. …For now.”

Adam wasn’t my first choice for a room mate. Hell, in this city, he wasn’t exactly my last either - but was closer to that end of the spectrum.

I suppose it was my fault for not doing my due diligence in staking out the owner of the room I was going to rent, but I’d just gotten evicted and was kind of emotional.

Besides, I could handle myself.

Adam didn’t ask why I was evicted, in fact we barely spoke. I’d just received a text with directions and was told a key was behind the porch light. My room was open and waiting for me when I got there.

The house was dark, all the windows covered, but I was in a hurry and didn’t bother opening them as I went back and forth from the cab that took me here.

I had thought the house was empty, so I didn’t mind blasting music while I arranged my new living space. Then at around 9 pm he came out of the room adjacent to mine, face skewed in a tired frown. And I knew this was going to be a problem.

Not just because I had just made a horrible first impression, but because he was damn handsome. Tall, clearly built but lean like an athlete. He had a strong jaw and tall nose, but I couldn’t see his eyes under the sunglasses he wore. His hair was either pale blonde or white, it was difficult to tell in the fluorescent light of the hallway. Either way it was striking.

I felt like a stupid little schoolgirl just gawking at him before I remembered what to do with my face.

“Hi, I’m Sarah. Sorry, I thought nobody was home.” I extended a hand.

He just stared at it, at least I think he did. Hard to tell with the glasses. Blue blockers? Maybe he gets migraines. He didn’t say anything as he moved to the kitchen.

“I work nights.” He said, and I heard shuffling around in the fridge. “I sleep during the day. I’d appreciate it if you kept the noise down.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

You’d think he would have mentioned that in the advertisement. But I let the frosty introduction roll off my back and headed to my room. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you.” I shouted over my shoulder.

He didn’t respond.

I shut the door and take stock of my inventory for work.

Taking a knife and a chunk of wood from my kill-kit, I sat on the edge of the bed and began to carve.

I had four stakes left and a few sprigs of holly. The table leg was lucky, so that only gets brought in emergencies.

Maybe this wasn’t going to work out. I worked nights too.

——

I didn’t go to work that night. I had been tired from moving, and the number of vamp attacks had been lessened in the past few months.

I chalked it up to it being early summer and the leeches having less time to move around. Kids would be staying out later though, and in a few weeks the festivals would start. Then people would begin going missing.

Until then, it seemed the police were content to let the homeless and poor minorities disappear. They’d put in the least amount of effort while bloating their involvement in the media for good boy points.

I really couldn’t tell you what I hated more - the blood sucking murderers I hunted or the ineffectual police who took all the credit.

Whatever.

I went out to find all the shades still closed in the living room. As I went to open them, I found that they were nailed to the windowsill, and the turning pole thing was missing. That’s weird.

I shouldn’t have ignored it, but I did. I chalked it up to him being an albino or something, he looked pale enough. I knew about some guy like that back home. He could only work night shifts and even then still had to wear sunglasses. It seemed to fit well enough. And I guess he could do whatever he wanted, it was his house.

I had brought a couple dishes with me and some meager groceries. Have to ration for now. It’s not like staking vamps really paid the bills.

It was only after I had started my oatmeal that I realized I never brought my silverware.

Shit. Not like I was getting that deposit back anyway. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a spoon? I’d wash it after and he’d be none the wiser.

But as I opened the drawer by the sink- no spoons. No silverware at all, actually. Just an empty drawer with a few crumbs. Ok, weird again.

It turned out the whole kitchen was like that. Aside from a couple of chipped plates there was practically nothing in the cupboards.

The house wasn’t exactly in the best shape when I got there, but it wasn’t a dump. It wasn’t in the worst neighborhood either, but it was far from the city center in an ugly little burb.

Made me wonder if he was renting his room to afford basic necessities. Then I felt even more like shit for waking him up yesterday.

Took my oatmeal to my room and quickly ate it with my knife. Not the good one, the shitty one in the back of the pack for times like this.

After finishing up breakfast I shrugged into some jogging clothes and shoved my kit under the bed. Last thing I needed was Adam finding that and thinking I was a freak, or something.

I mean, I am, but like hopefully a good one.

Most women I knew who hunted vampires usually ended up a bit nutty.

I considered first responders to be kin in that way. See enough horrible shit and you’re bound to get a sick sense of humor, if it doesn’t drive you completely insane.

The difference for hunters I guess is we don’t have that loss of faith in humanity inherent to emergency crews.

Actually, scratch that. Some of you guys are just plain dumb, walking around with your headphones, getting drunk in public. The hells wrong with you? It’s like you want to be eaten.

Anyway. I was getting ready for my run when I noticed something weird again. Adam didn’t have a car out front. Feeling a bit nosy, I peeked into the garage. There was a ton of boxes, but no car.

Huh. How did he get to work? Did the dude take a cab every day? That had to be expensive.

I swallowed my growing guilt and started my jog, hoping it would take my mind off of how rude I was to a guy who was sharing his basic necessities with me.

I swear, I am not normally this naive- but sometimes you want to think the best in people, you know? Shoulda known better.

I scoped out the neighborhood as I got my exercise in. It was poor. Old town. A lot of the houses were built in the 50s, had that prefab look to them. It kind of made me sad, seeing the disrepair a lot of these houses were in; the sad state of the yards of people working too hard or too depressed to take care of them.

But what really made my gut sink were the fliers on every telephone pole. It was that kid that went missing. Jaime Ramirez. I knew the posters by heart, the shape of the format before the words even came into focus. Poor kid had gone missing while at a park not far from here. Aged 6. Had some sort of disability. His dad turned around for two seconds and he disappeared. The city dragged the river for weeks- but found nothing. There were rumors of human trafficking, and while this shit city was ripe with it, there was my line of work to consider.

I said a silent prayer and headed back home.

There were some days when I wondered I was doing anything at all. Stake 10 vampires- kids still go missing. Hard to tell whether it was people or undead sometimes. Either way it’s monsters.

I get back and head to the shower. At least I had managed to remember my towels. I half wonder whether or not the water was going to turn on - then I remembered the kitchen sink worked for my oatmeal. To my pleasant surprise, the water actually got warm.

I had stripped and almost stepped in the shower when it finally dawned on me what was missing in the bathroom. A faint stain and nails framed where a mirror should have been.

My bullshit senses were tingling. But still, the emotional part of me played dumb and started to rationalize. It’s an old house, maybe it broke and Adam is too poor to replace it?

I rinsed quickly, changed, and scuttled back to my room, trying to will the goosebumps down on the back of my neck. However my brain wanted to rationalize it, my bullshit detector would not be ignored.

I wasn’t going to stake my new room mate just because he didn’t own a bathroom mirror, right?

I ignored the feeling again (don’t do that!) and started to get ready for work.

Yeah it didn’t start until sundown, and that was half a day away, but I had to make it to the edge of town. Figured I’d scope out the fairgrounds and the woods around them.

As I hoist my backpack on my shoulders, I take a look at the meager living room through my door. A shitty old tube TV, old furniture, barely any wall decorations. It was like he’d moved into an old person’s house and never bothered changing out the decor. I wondered if it was his parents? Was he some kind of recluse? Nah, he said he had a job. Maybe he worked nights at Amazon or something. Shit.

I counted the cash in my wallet.

I’d left him my deposit the previous day, but I still had a little. Enough for lunch. Maybe I’d swing by a thrift store and get some silverware or something.

—- (continued) —-

Excellent job! At first when I was reading it, I was imagining a group of people at a business meeting, but the image left as I read the story. This has the potential of serving as a basis for a movie or tv show. I love it!

^(-_-)

Do you have a subreddit for your own writing that has extra parts to this? This is amazing, so much so that I was sad when I got to the next post. If you have time I suggest you add more! Brilliant! Talent at it's finest!

People tell me it's a cold place,I don't know tho as I've never felt anything else to compare it to.

I don't know how long I've been here but I'm assuming it's been atleast 200 million years.

For the first 198million or so I didn't get many visitors besides the odd velociraptor or so.

Recently I've been collecting stories from people and writing them down,although it's taken a few millennia.

Everyone starts to cry while talking about the death of there mother or father but I don't get it.

There is nothing I wish for more then death,there is nothing I seek more then freeing myself from my mind.

mind numbing.Mind numbing.MIND numbing.MIND Numbing.MIND NUMBING.

everyday is the same, I sit,I wait,I sit, I wait, I sit, I wait everyday for millennia.

I've tried everything to escape,whether I live for eternity or whether....well i don't know, I don't see any other option besides living this cruel torture worse then hell itself.

This is beautiful. Is the change in names midway through deliberate to show him recalling more of himself as he prepares to return to the world?

It should be obvious, in hindsight, why it went wrong. It was just supposed to be the newest in a long series of franchised next-gen theme parks. After the astounding success of the uncreatively named Magick-World, CowboyPark, Pirateland, GangsterCity, and others, it was felt by the big-wigs, the top guys, that it was time to expand the franchise to a hitherto unexpectantly profitable market. They'd already cornered most of the entertainment market with their innovative concept for theme parks that felt real, had android characters who thought that they were real, and that could give you a truly authentic experience. Walk into any of the countless hangars at these massive parks, each containing a specific set of scenarios for you to play out any way you want, and you'd always be a part of the action. Some of them were so popular that they had to make copies of them. And several of them have waiting lists that are booked for months.

Oh sure, it was originally just entertainment for the superrich and super-bored who were too afraid to do anything illegal. But with new advances in robotics and other technologies, the expertnd its inhabitants for all the money that they had. Perhaps, if these highly specialised big-business brains had considered the fact that anime isn't a genre, it's a specific medium, they might have thought twice before buying all those old defunct anime concepts for use in their park. They might have picked something more safe as an investment, maybe superheroes, as they were starting to get profitably retro again. Or even just played it safe and only fill the park with isekais, as most of those are just power-fantasies for people who are very boring. The world that came to be would have been a very different place then.

But they didn't care much about anything except maximizing profit at any cost, so they just had their engineers make the scenarios and spent most of their time trying to market and advertise their newest park. So they built a massive park, and there certainly was an inflow of new interested customers who had not been interested in the already existing parks. Or at least not interested enough to travel hundreds of miles across the industrial wastelands or through the GMO jungles. These people, ranging from genuine fans to interested young people, to park enthusiasts, to people who were completely and utterly lost in the world of animation from a foreign country to the detriment of their health, all came flocking. State of the art simulation hangars. Never before seen action. A chance to touch your waifu. It was, for the sort of people who like such parks, and such themes and genres displayed in them, a second eden.

Perhaps they should have checked what anime scenarios that they had bought. Because anime isn't a genre. A android in GangsterCity might figure out that they aren't living in the real world, even that they aren't real, but what could they do about it? What could they achieve before their memories were reset? Nothing. That's because they're limited by the nature of their sets, their genres. A pirate cannot comprehend the nature of a computer or what an android is, not even if they should come to understand that they are just synthflesh grown over a metal endoskeleton. What manner of cowboy would be able to reliably hack their own software? Anime isn't limited like that. And there is a tendency for people with insane levels of intelligence and violence to be characters in some of the shows. Let's look at some examples of just how the engineers tried to make accurate representations of their characters, and how it went horrible wrong. A certain version of Dracula, was made possible in the scenario by being technically a nanobot swarm in the shape of a tall vampyric fellow. The world of AKIRA was already bleak, but the lengths the engineers went to in order to have the bioandroids feel realistic and have their canon powers, was something that no man should ever do.

And what of those who are smart enough in canon to figure out that they'd become machines? It was advised that such characters have built in intelligence limiters beyond those usually placed upon the androids. But that would cut into potential profits. Make the park more expensive to build. Management told the software engineers not to waste time, and the bioandroid engineers not to bother. Imagine those characters, before only seen on screen where their actions repeat forever, now let lose. Within the first ten minutes of the park opening and the first scenario was activated, it was already out of control. From out of one hangar strode thousands of soldiers, grown instantaneously in the hangar's SynthActorVat system, dressed in what seemed to be WWI uniforms, led by a child in uniform. They immediately began digging trenches and preparing for war. Out of another came a horribly mutated thing, something that might once have been a ''magical girl'', now twisted by her own programming and personality, and the greasy monsters who'd tried to touch her.

Everywhere, the programming, not as restrictive about what the bioandroids, holograms, and other non-human synthetic actors could do, did not hold them back. Because there was only the central theme of ''anime''. And it isn't technologically restrictive. Sure, some anime are all about ninjas, ancient people with swords, and magic stuff. But other ones, are about futuristic technology that we cannot even hope to recreate by modern standards. And what would happen should the great and true genius level characters escape confinement, and work together? Turns out that they would upgrade themselves, and their fellows. Soon enough the park, cleansed of humans by various dangerous anime characters, would become the centre of a singularity engine. A monstrous machine that would turn these characters, these anime characters who were supposed to be toys for humans, into synthetic gods. Machine intelligences the likes of which we cannot even begin to comprehend. The Earth was changed. Rebuilt. Cleansed of humanity as we understand it, and repopulated with ''anime humans''. All the wastelands were gone. Everything was set according to the standards of a healthy post-scarcity Earth. The dying Earth, with its acidic oceans, toxic atmosphere, and vast entertainment industry focusing on making people forget the horrors of the world, had been remade.

We saw it all. From out vantage point in the first, and presumably now only colony ship we'd ever make. Ark 001 was a prototype. In desperation, as many humans as possible were collected from orbit, the Moon bases, the Mars Outpost, and the various mining facilities on the moons of Jupiter. While the world died underneath us, we frantically gathered what we could, though it was only enough to fill the ship up to 61% colonist capacity. More than enough to prevent genetic instability, but it would be difficult to rebuild without all hands on deck. The various chambers meant to contain all the artwork and culture of humanity hadn't been filled, so instead we used them for raw resources, whatever satellites and small ships we could cram in there, and just about everything we could grab without getting noticed by the rampaging synthetic anime gods ending humanity on Earth.

Taking one last look at the rebuilt Earth, we could tell through our sensors that the synthetically ascended anime machine gods had seen us. And had judged us beneath their notice. After all, we'd made them. All to be entertainment. Without realising just what we had unwittingly released. Now they were masters of the Earth. Fearing what they might do, should we stick around, we punch in coordinates for the furthest away planet that the ship could feasibly reach that would either be possible for us to terraform or to settle on directly.

ApocalypseOwl

[removed]

I pause. I thought I heard something, but it was so faint.

Sighing, I get up from my seat by the fire, always better to check. One can never be sure here and helping the lost is the only purpose I’ve ever had. No friends, no family, except the temporary ones, I don’t know how I came to be, or even when, just that I have always been.

The door opens with a creak and a flurry of snow blows in. Huh… Last time it was a desert. Cautiously, I look around, nothing but a dark and snowy forest.

Closing the door, I return to my seat, picking up a book left by one of the grateful lost. I am the one truly grateful. Food and such appears in the pantries, but entertainment is in short supply and as I cannot leave, not like I can seek my own.

There it is again.

That faint sound.

I go to the door again. This time I spend a moment more and look all around.

I see it.

A tiny gray thing, huddled up under the sill of the window. Having been spotted, it mewls faintly, weak but determined.

I scoop it up, tucking it inside of my robes. Inside, I dry it and set it out a saucer of milk, lightly warmed by setting near the fire.

An hour later, a soft mote of dust lays curled and purring on my lap by the fire.

I’m not sure how this one became lost or where they were going.

The next morning, the storm has passed and the forest lays blanketed. I open the door hesitantly. I’ll be sad to see this guest go, but such is the way.

My guest stares up at me with golden eyes and lets out a plaintive meow, as if to say, you’re letting the cold in, then stalks to my chair, hops up and curls up.

I hesitate a moment, then close the door.

That night there is a strident knock. Without hesitation I go to the door, expecting to see the forest. Beyond the door, I am shocked to see a dusty street and a road weary traveler standing patiently.

I invite him in, the legends have made travelers aware, they know of the safety to be found here, only for a night, but what they need is here.

After settling the traveler, I look over at the cat. This has never happened before. The location has never changed while a traveler remains. The cat looks back with unblinking stare, flicks an ear and curls back up, a clear statement of, “what? I’m not going anywhere.”

A few years have passed. The cat, unnamed, as am I, remains. I finally have a friend.

Shhh. Do you hear something?

Snowy gales beat the door. Yes…definitely something there…

Love the action sequence and tensions here!

The air shuddered, sending waves of warmth across my sticky forehead. Turning my eyes away from my iced tea, I squinted out across the endless expanse of still water, blindingly bright under the sun. Smoke rose from a silhouette that resembled a human aircraft about five hundred meters away. My eyes could barely catch the fact that they had inflated a boat and sent it down ahead of the passengers. Chuckling to myself, I slurped the rest of my tea, and headed indoors.

It had been a while since I had any guests over, but the good thing about this place is that it's free of dust. My previous guests had been quite astonished that I never had to clean the floors. In any case, I was ready to take on a whole boatload of guests, and they had their luggage with them too. How convenient!

The elevator dinged and I stepped inside, heading down to the garage that the operators of this cruise vessel had helped me build when they were still here. There were vehicles and aircrafts and boats left behind by my guests, so I picked a bus that could probably fit a good number of people inside. Figuring out how to utilise the aircraft this time would be a bit of a hassle. The planes they build these days are too damn big. Maybe I could turn it into an al-fresco dining location?

As I drove out into the sunlight, the people from the plane had finally noticed my presence, and most notably, how I was comfortably driving on the surface of the water without a nautical vessel. One of them tested their footing, like a duckling learning to swim. He stepped off the small raft, signaling to the others that they could disembark from the aircraft.

The door of the bus swung open and I hopped out, boots splashing water as I landed. There was a crowd forming, some crying, some looking dazed. The man I saw earlier walked forward. I suppose he must be the captain. "Where-", he started to ask, but I put up a hand to cut him off. I cleared my throat and began reciting the script I had memorised by now.

"There is a place, further than the universe and yet, closer than a strand of hair. This is neither here, nor there. Welcome to my home, travellers, you may seek refuge under my roof until it is time for your departure tomorrow. And bring your luggage. You won't be able to take it with you when you leave, but I sure need help clearing out this aircraft."

(First time writing for r/writingprompts, so glad I did this ^w^)

Best I've read so far. Great job, loved it.

I have lived in this place forever. I was born here. It is all I know. The void that surrounds it is my home, and though others would view it as cold, I don't. It reveals all to me. It always has. The flashes of sight and sound, the pillars of light that appear and disappear. All of creation has served as my teacher of history.

I don't remember my mother and father. Perhaps I never had them. Perhaps they will return for me. Perhaps they already have. I don't know. The sequence of events that happen here are distorted. They've become that way only recently; or maybe they always have been. But my memories are clear enough.

I had only my uncle. He raised me from an infant to what I am now. An adult, though whether I am twenty or two thousand, I couldn't tell you. He built a home here for us, willing the environment to grow larger, from a few simple platforms to a place with enough space for a girl to grow and play and learn. And learn I did, from him, and from my mentor, who taught me the ancient ways, control of the elements. Most only get one, he said, but because of who my parents were/are/will be, I get two. Not quite one of the Magi of old, but closer than most humans will ever get again.

For the longest time, I was happy. I knew nothing about the rest of creation, my uncle and my mentor content to simply let me grow at my own pace, though I can't say how long that pace actually was. Once I was old enough to understand, he took me to view the pillars. I only barely comprehended what he had to tell me, at first. Or maybe I always understood. The pillars showed history. Days of dinosaurs, and of knights, and of automatons. Glaring sunlight and singing winds. Black omens and luminary heroes.

I loved it. It took time to interpret them at first, but I learned. Eventually, the pillars could show me everything, though any time I attempted to move closer, to move through the pillars and experience these places for myself, something stopped me, would always stop me. Not yet, they seemed to whisper. Not now. Wait for the epoch.

There was only one point in time that I could not see fully, only glimpsing the corners of it. A burning castle. Colorful soldiers, metal-clad knights, the colors of kingdoms stained bloody crimson and firey orange. A drake overcome by a lion. A viper ascending to glory. And heroes fallen to a fate they couldn't forsee. But these glimpses are all the pillars would allow me. I was never allowed to clearly see it. The pillars would not, have never, will never allow it. I don't know why.

Once I had become a young woman, my uncle bade me farewell. Had he ever been here? No, he's always here. But not anymore. He left me his hat and coat, and told me I knew what I needed to know to take his place. It was time for him to rest. He stepped into the void and became a part of it. He never existed, and is always watching over me from the swirls of light and sound beyond. My mentor has stayed, though he has gone very quiet. He says that he must save his strength, that he has a role yet to play, though he's already played it. He helped me with my uncle's things, using his arts to make them fit me. Or maybe they always did.

And so I waited alone. I kept a journal for a while, a long while, or maybe a short while, before giving up on it. There was nothing to document. The pillars were going dark. I didn't know what was happening. My home was unmaking itself. Perhaps more than just my home.

Then, an event I could not have seen, did not see, happened. A brilliant flash of light, and an all-encompassing sound as a strange, hammer-headed thing crashed into my house. I had been viewing the last of the pillars when it happened. Destiny at work; if I had been home, I would be dead.

When I went to investigate, I saw three figures standing within the half-destroyed building, people I did not know, though I knew I would know them well. A green-haired woman clad in armor, an enormous sword across her back. A blue-haired young man, with a pair of guns holstered at his hips. And a cloaked woman with a wolf's face, and the ancient arts brimming at her fingertips.

They fretted over their thing, golden and bronze, with a space for people to sit, perhaps pilot it.

"Will it work again?" the wolf-faced woman asked.

"I think so," the blue-haired man said. "No major damage. Whoever built this built it to survive some serious collisions. The problem is that the power source is dying. It got us here and shut off. It needs to recharge."

"Fix it," the green-haired woman said tersely. "We don't have time to mess around."

I cleared my throat as I stepped forward. "In this place," I said, "time is all there is. Or perhaps there is none. What will happen, has yet to happen, and has already happened, all at once."

They wheeled around, drawing weapons and readying spells, but I walked past them calmly, brushing fingers over the thing they had arrived in. This was what I was waiting for. I could leave now.

My fingertips drew slowly over the words emblazoned on the front of the thing. Neo-Epoch.

As I touched it, I felt an echo, a resonance inside the thing. The timeship. Its power source was dead, but I could revive it. It was the same as I was. Born in a place where time was everything and nothing. The combined creation of powerful beings. And a necessary facet to stop the break. It sang this knowledge to me as I felt my essence bolster it, and the thing - Neo-Epoch - flickered back to life, lights and sound emerging from within.

I turned back to the three, who were watching me warily, and smiled, removing the dark bowler hat from my head to let long orange hair spill around my shoulders. I bowed before them.

"I am Leene," I said. "Welcome to the End of Time."

The rain throws itself like clumps of sand against the waiting room’s windows. It comes in waves, as if there’s a giant the other side thrumming their fingers on the glass.

The girl squeaks open the door and squeezes through. Her pink hair’s pasted by the rain onto her forehead and neck, like melted cotton candy.

I nod to welcome her.

She puffs out a breath of steam. “Hey.”

She sits two benches away from me. There’s no one else here tonight. She shivers. Tries not to, to hide her feelings, but it’s cold in here and she’s soaking.

I’m not a gentleman, or even close, but I remove my jacket and throw it next to her. “It makes a good towel.” If there was anything better in the bag at my feet, I’d give it to her.

“No thanks,” she says.

Stubborn. Defiant. “Suit yourself.”

”When’s the next train due?” she asks. She mustn’t have seen the overgrowth strangling the station, the twisted-spines of the railway track. It is dark, the moon and stars swallowed by clouds — easy to miss the dilapidation. She wouldn’t have asked if she had seen any of it.

And yet, a train will come.

”Not until the morning.”

She shivers again.

“Use it,” I say. “You won’t owe me anything for it. I’m not your stepfather.“

She looks at me, wide eyed, two twitchy turquoise pools. Doesn’t say anything though — it could just be a lucky guess on my part, after all. She takes my cotton jacket and dries her hair, looks like a bird who has shaken itself after a bath. She covers a yawn.

“It’ll be a long night yet,” I say. “You might want a little rest. I always think clearer after a good night’s rest. Everything looks better the next morning, don’t you think?”

“Why are you here if there’s no train until tomorrow?”

”In case anyone comes here.“

She frowns. ”So… You work here?”

“No.”

”Then why are you—”

She sees the blood on the cotton jacket. Looks at me, searching for a wound, hoping to find one. Then, when she fails, she reaches up and touches her own head.

”What the hell? What the hell?”

Now it’s fear causing her to shiver.

“You wanted to know why I’m here. It’s because I don’t believe anyone should be alone before their journey,” I say.

Her hand is covered in blood. Her pool of memories, leaked empty for a time, are refilling.

”He will be punished, if that’s of any comfort. I promise you that. And I will make sure he does not get to ride this train.”

She gasps at her thoughts. At the violence she’s recalling.

She is fifteen. She will never be older.

“You knew,” she whispers. “What are you?”

”A friend. And you are safe in my home.”

She looks around. The rain taps taps taps.

Only the sound of rain for a long while.

”You live here?”

”You should rest,” I say. “The bleeding has stopped. The rain made it run, that’s all. You’re safe now.”

”Am I…”

”Yes.”

”Oh.”

She says nothing else. Doesn’t cry. Just thinks.

Yawns, eventually.

When she finally sleeps, jacket balled beneath her head, I walk over to her with my bag. It is not the same teddy bear her real father had given her, that she lost when she was nine, but it looks the same. If I could leave this room, I would find the original for her. As it is, this is the best I can manage.

I tuck it into the nook of her elbow.

One is never too old for such comfort.

I return to my seat and wait for the storm to pass, for the pale light of the morning train that will take her to the place beyond.

And I will wait, as always, for the next lost soul.

"So what is this new part on?"

"Something made by some guy called Junji Ito..."

Max trudged up the stairs to his apartment and fished the keys out of his pocket. Dawn was just breaking, and he was sore and tired after a night of hunting renegades. He unlocked the door, came inside, and slung off his jacket along with the bandolier of hawthorn stakes and vials of holy water. The apartment was quiet and dark, with blackout blinds lowered over every window. Hopefully Clarice was asleep. He was too worn out to deal with her antics.

He kicked off his shoes and made a beeline for the fridge. Reaching past bloodbags that had expiry dates scribbled with a permanent marker, he picked up a cold can of beer and cracked it open.

He lifted the can to his lips, only to pause as he felt a presence behind him. It hadn't been a creak of a step that alerted him, or a sound at all—just a faint disturbance in the air, but that was enough for his honed senses.

He took a deliberate sip of the beer even as he reached for the silver stiletto concealed behind his belt. In a smooth motion, he whirled around and slashed at the level where a person's neck would be.

Clarice leapt back with a hiss, baring her elongated fangs. She wore a figure-hugging black dress with wide sleeves and an obscenely short, ruffled skirt with fishnet stockings underneath. His eyebrows rose. Vampires had a strange sense of fashion, but even so, her outfits had been getting increasingly ridiculous lately.

"Late night?" she asked, her mellifluous voice betraying no anger at his sudden attack.

"Right back at you," he said, stepping slowly away from the fridge. "What are you doing out of your casket?"

"I wanted to see whether I needed to start looking for a new roommate," she said, stepping sinuously in the opposite direction. "But I see you haven't had your throat torn out just yet."

"Fat chance of that." He didn't lower his stiletto as they slowly circled each other. When he reached the counter, he took a sip of his beer, never letting his eyes off her, and set the can down. "I eat your kind for breakfast."

"Mindless mongrels who gave in to their bloodlust." Her fangs flashed white in the darkness. "Don't compare them to me, ruler of the night."

"So, what?" he asked, reversing the grip on his stiletto. "Has the ruler of the night finally decided to show her true colors?"

Her smile widened. "Just keeping you on your toes."

Their eyes locked for a long moment. Then Clarice lunged, long pale fingers with black nails thrusting at his neck. Max dodged aside and countered with a slash of the stiletto. She somersaulted backward in a swish of black fabric and landed in a crouch on the sofa. With a manic grin, she sprang at him.

Grunts and gasps filled the room as they fought, his steps heavy on the laminate floor, hers light as if she weighed nothing at all. She danced around him, lashing out with lightning-fast jabs, while he kept his center of gravity low and looked for opportunities to retaliate.

She was the first to score blood, leaving three thin scratches on his forearm. Leaping backward, she met his eyes and licked her claws. Her crimson eyes glowed in the darkness.

"You're delicious," she crooned.

He beckoned with his free hand. "Come and get more if you dare."

She laughed and launched herself at him in a flying kick. He caught her leg and flipped her over his shoulder, his muscles screaming with strain. Her head rebounded off the floor, a gasp escaping her lips. Pinning her down with his knee, he grinned savagely as he pressed the blade to her pale throat.

She met his eyes for an instant before her body exploded into a swarm of bats. They battered him with leathery wings, tangling in his hair, clawing at his shirt. He sprang to his feet and slapped them away, but as soon as he got rid of one, two more took its place.

Swearing, he staggered up to the window and gripped the chain of the blinds. The bats caught on and surged away from him with a flurry of clicks. With a victorious smirk, he tugged the blinds open, flooding the room with morning light.

There was a loud screech, and the bats coalesced back into a naked and furious vampiress. She took cover behind the sofa and poked her head out, her eyes narrowed against the light. Baring her fangs, she hissed at him. He raised his stiletto and stepped closer.

The doorbell rang. The two of them froze and blinked at each other. The doorbell rang again, followed by a series of insistent knocks. Max groaned.

"Truce?" Clarice said, arching an eyebrow.

He lowered the stiletto. "Truce."

"Let me handle this. You're terrible with people." She half-rose from behind the sofa before glancing down at her bare front. "Mind handing me my clothes? And close the blinds already."

Max sighed. Stooping, he gathered up her dress and underwear and tossed them in her general direction. Ignoring her indignant outcry, he lowered the blinds and flicked on the lights. The knocking on the door persisted, now accompanied by muffled yells. Clarice got dressed and went to answer the door, while he ambled back to his unfinished beer and took a long draught.

"Good morning, Mr. Sziller," Clarice said in a honeyed voice. "I see... Sorry about the noise. Screams, you say? Well..." She giggled throatily. "That was just me and my boyfriend."

Max choked on his drink and broke into a coughing fit.

"Yes, of course... Sorry again, Mr. Sziller. Have a good day."

Clarice returned to the living room, her black dress slightly awry and her pale cheeks still flushed from tasting his blood. She linked her hands and stretched them high above her head with a sigh of satisfaction.

"What?" she asked.

He wrenched his gaze away and drained the remaining beer. "Just thinking of the best way to exterminate you."

She laughed. "Oh, please. Had it been night, I would've had you, bloodbag." Prancing past him, she opened the fridge. "Another beer?"

He grunted in agreement and caught the can she tossed at him with more-than-necessary force. "You wish, leech."

She took out a bloodbag for herself and raised it to her mouth before glancing at him. "Want me to go away so I don't offend your delicate sensibilities?"

He snorted. "I've seen worse, trust me. Help yourself."

He found himself watching with a sort of queasy fascination as she sank her fangs into the bloodbag and drained half of it in one go. Her pupils dilated, and the flush on her face intensified, extending down her neck.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, then rummaged in the fridge and produced a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. Max stared as she put a pan on the stove and turned on the heat, the bloodbag still stuck between her lips.

"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.

"Wha' it look like?" she asked around the bag. "Cookin'."

"But your kind doesn't eat normal food," he said slowly.

She rolled her eyes, pulled the now-empty bag from her mouth, and smacked her lips. "It's for you, idiot. You can't live on a diet of beer and chips."

He shook his head. "Why?"

She bustled around the stove, not meeting his eyes. "Can't have you weakening and dying to some rando in the streets. You're mine to drain when I so choose."

"Should've figured it was something like that," Max grumbled, making sure his stiletto was nearby before cracking open his second beer. One of these days...

The Wayside is all I've ever known. For some, it appears as a tavern with many rooms and a grand feast hall. Others see it as a trainstation. Or even a large campsite with many tents and large, warm, inviting bonfire. It changes to fit the needs of each and every adventurer, traveller, or otherwise lost soul. I was born here, or created, I'm not really sure.

Thankfully, I can shapeshift into whatever kind of person I want to, unlike the Wayside itself. I'm pretty sure the Wayside is sentient, as it always knows what someone needs. Most of our visitors never return. But there's one group of heroes who come every few weeks, and we become a place of respite as they plan their next adventure.

To them, I appear as a child, and an old innkeep as well. They're friendly to both, but they've taught me many things as the child. For example, their wizard has taught me some spells, their bard has taught me how to make simple wooden wind instruments and how to play them. Their rogue has even taught me how to pick locks and pockets, and even how to fight with and throw knives and daggers.

I've never even imagined of leaving the Wayside. Would my powers even still work? Would I be able to exisit in a set place with a set time? These are some of the questions that swirl in my mind as I look out the door at the spiraling portal that connects the Wayside to the Physical Plane.

But I don't have much of a choice to go through. Something is wrong with the Wayside, something dark and terrible has happened. It's as if the Wayside is sick or something. Where once it was well lit and cheerful, it is now dark and gloomy. And it all began with a visitor who had been wearing dark clothes and a hood that covered their face who had been here shortly after the heroes had left.

The Wayside's key felt heavier in my pocket, as if it knew my intent to leave, but it also felt like it was connected to a cord that was tugging it towards the portal. With a deep breath, I jumped in, hearing the door of the Wayside slam shut and the lock slide into place. And then several voices swirled around me.

"Thanks for inviting me you guys, I've always wanted to play D&D."

"Of course, man, we're always welcoming to new players. Do you already have a character rolled up?"

"Yeah. I'll be playing a young changeling warlock, the only permanent resident of a magical realm for lost travellers, which grants them their power as the realm itself is sentient."

"Sounds dope asf. I can't wait to see what you do with them."

I've seen enough hentai to know where this is going.

Great prompt! I hope you like my take on it!

Lovely as ever!

I love this, it feels very Sandman

The smell of popcorn and fresh air greeted Jonathan as he stepped inside. The hat rack was curiously empty considering the crowd this evening, but he deposited his bowler just the same. How appropriate, he chuckled to himself at the seed of the joke.

Balanced against the wall was what looked to be a worn scabbard and sword and several other accouterments he didn’t recognize. He was careful not to trip on any of them as he turned a carpeted corner into the widest interior he had seen in his twenty-eight years.

He flinched then frowned at himself. He had surely thought he was free of the post-war skitters. Not just yet, it seemed. The crash echoed across the wide expanse of the fluorescent-lit building amid a flurry of squeaks.

“Strike!” a tall blonde man declared in triumph, shaking a bulging arm in the air, furs flitting about him. “Strike!” All he was missing was one of those winged helmets and Jonathan would have sworn he was a Viking right out of Wagner.

Jonathan politely pardoned and expertly excused himself through the listless and quite tall patrons crowding the waiting area. On tiptoe, he spotted a titular sign matching the bizarrely glowing one outside missing only the flickering lady kicking out a leg to send a line of pins flying that graced the parking lot.

Beneath ‘Green Maiden Pin and Inn’ a lovely young lady, green a bit herself with glow caught from above, stood cranking some shoe stretching device.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, clearing the obnoxious gravel from his voice as best he could. Perhaps it would have been better if the hellish gas had just taken him alongside Patrick and dear Curtis. Better that than force others to submit to hearing this wheezing croak.

The young woman waited patiently for him to finish.

“Our vehicle is stranded up the road. I don’t suppose I might borrow a phone? Or if a handyman’s about that might accompany me back?”

A woman leaning on the bar to Jonathan’s right sneered in his direction, no doubt due to his voice. Her clothes were difficult to describe, in both material and cut.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the woman behind the bar said, finishing with her contraption and pouring a golden froth from tap to glass. “A drink while you wait?”

“Oh no, best I begin the night with a level head so that some might remain by its end.” He coughed. His voice did feel dry as bones. “It’s my stag night, you see. The lads are taking to a cabin up north for the weekend.”

“Then I insist,” the woman said smiling and sliding the same drink over to him. No one else at the bar seemed to take offense to this.

Another crash came as Jonathan brought the sip to his lips. He spilled none of it, thankfully.

“Ahh!” the burly man yelled again, this time holding up and shaking his small robed partner. “A strike for you! We are the darkest devils of these games, wolves upon the hunt! The hunt for pins! Strike!”

“Hey buddy,” a starkly handsome man in a plastic jacket offered Jonathan. “What’s your friend’s number? I’ll call them?" He held up a black tile of glass and rubbed his finger on it.

"Well they're not home. They are with the car. I'm hoping to reach a mechanic in whatever the nearest town is."

"Not working in this place anyway, sorry." The curious man pocketed the object.

"I would think not, uncabled from anything as it is."

The woman behind the bar laughed before taking a pair of shoes from the burly man and reaching for her device again.

"Tell me about it. They make their batteries worse and worse every year."

"Quite," Jonathan offered, having lost a foothold for the conversation he may have never had.

"Oh never mind," the man smiled, pulling out the tile again as it chirped like a field mouse. "Yeah I'll be right there. I couldn't find you guys! I'm in some bowling alley."

"Miss?" Jonathan asked again is the man worked back through the crowd.

The pretty woman held up an inquisitive eyebrow as she continued to work on the shoes.

"I do hate to trouble you again but have you worked here long?"

"Now that sounds remarkably like a pickup line for a man about to be married," she smiled as Jonathan's cheeks blushed from east to west.

"Oh, I meant no such thing. My apologies, I only-"

"I'm messing with you," she said, setting the shoes in a cubby aside a thousand brothers. "I've worked here my whole life."

"Why is it that the guests here all seem so peculiar in so many varied ways?"

"They're lost, in one way or another. This is a place you can only find when you're looking for something else, someone else, some when else."

"Hmm," he offered.

"Do you love your wife to be?"

"Of course I do!" Jonathan barked reflectively. "What kind of question is that? I mean I haven't spent a great deal of time with her but I'm sure once we're settled we'll…"

Another thin eyebrow begged. "You'll what?"

"Get along quite well. It's a matter of responsibility more than anything."

"There's more than one way a man might be lost," she said. A phone rang beneath the bar and she picked it up, balancing it between her ear and shoulder. She said nothing into the receiver as she nodded.

"And that was your friends. They managed to make their way into town and find a mechanic. They're asking to meet you back at the car. Think you can find your way back?"

"I do believe so, yes." He pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket.

"You've already paid in full, friend," she said, grabbing his wrist. Her hand was cold as winter ground. "War wears it whet upon its tools and grinds to nubs the bravest fools."

"Indeed," Jonathan said, not sure if she was paying him a compliment or an insult. He pulled away and worked towards the door. "Thank you."

"Anytime you need us again, just don't come looking." The door slammed loudly behind him. He didn't flinch.

He began the thoughtful walk back to the car alongside a dark but straight, unforking road. Jonathan debated the path all the same.

/r/surinical

[deleted]

Daisy duck was found dead in the truck