Tag Archives: Short Story

Finding Haven

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A short story by Steven Scott

My withered hands shake as I open the book and set it on the podium. From my inside jacket pocket, I retrieve my reading glasses. Before I put them on, however, I look up at the eager eyes of the crowd before me. It seems this was one occasion in which the youth could be made to tear themselves away from their cell phones. 

“In order to understand just how much this place means to me, and how much I hope it will mean to each and every one of you, I must first take you back to the beginning. Back to the day my life changed forever: the day of my parents’ funeral.” I place the reading glasses on the bridge of my nose and begin to read the first tabbed section aloud.

~

“The rain struck our umbrellas with a consistent hum, and all our concentration was focused on hearing the priest’s final prayer.

‘Give them, oh Lord, your peace and let your eternal light shine upon them.’ He spread his hands as if expecting an embrace and looked to the crowd.

‘Amen,’ came the resounding answer. 

‘Let us go in the peace of the Lord.’

The crowd dispersed quickly, anxious to escape the downpour. They all got into their identical Morris Minors and sped away, their duty done.

I remained in my place, glazed eyes staring at twin coffins in the ground. It is hard to remember what I was thinking, as I was only eight years old at the time. I suppose I understood what death was, but I didn’t fully understand the impact it would have on my life. I half expected to get in the car with them and drive home as if nothing had happened, but I knew, somewhere inside me, that I would never see my parents again. 

I sensed a hand tentatively hovering over my shoulder. I turned to face the tearful green eyes of my aunt staring down at me through winged spectacles. I always thought they made her look like an owl. I liked owls.

‘It’s time to go, James.’ Her hand stopped hovering and gently led me away from the gravesite while the other hand dabbed her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. As we walked she attempted to break the silence. ‘Your parents left a will. Do you know what a will is, James?’

It was my father’s name, short for William. I was old enough to know this wasn’t what she meant, however. 

Without waiting for a response, she continued. ‘It is mostly a list of all their belongings and what they would like done with them. My sister and your father instructed us in their will to sell your home here in Sussex, along with all its contents to pay off any outstanding debts they may have had when… when the time came. There is still a sizable amount of money left however, and they’ve left it for you to have on your eighteenth birthday.’

Ten years sounded so far away. Not that I really cared about the money at the time. I was more concerned with my own belongings. ‘What about my things?’ I had never slept without the blanket my mother had knitted or without reading one of the stories from Le Mort d’Arthur or the Canterbury Tales. My father had given me his worn copies.  

‘All packed and sent ahead of us to Scotland.’ 

‘What’s in Scotland?’

‘Your new home. You have been left in the care of your uncle and I. We live in my ancestral home outside of Portree. Don’t you remember visiting as a child?’

I did not. My aunt and uncle usually came to visit us here. 

We had reached the car, and my uncle held the back door open for me. He did the same for my aunt at the passenger door, and then walked around the car to get into the driver’s seat. His fedora brushed the top of the car as he sat down. Starting the car, the all too familiar flatulent exhaust sounded behind us, and we were moving. Turning to my aunt, he said, ‘Did you tell him, Abigail?’

‘Just about.’

‘The island?’

‘Ah! The island! Thank you, Rupert.’ She strained a smile, still wiping away tears.  ‘When my parents died, I got the house, but Valerie got an island, just off the coast from us. They left it to you. So, if you ever get tired of us,’ she let out a sad laugh, ‘you can always run off to your very own island.’

I liked the sound of that. At home, I had a house in a tree. Now, I had an entire island.

We stayed in a hotel the night of the funeral and left before the sun rose the next morning. We drove the entire day from one end of the British Isle to the other. By the time we arrived in Portree the sun had already set again. I was shown to a room not far from my aunt and uncle’s. My belongings from home had been neatly boxed and placed in the far corner of the room. My first instinct was to find my mother’s blanket and my father’s books. I eventually found them, after a few wrong boxes, and brought them over to the large four poster bed. 

I was well into the Friar’s Tale when there was a soft knock on the door. 

I looked over curiously and supposed they were waiting for my permission to enter. ‘Come in.’

The door creaked loudly to allow my aunt and uncle entrance

‘We just wanted to see that you were settling in all right. Is there anything we can get you?’ My aunt sat at the corner of the bed. 

‘No, I found what I needed in the boxes.’

‘Well, get some rest, we can go over and see the island in the morning,’ my uncle said.

I nodded in agreement.

‘Goodnight, James.’ My aunt came closer and kissed my forehead gently. ‘We love you very much.’ 

I smiled shyly and cast my eyes down at the bed. They left without another word.

~

The next morning my uncle was true to his word. He took me in the rowboat they kept on a rack near the water’s edge. I looked over at the island while he situated the boat in the water. It was small, but not too small. It was probably about half a mile around. It was certainly bigger than my tree house.

I got in the rowboat and we sailed to the other side.

‘I’ll wait by the shore while you look around. Don’t wander too far,’ he said, laughing at his own joke.

‘I won’t,’ I said, already making my way for the tree-line. 

The island was like nothing I had ever seen. Birds were in every treetop. Rabbits and squirrels scampered about in the distance. Flowers grew around the roots of the trees and in patches of their own. Life here seemed to exist independently from the rest of the world. The sun almost seemed brighter, though it could have been his imagination.

I found myself on a well-trodden path. Following it led me out of the trees to the coastline farthest from the manor. Just off the coast, on a tiny island barely large enough for me to stand on, was a willow tree. The water between the tree and the larger island was shallow enough for me to wade through. Removing my shoes, I made my way over to the tree unquestioningly as if it were calling to me, and once there, I knew why.

The tree had something carved into its trunk. It bore the letters ‘W’ and ‘V’ framed by a heart. I knew what they stood for immediately: William and Valerie. My parents had come here. To this very spot and carved this out together. I traced the letters gently, feeling a tightness in the back of my throat. I looked up when I felt water on my arm, but there was nothing to be found in the treetop. Bringing my hand to my cheek, I realized the water was coming from my eyes. Was I crying? I couldn’t remember the last time I had cried, but I supposed it was only a matter of time. My knees gave way beneath me and I fell to the ground and let out what I had been holding in for some time. I sobbed until my eyes couldn’t produce anymore tears and my throat was sore, yet despite the pain I felt better than I had since the funeral. I may not have completely understood the concept of death, but I did know the grave marked the end of someone’s life.  This tree marked the continued growth and endurance of my parent’s memory.

~

That island became my favorite place to be. I spent most of the daylight hours reading in the shade of the trees, or in the sun when it was colder. Sometimes I simply laid in the grass and imagined I was in a faraway land where strange creatures roamed. The island was home to a whole host of creatures, though none of them were strange. The local rabbit population seemed quite taken with me, though probably because I fed them on occasion. I spent so much time on my island that my uncle had seen fit to assist me in building a small cottage of sorts. It had its own fireplace, wooden floors, and windows that opened. We were quite proud of it when we finished it after only three months. Getting the materials over had been the hardest part. At first, we tried putting the planks in our family’s small row boat, but half way across, the boat capsized and we plunged into the cold water.

I had never been taught how to swim. Upon reflection of this incident, I was embarrassed that, in fourteen years, I had never learned. Though, at the time, I could think only of my own survival. I flailed my arms about me, but it changed nothing as I sank lower below the water. It seemed like ages before I felt my uncle’s arms under my own. Together we floated to the surface, and I discharged the water from my lungs, gasping for air and gripping the upside-down row boat. 

‘Calm down Samwise Gamgee, did you think I’d let you drown?’

Forgetting my panic for a moment, I retorted, ‘Are you suggesting that, in this situation, you would be Frodo? Why you are much too fat.’ 

We eyed each other seriously for a moment before we burst into laughter.  

Together we flipped the boat back over and I clambered inside with his help. My uncle gathered up all the wooden planks before they floated away and held them with one arm while gripping the boat with the other and I towed him to shore. We dropped off the supplies and then returned to the house to dry off. 

In the months that followed, we built a large raft to tow behind the boat with the necessary supplies. Once we were done building, we brought over furniture from the house as well as some of my personal things to make the cottage more inviting.  My uncle even gifted me his own copies of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which I displayed proudly on the mantel. It wasn’t until later in life that I realized just how much my interests were influenced by my uncle, for he also introduced me to cartography, a craft I picked up quickly and took very seriously.   

~

‘Please, please me, woah yeah, like I please you,’ sounded from the transistor radio above the desk. I hummed the music quietly to myself as I worked. The walls around my desk were covered in hand-drawn maps. Some were of the fictional kingdoms in my books, some of Britain, and the rest were all the same place, yet each was different. I had taken to mapping the Island, a Kingdom all its own. There was the forest of the elves, the hills of the dwarves, even the rabbit warren had its place on some of the maps. Each map was unique, except for one thing: the star marking the Kingdom’s capital. The place where the benevolent ruler of the island resided. On every map, in every Kingdom, there was always Haven. My Haven. It was a place sheltered from the world, and protected from the goings on of the lands beyond. Here, anything was possible, and nothing dreadful ever happened. 

I took to referring to the entire island as Haven. I said it so much that even my aunt and uncle began to call it by its new name. As the years went by, I spent more and more of my time there. My uncle liked to joke that I had moved away from home, and on some nights, I had. I set up a bed at the cottage and spent many nights either sleeping in it or reading until the sun rose. I preferred it to my drafty bedroom on the mainland and the lumpy mattress of my four-poster bed. I could see now why my mother moved to the south and set up a small comfortable home for herself with my father. Drafty manors in the Scottish Highlands made for a cold and uninviting home. Though I loved it here all the same. Without this ancestral land, I never would have gotten Haven. 

I once again found myself hunched over my desk. Ignoring the essay hanging unfinished in the typewriter’s grasp, I scribbled a note in Quenya, the High-Elven language invented by Tolkien. Assuming I was even accepted to any of the Universities I tested for, it would soon be time for me to leave Portree. Before I left, however, I wanted to leave something for my parents, and for me. It would be something that only I could make any sense of, thus the Elvish. I felt I owed my parents something for all they did for me while they were alive, and what they still do in death. 

The note finished, I placed it in a small trunk. I hadn’t visited the tree in some time, but I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I buried the box beneath the trunk of the tree where it would be safe until I was ready to open it. Hopefully, university could help with its contents. The note was a promise to myself that I would one day make a haven for others. That one day, I could pass on the peace I had found on this island in another form. I didn’t know how I could do that yet, but the promise was made and my parents had borne witness.

As I got closer to the cottage I could make out a frantic voice.

‘Dreadful things,’ the voice was saying, ‘how can anyone feel safe in this monstrosity.’ 

I peered out the window to see my aunt struggling to paddle a small row-boat across what I had come to call the Frozen Straight. The water was always freezing no matter the time of year. The boat teetered perilously to one side, but she was able to right herself with no small amount of screaming.

I made my way outside just as her boat slid onto the shore. Steadying the boat and offering my hand as she got out, I said, ‘Mum? I never thought I’d see the day you would risk the water to visit me here.’

Huffing and smoothing the ruffles in her skirt she looked up at me and smiled, waving an envelope in front of me.  ‘Today is not just any day! Here, look at this.’ She put the envelope in my hands and waited for me to look inside.

‘Opening my mail again I see?’

‘Well of course, that is my address written there is it not?’

Smirking, I slid out the piece of paper and read over it. At the bottom was the red and blue seal of the University of St. Andrews. ‘I got in.’

‘You got in!’ She wrapped her bony arms though mine and jumped up and down. 

Returning her hug, I laughed at her foolishness until she was able to calm herself. ‘Your Uncle will be so proud.’ She beamed up at me, hands cupping my face.

I took her hands from my face and said, ‘Thank you mum. Now, would you like a ride back to the house?’

She let out a relieved breath. ‘Oh, thank Heavens, yes, yes I would.’ 

As we rowed back across I thought about the journey ahead. I hadn’t been away from Haven for more than a day these last few years and now I would have to really leave and make a life for myself elsewhere. At least while classes are in session. Did I have any hope of fulfilling my promise? Would my parents be disappointed if I didn’t? I would have to do everything in my power to keep my word. 

~

I was well into my fourth decade when I decided my cottage on Haven would become my permanent residence. I had plans to expand it and make it more livable with a kitchen, plumbing, and electricity. I had been there infrequently since university. At first it was due to my classes, but soon after I made a career in archaeology. At first I was away most of the time on digs in Ireland and France studying the Celts. Eventually I arranged to mostly do research from home, only going on the occasional dig if it was in Scotland. 

Once the plans were made and I was officially returned to Haven, I felt it was time to open the old trunk beneath the tree. I had all but forgotten it was there.

I dug up the earth with a spade and pulled out the trunk. Beneath the weathered lid, I found the note exactly as I had left it. Its time in the earth had done little to age it aside from the slight yellowing of the paper. Picking up the note I read it aloud to myself.

‘You have found your haven, now help others find theirs.’ I smiled to myself as I remembered the vow my younger self had made. I had never forgotten it, it had simply moved farther and farther into the back of my mind. Though, reading it, I felt the same way in that moment as I had when it was written. I would bring haven to as many others as I could, whatever form it might take.

I stood up and brought the note back into the cottage. Gazing at my familiar desk, it struck me. I moved quickly across the room and sat in front of it, hands flying across the keys of my typewriter. Perhaps, I thought, the story of how I found my haven would help others find theirs. 

I paused for a moment as I thought it over. I had never written anything of the kind before. I had dabbled in creative writing at university, but nothing of this magnitude. Could I write a book? Though I quickly shook the thought, thinking that if Margaret Thatcher could become the Prime Minister, I could certainly write a book.”

~

Closing the book, I look up at the quiet audience. Their young faces look at me and see an old man reading his book. I look at them and see the faces of the future. 

“This is it. The moment I fulfill my promise and provide the means for each and every one of you to find your own haven. So, without further ado, allow me to welcome you all to the opening of Havenport Memorial Library. May you find here, in this house, and in these books, the kind of place that shapes your lives and your imaginations.”

The crowd applauds as they stand and make their way further into the library. I look upon them with unyielding hope for the future. Mine and Theirs. 

My mission complete, I stroll to the shelves and eye the book spines until I find the spot I am looking for. Sliding my book into its place, I nod in approval and make my way out the back of the manor. To the dock, to my home, to Haven.

Invisible Children

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A short story by Steven Scott

It is cold, and will only get colder. I can just make out the outline of Moscow Tower as the sun sets behind it, taking with it the warmth it had provided. The temperature will soon drop even further, though it is already below freezing. I trudge on, my worn boots doing little to keep out the snow. I have to find him before he either freezes to death, or bleeds out. His trail is easy to follow, for the stark white snow contrasts with the scarlet liquid on its surface. 

“Where are you Maksim?” I ask quietly to myself in the vain hope that he will somehow answer. What I wouldn’t give to go back to yesterday.

~

I left my home in Kirov five years ago, when I was ten years old. If there was one thing my mother gave me, it was a reason not to smile. I never knew my father, but I did know that he was the one who wanted me, not her. He died fighting in the second Chechen War three years before it ended in our favor. A few days later, I was born. My mother has resented me ever since. She wasn’t a loveless woman though. She loved Vodka more than Putin loves power. 

I left on a day that she was feeling particularly loving. I managed to dodge the bottle, which shattered on the wall behind me.

“Pansy!” She screamed. “You’re not my son!” 

“No, I’m not! And I never have been!” I couldn’t contain myself. “You’ve always made sure I knew that. Well I’m not going to be your burden anymore. Goodluck getting more alcohol once I’m not here to fetch it for you!” I grabbed my coat from the peg and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me. My mother was too drunk to understand what I had done. She would never see me again, and I was glad. 

The streets were covered in a combination of snow and mud. By the time I reached a busy street my boots were covered in it. Standing on the side of the road, I held my thumb in the air, my arm pointing west. It only took a few minutes for a truck to slow to a stop. 

“Going somewhere kid?” The driver asked through his open window. He was about the age my father would have been, I guessed. 

“West, to Moscow.”

“That’s a long way from here, best I can do is Kotelnich.”

“Anything helps, thank you.” At least it was in the right direction. He motioned me around the car and I got in the passenger seat. 

The truck smelled of dirt and lavender, the latter coming from an air freshener in the shape of a Russian Flag hanging from the rear view. 

“Aren’t you a little young to be traveling alone? Where your parents?”

“Dead. I’m moving west to live with family in Moscow.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” He didn’t question me further, though I suspected it was from a lack of interest rather than concern. Neither of us spoke much for the rest of the trip, but I thanked him when we finally arrived in Kotelnich. 

A few more road-side pickups and I was bound for Moscow. The last leg of the trip was driven by a woman on her way to the capital to visit a sick aunt, or something like that. I didn’t listen much to her constant chattering. When we arrived in Moscow I asked her to pull over near a subway station. 

“Are you sure? Where does your family live? I wouldn’t mind making sure you got home safely-” I was already out of the van and descending the steps into the station. I couldn’t afford to have her ask any more questions. 

I walked as far into the station as possible, and found its darkest corner in which to sit. It was warmer down here than on the surface, and in the morning I could look for food and a more permanent place to stay.

~

The sun is set, and I am no closer to finding Maksim.  The trail of blood now takes me off the lit streets and into an alleyway. I hover at the shadowy entrance and try to make out what lies beyond. I am not the brave one. Maksim usually delved into places like this first, but he isn’t here and that is why I need to swallow my fear and follow the trail into the dark.

“For Maksim,” I whisper, clutching my arms to my chest to fight off the cold. 

~

The trash cans at the subway station had borne no fruit, so I made my way to the surface in search of the McDonald’s I had seen on the way there. I crossed a park filled with white capped statues and chatting passersby. None of them noticed me, not that it mattered. I was invisible to them, something they’d rather not notice.

I eventually made it to the McDonald’s and went around the back to the dumpster. Hopefully there would be something edible in all the trash. Though I hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours so I couldn’t afford to be picky. 

I was only there for a few minutes before I heard voices behind me. I prepared to make a run for it, expecting it to be employees coming to chase me off, but I was surprised at what I saw. Although they seemed more surprised to see me. The girl at the head of the pack looked me over as if sizing me up. The group looked like they had been living on the streets much longer than I had. Their clothes were brown with dirt, and their shoes had more holes than shoe. 

“Who are you?” She barked.

“I-I’m Kostya.” I felt uncomfortable. Did I do something wrong?

“Well, Kostya,” she spat out my name, “this is our territory, and that dumpster belongs to us.” She held her hands out, gesturing to her cronies. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” 

“Didn’t what? Didn’t think? That’s for sure. Now get lost!” She shoved me with all her might back into the dumpster’s side. A loud metallic crash rang across the parking lot and I fell to the snow. 

“Katerina don’t!” One of the boys behind her rushed past and knelt beside me. His hand went to the back of my head and came away red. “You hurt him!”

“So? Why do you care? He was stealing our food and we would all have to eat less. We don’t eat enough as it is.” 

“He’s like us. We can’t turn our backs on him, he’s got no place to go. What if he can pull his weight?”

“We’ve got enough mouths to feed as it is.” 

“He can be my responsibility. If he doesn’t measure up, we’ll both leave.”

What? Who was this boy and why did he care enough about me to leave what little he had? He could only have been about two years older than me, though his time on the streets made him look much older. His bony arms helped me to my feet and he supported me by putting my arm around his shoulder. 

“Whatever.” Katerina waved a hand through the air. “Now get out of my way, I’m starving. Literally.” 

We moved away from the group. Still dazed, I tried to speak, “Why…what…who are you?”

He sat me down on the curb and squatted in front of me. Startlingly blue eyes stared back from beneath straw colored hair.  He stretched out his hand and said, “I’m Maksim, nice to meet you.” 

~

The alleyway is too dark for me to see the trail, so I feel my way along the wall until I reach the dead end. How did he come this way? There is no trail leading back out, so where is he? As I begin to run my hand along the other wall, I feel a door. Turning the handle I realize it is not locked. He must have gone in here. Had he not been able to lose Katerina’s cronies in the street?

~

My initiation into the group involved snagging the tip jar off the counter at a coffee shop a few blocks from where Katerina and her gang had their hideout. After that she seemed to trust me more and allowed me to reap the full benefits of being under her protection. That was until she grew jealous of me and the fact that Maksim seemed to prefer my company to hers. I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten over the course of my first year in the group until I came back to our abandoned warehouse to hear them screaming at each other.

“After everything I’ve done for you Maksim! You would have died without me, and so would he! I thought you liked me, and I mean really liked me. But for some reason you ignore me for him!” 

“You’re delusional if you think I ever liked you. You were my protector and I am grateful for that, but if you’re not willing to accept my friendship with Kostya then we don’t need your protection any more!” 

“Fine! Get out, I don’t ever want to see either of you in this part of the city again or I swear you will have more to fear than the cold!”

He stormed away from her and saw me on his way out. Grabbing my wrist he said, “We’re leaving. Katerina doesn’t want us here any more.” 

“What, Maksim wai-,” I was being pulled out of the warehouse and into the evening wind. 

We walked for at least half an hour before descending into a subway station. It wasn’t until later that I realized it was the same one I had slept in on my first night in the capital. 

“I’m sorry for getting you into this mess.” He turned to me at the bottom of the stairs. “But I just can’t stand Katerina. She has always had a crush on me, but to explode over a friendship with someone other than her? She’s insane. We’ll be better off on our own. I know my way around, I can keep us alive. Do you trust me?”

I didn’t know what to think. I never liked Katerina, especially after she almost gave me a concussion, but she did provide stability. Despite that, I did trust Maksim and his ability to survive. “Yes, I do.”

“Good that’s all I needed to hear. I know a place we can go to stay warm and sleep. It’s not the cleanest or best smelling place, but it will keep us alive.”

“Where?”

“The sewers.”

The sewers? He had to be joking. 

I learned quickly that he was not joking and we made a life together beneath the city. We studied the tunnels and found the best ways to get around.  We found the tunnels that smelled the least rancid and made our den in them. It was a good life, all things considered, and for once, I was actually happy. Though it only lasted for four years.

On the day of my fifteenth birthday, Maksim decided he wanted to celebrate in style. 

“You need a birthday cake,” he said. We sat on a blanket deep within the sewers.

“No I don’t.”

“You do, and I know just where to get one. There’s a bakery over on Mira Street.”

“Isn’t that Katerina’s territory?” 

“Technically, though I don’t see why she would come so close to the city center.” 

I was skeptical at best. At worst, terrified. “How will you pay for it?”

“I’ve got savings.”

“Where?” 

“That’s the tricky part. I’ve got some here, but the rest I’ll get from a trade-off near the bakery.”

“A trade off of what?”

“You know what,” he looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

Drugs. I hated that we had to resort to this. “It’s not worth it, please, not today.”

“However much you might deny it, you are worth all the trouble in the world.” 

“I do deny it! And I don’t know why you think that.”

“Come on, we have a long walk ahead of us.”

The sewers connected the entire city together. It was easy to get around unnoticed down there, but never easy to get the smell out. As we climbed up the ladder and into the daylight, I realized where we were: the McDonalds where I first met Maksim. 

“Oh no. This is a terrible idea. We need to leave now, they could come back at any minute.” I was in a panic, I had heard that Katerina and her gang had gotten increasingly violent in their dealings with the locals and each other. I had no wish for either of us to be her next victim. 

“Stay here.” He said quietly.

“You can’t leave me out here, what if-”

“It’ll be fine, trust me.” He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder before entering the restaurant. I looked around nervously, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.

Maksim came back out, shoving a wad of cash into his pocket. “See, it told you. Everything is fine.” 

We started our walk to the bakery when we heard a voice that made me shiver all the way down my spine. 

“What the fuck?! Maksim?”

We spun around to see Katerina with at least six others in tow. 

“I warned you.” She said.

“Katerina wait, please,” Maksim put his hands out and stepped in front of me. 

“I have waited. I’ve waited four years for this.” She turned to her followers and said, “Get them.” 

Maksim immediately spun around and pulled me into a sprint. Frantically he said, “Split up, they’ll leave you alone, meet back at our spot in the park.” He ran in the other direction before I even had a chance to respond. 

My mind was completely blank. I couldn’t think about the what-ifs without collapsing in a sobbing fit on the ground. I just had to keep running and pray Maksim made it to our spot. 

The giant sundial in the park was a favorite spot of ours. We spent many summer afternoons sitting at the base watching the shadows move across it. Now, however, the sun was setting and the shadows were cast menacingly across its surface. Maksim was nowhere in sight. I thought he might not have made it back yet until I saw the puddle of blood and the trail leading away from it. 

~

The door swings open with a loud creek. Looking around I can’t see very much except for the streaks of moonlight coming in through the cracks in the roof. 

“Maksim?” I whisper, not daring to speak louder. 

I hear a shuffle in the middle of the room and make my way toward it. 

“Maksim?” I whisper again. Still no answer.

I make it to the source of the noise and what I see terrifies me more than I ever thought possible.

Maksim is shivering on the floor, leaning against a pole with his hands pressing against what must be a stab wound.

“Maksim! We have to get you to a hospital!”

“It’s too late. Kostya, I’m so sorry, I should have listened to you. You told me not to go there, but I did it anyway. Now you’ll be alone.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Everything is going to be alright.” I shift him so that his head rests in my lap. “Just relax.” Tears begin to streak down my cheeks

He looks up at me and tries to speak, “They say… that … when you die you see a li-light…b-but all I see is … you. Kostya I- I” His body goes limp and his eyes go dark. 

At least I know that he no longer has to struggle. His soul lives on in peace and I will always remember him even if no one else will. Everyone else’s lives will go on untouched because we are and always will be invisible.

“I love you too, Maksim.”

Foiled Eclipse

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A short story by Steven Scott

The girl’s crumpled body lay in his arms. Every breath she took threw a flicker of agony across her face. He had dragged her from the scene and into a small outcropping in the rocks. The arrow had struck the base of her spine and blood surged from the wound like a broken dam. The trail it left led straight to their hiding spot, but he hoped the woods were dark enough to make following it difficult. 

“Autumn, what do I do?” She hadn’t spoken since she screamed his name and pushed him out of the way of whistling demise. It seemed this hadn’t changed. 

She took in a sudden breath. More blood trickled from her mouth as she tried to speak. “A-aug…ust. Kill him. D-don’t let him … extinguish your light.” As soon as she had said her peace, her own light flickered away and he was left with the lifeless body of the girl he had never been separated from. They had shared a womb and everything that followed for fifteen years. He was paralyzed just as she had been moments ago.

Live! A voice commanded inside his head. Was it his sister? He didn’t know, but he knew he must act upon it. 

A snap rang through the forest like the crack of a whip. There was no time, he had to leave. Dawn would not fall victim to Dusk this time.

He gave his sister one last goodbye and then tore from the cover of the rocks. The blood red moon was full tonight, hidden in the sun’s umbral shadow. Though the forest was dense, it still cast an eerie light onto the scene. Through the many shadows, he was able to retreat unseen, though the hunter did not require sight to track his prey.

August ran in circles around the ancient trees in an attempt to foil his tracks. The night air was still. In the silence every drop of dew could be heard falling from leaf to leaf until it penetrated the earth and began the cycle anew. He knew the hunter could hear him, but he hoped he had bought himself time. 

He began to run again, following the outstretched arms of the trees that all pointed him in the same direction. They knew his plight. They knew what this night meant; someone was going to die. This time, August was determined to make that person the Dusk Hunter.

Before long he had lost his way. The forest seemed never-ending, for he and Autumn had never traveled this deep. These were wild lands, unexplored and uninhabited, or so he thought. There was a soft thud, as if something had just leapt from a low hanging branch. His eyes darted frantically, straining to see in the dim crimson light. He dared not speak, as the Hunter could be nearby. He waited for whatever it was to reveal itself. It did. 

He saw the red eyes first. Threatening in the dark. Then the long snout. His heart raced as he thought of what it might be. Would he truly die like this? Being pursued by a relentless hunter and eaten alive by a wolf. As it left the shadows however, he realized it wasn’t a wolf at all. The orange creature bounded towards him with its tail twirling in excitement.

A fox, he thought. He let out a sigh of relief. Though too soon. Footsteps could be heard nearby causing the fox to throw its head up attentively. It began to dart away, but stopped a few paces ahead as if to say, “coming?”

Without hesitation August followed the animal through the forest. The journey was difficult. Human influence hadn’t reached these wild lands. There was no footpath to follow and no familiar landmarks to orient himself. The fox led him though thorn thickets and over logs covered in moss. Where was it ta-

The forest blurred as he was hurled toward the ground, which he hit hard, but it wasn’t flat. The slope led into a valley of fallen leaves, which he rolled into violently. Leaves that normally would have been orange and yellow were rubies in the moonlight. They flew through the air in a bloody explosion as he finally came to a halt beneath them. 

He laid there a while, until the world stopped spinning. Slowly, he sat up  and held his head. It pounded like a beating drum. Looking around he saw the fox approaching him with his head bent down gazing sorrowfully. “I’m sorry,” it seemed to say as it moved its glance to August’s leg. 

Blood gushed from a deep cut on his thigh. He needed to stop the bleeding. Pulling the tunic over his head, he tied it around his leg tight enough to stem the flow, at least for the moment. The fox ran circles around him as he tried to get back on his feet, and he did, with some effort. He looked down at his arms and chest, taking in the bruises and cuts from the fall. He was in no condition to continue running; he needed rest and somewhere to hide from the hunter.

“How much farther,” he whispered to the creature. 

Excitedly, it stuck out its nose in the direction leading away from the slope. It appeared this valley was its home.

The stillness of the forest he had grown up in didn’t extend to this place. It seemed full of life, even in the red light of the blood moon. Bird nests littered the tree branches and beautiful flowers grew in droves around the trunks. He was able to smile for the first time that night. 

As they made their way across the valley he noticed something that was out of place. It was most definitely man made.

He stopped following the fox and headed in its direction. The orange creature made a noise of protest but August didn’t care. He needed to know what it was. He could make out details as he got closer. There was a hastily constructed fence that stood barely high enough to reach his knees, and it formed a circle, leaving an opening on one side to allow entry. Inside were an array of rocks and boulders that were evenly spaced apart. Each had a name carved into them, and he froze when he recognized two of them.

Autumn Dawn                         August Dawn

This was the Dusk Hunters graveyard. The place where he displayed his annual trophies. There were at least seventeen stones in the circle. Each with the name of someone who had fallen victim to the Dusk Hunter on the night of the full moon. He fell before his sister’s stone and let flow the unshed tears from all the night’s traumas. This year would be different. August would take up the torch of these fallen souls and wield it against their murderer. No more lives would be lost in the name of the greater good. With every soul sacrificed to the moon mankind would fall further into darkness. The light in his soul and the light of all the fallen would end it once and for all. 

Until now the fox had only observed him from a distance, but suddenly it darted in front of him and pointed its nose back toward the slope. August could hear the leaves before he could see them. Someone else was sliding into the valley. He got to his feet and made an impulsive decision to take the stone bearing his name. It was heavy but not unbearable. Together they ran to the opposite side of the valley where was led to a spot with a collection of vines and bushes decorating a stone wall. The fox leapt up to the wall and passed through it. 

“Where did you go?” He whispered, a note of hysteria accompanying his words. Approaching the wall, he pushed aside a few of the vines and realized it wasn’t a wall at all. It was a cave entrance covered by years of overgrowth. A chill ran down his spine as he closed the vines behind him. It was as if his life was spared by a matter of seconds.  He sat a few yards from the entrance and rested his head against the cave wall. Though the chill returned when he heard the voice.

“August Dawn!” The Dusk Hunter was close to the cave. “I know you can hear me. You should be honored that the moon goddess has chosen you as her sacrifice. Your death will be a noble one for the greater good of all mankind. Face it with honor and don’t sully this beautiful moment by fleeing. You cannot escape.”

August was at the mouth of the cave now. Listening to the hunter’s voice. He was close but not close enough to sense August’s presence. 

“You will not escape!” The Hunter said, closer this time. “Nor can you hide.” A hand ripped through the curtain of vines and clamped around his neck. The hand slowly progressed through the opening to reveal the Dusk Hunter himself.

No one had ever lived to tell of what the hunter looked like. But now, as August looked into the man’s black soulless eyes, he knew why. He was no man, but a monster sent by death. He could feel his soul being sucked out though his own eyes and pouring into the thing before him. Is that how he stayed alive? Feeding off the lives of others. Extinguishing lights and leaving only darkness. How had he come to this?

There was a loud yelp and blur of orange and white. The hunter dropped August and stepped back. The fox dangled from his hand, and black blood flowed from the wound. Wasting no time, August picked up the rock he had carried and smashed the monster over the head with it. It fell to the floor in a cry of agony. Though it was cut short as Dawn brought down the rock one final time.

The monster disintegrated to dust and released all the souls it had devoured. August felt the life return to him and he could see the golden glow around his pupil in the reflective eyes of the fox. 

It was over. The moon faded to grey and disappeared over the horizon, giving way to a radiant sunrise unlike any before it. It was the dawn of a new day and August would ensure it stayed that way.

Ever Afterlife

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A short story by Steven Scott

A gentle breeze blew through the branches of a dense oak tree.  One of many on the vast Ashford family estate. A group sat in the shade beneath it with a picnic lunch spread across an argyle blanket. 

“Boulderdash!” Mister Hare cried, “You could never run to that tree and back in less than a minute.” He said this, though a hint of smile could be seen through the white fur on his face.

Abigail Ashford puffed her cheeks in indignation. “I most certainly can! I may not be a rabbit like you but I can run just as fast.” She jumped up from the blanket and scone crumbs tumbled from the folds of her dress.

“A rabbit he may be, but a fat one. I’ve snared many a plump beast like him, as they can never resist the temptation of carrots.” The woman smirked.

Mister Hare returned a slice of carrot cake to his plate, decidedly uneaten.

“Now Artemis, Mister Hare is my friend just like you. We must be nice to our friends.” Abigail scolded the goddess. 

“My apologies Miss Abigail. It is in my nature to speak on the glories of the hunt.”

“It’s alright, I’m sure Mister Hare forgives you.” She gave a pointed glance to the rabbit in question. 

“Yes, yes, of course, apology accepted.” No longer able to resist, the rabbit picked up the carrot cake and rapidly devoured it.

“Now you had better watch, Mister Hare, I am going to run to that tree and back in less than a minute.” Without another word, she took off, her saddle oxford shoes digging into the ground. 

Abigail loved to run, and not only because it was the one time her long brown curls stayed out of her eyes. They flew behind her like her very own little red riding hood. It was also her favorite thing to do with her father. Though it was her mother’s responsibility to educate her, her father was the one who always let her have fun. They used to run from tree to tree while playing tag, for the trees were a safe haven. It would be the first thing they would do together when her father returned from the war. He was a soldier, like Artemis’ sister, Athena. 

She had reached the tree and turned to go back, but someone was yelling from the house.

“Miss Ashford! It’s time for your lessons!”

Was it noon already? Abigail looked to her friends, but they had disappeared from their spot on the blanket. She shrugged, as they tended to do that sometimes. She turned her attention back to the house where her tutor waited.

Mrs. Fortemps was an older woman with a grumpy face and worse temperament. She had originally been the estate’s head of housekeeping, but after Abigail’s mother left, her duties increased to tutor. They increased further when Mr. Ashford left for the war. The rest of the staff had to be let go for the Ashford family fund had all but dried up. It was only Abigail and Mrs. Fortemps now, to the girl’s utter unhappiness. Though she appreciated all the woman did for her, it was difficult not to resent her for it. She made her bathe, she made her eat Brussels sprouts, and she even made her learn how to multiply twelve times sixteen. When would she need to know how to do that, she often wondered.

She shook herself from these thoughts as she entered the mansion. Today was her history lesson. Last week, Mrs. Fortemps told her of the heroic Jeanne d’Arc and she wondered who she would get to meet today. 

The long corridors of the Ashford home were decorated with historical artifacts and paintings. She had met many of her friends in these halls. Looking at the plaque next to each one and then running to the library to research the people they belonged to. 

“Off to another lesson Miss Abigail?” The man’s Italian accent was like music to her ears. 

“I am, Mister Polo. History today.”

“If I remember correctly you were off to a History lesson the day we met, no?”

“Yes, and on the way there you taught me a game using both parts of your name. Then I asked Mrs. Fortemps about you and she said that you didn’t create that game. But I think she was lying. She likes to ruin my fun.” They both giggled before they noticed Mrs. Fortemps peek her head out of a door further down the hallway. 

“Miss Ashford? Who are you talking to?”

Abigail opened her mouth to say it was Mister Polo, but when she glanced over at where he had been, he was gone, just like the others. None of them seemed to like her tutor very much. It must have been because she wasn’t very fun. 

“No one, just talking to myself.” She could hear the woman mumble something under her breath.

“Well it is time for your lesson, come and sit down.”

The room they had set up as a makeshift classroom had six round wooden tables. Each had a stack of books and the necessary things for learning like slate and chalk, rulers, and paper and pencil. The tables were divided by subject: History, Linguistics and Literature, Science, Maths, Religion, and Geography.

“What will we be learning today?” Abigail asked tentatively. 

“Of the horrible King Henry VIII and his six wives.” The pair sat at the table in the middle of the room upon which books from all eras of history were stacked. The two began to talk about his early life and his marriage to Catherine of Aragon. 

These were the only times that the two really got along. They both shared an unquenchable love of history and thirst for knowledge. Most lessons only lasted for an hour or so, but on history day, the two could talk for hours.

It was three o’clock before Abigail finally made her way out of the study heading for the kitchen. She hoped that Artemis could help her make a small snack before she found Mister Hare to play cards. Making her way back down the long corridor, she could hear the slightest sounds of yelling. The kitchen was in the farthest corner of the mansion, but it sounded as if that was where the commotion was coming from. She picked up her pace, and ran the rest of the way there.

“You really must leave sir; you are not welcome in Miss Abigail’s home!” Mister Hare’s voice was muffled through the swinging door. 

Abigail pushed through the door to see what he was fussing about. To her astonishment there was a man standing at the other end of the kitchen. Artemis had her bow pointed at him. 

“What is going on here!” Abigail cried. “Mister Hare, why are you yelling? Artemis, put down your bow.” 

“This man is not nice, mistress. He must leave immediately.” The Huntress reluctantly relaxed the draw-string of her weapon but did not take her eyes off of the man. 

“Who are you, sir?”

He was fat, bald, and wore a large chain around his neck. “I am Henry, King of England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and France. Though why I should answer to the likes of you is beyond me. How old are you, girl?”

“I am almost eight, sir.”

The King paused before saying quietly, “I had a son about your age. I suppose he became King after I died.”

“You died? You mean you went to a better place. Like my mother? Perhaps you saw her there. Her name was Margret Ash-“

“A better place? What nonsense are you on about? When you die you’re dead. I should know. There is no happy ending or rainbows, just black emptiness. Everyone goes to Hell in the end I suppose.”

Abigail’s voice caught in her throat. “You’re wrong!” She managed to choke out. “My mother is in a better place, and when I am old enough I will see her again there! I’ll see everyone again!” 

“Weren’t you listening. There is no place to go to. You’re never going to see your mother again.” He picked up an apple and bit into it hard. 

Abigail fell to her knees. Tears welled up in her eyes and her cheeks were as red as the King’s apple. 

“Miss Abigail?” Mister Hare ran to her. “Now that is quite enough sir, you’re upsetting her.”

Angrily, Artemis loosed a Silver arrow that struck through the King’s chest. He vanished in silence. Then she too moved to Abigail’s side. 

“Abby, are you all right?” The goddess rarely used this nickname, but when she did it was a serious situation. 

Abigail had covered her face with her small hands. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “They’ve all been lying to me. I’ve always thought that my mother wasn’t gone forever, that I would see her again soon. Where is she, if not a better place?”

“Hush child. King Henry is a man of little faith. He knows not where your mother is. My people believe in the Underworld. If you live a good life you are allowed to roam the Elysian Fields. If you did ill deeds, you were condemned to the depths of Tartarus. You are a Christian. Your people believe in Heaven and Hell. Henry is a bad man, so it is quite possible what he described was the domain of Satan.”

“But how can we be sure?” She wiped the remaining tears from her face and looked at the woman. 

Mister Hare answered first. “I’m afraid we can’t.”

Just then the doorbell rang, and echoed throughout the entire house.

“Who could that be?” The rabbit inquired.

Abigail took a deep breath and made her way to the door, looking back she said, “Well are you coming?”

When they arrived in the foyer Mrs. Fortemps had just gotten to the door. When she opened it, two men in uniform stood on the threshold. 

“We are looking for Miss Abigail Ashford?”

The woman turned to the young girl, but said nothing, she seemed to know something that Abigail didn’t.

When she got to the door, the two men got down on one knee to be at her height. They removed their hats and looked at her with sadness in their eyes. One of them handed her the Union Jack folded into a triangle with three medals resting upon it.

The other man spoke, “Miss Abigail Ashford, we regret to inform you that Mister Byron Ashford was killed in the line of duty. He was a brave soldier who served his Kingdom well and will always be remembered as a hero.” 

She didn’t speak. Arms shaking, she took the flag and hugged it to her chest. For the second time that day she found herself on the floor, weak and crying. She paid no mind as Mrs. Fortemps thanked the men and closed the door. 

“Abigail I-“

“Mrs. Fortemps, I want to be by myself.”

“How about I take you to your room, I-”

“No, please go.”

“Al-alright. I’ll be in my room if you need anything, everything is going to be alright.”

When she got no response, the tutor begrudgingly left the girl on the floor with her flag.

Hours passed while Abigail was alone with her thoughts. Moonlight shone through the glass parts of the large double doors. She would never get to sit on that doorstep and watch the stars with her father again. She would never be able to play tag in the trees with him, or even make him his favorite peanut butter and jam sandwiches. What was she going to do?

“Abby?” Her friends had returned at last. 

Abigail was silent. 

“This isn’t the end, Miss Abigail.” Mister Hare sat before her, placing a paw on her knee. Just as Artemis and I are always here, so are your parents. No matter how far they’ve gone they are always here with you. Look.” He lifted her chin. 

On either side of him stood two very familiar figures. One wore a dark green uniform with medals adorned across his chest. The other wore a light blue dress and her brown curls fell neatly around her face. 

“Mother? Father? Is it really you?” 

Each of them took one of her hands in theirs. She was overjoyed as she leapt into their arms and wrapped them both in a hug.

Her mother said in her ear, “We love you, Abigail, and we always will.”

Then they were gone. Abigail fell asleep there in the foyer. Mrs. Fortemps must have come back to bring Abigail to bed, because when she woke she was in her familiar four-poster bed. She sat thinking. Somehow she knew that that was the last time she would see her parents, or any of her friends, ever again.

“Goodbye.” She whispered.