Melancholy Fox

The ceiling lights blind Sarah when she wakes. Weighed by sleep, her eyes refuse to open entirely. A migraine staggers forward from the back of her mind. A constant beeping from Sarah's right fuels her migraine. To her left, a woman cries. Sarah looks over towards the woman. She finds her mother, Catelyn, weeping at the side of Sarah's bed. Catelyn holds Sarah's hand in her own. Bandages cover Sarah's wrist. Blood stains them red.

Seeing her daughter awake, Catelyn turns to Sarah's father. "Jacob, get a doctor!"

Jacob jumps from his chair and rushes by the foot of the bed. Sarah follows him with her eyes. Once he's left the room, Sarah sees the heart monitor at the right of her bed. Next to the heart monitor, a bag of blood is held by an IV pole.

"I'm sorry," Sarah hears. The words fall broken from her mother's lips. Sarah looks at her mother. Sobbing has reddened Catelyn's eyes. Sarah's face remains unmoved. She returns her gaze to the ceiling. Again Catelyn says, "I'm sorry."

Jacob soon returns. A doctor follows him in. Jacob joins Catelyn to Sarah's left. The doctor takes a seat at Sarah's right. The doctor asks Sarah several questions. Sarah answers none of them. She simply continues to stare at the ceiling lights. The brilliant glow creates colored orbs in her vision. While entertaining, the orbs accelerate Sarah's migraine.

"Sarah, I only want to help. Please, tell me how I can help you." the doctor says. Her migraine at its peak, Sarah replies, "Can you turn off the lights?"

"Do you have a headache," the doctor asks. Sarah rolls her eyes, "yes doctor; I have a headache."

"I'm not surprised given the bump on your head. " the doctor says. Sarah pulls her hand from her mother. She runs her fingers over her face. She feels her swollen eyes. Above them, Sarah feels a large gauze pad taped to her forehead. The center of the dressing is damp; Sarah assumes it's blood. "What happened to me?"

"You fainted," the doctor explains, "after you cut your wrists. It seems you tried to make it to the bathroom. Before you even reached the door, you collapsed and struck your head on your cabinet."

"I see,"

"I don't think you do. You hadn't lost nearly enough blood to faint when you did. It could be psychological; however, given your other condition, it seems unlikely you'd be squeamish."

"So, there's another thing wrong with me."

"Don't think of it like that. It could be nothing. I just want to run a few test for safety."

"What kind of tests?" Catelyn asks. The doctor begins to explain what he wants to do. Sarah stares at her feet and tries to tune him out. The lights have remained on.

While ignoring the doctor, Sarah sees a disembodied shadow at the foot of her bed. At first, the shadow is barely visible. It quickly darkens. As it does, the shadow pulls the colors of the room into itself. Sarah begins to breathe heavily, and a pain strikes at her left arm. Soon, the shadow stands darker than night. The room is left in shades of gray.

A man emerges from the shadow. He towers over the bed; his top hat nearly touches the ceiling from Sarah's perspective. The man dresses entirely in black, with a long cape draping over him. A silver chain, like that of a pocket watch, is collared to his neck. A white mask encompasses his head.

The face of the mask reminds Sarah of a store manikin's. A crack is its only flaw. It runs the length of the face in the form of a skeleton's grin. Wire stitches hold the crack shut. His eyelids fall half-closed. They contain an exhaustion that could be confused for caring. The only color on the man is in his pupils. They burn like rings of fire in an ocean of black.

Struggling to breathe, Sarah looks to her parents; they, too, now wear masks. Her father's is a blue star, with a cartoonish smile and pink eyes that look to the heavens. Two rings of sculpted fire twirl around the mask's visage like Ferris wheels. The rings rotate in opposing directions, with the first rotating clockwise. Catelyn's mask is far less detailed. Its has no sculpted features. A metallic blue face is painted over the mask's smooth silver body.

Sarah tries to speak but finds herself choking on the words. She looks back to the masked man. As her vision blurs to nothing, the man raises his index finger to the lips of his mask. Everything goes's black. The last thing Sarah hears is the sold beep of the heart monitor.

Sarah wakes to the sound of her alarm. She listens to it beep away from the comfort of her bed. The Cold keeps her in place. It seeps through the cracks of a broken window. Soon, the clock reads five O'three and the beeping achieves its peak.

Without leaving her bed, Sarah reaches for her alarm. It stands far out of range. She pushes herself nearly off the bed and tries again. Still, it stands out of her range. Before Sarah can pull herself back, the sheets come undone. Sarah falls to the floor. A pile of clothes and the comforter of her bed cushion the fall. She lies there for a moment; then, accepts its time to get up.

Sarah rises to her feet and turns off her alarm. Muffled whispers fill the silence left behind. Sarah assumes they belong to the shadow people, who decorate her moonlit walls. They vanish when Sarah turns on the lights. The whispers remain. They always remain.

Before leaving, Sarah looks at her bed. The mattress lies naked. Her sheets, blankets, and comforter remain sprawled across the floor. With a yawn, Sarah says to herself, "I'll deal with it later."

In the bathroom, Sarah jumps into the shower long before the water is warm. Here, the cold rains on her. Every icy drop strikes at her like a tiny needle. Though it hurts, Sarah needs this. It makes her feel awake, feel alive. Sarah stares at the scars on her wrists as the water warms.

Not even a week after her visit to the hospital, Sarah's parents had already found her a psychotherapist. They wasted no time in seeking out the very best for their beloved daughter. This 'best' was named Dr. Henry Burns.

Sarah met Dr. Burns in a small room next to his office. A table stood in the center of the room. A bowl of assorted candies settled on the table. Next to the bowl lied a small black recorder. On either side of the table was a chair. Dr. Burns sat in the one on the side furthest from the door. The one nearest the door was a chaise longues or long chair. It was where Sarah sat.

Dr. Burns wore a mask, too. The whole world wore masks after Sarah's hospital visit. His was black, with the right eye stitched shut. Over the left eye was a monocle. In place of a lens, it held a mirror. The first time Sarah looked into that mirror, she saw only fog.

On that first day, Dr. Burns asked Sarah why she tried to kill herself. He said to her, "I find It strange someone like you would try to commit suicide."

"You mean a psychopath," Sarah asked. Dr. Burns took a moment before responding with, "well, I don't think I'd call you that."

"I was diagnosed that."

"And yet, you're not entirely with feelings, Sarah. Suicide seems proof of that. It is such an emotion thing, wouldn't you say?"

"No."

"Realy?"

"Life is exhausting." Sarah stated, "my parents are good with emotions. They could tell something was wrong with me early on. Of course, it didn't stop them from loving me. If anything, it's their caring I can't stand. They just want what's best; though, I just want to be left alone. Death seemed the easiest way to get that."

"You could have run away."

"That doesn't sound exhausting to you?"

"What's stopping you from trying again?"

"I met someone. He's offering me a better life. I figured I tried it out. After all, I can always kill myself later. Isn't that right doctor?"

"I suppose. This man you've met, who is he?"

"I'm not sure. He says his name is Sam, and I don't think he's human."

"What do you think he is?"

"I think he's a demon. He asked for my soul. He said it was beautiful. I never thought anyone would say that about me."

When Sarah leaves the shower, the cold embraces her once again. She shivers as she wraps herself in towels. Her teeth chatter as she brushes her hair. An oval silhouette stains the wall in front of her. A shadow moves in the stain. Sarah watches it mimic her movements. Once groomed, she returns to her bedroom. She dresses in her school uniform, before heading downstairs.

In the dining room, Sarah sets a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea on the table. A bottle stands to the right of her meal. She opens it and drops the last pill into her palm. She takes it before enjoy her breakfast. While not high in flavor, the meal leaves Sarah satisfied. She prepares a second breakfast for her father. Sarah places it on a tray and heads back upstairs. To the right of the stairway, at the end of the hall sits the door to Jacob's study. Sarah collects herself at the entrance. With a deep breath, she forces a smile and opens the door.

The room's potent aroma flows of Sarah. The clear stench of rotting meat slithers forward, like a thick fog. Sarah's body tenses in the odor's presence. She takes shallow breaths as she walks forward. Paintings cover the walls and floor of the room. Many are piled one on top of the other creating pillars; Some stand even taller than Sarah. Holes fill nearly all of the canvases. Either mice or rats have gnawed at them. Sarah feels confident at least a few of these rodents ley dead among the clutter. Somewhere within the many pillars of paintings, their bodies decay. At least, the cold has diminished the scent to a degree.

At the far end of the study, a frail man sits on a stool. An easel holds a blank canvas before him. From a window, moonlight strikes at the man's back. It casts his shadow over the canvas. To Sarah's relief, his face remains shrouded in darkness.

A plate of leftovers waits for her on a side table to the man's right. It holds most of a pork chop, a few peas, and scraps of mash potatoes. A jar of black water lies next to the meal.

"I brought you breakfast," Sarah says with a heightened pitch in her voice. Still smiling, Sarah trades the breakfast with the leftovers. As she does, Jacob mumbles, "Stop."

"You didn’t eat very much," Sarah states ignoring his hushed words. Again Jacob mumbles, "stop."

"But you did finish the potatoes." Sarah pulls away from the table. The tray now carries the leftover dinner. “Perhaps, I should prepare something soft tonight, maybe soup.”

Before Sarah turns to leave, Jacob reaches out and grabs her by the arm. His Loose pale skin dangles from his bony limb. He pulls his face out from the darkness. Broken, cracked and twisted, the face barely resembles the once smiling blue sun. Time has drained the color from the mask and leaves it nearly gray. Wrinkled skin falls over its sunken face, like that of a bulldog’s. Its eyes have blackened. Sorrow points them to the floor. With a furrowed brow and goblin-like nose, the mask seems to snarls at Sarah. Only the smile has remained the same; however, it's appearance is made fiendish by the rest. The rings of fire no longer spine. Many of the flames have broken off and crumbled to dust. A gruesome crooked crack runs the length of the face. A thick black liquid oozes from the crack like blood from an open wound.

“Let me go,” Sarah demands, her voice falls to chilling monotone. Her smile drops to an indecisive frown; her eyes open wide with a furious surprise. Spitefully, Sarah glares down at Jacob.

“There she is,” he says, “There’s my little girl.”

“Let me go,” Sarah repeats placing her thumb on the dinner knife. She inches it closer to the palm of her hand. Jacob sees this. Moans, like those of a zombie, fall from his mouth. He withdrawals his grip and returns to his shadow. Jacob picks up his brush and dips in the dirty water. With the brush, he dampens the paints on his palette. Jacob begins painting on the empty canvas. While he does, he repeats the words, "there she is. There's my little girl."

Sarah rushes out of the study. She slams the door behind her and rests against it. Her heart pounds in her chest. The pain slides Sarah down the door. She places the tray at her side. Sarah Grips her chest and waits for her heart to calm.

Once in therapy, Dr. Burns asked Sarah how she felt about her parents. Sarah replied, "I suppose they both care in their own way. My father has always been supportive. If I don't care about something, he just says, 'then it's not worth caring about.' My mother is more 'helpful'. She doesn't understand me."

"How so?"

"She worries about me not being accepted by other children. Of course, I don't care; but, she thinks it's important that I'm liked."

"That's very common for parents."

"It's obnoxious. Ever since I was small, she's made me practice 'expressing' myself; But, I do express myself. I feel nothing, and I express it very well. What she wants is for me to lie. She wants me to pretend I'm normal."

"And you don't feel normal?"

"Before everything, I wanted to be normal. At least, I was supposed to want to be normal."

"And you don't anymore?"

"No, Sam says 'what is normal if not another word for common.' Dirt is normal; I'm a pearl."

With the pain settled in her chest, Sarah rises to her feet. She picks up the dining tray and returns to the kitchen. There she washes the dishes before heading out to school. In the mud room, Sarah dresses in her winter attire. She drapes her school bag over her right shoulder and heads out the door.

A thick forest surrounds Sarah's isolated home. Orbs of light burst in and out of existence among the trees. Their brilliant colors pop against an otherwise gray world. Black shadows, like those on Sarah's walls, accompany each of these orbs. The shadows appear almost solid in the moonlight.

A light snow falls from the sky. It adds to the blanket already covering the forest floor. The snow reaches just above Sarah's ankles. With every step, the fresh snow collapses over her feet. It grips at her like tiny hands. While no one step is especially exhausting, the sheer distance quickly takes its toll.

Soon, Sarah must rest. She pushes herself up against a nearby tree. Her right-hand grips the empty bottle in her pocket; while, the other falls over her chest. The cold strikes at Sarah's teeth as she inhales one deep breath after another.

Sarah watches the shadows; while, she waits for her heart to settle. They glide through the forest. Some seem aware of her, and all keep their distance. The shadows carry the orbs like lanterns. There is a noticeable delay between when the orb bursts and the shadow fades. Sarah figures it's about three seconds. There's no pattern to when an orb will burst or even that it must. One shadow, in particular, seems stagnant in its existence. Its orb is a dark green and blue fire. While it stays its distance, this shadow feels more present than the others.

Sarah pushes herself from the tree and moves on. At about the halfway mark, she turns to see the same dark green and blue orb. Against her better judgment, Sarah continues without resting. A growing chest pain forces her gaze to the snow buried floor. Sarah's mind wonders to petty thoughts.

She thinks of the summer with its crisp morning air and naked dirt road. In the summer, the sun would have already risen. In its light, the shadows and orbs alike would fade to oblivion. In the summer, Sarah could enjoy a peaceful stroll to the bus stop. However, She would also have to deal with the midday heat. The sun's scalding rays would keep Sarah in school until twilight. Leaving any earlier, she risks burning her sickly fair skin.

The winter's dark days, with their thick gray clouds, grant Sarah an appreciated amount of freedom. Besides, it's not like it's the snow fault she's in pain. Sarah chooses to move forward. The world only wants her to rest. The snow, with its loose grip, pleads her to stop. The cold, slowly numbing her senses, pulls her closer and closer to sleep. Should she obey, the winter would gladly blanket her. Even the trees know this is no time to live. They stand slumbering stripped of their leaves. They appear completely drained of life. Sarah considers joining the trees or their leaves on the forest floor; yet, she moves forward.

Sarah's throat burns from gasping frosted air. She nears the final half mile when she has to stop. The shadow with the dark green and blue orb has vanished. For how long, Sarah is unsure. Her legs unwilling to stand, she collapses against one of the trees. Sarah curls into a ball. Her heart stabs at her. She closes her eyes and waits for the pain to pass.

Sarah is barely awake when the pain subsides. She hesitates to get up. In her waiting, the snow has grown comfortable. Still, she eventually rises. Before proceeding, Sarah takes a final glance at the small indent she's made on the blanket of snow. With a deep breath, she turns and continues toward the bus stop.

Her destination comes into view with unpleasant news. The bright glare of headlights betrays Sarah's belated arrival. Unsure how long the bus has stopped, Sarah rushes for the remaining distance. She slows only once she's sure the driver has seen her. The bus door opens as she approaches. The driver greets her, "Good morning, snowflake."

"Good morning, Joe" Sarah replies. Exhausted, she staggers up the bus steps. The bus driver watches as she struggles to center herself. He quickly asks, "You all right, Snowflake?"

Sarah forces a smile, before saying, "I'm fine, Joe. I'm just a little tired is all."

Sarah can't say if the bus driver believes her; his mask hides any emotions held by his face. The mask itself, like most, fails to show any present feelings. It merely stares back at her with the same stern gaze it always does. A thick brow shadows its eyes, which gleam like glass. A different color stains each eye; the right is red and the left blue.

Whether or not he does, the bus driver doesn't push the subject. After paying her toll, Sarah heads for the back of the bus. An old lady sits in the first seat across from the bus driver's. She wears a mask with the face of a crow. Giant black eyes burst from their sockets. The old lady says nothing to Sarah; however, the mask's bulbous eyes follow her as she walks by. The left eye stays glued to Sarah even after she seated. It moves on once more patrons enter the bus.

At the second stop, a shrill voice calls out to Sarah, "Sarah, Sarah, over here!"

Like the screams of a dying rabbit, this voice holds a nauseating desperation for attention. A bitter taste fills the back of Sarah's throat as she turns to face the voice's origin. A young girl runs past the other on comers. She wears the same uniform as Sarah. A gray peacock mask covers the top half of her face. The beak forms at the nose. Stretching far from the nose's tip, it resembles the beak of a crane more than a peacock's. Gray peacock tail feathers flow down the back of her head, like hair. A gold tear drops from the right eye of the mask. The eye itself is solid emerald.

"Good morning, Jessica," is how Sarah greets the obnoxious girl. Sarah gives a light smile; her teeth clench behind her lips. Jessica seats herself next to Sarah before saying, "So Sarah, curious why I'm riding the bus?"

"I couldn't imagine why," Sarah sighs.

“Well, daddy's thinking of running for governor. And I thought I could try and be more present in society." Jessica explains. She keeps a smile but speaks with far less enthusiasm. Her voice falls to a staggered monotone as if she's reading lines from a book. Sarah images the words seeped past the lips of Jessica's mother first. She pictures Mrs. McDillanger's gold phoenix mask. Intertwined Feathers of gold and copper flow down the back of her head. Her eyes shine like rubies before a flame.

Once in therapy, Dr. Burns asked Sarah to write a few words describing her friends, of which, Sarah only has two. The first was Jessica. Sarah wrote the words: common, undeserving, liar, and indebted. When Dr. Burns asked why these words, Sarah replied, "Because, it's what she is. Not by choice, but it's what she is. She isn't gifted. She'll never be on the same level as her parents. She knows it, too. So, she lies to herself and everyone around her. She pretends to be special, but she not."

"All people are special in some way, Sarah," Dr. Burns proclaims, "even you."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do."

"What a foolish thought," Sarah belittled, "If that were true, people wouldn't be so expendable. To be special, one should be difficult to replace. For Jessica to be replaced, the McDillangers need only have another child. They'd probably be better off."

"So you don't believe she deserves to be the McDillanger's daughter?"

"Do any of us deserve our parents. We do nothing but be born; whether it's to a wealthy family or an abusive drunk is entirely out of our control."

"Are you referring to Lilith?" Dr. Burns asks. Lilith is the second name on Sarah's list of friends. The words artist, beautiful, and broken are scribbled next to Lilith's name.

"I suppose. Her father beats her for being special. She captures such wonderful things with that pencil of hers. She would make for a great McDillanger."

"You seem quite fond of Lilith."

"Yes, I suppose I am. You know, Sam introduced me to her. He said Lilith would be an exciting distraction. So far, he's been right. Honestly, I think she'll do anything for me. Perhaps I should add pathetic. Yeah, pathetic is a good word for both of them. It's a good word for all of us, I suppose."

At the fourth stop, Sarah and Jessica are joined by Lilith. One year younger than Sarah, Lilith is a freshman at the same school. She wears a sun mask. It is made from gold and encompasses all of Lilith’s head. Gold and copper flames frame the mask like a crown. They bend back following the flow of Lilith's hair. A red tear line falls from the right eye. It stains the cheek of the mask.

“Sarah, I see you’re sitting in the usual spot,” Lilith says cheerfully. Her voice grows cold when she says, “and Jessica, I see you're sitting in my usual spot.”

“You own this seat, Lilith,” Jessica remarks. Lilith points to an empty seat across from Sarah and Jessica, “Why don’t you sit over there.”

“Because I’m sitting here.”

“but that’s my seat.”

“Lilith, Just sit over there,” Sarah instructs. Lilith won't argue with Sarah. She sits in the seat across from the two. She goes about this at the speed of child ordered by their mother.

“Why are you here anyway,” Lilith whines. Jessica repeats the previous conversation; only far greater detail. Most of it on how great her father is and how much he deserves to be governor. Sarah turns to the window in an attempt to ignore the conversation. In the windows reflection, Sarah sees a maskless girl staring back at her. The girl shares the perfect features of a porcelain doll. She also shares the lifeless gaze of a doll. Sarah stares deeply into the girl's tired eyes. The lids nearly closed, the girl seems on the verge of sleep. Sarah closes her eyes.

"Sarah, it's time to get up," Lilith says. Sarah feels a hand on her shoulder. It shakes her furiously. Only stopping once Sarah opens her eyes. Lilith giggles across from Sarah, "You have to wake up. It's our stop."

"Oh, alright," Sarah replies. The girls leave the bus and walk to school. Once there, the party breaks. Lilith heads toward the freshmen building; while, Sarah and Jessica head for the sophomore buildings. The two wave goodbye to each other once they reach the building. They don't regroup until the lunch hour. At which, Jessica laments over a low test score in algebra two.

"I don't understand why you're so upset over this," Sarah voices. She holds the test in her hands. Just beside the name, a sixty-eight is written in a mild gray. Sarah assumes it's red. "this is actually an improvement for you."

"I'm hopeless, Sarah," Jessica admits, her head hidden behind her arms, "after all that tutoring, I only got a sixty-eight. I work so hard."

"And you improved," Sarah states, "good job."

"You don't understand," Jessica cries, "me improving is the problem. I either wanted an A or an F, but this. Oh God, they're just going to hire more tutors."

"So you're sad you're not completely useless?"

"You don't have to say it like that, but... yeah, a little."

After lunch, Sarah and Jessica have two classes together. Jessica pays close attention to every lecture; while, Sarah stares out the window. Each teacher tries their best to catch Sarah off guard. Sarah enjoys hearing their disappoint when she answers them correctly. It amuses her, how the teachers care about her listening to them babble over know the right answer; It’s all simply pathetic.

After their fifth class, Sarah and Jessica have physical education. Sarah only has to show up for attendance. Unless it’s a lecture, she is excused from the rest of class. Sarah spends this free period helping Lilith with her art project. She has done this for the last two weeks.

She meets Lilith in one of the art rooms. Here, Lilith sets up the lighting; while, Sarah strips out of her school uniform and puts on a Victorian red and black dress. Lilith obtained this dress from the drama club. The dress hangs loosely on Sarah. Lilith uses clamps to pull the excess fabric to the back of the dress. Once the costume fits, Sarah takes a seat in an armless black chair. She cradles a bundle of roses in her arms. Sarah holds a neutral expression, while Lilith paints.

“That’s it,” Lilith says, “it’s finished.”

“Really, can I see it” Sarah asks. Lilith gives the painting one last look over before saying, “Yeah, it's definitely ready.”

Sarah places the roses on the chair before heading over to Lilith. She looks down at the painting. There, Sarah sees the girl from her reflection. She sits in the black chair. A snow covered forest surrounds her. To the girl's right stands a man dressed in black. From a collar around his neck runs a silver chain. The man tucks the chain into his vest like a tie. A skeleton grin runs the length of his pale face. The man almost looks like Sam; but, he's not. He's only Lilith's best attempt to paint a man she’s only heard of. He rest his hand on the back of Sarah’s chair and stares straight forward. The two resemble a couple in an old black and white photo. While neither looks happy; it is hard to imagine them separately. The two gloomy souls belong together in their black and white world.

"I call it Death and the Rosemary Doll. Do you want me to describe the colors to you," Lilith asks. Sarah shakes her head, "No, it's perfect just the way I see it."

With nothing left to do, Sarah and Lilith leave the school and head to the park across the street. Lilith leaves the painting in her art room locker. Near the bus stop is a playground in the park. Sarah and Lilith sit on two of the swings. Here, Sarah asks a question. One she's had on her mind since seeing Death and the Rosemary Doll.

“Lilith, do you think I’m a doll?”

“Of course,” Lilith replies excitement pouring from her voice, “You're the most beautiful person I've ever met!”

“No,” Sarah says, “I mean, do you think I’m empty like a doll?”

“Oh,” Lilith’s tone falls drastically, “No, I don't think that at all. It's true; you don't express your emotions as much as other people. And that's not a bad thing! It just means only those who know you well can see how you feel. I consider it a real gift when you open up to me.”

“I see,” Sarah says, "thank you, Lilith."

The school bell rings through the air. The two hear it from across the street. Soon, students march from the buildings towards the bus stop. Lilith jumps to her feet. She starts for the bus but stops once she sees Sarah isn't following.

“Are you coming?”

“No, I think I’ll stay here awhile.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” At that, Lilith walks off. As soon as she's out of sight, Sarah hears a voice. "what a lovely young girl. She has such a caring soul."

The words seem to come from Sarah's own lips; only, the voice is undeniably male. While pleasant, every word holds a sourness as if he speaks on the verge of tears; however, this voice will never weep. It is doomed to carry it a tired sorrow for all of eternity. Sarah knows this voice. Her gaze turns to the swing where Lilith sat. Now, the man with the skeleton grin sits there. He sits with his knees crossed, like an old gentleman. He smokes from a long black opium pipe. Colored light emits from the bowl of the pipe, like an aurora. With every exhale, a cold dark gray smoke spews from the mask's cracked smile. "Sam, you're back."

"Yes, child," Sam replies, "I wouldn't dream of missing our anniversary."

“Is that today,” Sarah asks.

“It is,” Sam replies.

"I guess I forgot."

"Did you? well, I suppose it is but a day."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Sarah agrees. A silent moment passes before Sarah rises from her seat. She walks over to Sam and sits in his lap. "It's been lonely without you."

"Has it? You looked quite distracted with your friend."

"But she not here now."

"No one can be at your side always."

"You could; if you want to."

"You think so? I afraid even I have my limits, child."

“You could take me with you; if you wanted?”

“Are you so terribly excited to die,” Sam asks, “ Death is an awfully empty thing. It's little more than a dream."

“What's wrong with that? People seem to like dreams."

"Yes, I suppose they do; but to give up your whole life for a single dream. It seems such a waste to me."

Sarah pushes herself back. She rests heavily on Sam's chest. It has no heartbeat; nor, does it rise when Sam inhales. “I’m tired, Sam. Don’t you ever just feel tired?”

“It is all I ever feel, child; yet, my soul may never rest. It is bound by the regrets of my person and so must walk the earth for eternity. Such is the nature of a phantom. To be as free as the living, what a wonderful thing that would be."

"How would you know, Sam," Sarah asks, "You've never been alive."

"Perhaps, but the soul that make a person once lived," Sam states, "Many of them seemed quite fond of living."

"I'm tired, Sam. I'm just too tired."

Sarah lets her eyes close. She feels Sam's cape flow over her like a thick mist. Sleep takes her in Sam's gentle embrace. Sarah's breathing slows and the air grows thin. A twitching in her throat reminds Sarah she's stopped breathing. She wakes with a deep breath. Her face is numb from the night cold. Her hands clench the chains of the swing. Her fingers send jolts up her spine every time she moves them. Sam is nowhere to be found. Again Sarah is alone.

Once standing, Sarah pulls out the empty medicine bottle for the morning. Far too late to fill it, Sarah pockets the bottle and heads for the bus stop. She waits for the bus on a metal bench. When it arrives, Sarah boards and pays her toll. The old lady with the crow mask still sits in the first seat of the bus. To Sarah's surprise, Sam sits across from the old lady. Silently, Sarah joins him. The old lady stares at her. Not like she did this morning. Now, She's actually facing Sarah. Uncomforted by the attention, Sarah ask, "what."

The old lady stiffens at the word. She relaxes before saying, "you're here. You're never up here. You're always back there."

"Well, I'm up here now. Is that wrong."

"Don't rightly know. Is it?"

"Are you crazy," Sarah snaps, her patience noticeably dwindling. The old lady chuckles, "No, no, no; at least, I don't think so. I'm just curious that's all. You always head right for the back of the bus. I just figured you liked to be left alone."

"Well, I don't."

"Oh, then you should sit up here more often. There's always someone to talk to up here."

"Is that why you sit up here?"

"Sure, it's always nice to have a chat. I love hearing all about people's lives. Sometimes, I'll tell a story from mine. It's nice to revisit old memories now and then."

"Is that all you do? You just sit here and watch the world go by?"

"It is. I've lived all I care to. I've seen enough of the world to die happy."

"Then why stay? You could always kill yourself."

"My, my," the old lady starts. Her tone is sharper; but, Sarah can still hear a smile on her face. "You're a blunt one, aren't you? Well, I don't know if I could kill myself. Joe would be all alone without me."

"Don't let me stop you," the bus driver interrupts, "I could use the quiet."

"Oh, hush you," the old lady snaps, "such a nasty man."

When the bus reaches Sarah's stop, she begins to stand; however, the bus fails to slow. Sarah looks to the bus driver and says, "Joe, That was my stop."

"Aye, it is," the bus driver replies, "but I can't rightfully leave you to walk all the way home. You looked half dead this morning."

"I didn't ask for your pity."

"You don't have to. I'll pity whoever I damn well want to."

Sarah looks over to Sam, how has neither spoken nor moved. He calmly sits smoking on his pipe. His eyes stare straight forward, past the old lady and through the window. Sarah seems to stare too long as the old lady asks, "See something."

"No," Sarah lies. The bus pulls up to Sarah's house. As soon as it stops, Sam rises from his feet and exits the bus. Sarah follows forgetting to thank the bus driver for his kindness. Sam reaches the front door before Sarah. He moves straight through it. When Sarah first enters the house, she drops her backpack in the mud room. She sees Sam head to the second floor. Sarah follows him up. When she reaches the top, she sees Sam enter her father's study. Again, Sarah follows. She opens the door to find Sam standing just ahead of her. She walks to his side. Past him, Sarah's father sits on his stool. Black knotted hair clothes his body. Jacob's arms extend out like those of an orangutan's. His legs have withered, and curl against his chest. A maskless man lies on the ground next to him. Jacob doesn't notice Sarah or Sam at first. He just stares at his latest painting. It is of a girl's eyes. The stare lifelessly forward. Wild, angry black lines are scribbled all around the eyes. Again and again, he says, "there she is. There's my little girl."

A haunting wail overlaps his voice. Sarah begins to step back toward the door, which swiftly shuts itself. Sarah's father turns from his painting. His mask comes into view. The crack has greatly widened. Sarah can see thing squirming around in it. An eye opens in that gash. Again Jacob says, "there she is. There's my little girl."

"Why," a new hushed voice asks. A mouth opens in the crack. Black slime dripping around it. "Why'd you take her from me? How could you do it?"

"I needed to know something," Sarah replies. Jacob pulls at the crack opening it wider. A face emerges from the crack. "What could be worth her life?"

"Nothing, I didn't need to kill mother at all," Sarah admits, "I wanted to kill her. It was just a little game I wanted to play."

"Excuse me," Dr. Burns asked.

"I figured out a way to prove Sam is real," Sarah replied, "you see, its all a game, Sam's game. And he needs it played perfectly. So, I thought I'd see what would happen if I told you I killed my mother."

"You killed your mother?"

"Well, Sam did, but by my wish. And I plan to offer him my father as well. That enough, right?"

"Enough for what?"

"For you to call the police, of course." Sarah rose from the long chair and continued, "See, that's the game. If I go to jail, Sam is fake; if he stops you, he's real. I'm willing to bet my life he won't let you lock me away."

"Sarah, please sit back down."

"Goodbye Doctor," Sarah said opening the door. She took a final look back. The doctor stood behind his desk held there by an unseen force. Sarah looked at the mirror in his mask and for the first time saw herself. A white fox mask, with closed eyes, covered her face. She gave the doctor a smile and said, "thank you, for everything."

At home, Sarah waited for the police to come. Two days past before they did. When Sarah saw them she felt forsure the doctor still lived. They sat her down and asked what her relationship with Dr. Burns was. Sarah answered, "he's my therapist."

Next, the officers ask if she was romantically involved with Dr. Burns. Sarah replied, "no."

The final question was if Sarah knew anything about a pale man. Sarah looked at the officers and lied, "no. Why?"

The officers then explained Dr. Burns had hung himself. Sarah's files were the only ones missing. A single piece of paper was left in their place. On it were the words Pale man. Sarah would remember this moment as the closest she ever felt to happiness.

"You see, it was all a game," Sarah says to Jacob, "and I won."

At this, the face in the crack howls. Jacob flies from the stool. his arms stretch out toward Sarah. They stop inches from her face. Jacob, now, stands draped in Sam's shadows. A black mist rises off them.

"how unsightly," Sam says placing a hand on Jacob's mask, "to race at a lady with such vile intentions, your daughter no less."

"You, this is all your fault," Jacob screams.

"All my fault," Sam teases, "my dear Mr. Ashwell, there is plenty of blame to go around. All that really matters is what happens next."

Sam pulls close to Jacob and continues, "I can give her back to you. I can take your pain away. It will only cost you everything else."

Jacob relaxes. His hands drop to his sides. He lets Sam take him. He lets the shadows devour him. Sarah watches as her father is pulled into oblivion. When his mask is finally pulled under, Sarah leaves the room. Sam follows her out.

"What now," Sarah asks.

"It depends," Sam retorts as they walk down the stairs, "are you coming with me?"

"Is it my choice?"

"If you want it to be."

"then yes, I'm ready."

"Are you absolutely sure? Death is not something you come back from."

"I know what death is, Sam."

"I truly doubt that." Sam quips. At the bottom of the stairs, Sarah heads for the front door. "I'm tired of being alone. I want to be with you."

"There is no future in death. It is a world of memories and dreams forever trapped in the past."

"Than I will dream of us forever," Sarah states. She opens the door and walks into the forest. They walk in silence through the woods. Eventually, Sarah collapses in the snow and says, "here, this is where I'll die."

“My, humans are a curious bunch,” Sam says, "Romanticizing the most trivial of things. Do you know almost two people die every second in your world alone? Do you understand that, child? Do you know what that means? Death is more common than even a second.”

Sarah rolls onto her back. She looks up at Sam and says"Perhaps, but this is my first time and most likely my last."

"hmm, souls rarely remember their deaths. To go to all this trouble, only to forget it ever happened."

"I'll remember," Sarah announces. Her eyes grow heavy in the cold. She doesn't fight it. Sarah lets her eyes close. Finally, she listens to the winter and Sleeps.