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  The shadows of children crowded in front of the diner, but one tall man stood among them. He was impossibly thin, and his arms draped longer than seemed natural. His head shuddered, and Grace could hear the chatter of teeth as he approached. He stood in front of the broken door, but Raymond blocked his entrance. Green light burned behind the crowd, and their shadows danced on the walls.

  “No,” said Raymond.

  Grace felt her throat tighten as the mist began to fill the diner. It was cold and dry. When it brushed against her skin it felt like a bed sheet was covering her. She swiped at it, but it thickened and wrapped around her limbs. She glanced back at Juan, but didn’t see the cook through the divide.

  “I won’t do it,” said Raymond as if conversing with the thin man in the mist, though Grace didn’t hear any response.

  The thin man came closer, and his shoulders rose as his arms bent. She couldn’t see anything more than his silhouette, but knew he was threatening the boy. Raymond turned, tears in his eyes, and stared at his father.

  “The Skeleton Man wants your eyes, Daddy.”

  Desmond croaked, but Grace couldn’t see him. She was trapped behind the counter as the mist thickened around her. She tried to break free, but it constricted her from all angles. When she tried to speak, her voice was lost, just like Desmond’s.

  Juan’s high pitched screams erupted from the back room. He never did lock the back door, and Grace listened to the sound of dogs growling as they tore him apart. She didn’t have to see to understand what was happening as the dogs fought over his flesh.

  Raymond’s knives reflected the green, electric light as he knelt down, out of Grace’s view, to slaughter his father. She could see Raymond’s face, crying and whimpering, as he dug the knife in. Desmond’s legs twitched, but the fog held him down.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Raymond over and over as the blood squirted up from his incisions. He stood up and tried to wipe his brow clean on his arm, but just smeared the blood worse. He set his knives on the counter and walked around as Grace watched, helplessly restrained by the tendrils of mist.

  Raymond glanced at her, but then looked away as if ashamed. He took a spoon from the silverware cup under the counter and then returned to his father. Grace didn’t understand what he was doing until she heard the grotesque sound of Raymond scooping his father’s eyes out of his skull. The wet sound was bad enough, but when the spoon collided with the back of Desmond’s eye socket it caused a scraping sound that sent reverberations of fear through Grace. She convulsed, her knees weakened, and she flopped into the mist as if passing out, but was still held aloft.

  Raymond tossed two fleshy lumps into the mist and the Skeleton Man greedily bent to search the ground for them. The monster laughed as he retrieved the eyeballs, and his chattering teeth through the mist.

  “Are we done here?” asked Raymond. His hands were shaking as he set the spoon on the counter, beside the two bloody knives.

  Then the boy hung his head as his shoulders slunk. He turned, regretfully, and breathed deep when he looked up at Grace. “The Skeleton Man wants to ask you something.”

  Grace couldn’t speak.

  Raymond seemed to be apologizing by the way he looked at her, forlorn and saddened. “Do you dye your hair, or is that its real color?” He picked up the steak knife and walked around the counter.

  16 Years Later

  March 9th, 2012

  “What the fuck did I do?” asked Paul.

  “Just, don’t,” said Alma as she headed for the door. She held her hand up to keep Paul from touching her as she looked away from him. The sight of him sickened her.

  “For Christ’s sake, Alma, two minutes ago you were all smiles. Now you’re treating me like a jerk. What’d I do?”

  “More like who’d you do?” she said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She glared at him and then flipped him off. “Learn to flush the toilet, asshole.”

  That helped him understand why she was angry. He pinched the bridge of his nose, between his eyes, and shook his head. “Fucking low pressure toilet.”

  “Have a good life.” Alma opened the door.

  Paul walked behind her and put his hand on the door to stop it from opening all the way. “Hold up, Alma. You don’t have the right to be mad at me for this.”

  “Excuse me?” She was furious with him for trying to defend himself.

  “You’re the one that walked out on me.”

  “Yeah, and I’m about to do it again. Go ahead and call up your bar sluts. Tell them the party’s back on.” She forced the door open and a gush of cold air stung her eyes, drawing forth tears that had been threatening to come anyhow.

  “Alma, what about your dad? Are you going home? Come on, babe, don’t be like this.” He walked onto the deck with her as she rushed to leave. “God damn it.”

  She heard him go back inside and then come out again before shutting the door. He was barefoot and wore only a thin t-shirt, jeans, and no coat as he chased her into the gravel parking lot behind the tattoo parlor.

  “What are you doing?” asked Alma. “Go back inside. I’m not going to talk to you anymore.”

  “Fine,” he said from several steps behind. “I’m just going to follow you home to make sure your dad isn’t there.”

  She stopped and glared at him in disapproval. “Oh sure, you’re going to ride your bike with no shoes on. Go back inside and stop being an idiot.”

  “I’m not letting you go home alone.”

  He stood ten feet away from her as they faced off in the lonely lot. The wind gusted again and she saw him shudder, looking pathetic as he stood in the sharp gravel, arms crossed over his thin shirt.

  “Stop it, Paul. You’re being ridiculous. You can’t ride your bike without shoes on, let alone without a coat or helmet. You’re going to get pulled over.”

  He shrugged.

  “Stop it.”

  “I’m not letting you go home alone.”

  She groaned. “Fine. Go get some shoes on at least.”

  “You promise to wait for me?”

  “Yes, for crying out loud, you giant dork. I’ll wait.”

  “Give me your keys.”

  “What?” asked Alma.

  “Give me your keys so I know you won’t take off before I get back.”

  “Paul, just go get some damn shoes on. There’s broken glass all over out here.”

  “Okay, fine, just give me your keys first.” He took a step towards her with his hand outstretched.

  She glanced at the shards of glass mixed in with the gravel between them. She walked to Paul so he didn’t have to cross it. She slammed her keys into his hand. “Hurry up. It’s cold out here.”

  He lifted the keys and tapped the teddy bear keychain. “Glad to see you kept him.”

  “Only because I’m too lazy to take him off the chain.”

  Paul smirked. “Liar.”

  “Whatever. Hurry up.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the side of her car. She wasn’t wearing a coat and shivered in the chilly night air.

  Paul ran up the stairs two at a time and Alma took the opportunity to examine the damage on the side of her car. Steve had slammed her father into the side door with enough force to leave a sizeable dent. She should’ve called her insurance immediately, but she didn’t want to be forced to be around her father any longer than she had to. She feared that if a police report was filed, her father would be given an opportunity to be a part of her life again. As silly as it sounded, even seeing his name on a police report was more contact with him than she wanted. It was better to keep him out of her life entirely.

  Unfortunately, the car was leased, and she would have to get it fixed, which would be expensive. Her deductible was $500, and her bank account was already dangerously close to zero.

  “Fuck,” she said in frustration as she passed her palm over the damage. Then she caught sight of a girl standing on the corner, next to the tattoo parlor. She was
smoking a cigarette and watching Alma. She glanced away, pretending not to have been watching.

  The girl was young, thin, and pretty. She had dark hair that was bobbed, and bright red lipstick. Her breasts were too large for her blouse, which was probably on purpose, and her jean skirt was short enough to reveal most of her long legs.

  Alma didn’t need to ask to understand who she was. This was the girl Paul had just kicked out of his bed. Alma knew it by the look of jealousy in the girl’s eyes.

  All of the hatred Alma felt for Paul was transferred to this innocent stranger. She hated the bitch.

  Paul closed his door, drawing Alma’s attention away from the pretty stranger. He bounded down the stairs, his leather boots clopping on the wood, and then threw the keys to Alma. She caught them, which was a minor miracle, and got in her car as Paul got on his bike.

  Alma’s radio was too loud, like always, and she quickly turned it down as she watched the stranger approach Paul. He was dismissive, and Alma watched while pretending not to. The girl scowled and swiped a cigarette out of Paul’s mouth before walking away. Alma enjoyed a petty victory and couldn’t help but smile as she backed her car out of the lot.

  Paul followed close behind as she headed home. Through the entire trip, Alma continued to look at Paul in her rearview. It seemed ridiculous that she’d driven to his apartment, only to return home with him behind her, planning to let him go back home again after. She thought about turning around, and going back to his apartment, but then she recalled the condom in the toilet. She couldn’t sleep in a bed that stank of sex, especially not after seeing the slut he’d been with.

  The entire night was dizzying. The reporters’ interest in her past dragged her back into thoughts she’d been trying to forget. The confrontation with her father played out similar to how so many of their fights had before. And now the fight with Paul was happening just as it had so many times in the past. She felt like she was caught in a spiral, swirling around again and again, revisiting the mistakes of her past over and over. It was impossible to break free.

  The car ahead of her had a license plate with the number 314 on it.

  She stared at the number and her heart quickened. That damn number showed up everywhere. It haunted her.

  Stephen had mentioned the number before she raced away from the restaurant. He knew about Chaos Magick, and she assumed he understood the significance of the number as a symbol or else he wouldn’t have brought it up.

  Alma had been introduced to the belief system known as Chaos Magick by her mother. After Alma’s brother disappeared, her mother became obsessed with the date. She used to hide the number, or the symbol for pi, around the house, claiming it was the only way they’d ever know the truth about what happened to her boy. Alma would wake up to find her mother drawing the number in permanent marker on Alma’s body. She would insist that they all focus on the symbol to help bring her son home.

  The car ahead turned down a side street, and Alma was relieved that the number was out of her sight again. It brought pain with it, every time she saw it. When she could forget the number she was at peace, but then it would return, forcing her to recall the details of the worst day of her life. Not only did the number’s relation to pi represent a circle, but her emotions revolved around it in a cyclical manner as well. No matter how far she thought she could get from that date, it always returned.

  Alma returned home, with Paul behind her. It had only been a half hour since she left and she stared up at the bugs that gathered around the light outside of her apartment.

  “Back again,” she said, feeling somewhat helpless.

  The bugs swirled around the light, smacking into it and then retreating, sometimes stopping on the wall, but always returning; always smacking into the light and spinning around, like planets in orbit around the sun, over and over. The dance defined their lives. They couldn’t get away from it.

  Paul tapped on her window with his keys, frightening her. She didn’t realize she’d been staring at the door long enough for him to get off his bike and approach.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” she said as she got out.

  “You all right?” he asked. “You’ve been sitting here staring at the door for awhile.”

  She nodded and locked her car. “Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking. You didn’t need to come, Paul, honestly. I feel bad that you had to leave your friend for this.”

  “Shush. Like I said, you’re my girl, whether you like it or not.”

  She grimaced as she headed down the concrete walkway to her apartment building. “That sounds kind of creepy.”

  “Yeah, I guess it does. Maybe you’ve been right all along, I am a creep.”

  She paused on the walkway and looked up at her apartment. “I’m too tired to fight anymore. I just want to go to bed. I just want this day to be over.”

  “Good news,” said Paul as he looked at his watch. “It’s tomorrow already. Fresh start.”

  “Is it really that late?” Alma could see between the concrete stairs into the darkness beyond. How easy would it be to hide in the shadows in wait, ready to reach through the slats and grab a victim’s ankle? She let Paul go up first.

  “I’ll help you get to sleep,” said Paul.

  “You’re not coming in.”

  He was frustrated with her insistence. “Like hell I’m not. At the very least I’m going in to make sure it’s safe before you kick me out.”

  “I didn’t ask you to come, Paul.” She walked up past him, embarrassed that a moment before she’d allowed herself to rely on him for security. “I just want to go to bed. Go home, Paul.”

  He shook his head and followed her up.

  The bugs swarmed around her face as she forced her key into the cantankerous deadbolt. It stuck frequently, leaving her stranded, trying to force the key in while the bugs swirled around her head. This time the lock opened easily, but the door was stuck in its frame. She had to slam it with her shoulder to get in.

  Paul tried to follow, but she pushed him back.

  “Seriously, Paul. I appreciate you coming here, but I don’t want you in my apartment.” It wasn’t as clean as his, and she stopped herself from turning on the living room light to keep him from seeing the mess.

  He tried to look in over her shoulder, oblivious to the mess and hoping to make sure there wasn’t a man lurking in the dark. “Just let me have a look around.”

  She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back the one step he’d dared to take into the apartment. He looked hurt by the gesture, but relented and moved back. “Go home,” she said, and it felt like she was breaking up with him again. She wanted to cry.

  Alma closed the door on Paul.

  She couldn’t help but sob, and covered her mouth to keep him from hearing through the door. She put her back against the door and slid down until she was sitting on the tile entryway. She pulled her knees up to her chest and cried as she curled up. She started to hum to calm herself, and then looked down the hall at her bedroom.

  The bedroom light was on.

  The hallway from the apartment’s entrance led straight to the master bedroom on the other side. The living room was to the right, with a porch that looked out onto the parking lot, and the kitchen was to her left. The bathroom was down the hall to the left, with a guest room filled with junk she’d never gotten around to unpacking on the right. Straight ahead, down the carpeted hall that led away from the tiled entryway that she sat on, was the closed door of her bedroom, and light shone from beneath it.

  Her father could be in there.

  She remembered one night, before her brother disappeared, when she came home to find the light on in her bedroom. She was six, and had been playing at a friend’s house. There were several bizarre details about that night that stuck in her mind, like how the taste of chocolate raspberries that her friend’s mother had made for them was still in her mouth when she came home. She recalled an odd smell that she couldn’t identify in her home, similar to what th
e house smelled like when the oven was set to self clean. There was a spider in the corner, and she walked to the side of the hall away from the spider, beside her brother’s door, on her way to her room. She recalled the feel of the carpet between her toes, and the trail of wetness that went from the bathroom all the way to her room.

  Alma didn’t suspect anything at the time, and casually strolled to her room, more frightened of the spider than anything else. She ran the last few steps and was relieved when she opened her door and escaped into her room. That’s where her father was waiting.

  He was nude, wet from the shower, and sprawled out on her twin bed, over the Animaniacs bedspread. He sat bolt upright when she walked in and just stared at her, as if terrified. His eyes were wide, and the whites were nearly awash in red, drowning his black pupils in crimson.

  “You,” he said and then stared at her.

  “Daddy?” she was terrified of him for the first time in her life. He was supposed to be away, on a business trip in Missouri. “What’s wrong?”

  He stayed in the same position, staring at her, and didn’t bother to cover himself. His hair hung in long black, wet strands down to his shoulders. He smelled strongly of soap, as if he’d lathered and never rinsed.

  “Would you miss me?” he asked finally and then, after a pause, added, “If I were in heaven?”

  “What? Of course, I would.”

  He stared at her, expressionless and silent, for a terrifying moment. Then he sneered and said, “Liar,” before falling back on the bed.

  Alma left to go sleep in her brother’s room, but she couldn’t recall anything else from that night. In fact, she didn’t remember much about her brother at all these days.

  She stared down the hallway of her apartment. The door at the end of the hall beckoned her, and she wondered if the floor would be wet between her room and the bathroom.

  Alma considered sleeping on the tile entryway. She almost laid down and curled up within the small area, as if it could somehow protect her, but recognized how ridiculous she was being. She stood up, kicked off her loafers, and walked to the kitchen to get a knife from the drawer. Then she took out her cell phone and dialed 9-1, prepared to dial the final digit.