OOPARTS

OOPART - Out-of-place artifact (OOPART) is a term coined by American naturalist and cryptozoologist Ivan T. Sanderson for an object of historical, archaeological, or paleontological interest found in a very unusual, or seemingly impossible context.

The Mobile Exploration Vehicle – or MOBY as it was more commonly known – reached its new coordinates at 8:00 pm Houston time. The survey team inside parked the vehicle, checked their suits and the rovers that they’d use to get around the rocky and inhospitable surface in the morning, and then decided they were past due for dinner.

Over warmed up MRE’s, the three men and two women pored over maps and discussed their routes for the next few days. They’d go out in teams of two, and while it would seem easy-peasy to have Team Red cover the eastern half of the grid square, and Team Blue the western half, when you took into account that the Moon’s surface was pitted with craters and debris, plotting around these obstacles added a considerable level of difficulty to the task.

Team Blue would be made of up Nigel Harding and Rebecca Johnston – both seasoned veterans out on the surface - and Team Red would be Jimmy Angelini and Marcus Bryant. Marcus was a greenhorn who was still learning his way around, so it made sense to team him up with Jimmy who was the overall Technical Lead for the entire team. Sarah Petrie would stay behind with the MOBY to monitor their support systems, and keep track of everyone’s progress.

With everything set, they broke for the evening and headed to their quarters for a good night’s sleep to prepare them for the long day ahead.

The next morning after a quick breakfast, the teams made sure their rovers were fully charged and programmed with their set routes, then suited up. Sarah checked each team member’s suit in turn, making sure everything was fully secured and patting each member twice on the back once they passed muster. Once everyone was ready, Sarah left the loading bay, and buttoned it up. From behind the airlock door, she lowered the ramp to the surface and waved at the others as they gave her thumbs up and headed out.

Once the ramp was back up and the bay secure, Sarah headed to the cockpit. From the wide front window she could see the two rovers waiting. She pushed a button on the control panel, and a large screen with an attached keyboard rose up. She typed in some commands, and the screen lit up into quadrants. On the left hand side she could see the live camera feeds from both of the rovers…Red on top, Blue on the bottom.

Over on the right side of the screen, the upper quadrant showed the life support levels of the team’s suits, along with maintenance info on the rovers. The lower quadrant showed a CGI map of the grid square they were exploring, with red and blue dotted lines showing the routes the rovers were to follow, and dots marking where they were currently located. Once the cameras and communications had been tested and confirmed to be working, she gave them the all clear to head out.

If everything went well, they’d have this grid square surveyed in two to three days. Along with searching for pockets of Helium-3 for their company to mine, they were also looking for mineral rich meteorites to collect, and anything else that might be of interest to scientists back at headquarters. Anything they found would be marked with little beacons, so that the respective teams would know where to find them.

Along with monitoring the two teams, it was also Sarah’s responsibility to find a good place to move and park the MOBY for the next day. She scanned the map on the screen, and zoomed in on a nice central location that would be easy for the two teams to access from their respective routes. She plugged in the coordinates, and the MOBY’s navigation computer fired up the large vehicle and began to roll it slowly and carefully to its next stopping point.

Sarah hated being stuck in the MOBY, and would much rather be out with the survey teams. She had a doctorate in Geology from the Colorado School of Mines, which was being wasted staring at a screen all day long. At the same time, she felt a heavy sense of responsibility for her teammates and their wellbeing, which balanced out her distaste for being left behind.

After nine hours out, she called for the teams to start heading back home. The first day in the new square had gone smoothly, and they were ahead of schedule. Once everyone was back, suits were checked and hung, and the rovers plugged in to charge for the night.

The team had dinner in the common area, and bickered over what movie to watch, finally settling for a newish comedy that amazingly no one had seen before. Nigel popped some popcorn, and they spent a pleasant couple of hours laughing and joking together before heading to bed for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day started the same as the first. The teams were out, the MOBY was in motion, and Sarah was bored. About 1:20 pm, Rebecca piped in, “Hey Sarah, we’ve found an OOPART.”

Sarah’s eyes widened, “Are you sure?”

“Check the camera, see for yourself.”

Sarah blew up the feed from Team Blue’s rover, and cammed around. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s straight ahead. We’ll be on it in a few minutes.”

Sarah focused the camera straight ahead, but the quality of the picture suddenly pixilated, and she couldn’t get a clear view. “Dammit! The camera is acting up, and I can’t see it!”

Team Blue aimed the lights of the rover on the object, and stopped. After releasing their seatbelts, they got out and moved slowly towards the anomaly. Nigel reached it first, and stretched out a hand, and his touch started it bobbing slightly back and forth.

Sarah’s voice broke in, “Guys? Are you there? What is it? I can’t see it!”

Nigel stared at in wonder, “It’s…a unicorn.”

“What the fu…a unicorn?”

Rebecca piped up, “It’s a spring rider, Sarah, in the shape of a unicorn.”

“It’s not possible!”

“Girl, we’re staring right at it. There is nothing else it could be.”

“Can you bring it back with you?”

Nigel crouched down and brushed away the dust and rock at the base, “That’s the thing, love…it’s bolted to the ground like it’s been here for years.”

Back at the MOBY, Sarah sat back in disbelief, “Can you put a beacon on it?”

Rebecca fished a beacon out of her pack, turned it on, and put it on the object, “You getting any signal?”

“No, nothing’s coming through, just like the other teams reported with theirs. OK then, record its coordinates, and try to get pictures. Use the film camera…these things seem to screw around with the digital ones.”

“Will do,” Rebecca said as she went back to the rover for their backup camera.

“Nigel, are you getting any odd readings from it…anything that could be causing the camera and beacon interference?”

“Negative, Sarah. At least, not anything our equipment can read. No radio signals, no radiation of any kind, nothing on UV or Infrared, either.” Nigel straddled the toy and sat on it gingerly.

“Noted, thanks.”

“Nigel, what are you doing?” Rebecca chided.

“Take a picture, Becca…for scale purposes.”

“Yeah, for scale purposes my ass. You just want a picture of yourself on the thing.”

Nigel began to ride it in earnest, rocking it back and forth “OK, that too.”

Sarah’s voice broke in, “Stop dicking around you two. Get the pictures, and get back to work. We’ll forward everything on to headquarters for analysis once you get back.”

“Ma’am, yes Ma’am,” Nigel intoned as he stood, “just trying to make light of it, so I don’t run away screaming from the damn thing.”

Sarah sighed, “I know, I’m sorry Nigel…you know what, pack it in and head back. I’ll call in the other guys, and we’ll call it a day. We’re ahead of schedule anyway.”

“With pleasure, m’Lady.”

The mood on the rover was somber as they headed back. This was the third OOPART that had been found by surveyor teams spread across the Moon’s surface. It had been easy to discount the first two as they hadn’t discovered those themselves, but now that they’d found one of their own, it wasn’t so easy to make light of it.

Rebecca looked over at Nigel, “What in hell is going on, babe?” she asked quietly on their private channel.

Nigel looked over at her and shrugged, “I don’t know, Becca…I just don’t know.”

Author's note: This may be an ongoing story, or this may be what I call a "Snippet". Snippets are random story ideas that knock around in my head that have no real plot, they're just sort of one offs. So if you don't see anything more on this story, don't be surprised.

This particular Snippet was inspired by this picture I found on my Tumblr yesterday...

My John...

Forty seven years ago, Lake Huron claimed my husband. He was a deckwatch on the SS Daniel J. Morrell, which was lost in a storm on the lake on November 29, 1966. They were on the last run of the season, heading towards Taconite Harbor when they were caught in a terrible storm that sheared the huge freighter in two. Most of the men jumped to their deaths as the ship broke apart, while the rest headed to the bow and waited for it to go down.

They were forced into the water when the aft of the ship - engines still somehow running - rammed the bow, and continued on into the night, only to sink five miles away. There was one survivor - a young man named Dennis Hale - but all the rest of the crew was lost. Of those, most of the bodies were recovered, but my John was never found.

He was 21 at the time, and I was 19. We'd been married just a few months before, and were happily anticipating the start of our lives together. Buying a house, starting a family...we knew that sailing the Lakes was a dangerous job, but John loved it and jokingly referred to himself as the Lord of the Lake, and that I was his Lady. He was romantic that way. We loved to walk the beach, and watch the storms as they blew in over the water, to see the fog banks roll across its surface. And in the summer, we'd swim in the warm water near the shore.

After I lost my John, I was inconsolable for a long while. The shipping company did their part, giving me a pension that was enough to live on, but the first couple of months after the wreck I wouldn't have described what I was doing as living. I retreated into myself and wouldn't see anyone, even my family. Eventually I came out of my shell, and got a job at the grocery store working as a checker. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

My parents got me a puppy the following spring, hoping that having some company would help me heal. That little beagle was a godsend, and it was love at first sight. I named him Jojo, after John. When summer came around, I even managed to venture to the shore of the lake that took my husband away from me, bringing the pup with me. Jojo bounded onto the beach and chased the birds that dotted the sand sending them flying away indignantly. As he headed towards the water I frantically called him back, and put on his leash. We walked into the water together, and I monitored him to make sure he couldn't go out too far.

At one point, he just stopped in his tracks. I looked out over the water and noticed an odd bank of fog along the horizon, and out of this bank came a small boat with a lone passenger in it. Jojo's hackles were up, but he didn't growl at the sight, he just watched. I waved at the boat, but the person manning it didn't wave back. The fog bank came towards the shore, shrouding the boat, and when it dissipated the small vessel was gone.

Jojo went back to bounding in the water, and I breathed in sharply realizing that I'd been holding my breath. A heaviness that had seemed to settle over the scene lifted as the sun broke through, burning off the last wisps of fog.

As the next decade passed, I had gone to school and was now working as a paralegal. I had fallen in love with a court clerk named Allen. We married in 1974, but it didn't last. I found I was unable to have children, and the sorrow that overcame me from that news tore my marriage apart.

Jojo was still with me, although he was a little slower and stiffer. But he still loved the lake, so one day not long after my divorce was finalized, I took him down to the shore. We waded into the water and splashed around. I had a frisbee that I'd throw, and he'd take off after it. After a while he was tuckered out, so we sat on the beach and basked in the afternoon sun. I had brought a bag lunch with me and some biscuits for Jojo, and as we ate I noticed another odd bank of fog form on the horizon.

"Well would you look at that," I murmured. At the sound of my voice Jojo looked up at me, then in the direction of my gaze. He acted much the way he did the first time...hackles up, but silent. Out of the fog the small boat appeared, again with a lone passenger. The boat was a bit closer this time so I waved, and this time the figure waved back. Then the fog enfolded the boat, and it was gone.

I pondered what I'd seen. One time was odd, two times suggested a pattern. I didn't really believe in ghosts, but with the vast history of shipwrecks on the Lakes, it would almost seem stranger NOT to see one eventually. I thought for a brief moment that maybe it was my John. At that thought I burst into tears, and Jojo snuggled up against me to comfort me. I picked him up and held him against me - warm and real - and buried my face in his fur. His familiar doggy smell calmed me down, and when I'd gotten myself together we headed for home.

I saw the boat again three years later. It was 1979, and Jojo had become old and arthritic. One night he suffered a seizure, and I rushed him to the animal hospital, but it was too late. My baby was gone. The Vet arranged for him to be cremated, and a few days later I received the ashes in the mail with a note of condolence. I sat and held them for about an hour, then I knew what I had to do.

I headed for the lakeshore to spread his ashes over the water that he'd loved so much. The autumn wind was chilly, and the water even colder, but I waded into it anyway. As I opened the canister and sprinkled the ashes around me, the fog rolled in. Not so odd for this time of year, but when the boat appeared it was even closer than before, and I could see that the passenger was a man, but couldn't make out his features. This time he waved first, and with tears in my eyes I waved back.

Out of nowhere I yelled "Take good care of him!" and the man seemed to nod before the boat disappeared.

I didn't see the boat or the man for many years. Life moved on, and trips to the shore were uneventful. I didn't remarry, I didn't own another pet, I just made peace with being alone. In 1992, my mother passed away at the age of 71. She'd had Alzheimer's, and I'd moved in with my Dad in order to help take care of her. It was difficult for both of us to watch her decline, and the day after the funeral he asked for some time to be alone. So I told him I was going to the shore, and would be back in an hour or so to make him some dinner. We hugged for a long time, and then he went into his office. When I left he was reading a book by the fire.

I wondered if I'd see the boat, as it always seemed to appear to me during times of crisis in my life. I had put a small pair of binoculars in my purse just in case. As I walked the beach, I watched the water out of the corner of my eye, begging silently in my head for it to materialize. Just as I was about to give up and go home, the fog rolled in and the boat appeared. I dug out my binoculars and trained them on the boat and gasped. It was my John. And with him was Jojo.

Overcome with emotion, I fell to my knees in the sand. "Take me with you," I whispered, "I'm so tired, John, please come closer."

I looked out at the boat, and John sadly shook his head. I understood...it wasn't my time yet. I still had a ways to go before we could be reunited. I nodded at him and waved with a sad smile. As the fog rolled in and the boat vanished, I heard a familiar joyful bark, and let out a laugh mixed with a sob, happy that John now had my beloved pup to keep him company on his journeys, wherever it was they went.

I saw them again after my father passed in 1997. This time the boat was close enough that I could see them both clearly. John was as handsome as ever, and Jojo was in his prime, with bright eyes and tail wagging. I didn't cry this time, just smiled at them and said, "I love you both."

John smiled back, and the boat vanished, as it usually does.

With the inheritance from my parents I was able to retire early, and I kept busy traveling, and doing volunteer work. The freedom was exhilarating, and I was the happiest I'd been in a long time. I kept so busy that when I started to feel a little run down last year, I didn't think much of it and simply took some time off to recharge. But instead of feeling better, I continued to feel fatigued and began to have horrible abdominal pains.

A visit to the doctor led to a visit to the oncologist, who determined that I had ovarian cancer. The organs that had betrayed me by never letting me have children, had turned on me once again.

So, I had surgery two months ago, and it was worse than they thought. The cancer had metastasized, and my whole abdominal cavity was spotted with tumors. When they broke the news and began to discuss treatment options, I held up my hand to stop them. I asked them how long I would have if I refused treatment, and they told me that I probably had three months. I asked them to leave me alone for a bit so that I could think about it, but of course, I already knew what I was going to do.

Which leads us to tonight...I called a cab, and asked the driver to take me to the lake. My fare is paid, I've made it down to the beach, and the boat is here. John and Jojo are at the water's edge waiting for me. I'm ready to go, and I'm not afraid. If you find this, know that I made this decision out of my own free will.

Tonight I go into the water for the last time, but I am happy, and I am not alone. Goodbye.

Officer's notes: This note was found next to the body of Evelyn Groh, 65, of Grand Bend, Ontario. An autopsy has been performed, and it has been determined that she died of abdominal cancer. Foul play was not involved, and there was no evidence that anyone else was at the scene at the time of her death. There will be no further investigation, and this case is considered closed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note: While there was a John Groh on the SS Daniel J. Morrell who was 21 when it sank, and who's body was never found, the story I built around him is a work of fiction.  This story was inspired by the song "The Ghost on the Shore" by Lord Huron.

A Twisted Faerie Tale...

Their lookout flew up the road towards them calling out, “They’re on the way…all of you get into position, and I’ll make sure everything is ready up ahead.” With that the little faerie took off up the path that branched off the main road. 

As promised, a few minutes later the King showed up with two of his bodyguards, riding up the road on the way back to his castle. He started a bit when a chorus of voices begged him to stop, reigned in his horse, and looked around trying to find where they’d come from.

“Down here!” they cried.

He looked and saw a gaggle of faeries hopping up and down. Ever wary of the tricky Fae, he regarded them suspiciously. “What do you want?” he boomed.

They covered their ears, “You needn’t be so loud…we’re not deaf,” the elder faerie admonished, “We are in dire need of your help. Our Queen is trapped in a spider’s web, and it is too thick and tough for our swords to cut through. The spider is returning, and we must get her free!”

He hesitated, and the elder piped up, “If you save her, there will be a reward for ye! Just please…help us!”

While the last thing the King needed was a reward, his curiosity was piqued. He got off his horse and followed them, leaving his horse behind with his men. As they came upon an enormous web stretched between two trees, he understood their predicament. 

The silvery strands of the web glimmered with dew, and it would have been a beautiful sight were it not for the spider with the leg span of a dinner platter picking its way towards the delicate little Faerie Queen struggling in the web’s clutches.

Removing a jeweled dagger from his belt, the King made quick work cutting her free of the web. Deciding the spider had done no wrong; he left it to repair its home and turned his attention to the enchanting beauty he’d just rescued from a gruesome fate. As she stood on the palm of his hand, he gently helped remove the remains of the sticky web from her feathery wings and outfit. Once she was free of her bindings, she turned to face her rescuer.

“Thank you so much…erm…”

“I am King Wallach of East Tiran, your Majesty.”

“King Wallach, I can not thank you enough,” the Queen looked up at his handsome face, and blushed prettily.

He noticed that little bit of pink that crept into her cheeks, and took in her flossy hair, and violet eyes, and her cute little pointed ears, and was immediately enchanted.

“It was my pleasure to help one as lovely as you, your Majesty.”

The elder faerie tugged at the King’s pant leg to get his attention, and he glanced downward, “We offered ye a reward for your service, King Wallach. What is it that you would be wanting?”

The King looked at the Faerie Queen, and her eyes locked on to his, “Would I take thee with me?” he asked her. “If so, I will build you a little palace of gold and crystal, and upholster everything inside in the most luxurious pink satin, all for you if you will be mine.”

The elder Fae played as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “WHAT?!? You wish our Queen as your reward? That is unacceptable! She belongs to us! You’re supposed to take our gold, not our Queen!”

The King looked down at him, “That is not your decision to make, old one. At least I’m asking, instead of just taking her with me as you know very well I could,” he turned his attention back to her, “So, what would you have me do, your Majesty? Leave you here and go on my way, or take you with me?”

The little Queen blushed again, “I’d like very much to come with you, but I need to talk to Councilor Alfred before we go. Would you be so kind as to put me down for a moment?”

The King obliged, and she took the elder Fae to the side, and began to talk to him in a centuries old language he couldn’t begin to understand.

“That was some good acting, my dear Alfred.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right, your Majesty?”

“I’ll be fine as long as we stick to the plan. We should be at his castle by nightfall, and then I’ll need at least few hours to confirm our suspicions,” the Queen grasped his hands in hers, “Just don’t leave me there… please.”

“I’m frightened for you, my Queen.”

“I’m scared too, but it has to be done,” she kissed Alfred on the forehead and stepped back. She managed a cheerful smile and motioned to the King, who picked her up gently and placed her on his shoulder.

“Everything settled?” he asked.

“Oh yes! Everything’s fine! And I’ve been remiss…I know your name, but haven’t shared mine with you. I am Ordelia.”

King Wallach nodded his head in her direction, “Very nice to meet you, Ordelia. My castle isn’t much farther. We should be there by nightfall. Are you all right on my shoulder?”

“Oh yes! The view is lovely from here, thank you!” She glanced back, and found her people in the road, waving, and waved back at them with a sad smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As promised, they reached the castle by that evening. King Wallach showed her around, and then shared bits of his succulent dinner with her. A bed was set up for her in the King’s bedchamber from a jewelry box, a little pillow, and a blanket made from a fine linen handkerchief.

She pretended to sleep until the rest of the activity in the castle settled, and then opened her eyes. With her superior eyesight seeing in the dark was no problem, and her small form slipped through a crack in the door. Once she was in the hall she took flight, and began to explore. From the intelligence that had been gathered over the past year, she had a good idea where to find what she was looking for.

After about an hour she located the King’s study and found them. A gasp of horror escaped her. Unwilling to believe what she was seeing, she flew in closer and confirmed the worst. Lost in her grief she didn’t realize that she’d been followed until the glass jar surrounded her and the lid screwed on tight, trapping her inside.

Ordelia spun, and saw King Wallach’s visage peering in at her, “I had a feeling there was something too easy about all of this,” he sneered, “And now you, my little spy, will be next.”

A few drops of liquid came in through the holes in the jar lid, and she was enveloped in sickly sweet fumes. As much as she tried to fight off the lethargy that overcame her, it was just too strong, and soon she collapsed at the bottom of the jar.

King Wallach shook the jar a little to confirm that she was out, and with an evil grin took her over to his worktable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the sun broke through the windows, Ordelia slowly woke. She was still groggy after being drugged the night before, and as she went to turn over, a sharp pain in her middle caused her to cry out and the fuzziness in her head cleared. She looked down and was horrified to see a large pin protruding from her midsection, piercing her just under her  rib cage.

She forced herself to calm down, and took her mind off the pain by peering around at her surroundings. She was upright in a crystal shadowbox with a gold frame, and against her back was the luxurious pink satin she’d been promised. So this was his idea of a “little palace”. That bastard!

She didn’t need to look to know that she was surrounded by her faerie sisters, others who had been charmed and beguiled by King Wallach, but who had not survived. And now she found herself in the same predicament.

“But unlike with the others, they know where I am,” she tried to reassure herself, “Surely they won’t leave me here to die!”

Ordelia was suddenly confronted with Wallach’s face, and let out a little scream.

“So, you’re awake,” he smirked, “and I was right, you are a fine addition to my collection! Imagine, the Queen of the Faeries right here on my wall.”

“Enjoy it while you can,” she replied haughtily, “my people know where I am, and my time with you will be short lived. And then we will see that you pay for what you’ve done, you monster!”

Wallach chuckled, “Oh really? And just how do you plan to do that?”

He was taken aback slightly when her expression darkened and she replied with an evil grin, “You have to sleep sometime…”

Wallach turned on his heel, and left a little quicker than he had arrived. What if they really could harm him? He knew that the Fae were tricksters…what on Earth could they have planned?

This exchange had been observed by a butterfly sitting just inside the study window, and after the King had left, the butterfly shook itself in a mass of sparkles, and resumed her true shape. Dulcina, the Queen’s head Lady in Waiting, flew over to her mistress.

“Your Majesty, what has he done to you?” she cried.

“Calm down my dear, I’ll be fine as long as I stay still. Where are the others?”

“They’re making way through the tunnel; they should be here by nightfall. Will you be all right until then?”

“I will. Join them now, and let them know the situation.”

Dulcina stretched out her hand and pressed it flat against the glass, and Ordelia mirrored her action, the two friend’s expressions showing their pain. She took one last look at her Queen and the others, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, flew off to do as her Queen commanded.

Ordelia winced as she shifted slightly…her people were making good time. The Dwarves that they’d allied with were proving to be a marvelous help. They’d made quick work of digging the tunnel that led from the forest to underneath the castle, and through this tunnel they’d take King Wallach away with them, and make him pay for what he’d done.

She hung there, bored and in pain, for many hours. The sun moved across the sky, and as it began to dip below the horizon, she took out a little bag that had been hidden in her skirts, and held it ready. As she’d hoped, Wallach made an appearance as night fell. 

“So,” he sneered, “No sign of your friends. I guess they’re not coming for you after all.”

She let a few crocodile tears fall, and looked at him pleadingly, “You might be right,” she admitted, “oh please…I hurt so very badly, and I’m so thirsty. Would you please take pity on me, and give me a sip of your wine?”

Wallach was pleased with her attitude change. He liked seeing her grovel, and the way the tears sparkled on her cheeks. He decided to appease her, and slid the glass front out of the frame. As he bent to put it down, Ordelia emptied the contents of her little bag into her palm, and when he stood she blew the dust right into his face.

He let out a shout, but it was short lived as he sucked in the powerful sleep drug. He fell to the floor with a thud as it took effect, and she looked down on him with a grim smile. He was going to be out for hours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After about a quarter of an hour, Ordelia saw the door to the study crack open. “In here!” she cried, “it’s safe, he’s asleep!”

A stream of Fae entered the room armed and ready for anything, followed by about 10 of the considerably larger Dwarves, and behind them all scuttled in a dozen or so of those very large spiders.

“Did anyone see you?” she asked.

Alfred stepped forward, “No, m’lady. Most everyone is in bed, and the one manservant we came across was easily subdued. He’ll wake in the morning with no memory of this night.”

With that, he dispatched two of the Dwarves to get Queen Ordelia down. One of them hoisted the other up, and he delicately removed the large pin holding her in place, and she slumped into his outstretched hand. He jumped down, and very gently laid her on the floor.

The doctor was called over, and after a cursory examination determined that she’d be fine, dressed the wound with linen soaked in healing herbs, and called over one of the spiders. The spider emitted some of its silk, and the doctor wrapped it around her to hold the bandages in place. He gave her a sleeping draught, and she was placed on a stretcher for the journey back home.

The Dwarves also took down and opened the shadow boxes holding the remains of the other fourteen Faeries, and a crew was dispatched to prepare the bodies for transport, so that they could be returned to their families.

Alfred then directed the spiders over to King Wallach, and between them, they soon had him wrapped up tightly in a cocoon of their tough and silvery silk. He was placed on a much larger stretcher, and picked up by the burly Dwarves. Once everyone was in place, they snuck out of the castle via the secret tunnel, and headed back into the forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a very tired bunch that made it back to the glade the next day. Ordelia called for a bed to be brought out, and she was placed on it so that she could address the masses that had been called from all parts of the Faerie kingdom, while King Wallach’s unconscious body was laid in the middle of a vast faerie ring. 

First, she called for Hreidmar, the leader of the troop of Dwarves that had helped them. She had arranged that they be given a sizable payment for their assistance, but when it was offered he waved it off, and knelt before her.

“Your Majesty, after the horror that this evil human has subjected you and your subjects to, we couldn’t dream of taking payment. You have always been kind to our people, and with you as the Queen of the Fae, we have enjoyed a peaceful relationship. Consider this a favor from us.”

“Thank you so much, dear Hreidmar. We could not have done this without your assistance.”

“It is our pleasure, your Majesty. The only thing that we ask…” he threw a glance over at King Wallach, “well, just make the bastard pay for what he did.”

Ordelia’s mouth set into a grim line, “Of that you have my full assurance.”

“Then with your leave, we will head back to our mountain.”

“Of course, I’m sure your families are anxious for your return. Thank you all again for what you have done for us, and if you ever need anything, we are in your debt.”

With that, the Dwarves took off and headed for home. Once they were out of earshot, Ordelia looked over at Alfred, “It is time to call the families of the deceased, so that they may claim their kin. And I want that monster awake to see firsthand the grief he’s caused.”

A group of Fae went over to Wallach, and prodded him with their spears until he woke with a start. He snarled, but was hastily shushed when two of those spears were aimed right at his eyeballs. The families then came forward to claim their dead.

It was solemn indeed, with many tears, and more than a few mothers collapsing in grief as they were faced with truth about what had happened to their beautiful daughters. Wallach was surprisingly quiet during this part of the proceedings, but the hint of a sneer still curled his lips. Once all the remains had been claimed, Ordelia turned to Wallach.

“King Wallach, you will be dealt with next. You are being accused of 15 counts of torture, 14 counts of murder, and one count of attempted regicide. For this you will be severely punished. You will be cut loose and will dance for five days with us as we celebrate and memorialize the lives of those you killed. “

The King scoffed, “Dance for five days? That’s it? That’s the justice you plan to give your people for what I did? You’re a worse ruler than I thought.”

In reply, Queen Ordelia smiled grimly, and with a motion of her hand, a group of Fae cut the King loose. He stood, and went to simply walk away, but when he got to the edge of the large faerie circle that surrounded him, he found he was unable to step out. He was soon joined by hundreds of others, and once everyone was assembled, the music began, and they started to dance.

Despite his attempts to be still, King Wallach found that his feet began to tap. A few of the dancers grabbed onto him, and began to swing about, and the momentum caused him to really start moving. They spun so fast, and he was afraid of falling but he never did. The relentless dancing and spinning continued like this unabated, but no matter how out of breath he became, or how tired his muscles got, he simply could not stop.

The Queen sat out for the first two days while she recovered some, but joined them on the third day. She perched on the King’s shoulder, and whispered the names of the deceased into his ear over and over, berating him, condemning him, and casting her spells on him. And after five days had passed, they all just suddenly disappeared. 

King Wallach collapsed on the ground. In those five days he’d aged 50 years, and his brain was forever addled by this experience. His hair was grey, his beard was long, his handsome face ravaged with deep wrinkles.

He staggered through the forest until he came to the road. An attempt to flag down a passing carriage was reported to the local authorities by the passengers, who told of a bedraggled gibbering old man that had tried to crawl into their carriage with them. Deputies were dispatched, and the King was soon rounded up, and thrown in jail.

When he tried to tell the guards who he was, they just laughed. How could this old man be the hearty and healthy young king who had disappeared just a week before? It was determined that the only way the old man could be wearing the fine clothes the monarch had last been seen in was because he had killed him to get them. He was brought to trial, found guilty, and sentenced to hang.

The night after Wallach was sentenced; a group of Fae streamed in through his window, and poked and prodded him with their spears, making it impossible for him to sleep. They had no plans to make his last few days pleasant in any way, and his cries of anguish went unheeded as the Fae continued their torture in shifts. When the day of his execution arrived, Wallach saw it almost as a blessing.

As they put the black bag over his head the priest gave him last rites, and asked him if he had any final words. 

“Tell them that I am truly and deeply sorry for what I did,” was all he said.

With that the trapdoor opened, his body dropped, his neck snapped, and after a few minutes he was dead.

When it was over, people asked who he was talking about, or what exactly he had done…all but the small figure that perched on a nearby tree branch and watched the whole proceeding. The one with the flossy hair, pink cheeks, and violet eyes, who nursed a slowly closing hole just under her  rib cage. Satisfied that justice had been done, she flew off unnoticed into the forest.

Haunted

Here’s your drink… I can’t thank you enough for coming over! Although I know we've had our differences in the past, I've been going through such a stressful time the last few months, and I just didn't know who else to turn to.  I've been keeping something to myself, and it’s been tearing me apart.

As you know, I had my appendix out back in March. And I figured it was a procedure that most surgeons could do with their eyes closed. No one knows exactly what happened…or I should say that no one will admit to what happened – I’m leaving that up to the lawyers to sort out – but at some point during the operation my heart stopped, and I was officially, clinically dead.

People are asking me all the time now, “So is there life after death?” and I can say unequivocally that there is. My biggest mistake was bringing some of it back with me. I can see you are skeptical, but please…hear me out.

It wasn't intentional. I followed the light; I was assigned a guide who I thought was my mother. She passed away when I was four so my memory of her is sketchy, but this spirit looked so much like me, I just sort of assumed…I had no idea she was really an imposter. 

So in any case, when they hit me with the defibrillator and wrenched me back into my body, she held on and came back with me, and my life has been a living hell ever since.

When I’m trying to sleep, she will not stop screaming. It’s been weeks since I've had a good night’s sleep...I think she’s trying to break me down so she can take over my body. She’s already tried a few times, and almost succeeded once. I could feel her taking hold, and it took everything I had to fight her off. Oh, and the visage she used to trick me? It didn't make the jump, so now I see her as she really is, and she is…well…horrifying.

It’s like I have my own personal fucking banshee following me around everywhere I go. 

I’m sorry…I’m just at my wit’s end! I can lose her for periods of time, and I think I've figured out how to get rid of her completely, but I need your help.

What? Why are you looking at me like tha…? Oh. She’s behind me, isn't she? 

See, that’s why I asked you to come over. I know you’re a believer in this sort of thing, and I was hoping if I told you about her, that she’d show herself to you. 

Oh wow, you’re not looking so well…would you like to lie down? Here let me help you. I guess you’re finally feeling the effects of that drug I put in your drink. It should paralyze you just long enough for my companion here to take over your body.  

I’m sorry it has to be this way, but to be honest? I've never really liked you. So better you than me, right? But I’m not completely heartless; once she’s settled in I promise I’ll make your death as quick as possible. I sort of have to, so she doesn't have time to get back out. Then you can take her back where she belongs.

Now brace yourself…this is going to hurt a little.

For The Writer's Block - Chapter 2 - Can You Keep A Secret?
Chapter 1 can be found here. (Adults only)

The Nightmare Series - Preface

A brief synopsis of "Firefly" (the show these originated from), so that these stories actually make some sense…

Five hundred years in the future there's a whole new frontier in a brand new universe, and the crew of the Firefly-class spaceship Serenity are eager to stake a claim on the action. They'll take any job, legal or illegal, to keep fuel in the tanks and food on the table. But things get a bit more complicated after they take on a passenger wanted by the new totalitarian Alliance regime. Now they find themselves on the run, desperate to steer clear of Alliance ships and the flesh-eating Reavers who live on the fringes of space.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Characters

Malcolm Reynolds: Captain of the Firefly class ship Serenity. He was formerly a Sergeant for the Independent Army who fought for, well, independence from the Alliance regime. He is one of the few survivors of the battle at Serenity Valley, the final conflict of the war, and by far the bloodiest. Once a firm believer in God, he’s turned his back on his faith, disillusioned by the surrender of his side to the Alliance. Though rough on the outside, he’s a man who deeply cares for the people around him, and acts much as a father figure to his crew, as well as commander.

Zoe Alleyne Washburn: Second in Command on Serenity, she fought with Mal during the war, including at the Battle of Serenity Valley. Once career military, now married to a fellow crew member. She is a multi-faceted character...one minute a warrior, the next a wife longing to have a child, etc. She is a rock to the crew, one that will go to any lengths to protect them, much like Mal.

Jayne Cobb: Mercenary. Rude, crude, oversexed, greedy, with an over inflated sense of self. But behind the brash exterior, he’s (mostly) loyal to the crew...as long as he keeps getting paid. During the show he’s often made out to be fairly stupid. But many fans think that’s more an act, and that he’s really a lot smarter than he seems, he just hides it to keep folks at a disadvantage. (He’s my favorite character, by the way, as he’s very Marine-like in some ways.)

Hoban Washburn: Pilot. He’s also married to Zoe, much to Mal’s dismay. He’s a joker, but when called upon to get the crew out of a tight scrape, he’s all business. Might have served in the War for Independence, but that’s never been confirmed, nor has what side he might have fought for. He’s often jealous of his wife’s friendship with Mal, thinking that she sometimes is a little too willing to blindly go where he leads, but loves her too much to take her away from him.

Kaylee Frye: Engineer. Always has a sweet and sunny disposition (sometimes to the utmost annoyance of the rest of the crew), and refuses to see the bad in anyone until it all but slaps her in the face. She’s a genius with machines, unlucky in love, and abysmal with firearms. She’s known to keep “her” ship up in the air in the unlikeliest of circumstances, and has lovingly decorated the common areas to make it welcoming to everyone. She’s in love with Simon, who I will introduce later.

Inara Serra: Licensed Companion. In a time where prostitution is legal, she’s in the Guild that provides the finest. She came to Serenity under mysterious circumstances which we were never made privy to, and rents one of the shuttles. Because the Guild that she’s a member of is considered in high standing, she lends an air of respectability to their operation. (She is also highly annoying, and my least favorite character.) She and Mal are in love with each other, but both are too proud to admit it, providing the “Undeclared Sexual Tension” on the show.

Shepherd Derrial Book: Preacher. Another character with a mysterious past, hinted to in the show, but never revealed. Most fans think that he had some ties with the Alliance in a previous incarnation as he seems to know just a little too much about everything. (Confirmed later in "A Shepherd's Tale".) Annoys Mal with his sermons (though Mal will generally respect his advice), and eventually becomes a good friend to Jayne of all people.

Simon Tam: Doctor. He came to the ship by chance, carting mysterious cargo, which ended up being his sister in a cryogenic state. He gave up everything…money, career, family, in order to save her from a mysterious “Academy”, when she revealed in a code only he recognized that she and the other “students” were being severely mistreated. Everything he does, he does to try and make her better. Though aware of Kaylee’s feelings for him, he’s so wrapped up in his sister that he doesn’t act on it. The fact that he’s also socially stunted doesn’t help the matter any either.

River Tam: Genius, nutty as a fruitcake, and Simon’s sister. She’s an escapee from The Academy, which seems to have been a front for an experimental operation to turn intuitive children with extremely high IQs into super soldiers of a sort, by rewiring their brains and motor functions. She and her brother are now fugitives from the law, and pursued by a number of bounty hunters and assassins.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Stories

These were written about seven years ago, and published on FireflyFans.net.  The premise of this series is fairly dark, as it explores the possible nightmares that this crew might have experienced at one time or another.

As the show ended before the backgrounds of any of the characters could really be explored, any referrals to their past are strictly of my own imagination. As this is considered a “Space Western”, some of the dialogue is of a more colloquial style, and I kept it as true to the characters as possible.

The usual fanfic disclaimer: These characters are not mine (though I wish Jayne was), and I'm making no $$$ off of these.

OK, now that you’ve read all this, on with the stories, which are posted in the order they were written.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmares: River

River found herself in a long hallway. She looked around, trying to figure out where she might be. Every door was numbered, and had a wire holder attached to it that contained a file. It looked as though she was in a hospital. She walked around until she came across a desk, but there was no one there. In fact, the entire building seemed deserted.

Then she heard it. A faint cry emanated from somewhere behind her, and she spun around to try and locate the source. There were three different corridors to choose from, so she waited quietly to see if she could pinpoint which one to take. After a few minutes, she heard it again, and headed off to the right.

River crept down the hall, propelled by a need to protect that overcame her in waves. She paused and listened at every doorway, peeking into the thin windows, but so far the rooms were all empty.

"River, help me!" The voice was plaintive. She stepped up her search, recklessly throwing open doors looking for the source of the pleas. With frustration she noted that the hall didn't seem to end, instead stretching out longer than she had realized. A blood curdling scream echoed from one of the rooms, and River caught herself matching the scream as she became more frenzied.

She clapped her hands over her ears as tears ran down her face. "Must gain control. Have to save her." She murmured this over and over until her breathing slowed.

She concentrated for a moment, working out in her head where the scream had come from, and noticed two big swinging doors amidst the rank of the smaller ones.

It had come from there, she just knew it. She began to run towards the doors, but noticed that the closer she got, the larger the doors seemed. When she finally reached them they towered over her.

She struggled to push the nearest one open, and finally managed to slip inside.

Before her she could see a dais with two thrones. Her mother sat ramrod straight in the one on the left, her father meekly in the right, both dressed in lavish costumes that she recognized, but couldn't remember from where.

In front of the dais was an operating table flanked by the Blue Hands, holding down a child wearing a little blue dress and white pinafore, with white stockings and black patent leather shoes.

Hovering over the child was a feral looking rabbit, his brocade waistcoat and white fur spattered with blood. The little girl looked at her, and she found herself staring into the face that she remembered seeing in the mirror when she was six years old. Little River screamed as the rabbit plunged its paws into her, and came up with a length of intestines, which it began to gnaw upon. The Blue Hands grinned maniacally as they struggled to keep the child still.

Her mother stood up, "OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

The rabbit nodded and reached for Little River's head. With a horrible rending sound, he tore it off and held it aloft.

Her mother nodded in approval, "Very well, I believe it's time for tea."

River screamed, and all eyes turned towards her. The Blue Hands licked their lips lasciviously as they began to walk towards her, leaving the headless little corpse twitching on the table.

"Time to go down the rabbit hole," a quiet voice near her said, and she looked over to find a cat with Simon's gentle smile floating in the air above her. Suddenly the floor opened, and she found herself falling...falling...falling.

She finally landed with a thump, and found herself in a long hallway. She looked around, trying to figure out where she might be. Every door was numbered, and had a wire holder attached to it that contained a file. It looked as though she was in a hospital. She walked around until she came across a desk, but there was no one there.

"Oh God no!" she cried, "I can't do this again!" She heard skittering behind her, and turned to see who was coming.

"I'm late! I'm late!" the white rabbit exclaimed as it came running towards her.

She shrieked and tried to move out of its path, but it felt as though her feet were glued to the floor. The rabbit's little pink eyes glowed with evil, as its face changed into one that she was all too familiar with. As it got closer, it reached for her with its gore spattered paws.

"SIMON! HELP ME!" she screamed, and suddenly she was jarred awake, eyes blinded by the light over her bed. Simon was there, holding her tightly as she cried hysterically into his shoulder.

"Shh mei mei. It was just a dream. Just a dream," Simon reassured her. As he calmed her down, he looked quizzically at the book on her nightstand. When she'd finally cried herself back to sleep, he reached for it.

He read the title and smiled, remembering how they used to read it together when they were children. It had always been one of her favorites. He cracked it open to chapter one...

"ALICE was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversations?' 

So she was considering, in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her. 

There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" (when she thought it over afterwards it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but, when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge. 

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again..." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmares: Mal

Mal stood quietly, and took in the landscape in front of him. The resilience of nature was remarkable, and as he looked around Serenity Valley six years after the war, only the deepest scars from that battle were still visible.

Though lovely and verdant, it was quiet as no one would live there. Most thought it haunted, if not cursed, by the men and women from both sides who'd lost their lives. While Mal believed in neither haints nor curses, he had to admit that while it was one thing to name your ship after the place, it was quite another to put up a farm and settle there.

As he made his way down into the valley, he'd come across an occasional leftover from the war. While all the big wreckage had been removed - what with the Alliance hoping to erase what had happened there as much as they'd managed to sanitize the history books - he would spot an occasional bayonet, or entrenching tool; even a canteen with the owner's name etched into it.

Mal picked it up, and brushed the dirt away. It was no one he'd known, but he thought maybe he could find the family and return it to them, so he tucked it in one of his coat's inside pockets.

He took another step, and heard an ominous 'snick'. He closed his eyes, and muttered a curse under his breath. The trigger must have been hidden in the tall grass, and he'd carelessly stepped on it. He guessed that when they'd de-mined the place, a few got missed. He took his comm unit out of his pocket and tried to contact the ship, but no one answered his hail.

There was whisper in his ear, "Betcha never thought that once you got out of this valley alive that you'd end up dyin' here, didja Sergeant Reynolds?"

Mal looked around wildly to locate the source of the voice.

"Down here, Sarge."

He looked down. It wasn't a mine he'd stepped on, but a skeletal hand. He jumped back with a shout.

"Thanks kindly." Mal watched in horror as the desiccated corpse lurched itself into a standing position. It held out the hand to him, and in wonderment he took it. The corpse looked steadily at him, and Mal winced as its grip became uncomfortably tight.

"Remember me, Sarge?" the corpse asked.

Mal stammered, "I...well...you...there isn't..."

The corpse's rictus of a smile grew wider, and it let out a papery laugh, "Heh, guess I'm not so 'pretty' anymore. Mebbe this'll help?" It pointed to the name tag on its uniform.

Mal leaned in, "Private Bendis?"

"The very same, Sarge. You're looking well. Guess life after the war has been good to you."

"Well, uh, I guess."

"Can't exactly say the same, Sarge. Been a hard road for those of us got left behind."

"Why's that?" Mal asked hesitantly.

Bendis stepped closer, and he was overcome with the smell of putrefaction, "It's hard bein' forgotten, Sarge. Bein' abandoned by those that we served for, who deserted us without even sayin' a prayer for our soul's safe passage. Like you did."

Mal heard a shuffling sound behind him, and when he turned found that they had been joined by a group of other soldiers, much in the same condition as Bendis was. A wave of fright washed over him as Bendis' comment about him dying in Serenity Valley suddenly came back to mind.

He turned back to the Private, "What're you gonna do to me?"

"Whaddaya think we should do, Sarge? Whaddaya think you deserve? I mean, how is it fair that you got out alive, while we were left here to rot? Do you ever think that the only reason you made it out is because you didn't do enough?"

The barrage of questions confused Mal, "I...I don't know. I didn't think so."

"We beg to differ, Sarge. Last day of the battle, when I got shot...remember? You didn't even blink. I was standing right next to you, the man I admired more than anyone, and when I took a bullet, you didn't even turn to look after me."

"I was just shocked by the surrender, Bendis. ‘Twas nothing personal. I made sure you got buried proper." Mal looked around at the others, and noticed that the green valley now looked as it had those last days of the battle. Smoky, fetid air filled his lungs and stung his eyes, and the cries of the injured and dying assaulted his ears.

The others began to circle him and he spun, looking from one rotted face to another and beseeched. "Bendis, Harrington, Rodriguez, Chin, I'm so sorry! If I could have saved each and every one of you I would have, you know that! But we didn't have the manpower or the supplies. It was a war dammit! You went into it knowin' that you might not come out alive!"

"We know, Sarge," Bendis smiled, "but we think you should have died with us. And we're here now to collect." With that, the horde descended upon him.

Mal woke with a jerk, and looked around frantically. The dining area was empty, as was the bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him. He blearily picked it up, and turned the last few drops into his mouth.

"So much for drinking to forget," he muttered. He closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning, then started to cry. Soon his body was wracked with sobs.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "Oh God, I'm so sorry."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmares: Jayne

It had all started innocently enough. Kaylee had needed to do some repairs on the engine that required some muscle and Jayne had been happy enough to help. Two weeks in the black had left him irritated and bored so any diversion from the norm was a welcome relief. 

As Kaylee prattled on he let his mind drift, but her sudden silence brought him back. He looked over at her, and found her eyes on him. "What?" 

Kaylee's expression was grumpy, "You weren't listenin', were you?" 

"Sorry." 

"S'alright. I was just curious is all." 

"Curious about what?" 

Kaylee hesitated then let out a sigh, "I was just wonderin' if you remembered the first time you killed a man." 

Jayne's expression was grim. "You still upset about what happened at Niska's ain'tcha?" 

She nodded, "I just don't know why I froze up so, but for River it just came natural." 

"'Cause she's a moonbrain. Don't worry about it. You don't need to be shootin' anyone anyway." 

"So what was it like, the first time you did it?" 

"Got other first times I'd rather talk about," he leered. 

Kaylee rolled her eyes, "Don't want to know 'bout those. Who was it?" 

"Gorram it girl, you ain't gonna let this go are you?" 

"Nope." 

Jayne looked away, "’Twas the Bogeyman," he whispered. 

Kaylee wasn't sure if she was more surprised by his answer, or how it was delivered. But something about both kept her from pressing further. 

Jayne recalled this conversation as he lay in his bunk that night fighting off sleep, because he knew that when it came the memories sunk deep in his brain like a festering wound would surface. He battled mightily but eventually succumbed, his eyes closing as he fell into slumber... 

He was a strapping boy just shy of fourteen when he found her. His older sister Anna hung from a beam in the barn, her lovely features contorted into a black swollen mask as she swung gently from the rope. He'd climbed up to the loft as fast as his legs could carry him, and whipping out his knife cut her down, lowering her as gently as he could given the height of the structure.

Her body fell like a rag doll to the ground below, and he almost broke a leg scrambling back down to her. He loosened the noose around her neck, and despite the fact that he knew it was too late, he tried what he could to revive her. Eventually he gave up and cradled her in his arms, his tears falling like raindrops onto her lifeless body.

After a few moments he stood, picked up her small form, and carried her to the house. His mother saw him through the window, and came out with a wail. Her cries rousted the rest of the household, and soon they were all mourning the untimely death of their golden child. Anna had been the beauty of the family, smart and talented. She'd been a poet, and her work had even been printed in the local paper. She had a knack with children - the Cobb clan providing her plenty of practice - and was studying to be a teacher. She had her whole life in front of her, which made her death by her own hand so incredibly senseless.

Finally his mother spoke, "Jayne, go fetch your father."

He glared at her, "Bill ain't my father."

She sighed resignedly, "I won't argue about this with you right now, Jayne. Just go get him."

Grumbling, Jayne took off to do as she'd said. He'd never liked the man his Ma had married after his father died, and took every opportunity to let him know it. Of course all that got him was a beating, but he refused to treat Bill as anything other than an unwelcome guest.

He found the man in the back field leaning against the horse instead of plowing like he should have been doing. He saw Bill take a swig out of a flask, and curled his lip in disapproval. The farm his father had built into one of the town's finest was suffering from the lazy approach his stepfather took to maintaining it. Adding insult to injury, Jayne knew he would be sent out to the field that weekend to do the work that Bill hadn't, causing even more resentment in the boy.

Bill saw Jayne approach and scowled, "Whaddaya want?"

"Anna's dead. She hung herself in the barn."

Bill went pale, then covered it up quickly with his usual insensitivity, "Oh well, one less mouth to feed."

Jayne curled his fists, tempted to knock the smirk off the man's face. Only respect for his dead sister kept him from doing so. "Ma wants you back at the house."

"I'll head in when I feel like it. Now you git." Jayne started to walk off, stopping only when Bill called out, "She leave a note?"

Jayne turned, his eyes two narrow slits, "Not that I know of."

His stepfather nodded and went back to his drinking, while Jayne stormed off in disgust. When he got back to the house, he went up to the room he shared with his brother Mattie and threw himself on his bed. Burying his face in the pillow, he let out a roar of anger and grief that brought his mother running.

She sat down next to him, and rubbed her hand across his back, "Jayne love, shush now. Whatever caused Anna to do what she did, she'll be happier with the angels. They'll take good care of her."

Jayne lifted his head to look at his mother, his eyes rimmed red from crying, "But Ma, it don't make no sense. Why'd she do it?"

A tear slipped down her face, "I don't know, baby. I guess we'll never know." She stood and walked out, closing the door quietly behind her.

After a bit Jayne heard the front door slam, and soon the arguing began. He went to the door to listen. Bill didn't want to pay for a funeral, saying his sister didn't deserve one for being a suicide. This sent his mother into hysterics, begging and pleading until the man begrudgingly gave in. "But it ain't gonna be nothin' fancy. We ain't got the money, so you'd better skimp, you hear me?"

His mother murmured her assent, and Bill started up the stairs. Jayne heard him go into Anna's room and begin rummaging around. Curious, he followed.

"Lookin' for somethin'?" he asked.

Bill spun around, "Your Ma wanted me to fetch a dress to send with Anna."

"Funny, I thought dresses were kept in the closet, not the night table."

The older man scowled, "I was lookin' for that necklace she always wore, too."

"She's already wearin' it," Jayne snarled, "saw it when I cut her down."

Bill hurled himself at Jayne, and slapped him hard. "Don't you get lippy with me, boy." He stalked out of the room, and back downstairs.

Jayne went back to his room, rubbing the angry red mark on his cheek. "Asshole." He went to the bureau and opened the drawer that contained the little treasures all teenage boys keep, and took out the capture of he and Anna that had been taken on his thirteenth birthday. He watched with sorrow as the two of them jostled each other, and heard his mother's exasperated voice scolding them to stand still. But as usual they didn't listen, and what was supposed to be a nice formal portrait disintegrated into a dusty wrestling match, punctuated with laughter and squeals. His mother let out a sigh, and the screen went dark.

Jayne was about to put the capture back when he noticed something foreign in his drawer. He slowly drew out the little pink notebook, but before he could open it he was called to do his chores before supper. He tucked the notebook under his mattress guiltily, and slunk downstairs to do as he'd been told.

Later that evening after everyone else had gone to bed, Jayne snuck the notebook and a lantern out to the barn. He crept up to the hayloft, and lit the lantern to as faint a glow as he could and still read, and opened the notebook. He skimmed through most of it, as it was mostly the typical musings and gossip of a fifteen year old girl. Not to mention there wasn't much in there he hadn't already read. He finally figured that if Anna had left something for him to find it would be in the later entries, so he turned to them.

A specific line caught his eye, "The Bogeyman crept out from under my bed last night, and when he left me I was torn up inside, curled into a little ball of fear." Jayne knit his brows and continued to read. The entry was written as a story, and when Jayne reached the end, his jaw was tight with rage. He did poorly in school but he wasn't stupid, and it didn't take him long to figure out who the real Bogeyman was, and what he'd done. "Oh Anna. Why didn't you say anything?" he moaned to the sky.

He heard the barn door open, and a slice of moonlight illuminated the area below. Jayne snuffed out the lantern, and peeked over the edge of the loft to see who was there. He saw it was his stepfather, who'd stolen outside to imbibe some whiskey and smoke a cigar. As if sensing he wasn't alone, Bill looked around warily, and when his eyes stole up to the loft, Jayne pulled his head back quickly. Just not quickly enough.

"That you, Jayne? What in the ruttin' hell are you doin' up there this time of night?"

Jayne climbed down the ladder, and Bill was taken aback by the feral look in the boy's eyes. "I was just readin'."

Bill barked a laugh, "You? Readin'? That's rich."

The boy held up the notebook, and his stepfather's eyes grew wide when he saw it. "Yeah, I been readin'. And there's a real interestin' story in here. Helped me figger out why Anna killed herself."

Bill swallowed hard, "So why'd she do it?"

Jayne tucked the small book into his back pocket, and picked up a pitchfork lying nearby, "It was shame. She said the Bogeyman hurt her. Made her do things she didn't want to."

As Jayne advanced, Bill stumbled backward, "The Bogeyman, eh? She was a little old to be believin' in him, wasn't she?"

"Except I realized that the Bogeyman was real, and that he bore more than just a passin' resemblance to you. Did you know she was pregnant?"

Bill recovered slightly, "Little whore," he spat.

He realized too late that he'd made a horrible mistake. With a grunt, Jayne charged him and speared him in the gut with the pitchfork. "You sonofabitch. The baby was yours, and you know it!"

The older man knew the wounds inflicted on him weren't lethal and he pulled the pitchfork out, tossing it to the side. But the boy wasn't bowed by this display. Grabbing the milking stool, he swung and connected squarely with Bill's face knocking him senseless. Jayne was momentarily frightened by the possibility that he'd killed his stepfather, but it was quickly replaced by a boundless fury. Over and over he beat the man about the head with the stool, until the only way the body could have been identified would have been by its fingerprints.

Jayne awoke then, the horror of that first kill creeping up his spine. He'd set fire to the barn that night to cover up what he'd done. He made it look as though the man had been drunk and tipped over the latern, that it was all a tragic accident. But his mother had never really looked at him the same again, as if somehow she knew what he'd done. And maybe she did, because something in his eyes changed after that night. 

That morning at breakfast, he was quieter than usual. Not that anyone really noticed with all the animated conversation going on. He looked around the table, and his eyes settled on Simon. It wasn't that he disliked the man, it was just that every day that went by, he was reminded that Simon had been able to do something that he'd never had the chance to. Save his sister. And that guilt gnawed at him constantly. 

Once the meal was over, he got his guns and began the systematic and soothing chore of cleaning them. Lost in his thoughts he didn't notice the slip of a girl creep into the room behind him until he felt her hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, and she remarked, "We know that not all nightmares happen in your sleep." He reached up and took her hand in his, giving it a quick squeeze, then went back to the task at hand. She slipped out quietly, a sad smile on her face.

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Nightmares: Inara

I should have uglied you up so no one else'd want you. 

The whisper came out of nowhere, slicing through the quiet of her shuttle. They'd been Atherton's words but not his voice. It had been more sinister, more menacing. She glanced around, but couldn't find the source. It was unsettling, to say the least.

Inara went back to her book, but couldn't shake the feeling of unease. She thought that maybe some tea would help to calm her nerves. As she walked over to the little cupboard to retrieve her teapot, she noticed a small spider skitter across the carpeting.

She shuddered. She hated spiders. As a child she'd been wandering through the forest, and came just a little too close to one of a particularly aggressive breed. The bite had almost killed her, and her foot still bore two tiny white dots where she'd been bitten.

She reached for a tissue to dispose of it, when she began to hear little "plops" behind her all around the shuttle. Then something fell on her head. She felt a sting, and brushed her hand over her hair. Another spider fell onto the floor in front of her.

Inara let out a squeak, and turned around. The floor of the shuttle was now covered in spiders of various sizes and breeds, and more were still falling. She noted with a growing horror that they were all coming for her. They rushed over her feet, and began to crawl up her legs.

She began to stomp around, trying to dislodge them, but that only made them dig in. And by digging in, they were injecting her with their venom. As it began to take effect her vision started to blur, and her movements became slower. She soon slumped to the floor, and within seconds the only thing visible was a writhing mass.

Eventually Inara awoke, but could only see an opaque whiteness in front of her eyes. She tried to move, but seemed to be bound. She realized then that she'd been wrapped in layers upon layers of silk. Frantically, she began to fight her restraints. The cocoon was tough, but eventually she was able to free one of her hands. She ripped the covering off of her face, and looked around frantically. She was alone. All the spiders that had riddled her shuttle were gone. She breathed a sigh of thanks and slowly managed to free herself.

As she was plucking the last of the disgusting shroud off of her dress, she heard a quick knock on her door, followed immediately by Mal's head poking in. "'Nara, you there?"

"Mal, I'm over here."

He glanced in her direction, and his face blanched, "Who are you?"

She laughed, "Mal, it's me...Inara."

His eyes widened in confusion, "You're not her. Who are you? How'd you get on my ship?"

Inara was beginning to get angry, "This isn't funny, Mal."

"Tell me about it," he drew his gun and pointed it at her. "Now you're going to explain to me how the hell you got in here, and where Inara is."

"I...I don't know...what's going on?" She turned towards her mirror, and screamed at the visage that faced her. It was that of an old crone, face crisscrossed with wrinkles and scars. Her eyes were cloudy, and her hair had turned to grey, and had fallen out in spots. She raised her hands to her face, and saw that they were sinewy and covered in liver spots. She screamed again...

And awoke in a cold sweat. She struggled to catch her breath, and jumped when she heard a knock on the door.

"'Nara? You OK in there?" It was Mal.

She lurched in front of the mirror, and sighed in relief when her familiar features came into view.

Mal poked his head in the door, "Thought I heard a ruckus, everything all right?"

She feigned irritation, "I'm fine. It was just a bad dream."

"Oh...well, I just wanted to make sure everything was OK." As he shut the door behind him he muttered, "Seems to be a lot of that going on around here lately."

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Nightmares: Zoe

Here we go again. 

She pokes around her little spot in this darkness expecting to find wooden walls, but instead her 'coffin' has give.

Wait, this is different. 

She's had this dream before. Buried alive, dying slowly as the oxygen runs out and the panic sets in, blah, blah, blah. It's almost become as regular an occurrence to her as breathing.

Need to conserve my breath. 

She doesn't really. She just needs to go through the motions, wake with a jerk, and it will all be over.

But what is that smell? 

Suddenly it hits her.

It smells like... 

She feels the area around her more carefully, and feels hard bone behind soft flesh. Then her hand comes into contact with what can only be a head of hair.

Oh God, this isn't a coffin around me...these are bodies! 

Right on cue, the mass above her begins to press down.

Wake up, Zoe! 

But her body doesn't respond, and the weight on her chest increases.

I can't die like this! I won't die like this! 

She takes advantage of the little space she has left, and shifts the body above her so that it ends up underneath. Systematically, she begins to claw her way out of the pile. She struggles against the urge to retch as her fingers dig into the rotting flesh around her, and fights to breathe using the small amounts of air filtering through. She goes for what feels like hours...

How many can there be? 

She knows that if she's fighting through the remains from the war that she'll be digging her way out for a long time. The thought causes her strength to begin to sap, and her efforts weaken.

I have to keep going! 

But despite her brain's encouragement, her body has other plans. Suddenly a hand grabs hers, and pulls her out. She is weak, she is tired, but she is alive.

************

Wash wakes when he feels his wife struggling in the bed next to him. His face scrunches with worry, but he learned early on in their relationship that waking her too quickly is a bad idea. He waits until just the right moment, the point where her movements begin to slow, then eases his body next to hers.

He wraps his arms around her, and takes her hand in his. Instantly she relaxes, and her body slumps against his. He whispers sweet murmurs into her ear until her breathing is once again slow and steady.

He's never asked her what she dreams about. In all honesty, he doesn't want to know.

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