“Are you okay?”

“Yes… yes, I’m alright. He turned the car so the truck hit his side.”

“And the other driver?” I asked, releasing her.

“…He’s in the hospital as well.” Mom grimaced and I could she see was trying to suppress some uncharitable remark about the other driver.

“Don’t worry about that now. We’ll have plenty of time for that later. Can I see Dad now?” Mom nodded and led me to his room. The left side of his face was bruised and scarped and he had a large piece of gauze taped over his cheek. What I could see of his arm was almost completely purple, the rest was covered in a soft cast and bandages. He was wearing a pale green hospital gown and lying on the bed in the room, his body inclined upwards just a little. It hit me that he probably didn’t have the strength to raise himself up. His eyes were closed when I walked in, but they blinked open when I walked over to him.

“H-hey, Steve.” Don’t rasped, his throat sounding as dry as old paper.

“Hey, Dad.” I managed to choke out as my eyelids fluttered up and down, trying to stem the tide of tears I knew was about to start flowing.

“You… don’t look too good.” Dad rasped out with a little smile. I let out a tiny laugh and smiled down at him. Even being hit by a truck couldn’t stop my Dad from putting me first.

“Sorry about that.” I apologized. “You’re looking great.” Dad laughed, but the movement in his chest must’ve upset something because then he groaned and rolled around in his bed until the sensation died away.

“Ugh.. yeah, I’m swell. Look, I’m sorry about-”

“Dad, you don’t have anything to apologize for. Just rest.”

“I’ll be doing plenty of that soon. I’m sorry about this. It’s gonna mess up the wedding and I wanted to see you and Jamie…”

“Dad… I know.”

“No, I’m sorry I didn’t take it right at first. But… Jamie’s a nice boy. I want you two..” Dad let out a breath and his eyes glazed a little. “you to be…” He said, letting out a long breath. “…happy.” He finished, shutting his eyes.

“We will, Dad. We will.” I said, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, remembering all the years where it had been so much bigger than mine. I looked down and thought Dad was smiling. At the same time, the steady beeping from the EKG turned into a constant wail. He was gone.

- Evan T. Hicks

“Dumping you on graduation day was the worst mistake of my life.” The woman wailed. “Terry and I didn’t work out—Terry—was the second worst mistake.  I will be at La Petite tonight at eight.  I asked the chef to prepare a lemon soufflé, and to put white tulips—your favorites—on the table.  Please, please, come.”

“Hahaha!” I cackled, sinking back against the wall for support. “You want to get back with a man who cares whether or not there are white tulips on a table?”

“Gotcha!” The woman’s voice called out suddenly, every trace of her previous emotional state was gone from her voice.

“Oh, seriously, Karla?” I yelled at the machine.

“You’ve got to love those ‘gender-neutral’ writing prompts don’t you? Look, loser, we’re going out for drinks later. Call me back- and get rid of this damn home phone, it makes you look like a spinster. Loe ya, bye!”

“End of message.” I pressed the erase button, then took Karla’s advice and trashed the eighties relic. Karla was always pulling some crap like that on me. Nothing amused her more than her writing class and screwing with me. When you put those two things together, well, that was the Holy Grail of comedy to Karla. I grabbed my smart phone and called Karla.

“When are you going to get here?! The tulips are wilting!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re hilarious. That was seriously supposed to be a ‘gender neutral’ prompt?”

“Oh, yeah… Flanders totally flipped her shit when I called her out on it.”

“You know you have to get an A in that class, right? Aren’t you a little worried about pissing all your English teachers off? It is your major.”

“Major shmajor, so are you in for drinks or not?”

“No, I’m having dinner with Louise tonight.”

“Isn’t it getting awkward dating a lesbian?”

“Louise is not a lesbian!” I exclaimed, letting out a sigh afterwards. Karla didn’t approve of Louise at all.

“Uh-huh. She just dresses like that because it’s comfortable.”

“Yes, and that’s why keeps her hair short. It’s cute.”

“Look, I don’t care if she likes girls or not, I’m just saying, you guys have been dating how long?”

“Three months.”

“And you’ve $%^&ed how many times?”

“Twice.” I groaned. She had a little bit of a point.

“And you don’t want to go out?”

“Next time. Promise.”

“Just don’t call me later, crying because she came out to you.”

“Thanks, you’re a peach.”

“Bye!”

“Bye.”

I hung up and rubbed my face. I almost wished that message had been real. A lemon soufflé sounded delicious right then.

- Evan T. Hicks

Once upon a time, there was a horrible, abominable child who would not do as he was told. He would not listen to his parents or teachers. At dinner time he only wanted to run about and never would sit down at his place. The rest of the day he would whine and whine for a snack until someone fed him. He was always nagging his parents to buy him a new toy, but as soon as he had it, he became bored with it and promptly smashed it to pieces. His parents took him to specialist after specialist. The child therapist diagnosed him with disorders that child therapy could cure. The psychiatrist diagnosed him with psychiatric disorders that a regimen of pills could regulate. And the acupuncturist jabbed the child’s chakra points with needles until the child sprang up and ran out of the room howling. Sadly, none of these treatments cured the child. Distraught and at wit’s end, his parents took him to the one person who might have the wisdom to determine what was wrong with the child and how he might be cured- his grandmother.

“Seems to me that child’s ass hasn’t been whupped enough.” The grandmother said plainly after the child spit on her thirty seconds after entering her home.

“Oh, but Mother, we do not spank our children! It’s barbaric!” The child’s mother exclaimed.

“No, no, my dear. It’s for their own good. You must beat a child’s rear end. A child’s brains naturally sink into their posterior, causing them to act like brats, only by beating their bottoms and forcing their brains back up can you cure the child.” As the grandmother said this, the child in question ran by and kicked the cat sleeping on the floor. His grandmother leapt up with a speed that should have been impossible for one her age and laid her cane on the boy’s rear end with such force that all his brains were swiftly forced back into his skull and he never did misbehave again. And they all lived happily ever after.

Evan T. Hicks

“Look, they’ll get the elevator working… soon. Let’s just not talk.” The words sounded choppy coming out of my mouth, but I was tired of being eloquent around her. It wasn’t like it had ever done me any good. When she had stepped on the elevator, my heart had started pounding like crazy and I’d panicked for a moment. After calming myself down, I decided to get off at the next floor, so I stepped forward and reached out to press the button. That was when the elevator had slowed to a halt between the thirty fourth and thirty fifth floors.

“Can I at least ask why you’ve been ignoring me?” Beth asked, her long, silky hair falling over her shoulder as she leaned to the side. I let out another breath slowly.

“Beth, I hate to sound like a stereotypical girl, but if you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”

“Well, I hate to sound like a stereotypical guy, but how am I supposed to know if you won’t tell me?” She shot back indignantly. I let out one last breath, drawing the air over my teeth, then I looked at her, my eyes flashing.

“You’re supposed to know because it’s so damn obvious. You’re supposed to know because anyone with the problem solving abilities of a third grader could put it together.”

“Is this about the Valentine’s Day thing?”

“Thing?” I replied, incensed. “All you had to do was carve out sixty seconds for me, but you couldn’t even be bothered to return a single text or call I sent you. I wanted to give you a gift and it was so unimportant to you that not only did you ignore me, but you didn’t even apologize for it later- because it registered at such a low level of importance for the Beth Byres that it didn’t even warrant remembering. And then you had the gall to try and say Hi to me when we saw each other, like it didn’t even happen. So, yeah, I decided to ignore you.” For a minute, Beth and I were quiet and the only sound in the elevator was the sound of my angry breaths returning to normal, then I realized something.

“Actually-” I said out loud as I opened my bag and pulled out a dirty, crumpled piece of paper. “Here. It’s not in quite the same condition, but you should still be able to make it out.” I thrust the piece of paper towards her, then she reached it out and took it from me. I still knew what it said: “To the girl who has everything… but me.” I glared at the wall in front of me as Beth looked at the Valentine.

“…I’m sorry.” She whispered suddenly.

“No, you’re not. I am.” I hissed back. “I’m sorry I ever got my hopes up. I’m sorry that I thought that all those times I made you laugh for hours, or helped you with your homework, or invited you to, I don’t know, do things- I’m sorry that I thought any of those things might make you care one day- that they might earn me a place in your hallowed world.

You knew how I felt. You did. And you saw me alone every day. Every. Single. Day. And I sat there hoping that maybe- maybe you meant what you said, maybe you really would ask me to eat with you, to hang out, to do anything. But you never did. But you know what? I never did give up, did I? Oh, I hung back, gave you space, but I kept trying, waiting for a chance. Then Valentine’s Day rolled around and you just wanted to get through it, didn’t you?

But I wanted to do something for you. I asked you when you were free. I called and texted and you never got back to me like you said you would. So, yeah, after that, I decided that no matter how I felt, it didn’t matter if I was so unimportant to you that I didn’t warrant an apology… or even your attention. So, no offense, but bite me, Beth. Bite me you overly popular, inconsiderate, little girl.”

“That’s not fair…” Beth replied, without any force behind her words.

“Oh, no, it isn’t. It isn’t fair that I’m the one with no friends and you’re the one with so many that you can afford to let a few go neglected. It isn’t fair that when this elevator starts, that I get to spend the rest of my day sulking while you get to have Cathy or whoever sympathize with you. No, it’s not fair, but it’s how things are.”

“Look, if I’m so inconsiderate and overly popular, why do you even like me?”

“Because when I met you, you blew me freaking away. You were so pretty and so funny and so nice, it was unbelievable. I don’t really connect with many people right away, but we talked for hours. And then you invited me to have dinner with your friends- the only time you actually invited me to do something with you, and I thought I had hit the lottery or something. I thought I’d met a girl who was so cool that she had all these friends, but who was so nice, that she could still care about one new guy. I thought I’d met someone really special. I thought you were special.”

“Well… I really am sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“And I’m really glad that we got trapped in this elevator.”

“Yeah… I guess I am too.”

“There’s just one problem.”

“We’re still stuck in an elevator?” I quipped. Beth smiled.

“That… and this is an imaginary elevator in an imaginary story.”

“Yeah…” I sighed. “I feel bad for the real me. The odds of him getting stuck in an elevator with the real you are basically zero.”

“Hey, the elevator’s moving!” Beth exclaimed as I felt the floor shift under my feet.

“Great. Just as the fourth wall comes crashing down.” I smiled, looking into her dazzling, green eyes.

- Evan T. Hicks

It was a fair fight. He had his hands up too, his shoulders hunched forward like a bulldog about to pounce. The old man even got up after I knocked him down, a regular Rocky Balboa bouncing around in my synapses, but more like Rocky in the latest movie, when he’s past his prime and has calcium deposits on his bones. I seem to remember that there were people around us as we fought, but I was too focused on seeing how far I could sink my knuckles into his face to really care about them.

There’s no ending to the fight. My brain moved on to other things, then I woke up, but the dream did make me realize just how offensive I found everything he did. I’d thought about writing essays on how it should all be done, new ways that actually turned out results, rather than the insipid pablum that suffices nowadays. It’s a science. It’s mathematical. It’s all that’s best in the world, the place where our dreams and hopes, ghosts and gods, and all our desires take on material form. It might be my favorite miracle in a miraculous universe… and he stirred it with a dry erase marker and served it like day old gruel. At least gruel has some nutritional value. What we got were empty calories or worse. We were guzzling Coke Zero knowledge. Our teeth away would rot away and we’d starve to death no matter how much drank.

I could’ve written a book, perhaps even a multi-volume series on all the ways to do it right and just to be safe, just to clarify things for everyone else, I would’ve included an example on how to do it wrong, how to ruin it for everyone, how to make sure that every good, nutritious bite of knowledge was diluted down to nothing. I never predicted someone would actually be that example. I mean, setting aside how horrible it is in so many other ways, maybe the greatest tragedy is that he set out to become something, to be a good one (presumably), and failed so hard, he wasn’t just another mediocre cog in the machine, he was that gear that grinds against all the others, chaffing their spokes, with the screeching of metal on metal the only fit applause for his work.

It could’ve just been me. I’m hypercritical, judgmental, and far and away the most obsessed person with the field. I almost hoped it was just me. That wouldn’t have changed the truth, but at least everyone else would’ve thought the gruel palatable. That was not the case. Even brown-nosing, grade grubbing, gruel chuggers thought he needed a new line of work. If he’d been an umpire, you could’ve thrown a fast ball straight through the center of the strike zone and he would’ve called it a ball and demanded to know why there were four players guarding the infield. You could try to explain “shortstop” and “second baseman” to him, but inevitably, you would just have to nod as he recommended you do it his way. No wonder there are no fans in the stands.

But hey, at least I beat the crap out of the guy in my dream.

Your eyes glaze, devoid of care,
As I gaze then stomp up that final stair
Like a fable, I lay you sleeping on the table
I could cut you into pieces or I might tear you apart
As your death knell ceases, I stare at your beating heart
I could flay you like an alley cat, but what would I learn from that?
I could study your innards, but that
Would never reveal to me what you are
Only what you were made of
We are more than flesh, more than that by far
So I pull out your entrails and stuff you full of thoughts
I look at the tangled puzzle you were and undo all your knots
Still you lay there, deceased recently, fresh history
But the more I turn the pages of your epidermis
The more the mystery deepens
Like Poe unfolding, spine cracking
Still my brain is wracking
Itself at all your pieces, fresh made creases
Lining the T shape I carved, so I may see this-
A torchlight for the modern Prometheus
But over head the storm has cleared
You haven’t moved in an hour and I fear
A lack of power, no resurrection
Today, only a dissection

- Dr. Victor Frankenstein

This is the tale of Jack P. Sneed
A little brat who would not read
Though his mother begged and pleaded
Jack would not be superceded

In vain, she offered classic tales
Volumes brimming with ghosts and whales
She even proffered Mister Poe
But little Jack Sneed just said, “No!”

At wit’s end, in desperation
Jack’s mother went on vacation
Leaving him in a Nanny’s care
Whom Jack quickly learned, did not scare

She fell for none of his ploys
And punished him by burning toys
Till Jack’s room was left most vacant
Every last block had been taken

Weeping, beginning to grovel
To his Nanny, Jack went pleading
She simply gave him a novel
Then told young Jack to get reading

Although at first the road was hard
Soon, his book Jack could not discard
Silence that day was replenished
And by night the tale was finished

When Mother Sneed arrived back home
She found Jack immersed in a tome
His Nanny was compensated
Generously, if it’s stated

So, Young Readers, heed our moral
Learn to read and please, don’t quarrel
Or those toys with which you’re sated
Might just be incinerated

Four lay upon a verdant paddock fair
One skinned, two fold, quills green through tousled hair
Ensoaked by sun, the earth begrooved and bare
A call was heard, though none could say from where

A way we were to found forthwith for all
Redblooded we with blades three times too small
So stout, those trees, it seemed they could not fall
Fire foundering, one friend gave up the call

Too great were you for wood to stop your gain
You would not yield to agony or pain
Quick won, gleaming silvers, then distilled grain
Were that which caused our paths to be marked twain

Atop the mount, my friend, the last, and I
As gold to gold, till Eros made him fly
At moonstruck hair, ensnared until he’d die
Alone I wept and crept towards the sky

Few prints to track, no signs to guide the way
I labor nightly nor sojourn by day
Bats shriek, doves coo, all must be turned away
To heed the call, I’ve only the assay

Four friends set out at our dream’s inception
And I too will fall, with time’s progression
Learn from my words, voiced without deception
Take up my path for ‘twill need correction

- Evan T. Hicks

I first stumbled upon this text three weeks ago, when I noticed a group of unusual men passing out flyers. I took one, glanced at the paper, and saw that it was covered in a script unlike anything I’d seen before in my career. The words were completely alien to me, but the lines seem to be organized into something resembling a traditional poem. Being by trade a Professor of Linguistics and Dead Languages at Miskatonic University, I was convinced that the strange writing on the page must represent the language of an ancient culture. Consequently, I decided to try my hand at translating the strange markings into readable verse. After much effort, I succeeded in translating the first half of the poem, but before I could finish, I found the text had begun to spread through the internet virally and the flyers were cropping up across the world. Curious as to why such a strange and indecipherable piece of writing would prove so popular, I finished the translation… at least, I finished as much as I dared to. What I discovered in those lines has left me so full of terror that I cannot sleep and the only thought I take solace in is the knowledge that a swift departure from this world must not be far off, though even in death I may find no refuge from this poem and the madness it brings. I offer my translation in hopes that it may find people who have not yet been touched by the daemoniacal text, who may have the will to resist. But I fear it is too late for this world already.

Yours,

-          George Irving, Ph.D

(Original Text)

Yvulgtm ‘bsna N’gha ng N’ghft Shugg
Is’p: Cthulu

Ya vulgt shogg va goka y gotha
Fm’latgh shuggoth syha’h
Ya vulgt uh’e hupadgh shugg
Gnaiih, ‘fhalmaa, ng gof’nn
Mnahn’ hlirghh
Lk’cvol ng mnulye mg jhn arw
N’gha

Ya tharanak li’hee syha’h fhtagn
ch’ ebumna
Ep uln skri lloigg ng ‘bthnkk
Hrii gh Cthulu, Ronnyth
Hl y’ai! Prr’v ng bug qisspt!
Uln Cthulu llll ikn!

Frg’ji yr’luhh ph’ shogg ln shugg
Y r’luhh lw’nafh yorr’e
Ng w’gahn grah’nn loigg
Ya sgn’wahl kn f’fthagu
‘Rluh, nnn yjeryt

Yvulgtm yron ooboshu rn shugg
Tharanak yr’luhh grah’nn
F’dkahnn, ya wgahn f’mnahnog
F’dkahnn uy ron…

R’yleh sktt Cthulu ng Shoggoth i Shagg
Nyarlthotep hafh’drn hai looig grah’nn
YarN’gha ng N’ghft Shugg
Ya vulgtm
Uaaah

(Translated Text)

My Prayer for Death and Darkness on Earth
By: Cthulu

I pray that the realm of darkness would grant my wish
To burn the people of Earth for eternity
I pray the people born of Earth
Fathers, mothers, and children
Worthless heretics
Would be pierced and scream yet never find
Death

I promise on pain of eternal sleep
To cross over to the pit
Then bring misery to their minds and bodies       (Translator’s Note: ‘bthnk can be read as ‘essences’)
Followers of Cthulu, cult of slaves
Here my call! Rise and go to war!
Call Cthulu beside you!

Spread my words from the realm of darkness to Earth   (TN: r’luhh means written words specifically)
My words will transmit my soul
And control the lost ones’ minds              (TN: grah’nn can mean lost ones or larvae)
I will share the space within their skin
Secretly, waiting for my time

I pray my cult will visit all of Earth
Bringing my words to the larvae
Once they read my words, I will control the worthless ones
Once they read these words…

(TN: I stopped reading at this line out of fear for my eternal soul. Therefore, the final stanza of the poem must go untranslated. I did, however, glance upon the final word- “uaaah.” It is both a war cry and the end word of a powerful incantation.)

- Evan Thomas Hicks

It sits on a shelf just above my head
Beside an old wooden knight with a broken spear
Its face a study in simple beauty
Long, black swirls swaddle inexpensive jewels
That sparkle just the same
When the light catches them through my window
At sunrise, showing the art in its appearance,
A design tenderly fashioned for others to see
The well-used clasp tells that it’s been loved
And though it no longer clings like before
I hold it sometimes and think of her still

- Evan Thomas Hicks