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~ Emily ~ The old Victorian house at the end of Maple Street had stood empty for years. Tonight it glowed with orange jack-o’-lanterns lining the cracked driveway and fake spiderwebs stretched across the porch. A handwritten sign on the door read: “Halloween Party – Enter If You Dare.” I adjusted the short black dress that barely covered my ass, the fabric thin and silky against my skin. I had come as a “sexy witch” with a pointed hat, fishnet stockings, and a little wand. I twirled nervously.

She scratched her temple, yawning as she browsed through the results. One website had this preview, ‘Vampires are on the rise, and the Government is threatened. Suicides and whatnots are only a cover story for the threats posed by these creatures of the night,” which not only intrigued Zheira but also made her heart pound for an unknown reason.

she said. Mommy read me my favorite story, “The Cinderella Luna,” and she kissed me goodnight. I felt so lucky to have her as my mommy! I couldn’t stop thinking about the scary man, I needed to know why he watched me all the time. Did he want to drink my blood? Did he want to make me like him? No! No, my parents would never let that happen. He was often in the big office across the hall, but my parents would keep the doors closed so I wouldn’t have to see him. For some reason I felt like I needed to talk to him, I needed to see if he was really as scary as my mind was telling me.

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Jones stared at Claire as she whispered, “What happened next?” Suddenly, she was a little girl again. He used to tell her scary stories about werewolves, vampires, fae, and warlocks. May hated it, but he couldn’t say no when his little niece looked up at him with big eyes and asked so politely for a story. He would always stopped at the climax, sighed dramatically, and say that it’s too scary. She would grab his hand and say she wasn’t scared, that she would be brave. She would ask, so excited, “What happened next?”

She has told me to be fast today, as there's something I've got to help her with. And oh, before I forget, I am given a phone here. Well, I did not get in contact with anyone, not even with Kyra, so so far I've only been binging through the internet, seeing contents and laughing away my worries, as in my mind as I see tweets, I'd imagine how none of these humans know that Werewolves or Vampires actually exist. It makes me feel like some all-knowing person in the human world, at least, towards the realization of paranormal beings, which these lots still see as a fragment of their imagination.

"The problem, Sophie, is that you have the chance of changing what will happen in the future if you tell us what you know. Like I said, I can tell a dozen stories. You need to give me a reason why I should run your story over any other, or why I should even run it at all. There are millions of humans every day who pretend to be vampires, demons, and other supernatural beings. They dress up, wear fangs, and some even drink blood. All over the internet, people claim they’ve seen vampires, know demons, or are werewolves. Why is that?"

Nevertheless, I pushed forward, my fingertips dancing across the keyboard, searching for the elusive truths hidden in the vast expanse of the internet. Websites appeared and disappeared on the screen like fleeting phantoms, their pages teeming with folklore, legends, and ancient myths. I delved into the dusty archives, immersing myself in tales of creatures that prowled the night, their ethereal beauty and insatiable hunger casting a spell over unsuspecting victims.

There was food everywhere, balloons I distinctly remembered telling her not to buy, and a giant cake sitting untouched on the counter because apparently turning nineteen was a national event. I stayed near the kitchen mostly. Safe distance. I was avoiding him. This morning's events still playing over in my head. He was different. Very different and I got scared. I didn't know what to do or who to talk to. Who am I kidding, who am I going to tell that I am scared of my best friend's nineteen year old son who I have been having sex with since last year. A woman who should know better. And yet all I could think about was being on my knees for a nineteen year old a few hours ago.

I smile at my daughter and say, “Over medium, please.” Then she looks at Gabriel, fighting a smile. “Can you eat better than you can dance?” The girls erupt into laughter, and Gabriel holds his hands up in defeat. “Look at it this way, ladies: I gave you a great story.” Britanya looks between me and Gabriel and winks. “Doesn’t seem like the story’s over.”