When the Night Sleeps
By
Jason Frederick Myers
Lily stands frozen in silence as blood-soaked coins rain down, spinning on the floor like miniature cyclones.
“Sorry,” A boy mumbles sheepishly, collecting them at her feet. She blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, the blood is gone. The boy shoves the coins into a nearby vending machine a moment later.
“Miss?” A man calls politely from behind the desk. “Checking in?”
Lily wills herself out of this bout of paralysis and steps forward, self-consciously pulling the sleeves of her black dress down over her arms. “Yes, Lily Carver.”
The receptionist types away on a keyboard. “One night, is that correct?”
Lily nods.
“And have you stayed with us before?”
She nods again.
“Welcome back. You’re all set. How many room keys will you be needing?”
Lily attempts a feeble smile. “One, please.”
#
It had taken her months to work up the courage to return to the hotel. She had never been the extrovert in the relationship, the one to make all the plans or accommodations. She hesitates for a moment in the doorway, then enters. The room is spacious but unusually cold, and Lily wonders if the lack of warm company makes it feel this way, like concrete in the absence of sunlight. She walks past a cozy kitchenette and rolls her luggage to the foot of a queen-sized bed. A large flat-screen tv hangs on the wall over a dark-stained wood dresser with ornate brass knobs. Further into the room, a circular cloth couch and coffee table face an expansive view of the surrounding city skyline through a large picture window. Lily kicks off her heels on the soft white carpet, then retrieves her cell phone, sending a text message:
In the city at our favorite hotel.
Wish we could talk. Miss you.
XO Lily
She drops her phone on the bed and goes to the bathroom, eager to shower away the cold. Outside of her room, something waits.
#
Lily lies on the bed later that evening, thinking of Tara. She pictures them there, lying together in matching hotel robes, binging on candy and laughing as they reminisce about their past. She smiles thinking of their warm summer afternoons hiking old forests to long abandoned places, Tara encouraging Lily to face her fears, her shimmering eyes reflective windows of love and warmth. She had always felt a sense of comfort in Tara’s arms, her lap an altar of refuge after difficult days dealing with rude customers or arguments with her parents. Lily clung fondly to these memories, yet a lingering fear always came with them. A fear of an uncertain future, of their relationship ending suddenly. Or worse, the thought of their love simmering out like an unkempt flame, their lives parallel but apart like oil on water. She thought about how things might have gone differently between them, the difference a few minutes or a change of plans might have made that night, and where they’d be if they had.
The sound of a car horn shatters her thoughts, and she finds herself alone, momentarily unsure of her surroundings. The hotel room is strangely dark now, with no random coffee maker or smoke alarm indicators offering glimpses of the room’s layout or hall light illuminating the gap beneath the door. She stands on protesting legs, her heart racing as something or someone pounds on the outside of the room’s large picture window. Thick, beige curtains occlude the window from view as she takes an uncertain step in its direction, then pauses, her body trembling. The loud, frantic pounding is generic in sound yet somehow familiar to her in a way she can’t explain. Time seems to stand still, and for a second, it’s as if there’s not a window in front of her but a portal to somewhere else entirely, a different place and time.
Without warning, the curtains smoke and catch fire, the toxic smell of burning cloth and electrical wire hanging heavy in the air. The intensity of the pounding increases as amber-orange flames lick at the wallpaper and ceiling overhead, the heat oppressive on her skin. Shards of glass explode inward as the window shatters, knocking her to the floor. A pair of hands thrust through the window, reaching desperately into the room. Lily screams, crawling toward the hotel room door. With trembling hands, she frees the door’s lock and crawls out into the hallway, kicking the door closed behind her. She lies motionless, catching her breath, eyes wide and fearful.
The hallway is quiet. Further down the long corridor, a young couple eyes her curiously, giggling as they enter their room. Lily remains on the floor, trying to rationalize what is happening. She tells herself it was only a dream, her mind offering no other rational explanation.
#
“Can I help you, Miss?” the receptionist asks, peering over a computer monitor on a sleek marble desk. All around, the hotel’s lobby is bustling. A large group of people are huddled at the bar, cheering as they watch an overhead TV. Other guests carry their belongings in and out of the building. Lily is suddenly self-conscious. She glances down at her bare feet, tucks a small lock of hair behind her ear, and straightens the creases from the front of her dress.
“Yes,” she says, stepping forward. “I’m locked out of my room.”
“No problem at all, miss.”
As the receptionist hands her a new key card a moment later, she blurts out, “Is there any construction going on at the hotel? Is there any remodeling?”
“No, Ma’am, nothing like that. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine,” Lily says, offering her best attempt at an authentic smile.
The receptionist regards her curiously as she walks away, quickly stepping into a nearby elevator. She presses the button for floor fifteen, and the elevator rises. Classical music begins to hum through the speakers, and the cacophony of strings and brass reminds Lily again of Tara, her love for the arts, and their frequent dates to symphonies and the opera. As she stands lost in thought, the overhead light flickers out, casting the interior in darkness.
“Lily,” a voice whispers so softly it may have just been in her head. Her breath catches in her throat as something in the darkness of the elevator touches her, delicate yet intrusive, as if tiny fingertips are squeezing her left shoulder from behind. She leans forward instinctively as the elevator’s entire control panel lights up, its floor indicators no longer buttons but neat rows of shimmering coins, each covered in a thin layer of blood. The temperature inside the elevator drops, the air cold enough to burn her lungs. As the elevator slows to a stop, something brushes her back lightly. The doors start to open, and she squeezes her way out and runs, turning after a safe distance to face the open elevator. It sits empty at the end of the hallway, yet her subconscious tells her something is watching in those flickering shadows of light and darkness, a presence perceived but not fully realized. She closes her eyes. A moment later, when she opens them, the elevator is gone, summoned to its next destination.
#
Lily stands in the doorway of her hotel room and peers inside. The room looks normal, her purse still sitting neatly on the coffee table, clothes still folded neatly in the open luggage bag at the foot of the bed. Summoning the courage, she enters the room cautiously, checking behind the door on her way in. She looks in the bathroom, walks to the room's far end, and pulls back the curtains, revealing an unbroken window.
Outside, the world is quiet, puffy clouds lingering beneath the moon like a large sleep-deprived eye. Below, headlights cut through the darkness with sharp beams of light. From this distance, watching pedestrians and cars move is like glimpsing the inner workings of a nocturnal ant farm. For a time, Lily remains entranced as she watches the pulse of the city ebb and flow. Every fiber of her being coaxes her to leave and return to her safe space at home alone. She had made reservations to the hotel many times over the last several months, canceling them at the last minute each time. To make it this far had been a victory in itself.
#
Despite the events of the evening, she forces herself to stay. The decision makes her feel brave as if facing her fears head-on. Tara would be proud, she tells herself—Tara, who never ran from anything. She remembers their conversation about leaving town and starting over together somewhere away from any problems or judgment, an idea Tara had been adamantly against.
“We will endure,” she had told Lily.
Endure.
It was a word Tara had often used, and it was her tenacity, her vigorousness in standing firm in her principles, that attracted Lily to her in the first place.
Lily settles into the oversized bed. After a few mini bottles from the fridge and some mindless channel flipping, she turns off the TV and drifts to sleep.
Sometime later, the television comes back to life, music from the hotel’s channel guide blaring from its speakers. Lily reaches blindly for the remote on the nightstand, but her hand settles on something soft and cold. The object feels strangely familiar, and she realizes she is grabbing what feels like a human hand. The hand begins to move, rolling palm up on the nightstand, its temperature warming. Its fingers intertwine with Lily’s, gripping her hand firmly in a lover’s embrace. The once corpselike hand is suddenly red hot, and Lily screams, ripping her hand away. She screams, hiding under the blankets as tears begin to well in her eyes. She tells herself this is just another dream, willing her body to wake up as the red light on the smoke alarm blinks, painting the room with intervals of hellish red light.
A noise comes from somewhere close, a low screech of wood and metal. She peers out from beneath her shelter of bedding to find the dresser’s top drawer open. Smoke begins to bellow from it as a river of coins spills onto the floor. A pair of hands lurch out from inside the drawer, their blood-soaked digits frantically searching. Lily screams, her vocal cords the only thing functioning as fear overtakes her body. Beneath the covers, something brushes her arm, and she turns to find she is no longer alone.
Tara is beside her, her badly burned face covered in deep lacerations. She gazes at Lily with watery eyes, her pain evident as smoke seeps in beneath the blankets. The pounding sound returns, Lily’s heart matching its cadence as if something inside her wants out, something terrible hiding below the surface of her mind. Sharp pieces of twisted metal begin to form around her, tearing at the sheets like thorns on unprotected skin. Crying, she reaches for Tara, their hands connecting as the bed closes in around them. The pounding is deafening as the bed catches fire, with toxic fumes invading Lily’s lungs. She hears the sound of shattering glass and screams again as hands grab her from behind, pulling her from Tara’s grasp. Tara remains still, and for the first time, Lily sees the sharp, jagged metal around Tara’s lower body, penetrating her legs and abdomen.
All at once, the memories of that night come flooding back to her.
They are no longer in the hotel room but inside Tara’s black Nissan. Strong hands pull Lily through the shattered passenger side window as the interior catches fire. Inside, Tara manages a smile, “I love you,” she mouths, a crimson stream of blood running down her face and chest, then a moment later, another single word Lily need not hear to understand. “Endure.” Then Lily is gone, pulled off into the night air by a good Samaritan, as flames engulf the car.
Back in the room, the dresser is now a rusty white pickup truck, its front end caved in against a utility pole. A thin, middle-aged man lies unconscious, the top half of his body hanging out through the shattered windshield onto the hood. Her body in shock, Lily watches curiously as the man in the pickup regains consciousness and begins to reach for loose coins scattered across the truck’s hood, blood pumping from a large hole in his neck. A moment later, he’s still.
She closes her eyes, her eyelids attempting to dam a river of tears to no avail. The world slowly fades into darkness, and she wonders again, as she did that night, if this is the end. Another noise brings her back, and she wakes up alone on the hotel room floor, wrapped in blankets. Someone is knocking sharply on the door of her hotel room.
“Miss?” the familiar voice of the receptionist asks, “Is everything okay?”
#
They had been on their way to the hotel to celebrate their anniversary when the accident happened. An addict with a jar of stolen coins had run a red light. A sad case of unfortunate timing, according to the news. That thought made Lily nauseous, the idea of something happening beyond her careful control, of bad things happening to good people with no recourse. She had grown tired of the worried looks, of sorry for your loss, of people asking if she was okay. She had stopped taking the medications and quit attending the Thursday night meetings that seemed only to pick at scabs and reopen old wounds. She became too afraid to sleep, afraid the grief would creep in under the cover of darkness and self-inflicted solitude, times when the silence was the most deafening and even the night seemed to sleep. It had become easier to repress these memories than to face them, hide them away in the deepest depths of her mind.
And yet, something had called her to the hotel on their anniversary. The growing realization that sometimes the only way out is through and that some memories, while painful, can also heal like an antiseptic in an open wound. She was determined now to move forward, keep her ability to live and love in motion, or risk it hardening to immovable permanence. She knew in her heart that’s what Tara would have wanted, saw it in that last loving look in her eyes, read it in her final word. To weather this pain as ugly and noticeable to the world as it may be, knowing that with time, it would begin to lose its hold on her, fading away with the changing seasons of life, like blood on melting snow.
#
Now home, Lily lies unafraid in the bedroom they used to share, welcoming these memories like long-lost family. She picks up her cell phone and types a message:
Love you always.
XO Lily
Tara’s cell phone vibrates on the opposite nightstand, and Lily smiles. She dresses in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, no longer hiding her physical scars from the world. She walks downstairs to the living room, stepping over blood-soaked coins as she passes by a mangled white pickup truck. She pauses to gather the coins and places them inside the man’s outstretched hands. He smiles as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes full of warmth and relief as he slowly begins to fade into the steam of the truck’s broken radiator.
Nearby, Tara stands in front of a burning car, watching her quietly. She smiles as she reaches for Lily, and the two embrace, reunited in love and remembrance. Their hands intertwine as they walk arm-in-arm toward the front door, Lily now determined to nurture this newfound bit of bravery. She steps out into the warm night air, the scars on her bare arms visible for the whole world to see. It is Thursday, a night for meetings, and there is much more life to live.
Many memories to honor.
And more challenges to endure.
Jason Frederick Myers suffered from horrible nightmares as a child, so the irony of growing up to write dark fiction is not lost on him. As a young adult, he became obsessed with the writings of Shirley Jackson, Clive Barker, and Stephen King, authors he draws inspiration from today. When not reading or writing, you will likely find him exploring a secluded mountain or forest, as he only goes to town to acquire new Halloween decorations. A member of the HWA, his fiction can be found or is forthcoming at DarkWinter Lit, Black Sheep Magazine, Anvil Magazine, Black Petals, The Horror Zine, and various anthologies.
Follow him on X https://x.com/jasonfmyers
By
Jason Frederick Myers
Lily stands frozen in silence as blood-soaked coins rain down, spinning on the floor like miniature cyclones.
“Sorry,” A boy mumbles sheepishly, collecting them at her feet. She blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, the blood is gone. The boy shoves the coins into a nearby vending machine a moment later.
“Miss?” A man calls politely from behind the desk. “Checking in?”
Lily wills herself out of this bout of paralysis and steps forward, self-consciously pulling the sleeves of her black dress down over her arms. “Yes, Lily Carver.”
The receptionist types away on a keyboard. “One night, is that correct?”
Lily nods.
“And have you stayed with us before?”
She nods again.
“Welcome back. You’re all set. How many room keys will you be needing?”
Lily attempts a feeble smile. “One, please.”
#
It had taken her months to work up the courage to return to the hotel. She had never been the extrovert in the relationship, the one to make all the plans or accommodations. She hesitates for a moment in the doorway, then enters. The room is spacious but unusually cold, and Lily wonders if the lack of warm company makes it feel this way, like concrete in the absence of sunlight. She walks past a cozy kitchenette and rolls her luggage to the foot of a queen-sized bed. A large flat-screen tv hangs on the wall over a dark-stained wood dresser with ornate brass knobs. Further into the room, a circular cloth couch and coffee table face an expansive view of the surrounding city skyline through a large picture window. Lily kicks off her heels on the soft white carpet, then retrieves her cell phone, sending a text message:
In the city at our favorite hotel.
Wish we could talk. Miss you.
XO Lily
She drops her phone on the bed and goes to the bathroom, eager to shower away the cold. Outside of her room, something waits.
#
Lily lies on the bed later that evening, thinking of Tara. She pictures them there, lying together in matching hotel robes, binging on candy and laughing as they reminisce about their past. She smiles thinking of their warm summer afternoons hiking old forests to long abandoned places, Tara encouraging Lily to face her fears, her shimmering eyes reflective windows of love and warmth. She had always felt a sense of comfort in Tara’s arms, her lap an altar of refuge after difficult days dealing with rude customers or arguments with her parents. Lily clung fondly to these memories, yet a lingering fear always came with them. A fear of an uncertain future, of their relationship ending suddenly. Or worse, the thought of their love simmering out like an unkempt flame, their lives parallel but apart like oil on water. She thought about how things might have gone differently between them, the difference a few minutes or a change of plans might have made that night, and where they’d be if they had.
The sound of a car horn shatters her thoughts, and she finds herself alone, momentarily unsure of her surroundings. The hotel room is strangely dark now, with no random coffee maker or smoke alarm indicators offering glimpses of the room’s layout or hall light illuminating the gap beneath the door. She stands on protesting legs, her heart racing as something or someone pounds on the outside of the room’s large picture window. Thick, beige curtains occlude the window from view as she takes an uncertain step in its direction, then pauses, her body trembling. The loud, frantic pounding is generic in sound yet somehow familiar to her in a way she can’t explain. Time seems to stand still, and for a second, it’s as if there’s not a window in front of her but a portal to somewhere else entirely, a different place and time.
Without warning, the curtains smoke and catch fire, the toxic smell of burning cloth and electrical wire hanging heavy in the air. The intensity of the pounding increases as amber-orange flames lick at the wallpaper and ceiling overhead, the heat oppressive on her skin. Shards of glass explode inward as the window shatters, knocking her to the floor. A pair of hands thrust through the window, reaching desperately into the room. Lily screams, crawling toward the hotel room door. With trembling hands, she frees the door’s lock and crawls out into the hallway, kicking the door closed behind her. She lies motionless, catching her breath, eyes wide and fearful.
The hallway is quiet. Further down the long corridor, a young couple eyes her curiously, giggling as they enter their room. Lily remains on the floor, trying to rationalize what is happening. She tells herself it was only a dream, her mind offering no other rational explanation.
#
“Can I help you, Miss?” the receptionist asks, peering over a computer monitor on a sleek marble desk. All around, the hotel’s lobby is bustling. A large group of people are huddled at the bar, cheering as they watch an overhead TV. Other guests carry their belongings in and out of the building. Lily is suddenly self-conscious. She glances down at her bare feet, tucks a small lock of hair behind her ear, and straightens the creases from the front of her dress.
“Yes,” she says, stepping forward. “I’m locked out of my room.”
“No problem at all, miss.”
As the receptionist hands her a new key card a moment later, she blurts out, “Is there any construction going on at the hotel? Is there any remodeling?”
“No, Ma’am, nothing like that. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine,” Lily says, offering her best attempt at an authentic smile.
The receptionist regards her curiously as she walks away, quickly stepping into a nearby elevator. She presses the button for floor fifteen, and the elevator rises. Classical music begins to hum through the speakers, and the cacophony of strings and brass reminds Lily again of Tara, her love for the arts, and their frequent dates to symphonies and the opera. As she stands lost in thought, the overhead light flickers out, casting the interior in darkness.
“Lily,” a voice whispers so softly it may have just been in her head. Her breath catches in her throat as something in the darkness of the elevator touches her, delicate yet intrusive, as if tiny fingertips are squeezing her left shoulder from behind. She leans forward instinctively as the elevator’s entire control panel lights up, its floor indicators no longer buttons but neat rows of shimmering coins, each covered in a thin layer of blood. The temperature inside the elevator drops, the air cold enough to burn her lungs. As the elevator slows to a stop, something brushes her back lightly. The doors start to open, and she squeezes her way out and runs, turning after a safe distance to face the open elevator. It sits empty at the end of the hallway, yet her subconscious tells her something is watching in those flickering shadows of light and darkness, a presence perceived but not fully realized. She closes her eyes. A moment later, when she opens them, the elevator is gone, summoned to its next destination.
#
Lily stands in the doorway of her hotel room and peers inside. The room looks normal, her purse still sitting neatly on the coffee table, clothes still folded neatly in the open luggage bag at the foot of the bed. Summoning the courage, she enters the room cautiously, checking behind the door on her way in. She looks in the bathroom, walks to the room's far end, and pulls back the curtains, revealing an unbroken window.
Outside, the world is quiet, puffy clouds lingering beneath the moon like a large sleep-deprived eye. Below, headlights cut through the darkness with sharp beams of light. From this distance, watching pedestrians and cars move is like glimpsing the inner workings of a nocturnal ant farm. For a time, Lily remains entranced as she watches the pulse of the city ebb and flow. Every fiber of her being coaxes her to leave and return to her safe space at home alone. She had made reservations to the hotel many times over the last several months, canceling them at the last minute each time. To make it this far had been a victory in itself.
#
Despite the events of the evening, she forces herself to stay. The decision makes her feel brave as if facing her fears head-on. Tara would be proud, she tells herself—Tara, who never ran from anything. She remembers their conversation about leaving town and starting over together somewhere away from any problems or judgment, an idea Tara had been adamantly against.
“We will endure,” she had told Lily.
Endure.
It was a word Tara had often used, and it was her tenacity, her vigorousness in standing firm in her principles, that attracted Lily to her in the first place.
Lily settles into the oversized bed. After a few mini bottles from the fridge and some mindless channel flipping, she turns off the TV and drifts to sleep.
Sometime later, the television comes back to life, music from the hotel’s channel guide blaring from its speakers. Lily reaches blindly for the remote on the nightstand, but her hand settles on something soft and cold. The object feels strangely familiar, and she realizes she is grabbing what feels like a human hand. The hand begins to move, rolling palm up on the nightstand, its temperature warming. Its fingers intertwine with Lily’s, gripping her hand firmly in a lover’s embrace. The once corpselike hand is suddenly red hot, and Lily screams, ripping her hand away. She screams, hiding under the blankets as tears begin to well in her eyes. She tells herself this is just another dream, willing her body to wake up as the red light on the smoke alarm blinks, painting the room with intervals of hellish red light.
A noise comes from somewhere close, a low screech of wood and metal. She peers out from beneath her shelter of bedding to find the dresser’s top drawer open. Smoke begins to bellow from it as a river of coins spills onto the floor. A pair of hands lurch out from inside the drawer, their blood-soaked digits frantically searching. Lily screams, her vocal cords the only thing functioning as fear overtakes her body. Beneath the covers, something brushes her arm, and she turns to find she is no longer alone.
Tara is beside her, her badly burned face covered in deep lacerations. She gazes at Lily with watery eyes, her pain evident as smoke seeps in beneath the blankets. The pounding sound returns, Lily’s heart matching its cadence as if something inside her wants out, something terrible hiding below the surface of her mind. Sharp pieces of twisted metal begin to form around her, tearing at the sheets like thorns on unprotected skin. Crying, she reaches for Tara, their hands connecting as the bed closes in around them. The pounding is deafening as the bed catches fire, with toxic fumes invading Lily’s lungs. She hears the sound of shattering glass and screams again as hands grab her from behind, pulling her from Tara’s grasp. Tara remains still, and for the first time, Lily sees the sharp, jagged metal around Tara’s lower body, penetrating her legs and abdomen.
All at once, the memories of that night come flooding back to her.
They are no longer in the hotel room but inside Tara’s black Nissan. Strong hands pull Lily through the shattered passenger side window as the interior catches fire. Inside, Tara manages a smile, “I love you,” she mouths, a crimson stream of blood running down her face and chest, then a moment later, another single word Lily need not hear to understand. “Endure.” Then Lily is gone, pulled off into the night air by a good Samaritan, as flames engulf the car.
Back in the room, the dresser is now a rusty white pickup truck, its front end caved in against a utility pole. A thin, middle-aged man lies unconscious, the top half of his body hanging out through the shattered windshield onto the hood. Her body in shock, Lily watches curiously as the man in the pickup regains consciousness and begins to reach for loose coins scattered across the truck’s hood, blood pumping from a large hole in his neck. A moment later, he’s still.
She closes her eyes, her eyelids attempting to dam a river of tears to no avail. The world slowly fades into darkness, and she wonders again, as she did that night, if this is the end. Another noise brings her back, and she wakes up alone on the hotel room floor, wrapped in blankets. Someone is knocking sharply on the door of her hotel room.
“Miss?” the familiar voice of the receptionist asks, “Is everything okay?”
#
They had been on their way to the hotel to celebrate their anniversary when the accident happened. An addict with a jar of stolen coins had run a red light. A sad case of unfortunate timing, according to the news. That thought made Lily nauseous, the idea of something happening beyond her careful control, of bad things happening to good people with no recourse. She had grown tired of the worried looks, of sorry for your loss, of people asking if she was okay. She had stopped taking the medications and quit attending the Thursday night meetings that seemed only to pick at scabs and reopen old wounds. She became too afraid to sleep, afraid the grief would creep in under the cover of darkness and self-inflicted solitude, times when the silence was the most deafening and even the night seemed to sleep. It had become easier to repress these memories than to face them, hide them away in the deepest depths of her mind.
And yet, something had called her to the hotel on their anniversary. The growing realization that sometimes the only way out is through and that some memories, while painful, can also heal like an antiseptic in an open wound. She was determined now to move forward, keep her ability to live and love in motion, or risk it hardening to immovable permanence. She knew in her heart that’s what Tara would have wanted, saw it in that last loving look in her eyes, read it in her final word. To weather this pain as ugly and noticeable to the world as it may be, knowing that with time, it would begin to lose its hold on her, fading away with the changing seasons of life, like blood on melting snow.
#
Now home, Lily lies unafraid in the bedroom they used to share, welcoming these memories like long-lost family. She picks up her cell phone and types a message:
Love you always.
XO Lily
Tara’s cell phone vibrates on the opposite nightstand, and Lily smiles. She dresses in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, no longer hiding her physical scars from the world. She walks downstairs to the living room, stepping over blood-soaked coins as she passes by a mangled white pickup truck. She pauses to gather the coins and places them inside the man’s outstretched hands. He smiles as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes full of warmth and relief as he slowly begins to fade into the steam of the truck’s broken radiator.
Nearby, Tara stands in front of a burning car, watching her quietly. She smiles as she reaches for Lily, and the two embrace, reunited in love and remembrance. Their hands intertwine as they walk arm-in-arm toward the front door, Lily now determined to nurture this newfound bit of bravery. She steps out into the warm night air, the scars on her bare arms visible for the whole world to see. It is Thursday, a night for meetings, and there is much more life to live.
Many memories to honor.
And more challenges to endure.
Jason Frederick Myers suffered from horrible nightmares as a child, so the irony of growing up to write dark fiction is not lost on him. As a young adult, he became obsessed with the writings of Shirley Jackson, Clive Barker, and Stephen King, authors he draws inspiration from today. When not reading or writing, you will likely find him exploring a secluded mountain or forest, as he only goes to town to acquire new Halloween decorations. A member of the HWA, his fiction can be found or is forthcoming at DarkWinter Lit, Black Sheep Magazine, Anvil Magazine, Black Petals, The Horror Zine, and various anthologies.
Follow him on X https://x.com/jasonfmyers
