For several years, we heard stories about a secret facility in the Ukraine that old-guard Soviets believe will lead to the rebirth of their empire. The stories varied; the facility was sometimes described as huge, and sometimes as tiny. Perhaps military, maybe civilian. More than once we heard fantastic tales of cancer cures, weight-loss chemicals, and other holy grails of the drug companies. That's what caught our attention. We're a pharmaceutical company. When it comes to medical advances, we want to know what's coming, and we have a research budget to find out. You would think, in the age of the internet, global satellite communication, and Google, that it would be quite impossible to keep a drug facility secret, but most of the stories put the location of this Ukrainian place deep within the Chernobyl forbidden zone. That makes it at least plausible that such a thing could stay hidden, at least from the layperson. But I am not a layperson; if it is there, I can find it. So I looked.

It took two months.

The people that built the place were experts at camouflage and concealment; they clearly spent a fortune to keep the facility from being discovered. I don't know if our government even knows about it. I'd like to think they're better than my little research organization—as well-funded as it is—but you never know. Maybe my software is better than theirs? Maybe they don't have anyone crazy enough to spend two months applying a sequence of photo filters to one-hundred-yard-square segments of satellite images, looking for telltale anomalies? We did all that, and more. Maybe they don't have the resources to have someone to get a tourist visa, fly to Kiev, procure transportation, and drive to the site to validate the image analysis? Well. I was motivated; I had the resources, and I always validate my research even if I have to abandon the car and hike there on my own two feet, carrying my own gear.

It took two weeks.

The place was covered with camouflage netting, and the buildings had all kinds of funny angles and edges to scatter the energy from the radar-bearing recon satellites, but it was still pretty obvious that there were buildings for housing people—and with different levels of security ranging from none to extreme, and all of it inward-facing. A prison of some kind, or a labor camp. The place was crowded; there was a tent city inside the perimeter, subdivided by security fencing, to house the overflow. There were other buildings that I took to be hospitals or medical labs—the clean room vents and hood exhausts on the roof gave those away. The perimeter security was quite good, but not good enough to keep me out. I resolved to sneak inside at night, as often as necessary to figure out what was going on.

It took two nights.

I was correct, the place was a biomedical lab, but not in the traditional sense. In the traditional sense, it was more like a factory, run by coven of mad scientists, conducting all manner of experiments using humans as subjects, with mostly horrific results. The high-security prison buildings weren't for prisoners, but for the monsters that were created when the experiments went awry. Apparently they didn't have the technology to directly manipulate genetic material, so they let nature do it for them, at random, and then sorted out the results. I saw lines of prisoners marched into open-air holding pens and left there all night, where they futilely tried to fend off the swarms of mosquitoes— mosquitoes that carried mutant genetic material from the blood of the creatures surviving in the wild in this godforsaken radioactive wilderness. The mosquitoes weren’t the worst of it, either. Some of the holding pens exposed the prisoners to captured rats, mice, bats—all of the vermin of the ages. With my own eyes, I watched inmates bitten repeatedly—some of them killed—all in hopes that some combination of mutated genetic material would take hold and, beyond all scientific rationale, lead to medical advances, and, inevitably, profit.

And yet researchers there were clearly getting results that were beyond scientific explanation. I saw one man, obviously paraplegic at first, walk out of the pen at the end of the night, leaving the bodies of three others behind. Apparently the rumors of cancer cures were also true, judging from the signs I read in the hospital lab wards. But there were monsters there too. So many monsters.

My employers sent me there to steal secrets from the competition, but this place had no secrets that I wanted to see stolen. It needed to be destroyed, for humanity's sake. There were plenty of materials in the labs that could be used for that purpose. So I went in one more time.

It took two hours.

The purifying flames have taken hold; the scientists, guards, and prisoners are all dead. Let the evil ones go to hell, and the prisoners to heaven; the world of the living will be better off. The wilderness will cover the scars of the fire, and humanity will be saved from the so-called science of this place, at least until the animals left here in the wilderness create their own monsters for humanity to fight.

I will not be a part of that, for I, too, have been bitten. The effects are not pleasant to endure, and while they are not incapacitating, I dare not return to the civilized world. I will upload this journal to the web via satellite, leaving it in some obscure place where it can be found by those who are looking, yet believed only by those who know. For those of you that encounter it in passing, consider it a fanciful, but cautionary tale. For those of you that know the truth, do not mourn me; I will die in the knowledge that my duty has been carried out. I will bite the suicide capsule.

It will take two seconds.

“Hey, Glenn, do you have a band-aid?”
“You want Barney or Fred Flinstone?”
“I’ll go with the Barney.”
“Well, you can come get the big purple dinosaur yourself.”
His voice got louder as he stumbled in. “No, man, I don’t think I can.”
I went to yell at him bringing in that swamp muck, like he always does, and then I saw his arm. Or what was left of it.
He grinned. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to stare?”
“Are you absolutely kidding me? Are you really thinking about coming in here, bleeding all over my fresh tile?”
“Oh, come on, killer. I was just playing with one of those…what were they called? Tigers? Those big striped mothers?”
“They’re tigers.”
“Yeah, the tigers. Sucker hooked me real good with his claw. Ripped out my bicep.”
“I can see that.”
“Can I get that band-aid now?”
“You take one more step on my floor and I’ll hack your other arm off.”

He chuckled as he went outside to step into the machine. Machine, we named it. We’re not exactly creative types. The University had funded it, and now we spend our days fighting animals that are supposed to be extinct. I heard the door slam as the welding spun into place. The air filled with the whine of mitosis as my partner bathed in a protein-polymerase solution filled with millions of scrappy little nano-bots.

In six minutes, he’d be whole again, and healthy as a sprite.

He grabbed a towel as he stepped out. “Throw me a beer, man.”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“So? It’s not like we’re doing any real research anyway.”
“You’re kidding me, right? We still haven’t managed to clone any of the chickens.”
“Who cares! You can’t fight a chicken! Do you think the girls back home will be impressed with a video of me fighting a chicken?”

Trevor was in the habit of filming his fights. I don’t know what kind of woman is impressed by footage of a suitor getting mauled by a jungle cat. He almost died seven times last month alone. I had to drag his bleeding stumps all the way to Machine.

This project was supposed to be an experiment in artificial eco-systems. Two hundred years ago, when we still fought with nuclear weapons, China decided it would be a good idea to detonate a massive sucker in America, wiping out life within a hemisphere. Radiation cleanup had been coming along nicely, and then people started talking about re-population. “Let’s see how the animals do first,” they thought. They didn’t want any humans living there permanently before they could be sure it was safe. The University chose us to get started on the cloning work, and they gave us Machine so we wouldn’t get die of cancer.

But they don’t check up on us. We do our work, we look productive. Once we realized how incredible Machine was, we stopped taking life so seriously. We’re gods here ”" invincible. We grant life to the animals, and we take it away. Sometimes they kill us first, but we’ve got Machine. Like a video game, we’re cheaters and we always get another life.

It’s been getting to Trevor’s head lately, though. Delusions of grandeur, perhaps, or maybe he’s just trying to vent some anger. Maybe he just wants to prove how manly he is. Either way, it’s slowing our research, and I have awards to win.

I spoke slowly. “We don’t have to fight every animal we make, Trevor.”
“No reason not to,” he said. “You know how easy it is to crank out clones.”
“Goddamit, Trevor! I am a scientist, I’m not a beer-starved frat boy!”
My shouts surprised both of us. He stared, regarding me like a rabid dog. This storm had been brewing for a while, but he didn’t know it.
“What do you care about science?” he said. “How many times in your life do you get to dick around with invincibility?”
“We aren’t invincible. You’re turning a noble project into a college party.”
“A college party!” His face got red. “I’m sorry if I like to have a little fun, Professor Gung-Ho. It wouldn’t hurt you to try sometime.”
“Getting my arms clawed by tigers is not my idea of fun.”
“Well, that’s not my problem. Do you know what I’m going to do right now, Glenn?”
“No,” I said. “What?”
“I’m going to finish this beer, and then I’m going to have three more. And then I’m going to set up my tripod and tape myself wrestling a crocodile. And maybe, in a couple decades, I’ll have you over for a bottle of wine while we watch the tape. Do you know what we’ll do then, Glenn?”
“What will we do. Trevor?” My voice was dripping with venom.
“We’re going to laugh. Long, and hard. Until then, have fun with your research. I’ll see you in a couple hours.” He slammed the door shut as he marched out of the complex.

Not long after, my phone rang. It answered automatically. “Glenn, man, it’s me. I just got bit real bad. I need you to come grab me. I need Machine bad, dude, I’m bleeding all over the place. I can’t walk. I barely crawled out of the water, I can see him still grinning at me. Glenn? Glenn! Can you hear me?! Glenn!”

-

Later that night, I cracked open a beer and popped in the tape.

Her tinkling laughter echoed across the vale, where she had been frolicking with a deer. They had been joined in the fun and games by a playful lion. The two animals got over-excited, tumbling over and over, and the little doe eventually scrambled to her feet in feigned indignation.

Eve loved the easy companionship of these animals and the other creatures of the garden. There was a telepathy which helped their souls to join and soar. She stopped to breathe in the sweet smell of abundant flora and to admire the vibrant colours of a rainbow which had bowed beyond the distant hillock.

She sat down to catch her breath. The lion approached and sat beside her, nudging her hand to caress his mane. When she didn’t respond as quickly as he wanted, he licked the back of her hand with his rough tongue. She laughed again and shoved her hand deep into his mane in order to tickle his flesh. He loved that. The deer ambled up to them, disappointed that the game had stopped. Seeing it was time to rest, she settled beside the lion. He leaned over and gave her a gentle lick.

Leaning back to bask in the afternoon sunshine, Eve’s eyelids grew heavy. Helped by the rhythmic buzzing of friendly insects, she was slipping into a light doze. She was jolted awake when the lion and the deer hastily scrambled up and ran into the woods nearby. Looking up, she saw the reason for their departure. The interloper was inching closer and closer. This serpent was unlike their garden variety. Yes, it slithered, it reared and it climbed like the others, but instead of telepathy, this one spoke. It named itself Satan and it was strangely attractive; the dazzling colours of his skin gleamed in vibrancy, matching the earlier rainbow. Eve was mesmerised.

*

Adam had been walking with God. He cherished these gentle strolls in different parts of the garden. In truth, he wasn’t quite sure why it was called a garden, because in all the vastness of its lushness, he had never yet encountered a fenced border.

God, as always, was gentle and loving, but today took more than usual care to let Adam know that his love was eternal, even for those whose actions took themselves out of His presence. Adam supposed that God was referring to Lucifer, his beloved Morning Light, who had rebelled. He knew that Lucifer’s actions had unbalanced the celestial heavens. Adam put a hand on God’s arm in comfort. It was a presumptuous action indeed, and it brought a real thrill of fear with it. He was gratified to see God smile.

Still, when they departed Adam saw that God looked sad.

*

Satan had worked his victim well. Eve lifted her arm and reached for one of the round orbs which grew on the tree. Just before she touched it, the lion roared a warning. Eve looked toward the glade and saw him. He stood among a group of animals who looked agitated and alarmed, the birds screeching as they flapped.

“Don’t let God’s creatures do His work for Him, Eve. They much prefer the easy living here. Out of the garden, they will never experience the heady power that could be yours. Outside they will remain locked in total innocence of their infinite possibilities. They will be less than you and Adam. By subjugating them, you will already have the beginnings of your worldly power base.

The lion roared again, but Eve chose to ignore the warning and plucked the round fruit from the bough. She had not eaten yet, but already she felt able to make a decision for herself, without taking what the lion wanted into consideration. Satan was already empowering her. It felt good and it strengthened her resolve.

She and Satan licked their lips in unison as she put her mouth to the fruit and bit into it. That first bite was the most exciting thing she had ever experienced. The flavour exploded in her mouth and, as she chewed on the delicious flesh, the juice oozed down her chin and dripped onto her breasts. It was sending paroxysms of sheer joy through her body. She liked that very much.

She liked it even more when Adam’s handsome face came into view. After his walks in the garden with God, Adam always looked golden and shining. Eve had never before seen this with such clarity and it made butterflies take flight in her stomach. She was looking at him with renewed eyes and her body was yearning to possess him. This was a new experience and she found herself liking it.

Behind her, Satan whispered into her ear. “He’ll have to eat of the fruit to feel the same way about you, Eve. Go to him. Make him take a bite. Only then can you enjoy each other as never before.”

*

After God turned Adam and Eve out of the garden, Satan slithered up and laughed in triumph. “Now they and their generations can be mine,” he crowed.

God sighed. “Here in the garden their souls soared. They were light with spirit. They experienced Paradise. Outside the garden you offer them gravity, which already weighs them down and confines their souls. They and their issue will always subconsciously remember the garden and that will create a gnawing abyss in their psyches, which they will endeavour to fill by searching after the truth. That truth will release their souls and bring them home.”

Satan laughed. “That same deep hole will work in my favour too. There's means aplenty to offer escape; drugs, drink, sexual deviance, cruelty, a need for power and money - and a deep resentment of you when they blame you for all their ills. Others will just deny you.”

God nodded. “But they all have free will. They can choose.”

“Then let the battle for their souls commence,” declared Satan, as he slithered into the undergrowth.

*

Her leg was itching again. Elizabeth tried to ignore it; she had been warned about things like this. Every little sound echoed off the walls and the water, and the chlorine in the air made her eyes sting. Or maybe it was tears. She wasn’t sure how to tell anymore.

The cool blue water lapped at the tiled edges of the pool. Janine, her counselor, stood waist deep in the water, the skirt of her swimsuit floating around her like a jellyfish. Elizabeth couldn't help but smile at Janine's modesty - after their counseling sessions it felt like they'd stripped each other bare so many times that Janine would be a little less shy.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Janine said, holding out one hand. Elizabeth shrank back from it and felt the top edge of her chair dig into her back just under her shoulder blades. She tried to rub the goosebumps from her arms and felt a trail of heat streak down one cheek.

Janine noticed, and said, “We don’t have to do this today, you know.”

Elizabeth shook her head frantically. “No. I need to do this.” Ever since the accident, water terrified her. She had only managed sponge baths and couldn’t bear to have anything wet touch her face. After weeks of no progress, Janine finally proposed that they work on her fears like she would with a beginning swimmer. Elizabeth had reluctantly agreed.

Now she was wondering why she ever thought it was a good idea. She swallowed down her self-hatred as if it were one of the huge, bitter pain-pills the doctors had given her in the first few weeks after the accident, and slowly kicked the foot-rests out of the way, before lowering herself onto the cold, damp cement surrounding the pool.

Janine smiled encouragement. “You can do this, Elizabeth. You’re stronger than you think.”

***

“You’ll be fine,” Dad said. “You’re stronger than you realize.”

Elizabeth looked down at the sand and then up at the ever-changing horizon. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve mastered boogie boarding. A surfboard isn’t that much different from boogie boarding drop-knee.”

Elizabeth glanced over at her old board. Abandoning it for the surfboard her father was holding felt like abandoning an old friend. She looked back out at the waves and felt the old yearning for the feel of them beneath her. She sighed and then turned back to her father.

“Do I have to wear the leash?”

“Definitely,” he said.

She glanced at the Velcro strap and thick nylon line with disdain. “Fine,” she muttered. She reached down and secured the thick ankle strap, and then took the board from her father. She felt the strap bite into the top of her foot as she walked toward the shore. The feeling was unfamiliar and she resisted the urge to scrape it off with her free hand.

She waded out until the water was deep enough and then laid down on the board. The shape was unfamiliar and she felt a bit unsettled by the way it felt underneath her body. The length felt awkward and the balance felt off. She waited until the waves felt right and then rose into her familiar stance - one knee resting on the board, the other bent in front of her, foot firm on the surface of the board. She felt the tether tighten around her ankle as she flexed her rear foot so that her toes were in contact with the board and then, with a deep breath, she slowly raised her body to a standing position.

The water and the sky whirled around in one quick motion, and then all she could see was water. It had been years since she’d taken an unplanned dunking and, when she went to pull her legs underneath herself to surface, she felt the leash jerk back.

And then she felt a jerk on the other leg.

***

Elizabeth took a deep breath and scooted to the edge of the pool. Her arms trembled as she lowered her foot into the water.

Janine smiled. “See,” she said, “I told you you were strong.”

Elizabeth watched the water lap at her knee and the scars that circled what was left of her right leg. The cool water soothed the itch in her phantom leg for the first time since the shark attack. She waited for the familiar rush of heat and blinding panic and was surprised when it didn’t come.

She grinned in triumph and said, “Ok, Janine. You’d better hurry up with the swimming lessons so I can get back on my boogie board!”

Dillon Rage, international assassin, able to kill anyone with anything ”“ or nothing ”“ was standing before his San Grea home, trembling. Never before had he been so afraid. What awaited him on the other side of that door was sending chills down his spine.

As he stood there, he noticed that there was a crack developing at the bottom of the door. He would need to fix that. Somehow noticing that little crack had made him momentarily forget what was on the other side. He thought about how he could repair the door and then at occurred to him that if he left it alone, it would match the rundown Mexican village condition of the rest of the house. In fact, it was the condition of the whole town! He pondered for a moment what Missy would want when it smacked him like a 2x4 to the head. She was waiting inside with "it".

Before he entered his house, he thought back to earlier that day when she had called him. She sounded so happy and the fact was that when she was happy, he was happy. He knew that in his line of work, emotions were a no-no. However, from the very moment he had seen Missy emotions had erupted within him. The anger that caused him to shoot the guy that was chasing her actually that made him smile, the blood splatter of the bullet exiting his skull was impressive, the happiness when she had first kissed him, and especially the love when she said 'I do'. He had thought that he would never hear a woman utter those words. Inexplicably, even though she knew what he did for a living, she still loved him unconditionally. That warmed the assassin’s heart beating in his chest.

Still he stood there with a door between him and “it”. Even with the love of his life inside, he was still afraid to enter. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, reached for the door and entered his home.

As he entered, he saw his lovely wife sitting on the living room couch watching the news.

"Hey honey, glad to see you made it back in one piece. Word of your job is on every news network. So how was the weather in Columbia?"

He stood there looking at her. Her beauty radiated through out the room, which showed no sign of 'it' being around.

"It was hot and muggy, what you would expect this time of year."

Dillon walked over to the couch and looked behind it, under the coffee table and behind the recliner. Nothing. There was no sign of “it”.'

"Sweetheart, where is “it”?

She looked shocked.

"Honey, Groucho is not an ”˜it’."

"I'm sorry sweetheart, where is Groucho?"

As soon as he uttered those words, he heard Groucho running down the hall, yipping. Dillon looked toward the hall just as the extremely scary four-pound monster called Groucho appeared. His markings mimicked those of a Rottweiler and in Dillon’s mind this tough little Chihuahua frame was enough to strike fear in anyone's heart. He had seen Groucho for all of two seconds when he had his mouth wrapped around Dillon's ankle. Groucho's needle-like teeth sent pain racing through his body. To Dillon, it seemed that the pain was far worst than being shot.

"Hey, the son of a ..."

"Honey, I’ts OK. He didn't mean it. He was just protecting his home."

" His home? Last time I checked it was my home."

Missy glared at him. He could tell that if he didn't shut his trap, he’d be sleeping in the recliner tonight. It must have been sheer instinct because he didn't even remember drawing his gun.

"Don't you dare, Mr. ”˜I am a hit man so what I say goes’. Put that thing away. I am the boss in this house."

Missy flew off the couch and scooped up Groucho. She held him close to her chest and softly kissed his head. Dillon sat his gun on the table and sat on the couch to make sure his ankle wasn't bleeding. It wasn't. She w as right. She was the boss of the house, and if there was ever a time he regretted teaching her how to use a gun, it was now. Missy and Groucho sat down beside him. After a few moments, Groucho crept from her lap and stood for just a moment between Dillon and Missy. He was staring at Dillon's arm as if preparing to see whether it tasted better than his ankle when suddenly, he licked it.

"See honey, he is trying to say he's sorry. Why don't you pet him and let him know you forgive him."

Dillon reached down and briefly petted him. Maybe his fears were unwarranted. This little fellow didn't seem all that bad. His distaste for dogs remained but if it meant that Missy was happy, he would try to like him.

"Its OK little fellow, you can stay, but no more biting."

While they all sat there watching reports of Dillon's handy work, Missy caught sight of Dillon petting Groucho again. From that moment, she knew that Dillon did like him, but was a secret she would never tell.

Henry made a last check on his scuba equipment and looked at his watch. At the depth he was diving he had thirty minutes before he had to start back to the surface. It wasn't much time to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. He and his partner flipped backward into the turquoise waters of the bay. They followed the bright yellow of the marker rope down.

Henry and his partner Antony had been doing this for years. They had found some treasure, enough to pay for their equipment, but nothing left to live on, never mind retire in comfort. The Caribbean had become so full of treasure seekers that everyone was in each other's way. So Henry and Antony had come to Hawaii to try their luck. There wasn't the gold trade that drew pirates to the Gulf of Mexico, but ships had sunk, and where there were ships there was money to be made.

The bay was in a remote island that had a fresh water spring. It would have been worth the risk to try to put a landing party ashore if there was need for water. The two divers swam straight down into the depths and switched on their lights. Staying carefully away from the silty bottom they criss-crossed the sea floor looking for the tell-tale signs of a wreck.

Antony spotted the wreck and waved his light. As Henry swam over to him he felt an immense shadow pass over him. He looked up and saw the biggest shark he had ever seen. It was far too large to be a great white. It must be a whale shark, though he couldn't remember seeing one in these waters before. He put it out of his mind and paid attention to Antony's signs pointing out the shape of the wreck.

It was just possible to see the shape of the ship under the silt. There was no telling what the age of the wreck was, not until they uncovered part of it. Henry swam a few feet away from the spot and put a weight as an anchor, then released a marker balloon after putting a burst of air from his tank into it.

Back on the shore the talked about the find. They were so excited that they were constantly interrupting each other. Tomorrow they would take down cameras and the rest of the gear they needed to document the wreck. Even without sellable treasure, the ship would bring income and interest from historians and archaeologists.

The old man who sold them their groceries walked into their camp and sat at the table. He put a bag on the table.

"You found something," he said.

"Yes, yes, it's down there, just waiting for us."

"I saw Kauhuhu swimming."

"K... who?" Antony said.

"Kauhuhu, the shark god," the man said, "the stories talk about him bringing storms and taking vengeance."

"I did see a shark, but it must have been a whale shark it was so big." Henry said, Antony looked at him and Henry shrugged. "It was bigger than any great white I've ever heard of."

"Kauhuhu," the old man nodded."You might want to leave the wreck alone. It seems the shark god has claimed it for his own."
Henry and Antony looked at each other and both shook their heads. The old man sighed.

"I will ask for mercy for you, but Kauhuhu isn't known for his mercy."

The next morning Henry and Antony got the gear ready and headed off to the marker balloon. The balloon was gone. Henry swore and looked up the co-ordinates of their last dive. If they found the wreck once, they could find it twice. With all the extra cameras and light they were using what they called torpedoes, jet boats that travelled under water. They carried extra tanks for decompression.

It didn't take long to find the wreck. Henry set another marker. This one he attached to a stake he pushed deep into the sea floor. The marker was different too, it would transmit co-ordinates and other data back to the computer on shore. They could upload pictures and other information from the waterproofed tablets they carried.

The first thing to do was photograph the wreck, then they set up a grid of lined on stakes just above the wreck. Henry was uploading some pictures and notes when he felt the shadow again. This time the shark passed so close to him that it sent him tumbling. Antony's light vanished a second later. The water filled with clouds of silt stirred up from the bottom. Henry swam above the cloud and looked for his friend. He stayed down looking as long as he could before he had to start the long slow journey to the surface.

That night he finally fell asleep after calling for help. As soon as he closed his eyes Kauhuhu stood before him

"You trouble my sleep, mortal," the deep voice rumbled out from his tooth shark's mouth.

"We are doing what we do, Kauhuhu," Henry said, "Do we deserve to die for it?"

The shark god shrugged.

"The sea is my domain, not the fate of mortals," he said, "my justice is my bite. Pay heed. Stay ashore or face my wrath." Kauhuhu lunged forward and bit Henry's arm. The pain made Henry wake up to discover that his arm was bleeding from where the shark god bit him. He wrapped his arm and sat thinking until morning. In the morning, he erased all the records and packed the gear.

Henry moved far inland and tried to forget the ocean, but even years later his arm ached and the shadow of an immense shark swam through his dreams.

The summer's night air is warm, yet carries the subtle hope of rain on its breeze. Tom appreciated the coolness on the breeze. For hours, he has watched her lithe body groove to the mystic drum beats of the desert natives. Long dark locks like the feathers of a raven, dance over her topless form, giving teasing glimpses of forbidden treasures. The sweat on her copper skin glistens underneath the moonlight, enticing him to take her. Lips, soft and puffy as if stung by bees have a slight pouty schoolgirl appeal, calling for him to kiss her.

Quickly Tom banishes these dangerous erotic thoughts from his mind. He reminds himself of the warning his friend, Howard, gave to him before he ventured out into the darkest corners of the Arizona desert. "No matter what, do not touch her. Not even when she does her thing. Got it." Howard added emphasis to his point with a slap on the back.
Her thing? Her thing left a wicked scar on his best friends chest. According to Howard, it’s the secret to behind his wealth. A secret Tom did not believe until Howard proved it. “Watch this, I’ll win the max on this lotto ticket.” Tom watched Howard scratch the ticket. A 10 grand winner and to prove his point further, Howard did it two more times. By the time they left the store, Howard, was 40 grand richer. “You’ve always been good to me Tom, even when I was being a jerk. That is why I’m telling you my secret.” Howard smiled at him and handed him one of the lotto tickets.

Lost in the thoughts of the past, Tom fails to notice the drumming has stopped. Nor does he notice the nimble dancer is standing behind him. Pricks, like small knives stab at the back of his neck in warning. Turning, he sees her stalking toward him with a ferocious look in her eyes. Her eyes are changing, becoming red with cat like pupils against pools of gold. A long fork tongue flicks at her eyeteeth growing into fangs.

Cautiously he looks over his shoulder, hoping for assistance from the drummers but to his shock, all that remains is smoldering embers from a fire long gone. He wonders if the drummers were part of his imagination. The only people there are him and the dancer who is changing into something supernatural. Every part of Tom’s being is shouting at him to run for his life but he doesn't. I came here for this. The Bite of Fortunate, he thinks to himself. He faces her.

The precious air of life escapes from him when his back slams upon the body of mother earth. The hot breath caressing his ear is not for foreplay; Tom knows she is seeking out a sweet spot to sink her fangs in. "The price is heavy for fame and fortunate. Are you sure this is what you want? " The purr of her questions sends a burst of chills through his body. Using every ounce of courage and strength he nods. "No, not good enough. It must be spoken for the contract to be valid," she growls and her nails rip deep in his flesh.

The answer, “no” is no longer an option; he stands at the crossroads of his life. "Yes," a barely audible whispers struggles out from his parched throat. Most humans could not have heard the word, not even at their close distance. Then again, the she-devil on top of him is far from human. Her nails dig into his bones, a scream tries to surface but the intense pain steals it. Tom realizes it is to late, he cannot get this woman off him if wanted to. Her hair whips wildly about her, giving her a savage appearance as her head rears back and then plunges to his chest. Sound returns to his voice as he involuntary screams in pain and terror.

Pain, coldness and fear beat at him like fist of stone. Blood gushing from her vampire attack is what he is expecting to see. Instead, Tom is witnessing a most horrifying act. A glittery gold light leaks from the corners of her mouth as her demonic eyes roll to the back of her head. "My soul." Weakly his hands come to her head but fall back to his sides. He stares into the starless night sky and curses his best friend for feeding him to this fiend.

“Wake up.” A familiar voice reaches him in the darkness. “C’mon man,” the words are followed by slaps to his face. Tom jerks straight up and searches his surroundings in a panic. “Whoa! Easy big guy.” The face he is staring at and voice he hears belong to his best friend, Howard. Was I… before he can finish the thought, Tom is pulling his shirt over his head. On the left side of his chest, a fresh bite mark. “I wasn’t dreaming,” he touches the bite mark. “This is for you.” Howard hands him a lotto ticket. Immediately Tom grabs the ticket and scratches it. A winner.

“For a moment last night, I thought you sold me out. I’m sorry, Howard.”
“I thought the same thing of my uncle when he told me about it.”
Tom knows from this point forward, his life is going to be great.

I was walking Janet home from see Wolfman trying to explain that it was a movie and not real. Janet is more than a slice short of a loaf, but her other attributes more than made up for it.

"I am sure that it's just fiction," I said, "It's a movie, they're actors."

"It looked real to me," Janet said and pushed herself closer to me. I put my arm around her and enjoyed the closeness. That was when the bat chose to swoop down around her face. She screamed and began flailing her arms about. I managed to duck most of the blows and swatted at the bat to scare it away. To my surprise I connected solidly and knocked the poor creature out of the air. I bent down to see how badly I'd hurt it when it reared up and bit the finger that I had foolishly used to prod it.

"Ouch!" I said and tried to kick the little blighter, but he flew away.

"It bit you," Janet said with a gasp.

"Yeah," I put my finger in my mouth and tasted the salt of my own blood.

"Are you going to turn into a vampire?"

"Naw, that was a little brown bat, not a vampire bat. Besides vampires aren't real." I looked at her wide blue eyes and heaving bosom, and felt an urgent need. "But I should get home and get a bandage on this. Maybe you could help, your place is closer." She grabbed my hand and dragged me along to her apartment.

I woke the next morning feeling very satisfied if a little hung over. My finger had so many bandages on it that my hand was cramping. I rolled over and looked at the gorgeous women sleeping beside me. I ran my hand along her curves and I swear she purred. Those deep blue eye opened and went wide.

"How's your finger?" she said and tore the the bandage off. There wasn't even a mark left from the bite.

"See it's fine," I said and reached for her, "You did a wonderful job of fixing me up."

We did a little of this and a little of that before she climbed out of bed and pulled open the curtains. The morning sun hit my head like a blow and I groaned. She turned around and stared at me. Even the sight of her miraculous body couldn't distract from the pain. I waved at her and she closed the curtain.

"The sunlight hurts you!" she said accusingly.

"You remember that I drank at least as much whisky as you poured on my hand. I'm just a little hung over."

"Vampires are sensitive to the light."

"I am not becoming a vampire."

After some more convincing I headed off home to learn that my work had switched me to the night shift. I had been asking for the change. It meant more money and a more relaxed work environment. I celebrated with some aspirin and some hair of the dog.

It didn't take long for me to realize just why the night shift paid more. I dragged myself around trying to make the adjustment to the reversed day. I picked her up and went for 'breakfast' before I went to work. I know that I looked terrible and it didn't help that Janet kept calling to see how I was doing. I tried to explain that I was on nights now and needed to sleep through the day.

My circadian rhythm finally made the adjustment and I started feeling human again, but Janet grew even more worried. I showed up one night and she had eaten so much garlic that my eyes watered from it. As much as I tried to explain that the sheer fug of garlic was enough to put anyone off never mind a vampire, she was sure that I becoming a creature of the night.

The truly odd thing was that the more obsessed she became, the clearer it became that it was concern for me that drove her. I wracked my brain trying to find some way of putting all her fears to rest.

The idea came to me at work at my two o'clock break. I feigned a headache and ran to my apartment. The box was just where I remembered it. I snatched it up and walked over to Janet's place. I knew she always left the door to her balcony open just a crack. It wasn't that hard to climb up the balconies. I slipped inside. I stood and watched her sleep for a moment and realized that I loved her deeply.

"Janet," I whispered. She sat bolt upright in bed and pulled something from beside the bed.

"What are you doing here?"

"I love you," I said.

"I don't believe you." I could see tears running down her face.

"Look into my eyes and see."

The next thing I knew I'd been kicked by a horse and Janet was standing beside the bed coolly reloading a crossbow.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I can't let you be damned."

I leaned back against the wall and looked at the wooden bolt sticking out of my chest. I closed my eyes and pulled the box from my pocket. I opened it and pulled out the delicate chain with the cross that my mother had given me years ago.

"If I was a vampire I wouldn't be able to hold this." She dropped the crossbow and leaped across the bed to my side.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she wailed. I opened my eyes and saw how her hair looked like angel's wings as she held me.

Fortunately Janet was much better at first aid than she was at shooting a crossbow, and after a brief recovery we got married.

Instead of rings we exchanged crosses on chains.

Dear Superintendent Nichols,

I am writing to you to ask you to reconsider your choice to fire me last Wednesday due to the events of May 6th. I don’t believe that I got the chance to share my side of the story. I know this may seem hard to understand, but the abuse case is not what it looks like. Instead, I believe that Tiffany Clarke, one of my kindergarteners, is responsible for the series of events that happened to me.

The shenanigans begin when Tiffany bites my arm during recess. She had got a splinter from the wooden playground and was crying on the curb near the jungle gym. I go over to help her. She shows me her palm, which is branded with the tiniest splinter I have ever seen. I start to pull it out and, suddenly, she bites me, right on my forearm. Turns out her parents had told her to bite, scream, and run if a stranger ever approached her. But I’m her teacher, for Pete’s sake. If you ask me, I think she just wanted to bite me. After all, she got pretty mad at me during finger-painting the other day.

So anyway, I scream and fall back onto the pavement, hitting my head off the curb between the grass and the sidewalk. Tiffany immediately runs away like her parents had taught her. I’m banged up pretty badly, so I take out my cell phone and call 911, just to be safe. The ambulance arrives a few minutes later and takes me to the hospital.

The results of the X-ray reveal that it’s nothing serious. I just got a minor concussion. I was to take it easy for a few days, then return to work.

So I go home and check my answering machine. Principal Lutz had called. She was angry at me for leaving the school during recess without notifying anyone that I would need a substitute. Apparently the kids spent the next hour making a mess of the classroom. They got into the finger-painting kit and spilled paint everywhere, and some of the kids wrote obscenities on the chalkboard. I don’t understand how nobody saw the ambulance out front. Nor do I understand where these kids learn obscenities.

So the next day I’m resting in bed (I had notified the school that I would need a substitute this time) when the doorbell rings. It’s Mrs. Russell, the mother of one of my students. She had come to my house to personally yell at me for her daughter getting paint in her eye the day before. I don’t understand where she got my address, but I guess in a small, suburban community everybody knows too much about each another anyway. I apologize for a while, but she just keeps yelling. Finally, in a desperate attempt to make her leave, I tell her that I would be happy to continue the conversation sometime in the future when I wasn’t suffering from temporary memory loss and agitation. She reluctantly agrees. I give her my phone number and send her on her way.

But things only get worse after that. My girlfriend’s friend, Cali, was driving by when I was handing my number to Mrs. Russell. I guess that a guy standing in an undershirt and pajama bottoms giving a young woman a piece of paper looks like the aftermath of an affair. So she calls my girlfriend, Rhonda. Rhonda immediately leaves work and barges into the house. She storms into my room with her fists clenched and her teeth chattering with uncontrollable rage. Then she leaps onto the bed and starts punching me. She apparently had had a tough couple of days, so she was really going at it. At that point, I think she is actually going to kill me.

So, seeing no other way out, I crawl out an open window and run down the street. She runs after me, shouting incoherently, and I pray that the neighbors have called the police. I slow down because the concussion is giving me a pounding headache. She tackles me to the ground, but I manage to push her off of me and get on her. I keep her pinned down by holding her wrists while she continues to scream and shout. And that is when the cops show up.

I go to the station, where Rhonda tells the police that I had made a habit out of chasing her around and fighting her. I tell them it was self-defense. They didn’t buy my story. Rhonda was more convincing, I’m sure. I never should have dated a drama major.

I get put on the stand two days later. I promptly lose the case, which upsets me but doesn’t surprise me. My lawyer didn't do a very good job. He didn't help me share my side of the story. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but he is the father of one of my kindergartners whom I left unsupervised.

I’m sure you know the rest of the story, Mr. Nichols. The news circulates through the neighborhood gossip circle and reaches you. And then you fire me. So now I spend my days sitting at home in my living room watching reruns of 90s sitcoms and waiting for Mrs. Russell to call. She still hasn’t called.

I hope that you will reconsider my unusual case. If anyone should have to leave the school, it's Tiffany Clarke. To be honest, she doesn’t even do a good job of sharing.

Thanks for your time.

- James Bleaker, Kindergarten Teacher