The old days

Cador gently pulled on the reigns of the rental horse, bringing it to a stop as they reached they crest of the hill. It had been some time since he had last ridden, but the muscle memory had been burned into him over a dozen lifetimes, and the horse he had been given was well mannered. Sarah was not quite as lucky, and while her horse was very tame, she had had much difficulty getting it to do exactly what it was she wanted. Cador had tried to explain to her, but the terms and comparisons he made were simply too outdated for her, and after several attempts, they had simply set her horse in motion to follow his own.

They sat on their horses, looking out over the valley that was before them, the ruined remains of a castle on the other side of what was once a river before them. They sat in silence for a long moment, taking in the sight, before Sarah reached out and placed her hand on Cador's shoulder, pulling his attention away from the ruins.

"This is it?" she asked. Cador had not heard such pure wonder in someone's voice for a long time. "This was the castle where...?"

Cador nodded and looked back out at the castle. "Yeah," he said. "This is it."

It took them another hour of riding to get down through the valley and actually reach the castle. It had fallen to pieces, and overgrown plants climbed the walls and filled some of the gaps that had been left behind. They dismounted and tied the horses to part of the bridge, near a new sprinkling of a creek that had shown up in the last few years so they could drink. Cador lead the way into the castle, finding the open paths and safe ways to move.

"It's been half a millennium since I was here last," he said as they climbed over a collapsed wall. "In my mind's eye, I can still see it. The hallways and rooms, the strategically placed torches along the walls, the flowing drapery that told the stories of royalty and their families. I can see the nobles and their servants walking around, talking about the current events, whether or not the farms are producing enough, and what to do about the coming winter. I can feel their souls as my fingers run along the walls, like they're still here, waiting to be released..."

Sarah dropped down onto more stable ground behind him and dusted herself off. "Do you miss them?" she asked. "The people and the way things used to be?"

Cador dusted some of the cobwebs out of the entryway. They had made their way to the throne room. He could remember so clearly the day he had been knighted for the first time, in this very room. The steps had survived. He could see the exact spot he had kneeled down. Without a word he walked to it and kneeled down, bowing his head to silently pay respect to his liege. "Yeah," he said, standing up. "Sometimes. Things were different back then. Not simpler. Not harder. Just different."

"Most people say now that life today is a lot easier."

Cador smiled. "In some ways. Maybe a lot of ways. But the things that make life simple bring their own troubles. We didn't have to worry about nations on the other side of the world sending off missiles that could destroy the world sixteen times over. We just had to worry about putting food on the table."

"Some people still have to worry about that."

"Yeah. Yeah they do."

Lair

Martha could smell the rancid smoke masked by running water as she turned the corner. The caves had been dark up until that point, and she had used her hands on the walls and the sound of the river flowing to guide her way. Finally, at the end of the stretch in front of her, she could see a light coming from the next corner. She had been sent to find the inner workings of the caves, and see if she could bring anything back out of it. She found it doubtful, but she was certainly going to try, regardless.

As she finally reached the light, her hands lightly bleeding from the scuffs of the hard rocks, she saw an intricate design of suspended pathways, outfitted with plants that glowed gently in the dark and sharp fangs left behind by beasts larger than any Martha had ever seen. She stepped gingerly out onto the first pathway to find that it was more structurally sound than she had anticipated.

As she made her way across, she could see a few paths down an altar, with a brightly glowing gemstone placed upon it. The stone around it was sharp and jagged, as though it was being held in the mouth of a beast, ready to chomp down upon anyone stupid enough to fall for its trap. Martha got that bad feeling that that was exactly what she was about to do. But if she was going to find something that would be able to help her village, that stone was probably the place to start.

It took her well over an hour to reach the stone. By the time she approached it, she was starving and thirsty, and she was only hopeful that she would be able to make it back out of the cave, much less make it out with anything of value. But she had come too far simply to give up. Examining the gem, she could see that it was a bright yellow color and seemed to glow from within, as if there was a flame burning eternally inside of it. She could see no traps attached to it, and she gently placed her hands on either side of it.

"What do you think you are doing, child?" a voice boomed inside of her head. Her entire body shook, but she felt glued to the rock. "I know that you could see the potential for a trap here. Yet you chose to approach anyway. Are you so ready to forfeit your life?"

Martha was shaking violently, her bones rattling, but she did not fall. "My village is dying," she called out, hoping that whoever was speaking to her could hear her. "I was sent here in hopes that I would be able to find something that could help us."

"What is your village dying of?"

"The only supplies that we had are running low, as bandits and crooks steal them from us, leaving us with less than enough to survive. We need something to either pay them off, or keep them out."

"And what are you able to give in return, if you have no supplies to live off of?"

Martha could feel tears welling in her eyes. "There must be something I can do."

Suddenly, the walls themselves began to quiver. Behind the glowing gemstone, the rocks themselves parted in the wall, revealing a giant, golden eyeball. Some of the claws she had seen on the path began to stretch and move. She realized she had walked directly into the lair of a dragon, and her heart nearly froze in fear.

"Yes, there may just be a use I an find for you," the dragon's voice called out to her. Suddenly the gemstone came loose and fell into her arms. "Let us go. I feel there is much work to be done."

The child death spared

Darren breathed hard, twitching away from every sound and light as the rain poured down hard overhead, pounding against the stone of the abandoned houses, and lightning and thunder cracked and boomed, lighting up the field that was the farmland surrounding the town that he had grown up in as two armies lined up on either side of it, preparing to destroy each other and anything in the way. Against his parents wishes, he had rushed back home as they fled in order to grab a toy that had been left behind - a small doll that looked vaguely like his departed sister, which his mother had given to him a few years prior in order to stifle his cries. It had taken him time to find it, and when he had run down the stairs to escape, he found he had taken too long.

He was terrified. In the flashes of lightning, he saw the the swords and armor of the soldiers brighter than anything else. Their images stayed longer than the rest of it, etched into his eyes because of their reflective nature. They looked like empty suits, possessed by the dead to fight for eternity, and drag more and more people into their endless war over nothing. Darren clutched the sister-doll close to his heart, trying very hard not to cry, because he knew if he did it would give him away. He didn't trust that these people - if they could even be called that - would spare him just because he was a child.

There was a long pause in the lightning. It was night now, and Darren couldn't see anything past his hand in front of his own face. The pour of the rain was clouding out any other sounds from being able to reach his ears. He could only wait for the next bolt to light the area, to see if he might be able to find a way to escape. But when it finally came, he saw that the armies were no longer where they had been. He lurched forward, trying to catch sight of him, and slammed headfirst into the leg of a soldier running past to reach the other side.

Darren flew back and hit the wall he had been hiding behind hard. Pain surged through his body, and there was a warm liquid pooling on his head where he had run into the soldier's armored leg, mixing with the icy drops of rain.

He couldn't help himself now. He cried hard, harder even than when his sister passed away. He wanted to see her again, but he didn't want to have to lose his parents to do it.

He sensed a figure step in front of him. Caught a glimpse of the shape of its sword as it plunged into the ground just in front of Darren. It had to be a soldier, coming to find the source of the crying. Darren only cried harder.

Another flash of lightning, and Darren so with explicit detail the form in front of him. It had stooped down to look him dead in the face, its black, empty sockets starring into his eyes. A massive figure in a black cloak, its only discernible feature the bone skull that sat on its white shoulders, barely visible under the cloak.

"Darren," an icy voice came from the skull as its jaw dropped open. "You have been a naughty boy tonight. Going places you have no business being. Seeing things young eyes should not see." The jaw opened and closed to the words as they rattled into Darren's mind, but they didn't quite fit. Like it was a face quite out of practice of talking.

"W-who are you?" Darren asked, barely able to hear his own voice over the storm.

"By all rights, you should not be leaving this town tonight," the voice continued, ignoring the boy's question. "But there is much bloodshed tonight. I have enough work to do. And so, I am in a good mood. Come with me."

Darren looked at the face as another bolt flew. It terrified him more than any soldier he had seen, but a fleeting thought came to him as he stared into the empty eye sockets. Perhaps something more terrifying was what he needed to get past the terror he had face before. Quietly, he nodded.

He felt a bony, frigid hand close around his arm. He looked down to see its lack of skin or muscle. He heard the figure loose its sword from the dirt before it led him forward.

Darren knew the town layout well. Even in the dark, he knew the feel of the main roads. They walked along them, towards the enemy from the next kingdom over. Darren could feel the sweat on his palms as the fear of what would happen if they came across them sunk into his mind. He had wanted to escape. This... creature was leading him directly into their path. But he was even more afraid of speaking up. The fear that he might be abandoned was worse than the fear of what would happen if he was found by the wrong people. And the figure had promised him safe passage. Or so he was assuming.

Through the sound of the rain, Darren began to hear the sound of battle. Steel clashing on steel, and soon momentary sparks splashed through the air, giving brief glimpses of tumbling figures on the brink of death before the sparks were extinguished by the rain. Shivers ran down his spine, and without thinking he reached up to grab hold of the hand holding his arm. The arm was thin and tough under the cloak, with a gap in the middle that Darren could slip his fingers into. The figure said nothing in response.

As the sounds grew louder and closer, Darren could feel the tears welling in his eyes. He tried to wipe them away, and as he pulled his hand away between wipes, he saw a steel cladded warrior charging almost directly at him. He screamed, but the man froze in mid strike. Darren's guide had struck in an instant, impaling the soldier on his sword. With seemingly no effort, he lifted the body into the air on the end of the blade and, with a flick of the wrist, sent it tumbling away into the darkness.

The figure did not stop walking. Darren had no choice but to follow.

The cloaked one cut a path through the battlefield for the child, as if he were cutting a path through an overgrown field. Its bony hand never left Darren's arm until they were clear of the battle. Only then did Darren realize he had been led to the path his family had used to escape.

The figure knelt down in front of him once more. "You'd best move, Darren, before I change my mind."

But Darren hesitated. "H-how do you know my name?" he asked.

The figure stood up and began to walk away, but his voice came into Darren's mind just as clear as ever. "Death knows the names of all its children. It never forgets those who have come to it, and it knows the exact moment the rest will follow. Tonight was not the death of the child, Darren. I suggest you remember that."

And then Darren was alone. But he was safe. And he had his doll.

He ran to find his family.

Memories

Jerome snuck down the stairs into the basement of his house, careful to make sure that his wife and children were still sound asleep. It wasn't that he was particularly worried that they would wake up - he just didn't want to take chances. He didn't want them to know about what was stored in the extra room. No one else spent much time in the basement, and they especially weren't going to go digging around. It was used almost solely for storage, with stacks of boxes precariously placed around the room, and most of the walls inaccessible and unseen thanks to the massive amount of old things that they really probably needed to get rid of.

Jerome very carefully slipped around the pillars of junk towards the western wall, where there was a sliding wooden door that was barely visible thanks to the dust and supplies. He slid the door open and slipped into the room.

Inside that room was much neater than the rest of the basement. Jerome kept it out of sight and out of mind, so that he could use it as his own personal space. He justified it to himself frequently - plenty of guys had man caves that they wanted to keep to themselves, right? He wasn't weird for having this space that he kept a secret from the rest of his family, from the rest of the world. The lights inside were dim - not old, but intentionally weak. There were a few boxes, precisely labelled with the exact contents kept within, and those contents kept in a specific order.

He picked up one of the boxes - labelled Jennifer - and moved it on to a small table that was left clear. Lifting the lid off the box and setting it aside, he looked at the small jars carefully arranged inside, each with a label on the lid describing the event contained within. He had one in mind that he wanted to look at.

"Jennifer - April 26, 1973 - First date"

He was always sure to reseal the lids on the jars as tight as possible, to preserve their freshness, which meant he had to be careful about taking them back off. But he had years of practice at this point. It only took a moment to pop it off.

He went to the opposite wall and pulled from it a small plate and a spoon before returning to the table and having a seat. Ever so gingerly, he lifted a spoonful of the water in the jar and placed it onto the plate. The thick water held its almost gelatinous form, and inside of it he could see that day, as though it were happening for eternity in the water. Two young teens, awkward but in love, though they did not realize it at the time. Walking down the lakeside, talking about everything in the world. Not even realizing as they slowly drifted towards each other. Kissing for the first time almost reflexively, and only for a moment, before their faces burned a bright red and they could hardly stand to look at each other.

Jerome didn't know how long he watched the scene, or how many times he let that date repeat itself. It had been a long time since he had let himself experience that day again. A part of him was afraid that if he went back to his memories too many times, he would lose them, as they degraded and faded. But he couldn't just leave them, and never see them again. They were what made him who he was. And sometimes, like after the long day he had had, he needed to remember those things.

Putting the memories away was as delicate a process as it was taking them back out. Slipping the water back in its jar, making sure not to lose a drop. Sealing the lid. Sliding the jar back in place in its box, and the box back in place among the others. And finally slipping back out into the basement proper, and making his way back up stairs. It was still late at night. But he wouldn't be getting nearly enough sleep.

But to remember... It was worth it.

Returning villains

Do you have a favorite villain? One so sick and twisted and full of spite and sickness that, though you despise them, you can't help but love them. You love to hate them, hate to love them, unable to explain it, unwilling to accept or deny it. They are undeniably, inexplicably evil. They are darkness incarnate, so intangibly dark that they infect the very air around them, so that you cannot bear to look at them, and yet you can not bare to look away. You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are the very bane of all of existence, and that the only way for anything to continue on, to have a future, is for them to be stopped.

And yet...

And yet without them there, the story would be over. And is that really what you want? What happens next? What conflict can there be when such a threat has already been dealt with? And if they're not there, how can they wow you with their wiles? Is the good guy really so good without that presence of evil acting as a constant backdrop to show how great the hero is by comparison? In fact, without that villain there, would the good guy even be good? Or would the lack of an enemy lead them down a different path?

One-offs don't have to worry about these things. The end of that villain is the end of the story. What comes next? Who cares? It's over. Done. Kaput. The hero wins, probably gets the girl, gets to go back home and build a new life off of the lessons that he's learned.

But a series? Oh no... Once the villain is done, that doesn't mean the series is over. Sometimes, a series is far from over. Sometimes a series is only just beginning. But the bad guy is done. And they were such a good bad guy. So dark and twisted and evil. How can you follow that up?

Sometimes you can't. But the story has to go on. So what if that villain came back? Came back more powerful, more evil, more dark and twisted, more of a threat than ever before.

A lot of my favorite series do this. You can never count on the villain being dead, because they never really are, they just put that guise on so as to escape and recover to come back worse than ever.

And yet this is such a poor choice in so many ways. They've already been beaten. What threat could they really pose? Sure, they've been recovering and training, but who's to say that the heroes weren't doing the same? In fact, the heroes might not have to recover as long as the villain, so they might even be further above the power levels of the returning, supposedly more powerful villain by the time they come back into the picture.

And once they've returned once, why can't they return again? And yet, each time they return from supposed death, they become slightly less interesting. With each repeated recovery, they have less incentive to fight, and less chance for victory. Eventually they might as well just be a footsoldier that no one cares about. They literally become a joke.

So many good series fall victim to this. I understand the desire to have a common evil, a repeating trait that feels familiar to the audience. But eventually it's just not scary when they show up. You stop screaming and you start yawning.

It's not easy to think of new things all the time. I know that pretty damn well by this point. But damn, if it isn't worth it in the long run.

Walking shadow

Moriah sat on a park bench, watching the park goers walk by throughout the day, and in particular watching their shadows as they moved about. Watching the way the shadows twisted and stretched in the sunlight, falling down like heavy sheets of rain, though she knew no one else could see the sheets of light like she could. The way they wrapped around people and fell past them, leaving behind empty spaces lacking light, and leaving shadows behind.

Those shadows showed things that people overlooked so frequently. She couldn't understand how they could be so blind to the things lying just under foot. Some people saw them on occasion, but they pointed to them as funny coincidences, jokes to be made rather than the truths of their lives set out before their very eyes.

She saw one man go by, and as he turned to grab something he had dropped, his jacket flipped over his head. His shadow looked like a woman flipping her hair as she moved to grab something of hers. Then the man stood up and brushed some of the hair out of face, despite the fact it had never been there in the first place, and went on about his way, hiding the femininity that he felt inside of him.

A couple walking their dog passed through the area, their conversation cut short when the dog began to bark violently in the direction of another man. They tried to shush him, telling him that the man was nothing that he had to be afraid of. But Moriah knew what the dog was seeing. It wasn't the man at all. His shadow, hunched and pulled into itself as it lurched along, like an ape running out to protect its family against a threat it perceived in the distance.

A biker rode by, leaned far over the handlebars as he tried to maintain a racing pace for a marathon approaching in the coming days. They were on the other side of the fence, and as their shadow passed between the stakes of it, a frame by frame animation passed by, looking like a swimmer gliding through the water with fast and powerful strokes.

Moriah stood up as the sun sank low, ready to head back home. Shadows stretched all around her, spread apart as the waves of light grew heavy and tired, holding tighter to the people and smothering themselves in the comfort of those who couldn't even see them. The evening air was thick and warm, and Moriah wrapped herself in it. She knew who she was. She didn't have to look back to see the massive figure coming out from inside her.

She was followed home by that shadow, that guardian that stood above her at all times. Her heart and soul given shape, standing as a giant, silently watching and protecting.

Blackout

When I was in grade school, I absolutely loved to play wallball, which in retrospect is an utterly boring game. The entire game was that, with however many people as you could gather, you'd just bounce a ball against the wall, and whoever missed hitting the ball at the wall was the loser of that round. It was kind of like a one sided tennis match, but using something more like dodgeballs.

I was, like, ten. It was easier to entertain ourselves back then.

But I played this game almost every time I got a chance. I didn't even care if I didn't have anyone to play with, I would play it anyway. I have to imagine teachers must have seen me bouncing a ball against a wall by myself all the time and pitied me, but I didn't mind in the slightest. I thought it was fun.

One time in particular, in about fourth or fifth grade, I remember playing with a group of about five kids. We had to use a bigger wall to fit so many of us on it, so we were out in one of the bigger areas of the school campus, rather than in an off corner like we usually were, which meant that a lot of things were happening in the immediate vicinity. Lots of other kids playing their own games, many of which involved other balls.

It was the lunch period, which meant a longer recess, and it was near the end of it, so we were all getting pretty tired. That meant that a lot of us were starting to lose points as the ball soared passed our hands. One kid struck the ball particularly hard, and it bounced over our heads and went flying off towards the fields. I was the fastest kid in the group, and I shot after it without a second thought.

Unfortunately, behind us were some kids that were playing basketball, and at that moment they just so happened to have also lost control of their ball. I didn't see it until the last second, right as I planted my foot solidly on the ball, which sent me spiraling backwards.

I heard the slam of my head against concrete before everything went back. The other kids were a good distance away when I went down. But when I opened my eyes, they were all standing around me and looking down at me. I don't know how long I had been laying there, but my head was throbbing. One of the kids helped me back onto my feet and, without saying much, I made my way over to the planter to sit down.

I didn't move much until recess was over. I was feeling really weird, and my head wouldn't stop pounding in my ears. I remember someone came over to ask if I was alright, and I just waved them off.

What really got people's attention was that, when class started, I didn't go back in. I felt terrible, and I could barely hear the words coming out of anyone's mouths. It only took a couple minutes before my teacher came out to try and find me. When I told her about what happened, she immediately sent me to the principal's office to have my parents called to come and get me.

The office was very confused to find me walk in. I didn't look like I was in trouble, and I wasn't visibly injured, but as soon as I explained what happened I was pushed into the nurse's office and my house put on the line.

I felt dumb. The pain was beginning to subside, and I felt like I could have gone back to class, but no one would hear anything of it. I had a pretty sizable lump on the back of my head, too, upon closer inspection, and touching it certainly sent shocks through my system.

My grandpa was the one who came to get me. He apparently didn't have the story explained to him very well, so for about the sixth time that day by that point I explained what had happened. Before I knew it, I was in the car heading home.

I think back on that every once in a while. Surprisingly, I haven't had a lot of serious injuries in my life, and this was probably one of the more serious ones I've had. Especially given how old I was and how hard I hit the ground, I could've stayed under a lot longer, and I could have had some permanent damage. As far as I'm aware, though, I didn't, and I'm pretty lucky to be able to say that. I've experienced a lot of things in my life. Would've been a shame for them to have been cut off so early.