Gary pressed his arms up against the back of his couch. Over the top of his lap, there rested a laptop computer. And while he was typing on it, he noticed a very familiar, ominous imprint on the screen. Gary spun around. The typewriter on his stomach was facing towards the laptop. He turned to face it—and to his amazement, he saw the number “16,” circled in red. Next to it, the name “Danny Schevchuk.” He recognized that name, too. He had seen Danny’s face. It was the face of the man who had screamed at him in his car. It was the same man who had screamed for help through the vents in his bedroom wall.

GARY RODRIGUEZ – DANNY SCHEVCHUK.

The wind howled — the fire burned. There were books scattered about, with charred pages and smoldering ink. There was a clap of thunder. A figure emerged from the flames. They hunched the figure over, its arms splayed out. It had matted hair, and there was an ominous glare in its eyes. Smoke rose from its mouth, and its voice boomed across the land.

******************************************************************************

Aggie sat up straight — she was still alive. She looked around. She was in a forest. The trees were tall, and the grass was green. It was springtime. A cool breeze blew through the woods. Aggie stretched out her arms. She felt her legs — they were real, and she planted her feet firmly on the ground.

Aggie got up. She walked forward. She looked down at her torso. Her ribs and spine were visible. There were cuts and bruises all over her face and limbs. Aggie hopped over toward a nearby tree, and she leaned up against its trunk, gazing out across the land.

Aggie thought to herself: What am I doing here? Where are these wounds coming from? She ran her paw along her arm. There was a cut across her palm. She grimaced, and she glanced down at the book to her left. The book was bound in leather, and he had riddled it with scribbled letters, sentences, words, and lines of text. The book was heavy for Aggie. She flipped open the cover, and she saw the title written across the front. Aggie looked at the first page, and she read:

THE BOOK OF THE UNDEAD.

DEDICATED TO THOSE WHO HAVE DIED INNOCENTLY.

TO ANONYMOUS, AND ALL OTHERS FOUND INSIDE.

BORN FROM DEATH.

DYING FOR LIFE.

BUT THIS IS NOT YOUR STORY.

Aggie flipped ahead through a few more pages, and then she reached the end. As she did so, Aggie turned to her right, and she ran her paw along the side of a large, thick trunk. Aggie stared back at the last page, and she read aloud:

IT WAS MEANT FOR YOU.

Aggie placed her paw on the page. She traced out the letters. She pressed down upon them, and she wrote out:

It was for you

Is That So?

She flipped the pages back, and she continued reading. The last lines said:

YOU ARE THE FIRST.

WE WILL BE WITH YOU ALWAYS.

NEVER AGAIN.

NEVER AGAIN.

Aggie closed the book. She tossed it aside. Aggie grabbed onto her chest and she gasped for air. Smoke poured out of her mouth when she exhaled. She didn’t have lungs—she was too far gone for that.

Aggie walked forward. She looked up at the sky, seeing that it was turning dark. The sun was setting; night would soon be upon her. She needed to find shelter. All around her, she looked. She stood on a hillside; on one side of her was a steep cliff, and on the other side was dense woods—deep within them were many caves. She took a peek at one of them.

Aggie climbed up onto the ledge, and she stood up atop its edge. She took hold of the cave entrance and she peered inside. It was dark, and she could hear strange noises emanating from within. Aggie took a step forward, and she slipped, plummeting down the cliff. She hit the ground hard, rolling down the incline. Aggie tumbled, crashing into rocks, debris, and soil. She halted, and she looked up to see that she was standing next to a giant tree. The tree was enormous—its bark was brown and cracked, and covered with leaves. The tree was rotting and dying.

Aggie rolled up onto her feet. She looked around her. Aggie crawled over towards the tree, and she climbed its trunk. She slid her claws along the rough bark, and she made her way up toward the top of the tree. Once she reached the top, Aggie stood up straight and she gazed out across the land below. She couldn’t believe what she was looking at.

The sun was setting behind her. The trees were tall, and the grass was green. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the air. It was dark in the woods. The moon was rising. The stars were twinkling in the sky.

And there was a woman lying on the ground. Her hands were at her sides, and her eyes were shut. Aggie looked down at her. The woman appeared to be in her early twenties, and she wore a black dress. There was a thin film of blood covering her chest. Her arm was torn apart. As Aggie watched, the woman’s chest slowly rose and fell. She was breathing. She was still alive.

Aggie went to her, and she laid down beside her. She stayed like this for several minutes. And just as suddenly, the woman opened her eyes. Her expression was blank, and she stared up at Aggie. She whispered, and she said,

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Aggie nodded. She looked down at her. She wasn’t sure what to do. The woman’s eyes were wide open, and her pupils were dilated. The woman slowly sat up, and she looked around herself.

There was a long scar across her chest. It had taken a sizable chunk of her flesh out. It was a gaping wound, and there was blood dripping down from it. The woman shook her head, and she spoke softly: “No... you aren’t supposed to be here.”

The woman looked down at her hands. She shook her head.

“Why don’t we go somewhere else?” suggested Aggie.

The woman stared into Aggie’s eyes.

“We can...”

The woman paused.

“...talk about it there.”

She pointed to the cave. Aggie nodded. The woman stood up, and together they walked into the shadows of the darkness. Aggie led the way, and the woman shone her flashlight along the rocky floor. They walked for a while until they came to a small chamber. Aggie lit a candle. She placed it on a table. The woman sat down heavily in a chair. Aggie sat down across from her.

“Who are you?” asked Aggie.

“I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Are you in trouble?”

The woman shook her head.

“Do you want help?”

The woman shook her head.

“Then why are you here?”

“I need to get out of here.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Where are you from?”

“I don’t know.”

A silence washed over the room. The woman spoke up once more, and she asked,

“Can I call you Charlotte?”