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<channel><title><![CDATA[The Kaidankai Podcast - February  2026]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700]]></link><description><![CDATA[February  2026]]></description><pubDate>Tue, 03 Mar 2026 01:38:57 -0800</pubDate><generator>Weebly</generator><item><title><![CDATA[February 25, 2026]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-25-2026]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-25-2026#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Wed, 25 Feb 2026 08:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-25-2026</guid><description><![CDATA[Old Benby T.G. Smith  An immigrant zoo worker navigating unfamiliar snow and baffling English idioms finds himself haunted by an unexpected presence during his nightly rounds. The story explores isolation, cultural displacement, and the eerie persistence of memory when the world feels both strange and unwelcoming.  Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai Podcast.&#8203;Paki smiled, watching the young man growl in front of Shiva&rsquo;s cage to amuse his girlfriend.&nbsp; He had seen  [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<h2 class="wsite-content-title"><strong><font size="7">Old Ben</font></strong><br /><font size="5">by T.G. Smith</font></h2>  <div class="paragraph"><strong><font color="#a1a1a1" size="2">An immigrant zoo worker navigating unfamiliar snow and baffling English idioms finds himself haunted by an unexpected presence during his nightly rounds. The story explores isolation, cultural displacement, and the eerie persistence of memory when the world feels both strange and unwelcoming.</font></strong></div>  <div class="paragraph"><br /><font color="#a1a1a1"><font size="2">Click <a href="https://www.spreaker.com/episode/old-ben-by-tg-smith-a-ghost-story-of-displacement-captivity-and-friendship--70182168" target="_blank">here</a> to listen to this story on the Kaidankai Podcast.<br /></font><br /><br /><br />&#8203;Paki smiled, watching the young man growl in front of Shiva&rsquo;s cage to amuse his girlfriend.&nbsp; He had seen Shiva teach this lesson to impudent zoo visitors before.&nbsp; The young man growled again and clawed the air in front of the cage.&nbsp; Shiva watched him with her head lowered and tail twitching.&nbsp; Turning languidly in her narrow cage, Shiva took a step away.&nbsp; The couple laughed and just as their mouths opened wide, Shiva soaked them with urine in the way female tigers can by spraying a fine mist directly behind themselves.&nbsp; Paki turned away, covering his face so they wouldn&rsquo;t see him laughing.&nbsp; He pulled his zookeeper coat up around his neck and hugged himself.&nbsp; Chattanooga was hot and muggy in the summer, but oh-so cold in the winter.&nbsp; His hometown, Jacobabad, was always hot.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;I saw that,&rdquo; said Bailey, Paki&rsquo;s boss and head zookeeper.&nbsp; &ldquo;You should warn visitors about Shiva.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;I am sorry, Sir,&rdquo; said Paki in heavily accented English.&nbsp; &ldquo;But they tease the animals&hellip;&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;I know, Paki.&nbsp; But that stuff smells bad.&nbsp; Shiva&rsquo;s going to get us sued.&nbsp; Some rich lady in a fur coat&rsquo;s gonna get sprayed and then what?&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Rich ladies in fur coats don&rsquo;t come here, Mister Bailey.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;And that&rsquo;s why!&rdquo; Bailey exclaimed.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Snow started to fall and Paki held out his hand.&nbsp; &ldquo;What&rsquo;s this?&rdquo; Paki asked.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t you seen snow before?&rdquo; Bailey asked.&nbsp;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;This is snow?&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; Bailey said.&nbsp; &ldquo;You better help Sara feed the monkeys.&nbsp; After they&rsquo;re taken care of, tell her she can go.&nbsp; Then stop by the office.&nbsp; I need to check on something.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Yes, Sahib,&rdquo; Paki said and headed for the kitchen where Sara, the zoo&rsquo;s nutritionist, was preparing the monkey&rsquo;s afternoon meal.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">The big cats, Raja and Shiva, had been fed.&nbsp; The antelopes and other grazers had their food strewn about their compound in the morning.&nbsp; But the monkeys have no self-control.&nbsp; If you fed them once per day, they would gorge themselves and be starving by morning, meaning Sara had to mix their meals twice per day.&nbsp;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Hi, Sara.&rdquo; Paki called.&nbsp; &ldquo;Need help?&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Yeah.&rdquo; Sara replied, indicating a bucket of fruits, leaves and legumes near the door.&nbsp; &ldquo;You can feed the big monkeys.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll have the pip-squeaks&rsquo; food ready by the time you get back.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Yes, Sara.&rdquo; Paki said and grabbed the pail.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be back in a few shakes of the tail of a sheep,&rdquo; he said trying to remember the idiom he had heard earlier that day.&nbsp; He looked to see if Sara was impressed.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Okay.&rdquo; was all she said.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">The snow intensified as Paki walked to the Chimps enclosure.&nbsp; After feeding them, Paki stood and marveled at how the snow was changing the appearance of the zoo. &nbsp;All of the animal houses were covered with white caps.&nbsp; The directional signs were becoming obscured as the blowing snow attached itself to the signs&rsquo; surfaces and the informational signs on each enclosure became unreadable in the darkening dusk.&nbsp; Returning to the kitchen, he said &ldquo;I am ready to feed the pip-squeakish monkeys now.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;That&rsquo;s okay, Paki.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll do it when I finish here.&rdquo;&nbsp; Sara was putting meat scraps in a bowl.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Who is that for?&rdquo; Paki asked, &ldquo;All of the animals have been fed.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Do you know who Old Ben is&hellip;was?&rdquo; Sara asked.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;No.&rdquo; Paki responded.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;When I first started here, we had an old lion.&nbsp; He had such sad eyes.&nbsp; I felt sorry for him, so, when I fed him, I would sit on a bench outside his enclosure and talk to him while he ate.&nbsp; Over time, I told him all my secrets.&nbsp; I told him my goals, my successes, my failures.&nbsp; I told him about my relationships&hellip;my disappointments.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Sara looked at Paki and tears formed in her eyes.&nbsp; &ldquo;Then he died.&nbsp; They told me when it happened, but we were really busy that day so I didn&rsquo;t get to see him before he passed.&nbsp; That afternoon, I prepared all the meals as usual, including Old Ben&rsquo;s.&nbsp; I was on the way to feed him when I remembered that he was dead. I took his meal to his enclosure anyway.&nbsp; I sat his bowl in the same place as usual and I sat on the bench outside his enclosure for a long time.&nbsp; I told him that I would miss him and that he had been a good friend to me.&nbsp; Finally, I just left the bowl of food and went home.&nbsp; When I came for the bowl the next morning, the food was gone.&nbsp; I know it wasn&rsquo;t Old Ben, but I kept taking his dinner to him every night&hellip;and every morning, when I came to collect the bowl, the food was gone.&nbsp; I often wonder what&rsquo;s eating it.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Sara looked at Paki, her expression one of sadness.&nbsp; Paki was disturbed.&nbsp; He wasn&rsquo;t sure what was worse, the ghost of a lion roaming the zoo or the haunted, grief-stricken look of his friend, Sara.&nbsp; &ldquo;You said it wasn&rsquo;t Old Ben, but it is him, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; said Paki.&nbsp; &ldquo;Old Ben is stalking though the zoo at night.&nbsp; The food you give him each night is keeping him from eating all the animals!&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;No, of course it&rsquo;s not Old Ben.&rdquo; Sara said, exasperated that Paki had misunderstood her.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got to go before the weather gets worse.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll feed the small monkeys.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll skip Old Ben tonight&rdquo; Sara said reluctantly and put the bowl of scraps back in the fridge.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see you tomorrow.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Paki was unsettled by this new information.&nbsp; Stepping outside, he was confused by the snow now covering all the paths and sidewalks.&nbsp; Where should he walk?&nbsp; He could see the light in front of Bailey&rsquo;s office, so he tip-toed through the snow to the office.&nbsp; He closed the door behind him and turned to see Bailey sitting at his desk on his cell phone.&nbsp;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Okay,&rdquo; Bailey said into the phone, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see what I can do.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Bailey looked at Paki as if some monumental decision had to be made.&nbsp; &ldquo;Paki, I need a favor.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Yes, Sahib.&rdquo; Paki replied.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;The security company called and the guy who&rsquo;s supposed to be here tonight can&rsquo;t come because of the snow.&nbsp; Apparently, it&rsquo;s bad up on the mountain.&nbsp; I need someone to stay with the animals overnight.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;No!&rdquo; Paki responded immediately.&nbsp; &ldquo;The ghost of Old Ben is here.&nbsp; I cannot stay overnight.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be ridiculous.&rdquo; Bailey said, wondering how Paki knew about Old Ben.&nbsp; &ldquo;Just sit in this nice warm office and call me if anything happens. &nbsp;I need to go before I get stuck here.&rdquo;</font><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Bailey grabbed his coat and started for the door.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Please, Sahib.&nbsp; I cannot stay!&rdquo; Paki pleaded.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;The only place Old Ben&rsquo;s supposedly been spotted is up at his old enclosure.&nbsp; Just don&rsquo;t go there.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll be okay.&nbsp; Just call me if anything comes up.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;No&hellip;&rdquo; Paki said to the closing door.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Paki rushed to the window to watch Bailey shuffling through the snow to his car.&nbsp; &ldquo;No, no&hellip;&rdquo; groaned Paki as Bailey drove away.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Paki looked around the office.&nbsp; He went to Bailey&rsquo;s desk and sat slump shouldered.&nbsp; There was an in-box, several folders, pens, paper clips and a three-hole punch.&nbsp; What he didn&rsquo;t see was a phone.&nbsp; Bailey was on his cell phone constantly during the day, but apparently there was no land-line.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Uh-oh.&rdquo; Paki thought.&nbsp; He used his cell phone for international calls and he kept it in his apartment.&nbsp; Money was tight and he couldn&rsquo;t afford to waste any minutes on games or frivolous phone calls or surfing the internet.&nbsp; He didn&rsquo;t have anyone he needed to call locally, and if there was an emergency, Bailey would let him use the zoo&rsquo;s cell phone. &nbsp;Paki went through the drawers, but he could not find a phone.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">He went to the coffee bar nervously and poured a cup of hot water and added a tea bag.&nbsp; There was cream in the mini-fridge, so he added a dollop and four teaspoons of sugar, since no one was looking.&nbsp; He took the cup to the window and looked out.&nbsp; The snow was falling fast and it had smoothed out all of the edges.&nbsp; The nice, neat sidewalks had disappeared.&nbsp; The signs in front of the entrance were topped with snow.&nbsp; It was incredibly quiet.&nbsp; Until he heard the growl.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">It was a low and muted growl.&nbsp; Paki jumped back, spilling his tea.&nbsp; He squinted, looking for movement, any shadow that shouldn&rsquo;t be there.&nbsp; Nothing.&nbsp; He remembered the security cameras.&nbsp; He went to Bailey&rsquo;s desk and moved the mouse.&nbsp; The screen on Bailey&rsquo;s desk lit up and sixteen cameras displayed their images all on one screen.&nbsp; Paki scanned the images.&nbsp; Was that movement in front of the office?</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Paki rushed back to the window and looked out.&nbsp; He scanned the zoo entrance.&nbsp; He looked back toward the animal enclosures.&nbsp; He searched the shadows by the restrooms.&nbsp; Nothing.&nbsp; Then he looked at the snow in front of the office.&nbsp; Were those paw prints?&nbsp; They were huge and they led toward the animal enclosures.&nbsp; Paki ran back to the monitor.&nbsp; In the closest enclosure, he could see the gazelles.&nbsp; They were agitated and huddled at the back of the enclosure.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;It&rsquo;s Old Ben!&rdquo; Paki thought.&nbsp; &ldquo;He&rsquo;s hungry and Sara didn&rsquo;t feed him!&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">He should call Bailey, but&hellip; no phone.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">How could he stop a ghost lion from killing the zoo animals?</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Think, Paki.&nbsp; Okay&hellip;okay.&nbsp; Maybe, if I can give him his food, he&rsquo;ll leave the other animals alone.&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Paki knew the kitchen was locked.&nbsp; He went through Bailey&rsquo;s desk again and found a key ring with several unlabeled keys on it.&nbsp; It was worth a try.&nbsp; Paki slipped on his coat and grabbed Bailey&rsquo;s ski cap off the peg next to the door.&nbsp; He thought about taking the umbrella, but with the snow blowing sideways, the umbrella would be hard to handle and it wouldn&rsquo;t provide much shelter from the snow.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&ldquo;Here goes not a thing.&rdquo; Paki whispered to himself and slipped out the door.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">The paw prints that had been there just a few minutes ago, were now barely shallow indentations, filled by the heavy snowfall.&nbsp; Paki was surprised at his slow progress as he hunkered against the wind and the driving snow.&nbsp; He searched the shadows, afraid of being stalked, but the blowing snow blinded him.&nbsp; Off to his left, a puff of something&rsquo;s breath came out of the shadows.&nbsp; He stopped and stared into the dark.&nbsp; The zebra enclosure!&nbsp; Three zebras stood looking at him, their heads bent against the wind.&nbsp; Paki looked around expecting to see Old Ben glaring at him from the shadows.&nbsp; Why hadn&rsquo;t he brought the umbrella!&nbsp; At least it had a pointy end.&nbsp; Maybe he could fend Old Ben off with that!&nbsp; Wait!&nbsp; Can you fend off a ghost lion with an umbrella?</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Looking down each darkened alley way and the nooks and crannies of each enclosure, Paki hurried toward the kitchen.&nbsp; The keys were impossible with gloves.&nbsp; He took off the gloves, but without them, his hands became cold and clumsy.&nbsp; His hand shook so badly, he could barely get the key into the lock.&nbsp; He wasn&rsquo;t sure if it was the cold or the thought of Old Ben peering at him from the shadows that made his hand shake so.&nbsp; He looked over his shoulder as he tried each key.&nbsp; As he found the right key, a low rumble from the vicinity of the monkey cages reached his frozen ears.&nbsp; He quickly opened the door to the kitchen and slipped inside.&nbsp; He had seen where Sara put the bowl of meat scraps.&nbsp; He grabbed it and headed back outside.&nbsp;</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">As he exited the kitchen, Paki heard the monkeys begin to howl and hoot.&nbsp; It sounded as if they were terrified for their lives and he was sure he knew why.&nbsp; Paki ran toward Old Ben&rsquo;s enclosure, again feeling that the old lion was stalking him, hungry for his evening meal in the metal bowl in Paki&rsquo;s hands.&nbsp; As he rounded a corner, he felt a forceful collision as he was knocked to the ground, his shoulder and neck numb, the bowl of meat spilling out into the snow.&nbsp; Paki moaned and got to his feet.&nbsp; All he could see was a post with the directional signs atop it.&nbsp; He scooped up the meat, refilling the bowl and trudged on to Old Ben&rsquo;s enclosure.&nbsp; He opened the gate to the enclosure and set the bowl of food inside.&nbsp; He yelped as he felt the ghost of Old Ben pounce on him again, knocking him into the snow for a second time.</font><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">Paki vaulted to his feet, slamming the enclosure gate and running, slipping and sliding as fast as he could back to the office.&nbsp; Once there, Paki collapsed into Bailey&rsquo;s chair, panting heavily.&nbsp; He checked the security monitor.&nbsp; In the upper right-hand corner was a square labeled &ldquo;Lion Enclosure&rdquo;.&nbsp; But the square was solid black.&nbsp; That camera had been removed long ago.&nbsp; All else was calm and serene.&nbsp; Paki sat deep in thought.&nbsp; What had he actually seen?&nbsp; A ghost?&nbsp; No.&nbsp; Animals attacked and eaten?&nbsp; No.&nbsp; Was it all in his head?<br />&#8203;</font><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">The next morning, Bailey was late because of the snow.&nbsp; Paki decided not to relate the events of the previous evening.&nbsp; He needed to collect Old Ben&rsquo;s bowl for Sara.&nbsp; To his relief, Bailey volunteered to go with him.&nbsp; The enclosure door was open and the bowl was empty. &nbsp;</font><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">As Paki bent over to retrieve the bowl, Bailey asked, &ldquo;Where did you get those claw marks on your neck?&rdquo;</font><br /><br /><span style="color:rgb(98, 98, 98)">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &#128128;&#128128;</span>&#128128;<br /><br /><em><font color="#a1a1a1" size="3">Bio: TG Smith is a retired IT guy turned fiction writer who likes Science Fiction and History told in the first person.&nbsp; He lives in Tennessee with his wife, Margaret, and enjoys traveling, trading stocks, reading about space travel and playing with his granddaughter.&nbsp; See other stories by the author at <a href="http://everydayfiction.com/">everydayfiction.com</a> and SpanktheCarp.com.</font></em></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[February 18, 2026]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-18-2026]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-18-2026#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Wed, 18 Feb 2026 08:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-18-2026</guid><description><![CDATA[Negative Spaceby Jennifer Peaslee  A subtle supernatural horror story that&nbsp;explores perception, denial, and the terrifying power of what goes unseen.&nbsp;  Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.&#8203;I approached the one-hour photo counter and waited for the cashier to make his way to me. It was Sunday morning, early enough that I had avoided the June heat, and the store was fairly empty.&nbsp;&ldquo;Picking up or dropping off?&rdquo; he asked.&nbsp;&ldquo;Picking up [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<h2 class="wsite-content-title"><strong><font size="7">Negative Space</font></strong><br /><font size="5">by Jennifer Peaslee</font></h2>  <div class="paragraph"><em><font color="#818181">A subtle supernatural horror story that&nbsp;</font></em><em style="color:rgb(98, 98, 98)"><font color="#818181">explores perception, denial, and the terrifying power of what goes unseen.&nbsp;</font></em></div>  <div class="paragraph"><br /><font color="#a1a1a1"><font size="2">Click <a href="https://www.spreaker.com/episode/negative-space-by-jennifer-peasley-a-supernatural-horror-story-about-what-we-fail-to-see--70105500" target="_blank">here</a> to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.</font><br /><br /><br /><br />&#8203;I approached the one-hour photo counter and waited for the cashier to make his way to me. It was Sunday morning, early enough that I had avoided the June heat, and the store was fairly empty.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Picking up or dropping off?&rdquo; he asked.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Picking up. James Woodward.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Gotcha. One second.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />The cashier rifled through some containers on his side of the counter until he picked out a thick red packet full of developed 35mm photographs.<br />&ldquo;Something wrong?&rdquo; I asked, seeing him pause.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Ah, I&rsquo;m sorry to tell you, but I think the film was messed up. You can take a look at the pictures and see if you still want them. I&rsquo;ll discount them if you do.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />I took the packet from him, disappointed. These were photos of Kayla&rsquo;s and my vacation to San Francisco. I showed her the restaurant where I met her mother. Well, the restaurant was now a convenience store, but I think she appreciated the gesture all the same. Teenagers can be difficult to read.&nbsp;<br />Flipping through the photos, I could see what the cashier meant. Each one had a dark, blurry mass hovering over the same spot, near the top left corner. It wasn&rsquo;t too distracting, though. There were still beautiful landscape shots of the sea and the mountains. Kayla had requested I take a snapshot of her at practically every location we visited, so she had plenty of shots to choose from and could block out the spot with a frame.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Yeah, I&rsquo;ll take &lsquo;em,&rdquo; I told the guy. He rang them up with a 25% discount, which I thought was a pretty good deal. While I was out, I bought some party supplies and another camera for Kayla&rsquo;s sweet sixteen that was fast approaching. I wanted to make a big production out of it, like I knew her mom would have. It had been four years since we lost Lisa in a car crash, and while it hadn&rsquo;t gotten easier, we had fallen into a rhythm.&nbsp;<br />When I got home, I handed the pictures to Kayla, who was watching reruns of <em>The X-Files</em>, and told her about the defect.<br />&ldquo;Did it ruin any of my pictures?&rdquo; she asked, rifling through them without waiting for an answer. &ldquo;Nope, I still look super cute. Thanks, Dad!&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Of course. Let me know if you need any frames.&rdquo;<br />She had already resumed watching TV.&nbsp;<br /><br />###<br /><br />&ldquo;Happy birthday, kiddo!&rdquo; I beamed late Saturday morning after Kayla made her way downstairs. Per her request, a birthday brunch awaited her: French toast, bacon, eggs, the whole nine.&nbsp;<br />Kayla scrunched up her nose. &ldquo;Dad, you don&rsquo;t have to call me &lsquo;kiddo.&rsquo; I am not a kid. Especially now.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll always be my kid,&rdquo; I pointed out. &ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t matter how old you get. Eat up!&rdquo; I handed her a plate with a hefty serving of everything.<br />&ldquo;Thanks, Dad.&rdquo; Kayla put the plate down on the table and hugged me. &ldquo;I love you.&rdquo;<br />A lump grew in my throat. &ldquo;Love you, too, kiddo. Let me get a picture of you.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />She made a goofy face for the camera. With her shoulder-length auburn hair and hazel eyes, she looked so much like her mother.&nbsp;<br />After brunch, I handed over her gift. She unwrapped the small box with the same eagerness she had shown as a little girl. I snapped another picture as she lifted a necklace.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Oh, wow,&rdquo; murmured Kayla.<br />It was Lisa&rsquo;s favorite necklace, a gold heart pendant beset with a cluster of diamonds on a long chain. She wore it nearly every day after her mother gave it to her, and she always intended to gift it to Kayla on her sixteenth birthday, too.&nbsp;<br />Kayla immediately put on the necklace, asking me to fasten it. I had to fiddle with the clasp for a second; it was always getting stuck when Lisa wore it.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Take another picture of me with it on,&rdquo; Kayla suggested, and this time smiled in a more traditional pose.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;What time are your friends getting here?&rdquo; I asked.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Eight o&rsquo;clock. Hannah might come a little earlier.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Sounds good. I&rsquo;ll have a couple of pizzas delivered around 8:30.&rdquo; I handed over the camera. &ldquo;Take lots of pictures!&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;I will,&rdquo; she promised.&nbsp;<br /><br />###<br /><br />A few weeks after Kayla&rsquo;s birthday, she returned the Kodak to me. I promised to develop it that weekend so she could make copies for her friends. But when I picked up the photos, I was told again that a developing error had affected each one.&nbsp;<br />Trying to hide my annoyance, I flipped through the pictures. In the same place as last time, there was a dark smudge. It wasn&rsquo;t identical, though. This one was bigger and looked more defined, less like a blob.<br />I frowned. That made no sense. I looked at the negatives, holding them up to the fluorescent lights. The negatives seemed fine, though maybe it was just hard to spot the defect.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Are you sure your photo machine is clean?&rdquo; I asked the cashier, a different guy than last time. &ldquo;No offense, it&rsquo;s just that this has happened twice in a row.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;We wipe it down every night,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I haven&rsquo;t seen any other photos with those marks. Sorry.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;That&rsquo;s alright,&rdquo; I said. I paid for the photos (this cashier didn&rsquo;t offer me a discount) and left, hoping Kayla wouldn&rsquo;t be upset.<br />Of course, I have a great kid. Kayla barely shrugged when she looked at the photos.<br />&ldquo;It actually looks kinda cool, like a ghost,&rdquo; she said.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Still,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;Let me know which ones you want copies of. I&rsquo;ll get the negatives developed somewhere else next weekend, so you should be good.&rdquo;<br /><br />###<br /><br />When I went to pick up the copies, I was told the same thing: each photo was flawed.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got to be kidding me,&rdquo; I said, looking at the photos. If I hadn&rsquo;t gone to a different store, I would have thought I was being pranked. This time, the photos looked like they had been double-exposed with a person. A sudden chill struck me&mdash;it looked even more like a ghost than before.<br />This was getting ridiculous. I purchased another disposable camera right there and took random pictures in the parking lot until the roll was filled, then took it back inside to be developed.<br />&ldquo;Um, do you want to wait for it?&rdquo; the bewildered cashier asked. I glanced at her nametag. Caroline. &ldquo;I can page you when it&rsquo;s done.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Yes, please.&rdquo;<br />About an hour later, I heard my name over the speakers and rushed to the photo counter. Caroline was waiting for me with a set of photos, still warm from the printer.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;How did you do this?&rdquo;&nbsp; she asked, sounding interested.&nbsp;<br />I looked at the photos and nearly dropped them. Each picture had a ghostly figure, clearly humanoid. I squinted my eyes. It looked like the figure had an arm raised, pointing at the camera. I felt the blood drain from my face. I looked at the negatives. They were normal.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Develop them again, please,&rdquo; I said shakily, handing the negatives back to Caroline.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Again? All of them? Same size?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Yes. And yes. I&rsquo;ll wait here.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />###<br />&nbsp;Another hour later, I looked over the new photos with Caroline, her face pinched with fear. The figure was there. Clearer. Human. Raising a finger and pointing it toward the camera. Mouth open in a wail.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;I think you may be haunted,&rdquo; Caroline said in a hushed tone. I almost laughed; it sounded so absurd. But the proof was there.&nbsp;<br />I looked at Caroline. &ldquo;Do you sell those new, uh, disposable digital cameras here?&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Yeah. They&rsquo;re right there.&rdquo; She pointed to a display behind me.&nbsp;<br />I looked at the package. I had never used one of these. The package promised &ldquo;Picture Preview&rdquo; and &ldquo;Delete&rdquo; features that &ldquo;Lets you retake shots!&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />Caroline rang me up. I tore open the packaging right there and turned on the camera.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;May I?&rdquo; I asked, raising the camera.<br />&ldquo;Um,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d rather you didn&rsquo;t. Not of me, I mean. I don&rsquo;t want to see a ghost hanging over my shoulder.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Fair enough.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />I took a photo of a counter display instead. Looking at the image preview, I breathed a sigh of relief. No ghostly specter haunted the screen. I considered switching to digital and ignoring what I had seen in those other photos.&nbsp;<br />To be safe, I took another twenty or so random shots and asked Caroline to develop the prints and CD. I couldn&rsquo;t see the pictures as she processed them, but I saw her face fall when she looked at the printed results.<br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;re kidding,&rdquo; I protested.&nbsp;<br />She shook her head, not looking me in the eye, and thrust the photos at me. A pit of dread grew in my stomach as I looked through them. The figure was clearer. Clear enough that I could start to make out details, like the necklace she wore. A necklace I recognized, because I gave it to my daughter only weeks ago.<br /><br />###<br /><br />I paid for an armful of cameras and rushed out of the store. Why was an image of my daughter haunting our photos? Was it a message from the future, warning me of some terrible fate? I couldn&rsquo;t stop staring at the figure&rsquo;s face. It wasn&rsquo;t defined enough that I could make out my daughter&rsquo;s exact features, but the resemblance was clear. Her mouth was open in a scream. What did it mean?&nbsp;<br />There was only one way to find out, and that was to develop more photos. I sat in my car, taking a picture of the steering wheel over and over until all the cameras except one were full.&nbsp;<br />My BlackBerry rang as I was striding back toward the store.<br />&ldquo;Dad? Where are you?&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Sorry, honey. I&rsquo;m still out shopping.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Oh. What are we doing for dinner?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;There&rsquo;s some leftover lasagne in the fridge. Or you could make a frozen pizza.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Okaaaay.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be home soon. Love you, honey.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;You too.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;No. No way,&rdquo; said Caroline as she saw me approach.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Caroline, please listen to me. That&rsquo;s my daughter in those photos. I know it is, because of the necklace she&rsquo;s wearing. And every time I develop a set of photos, her image gets clearer. I have to know why. I <em>have</em> to.&rdquo; I dumped the cameras on the counter.<br />Caroline bit her lip. Her eyes looked terrified.&nbsp;<br />I continued to press my case. &ldquo;This has nothing to do with you, you&rsquo;re safe, I promise. Whatever&rsquo;s happening, it&rsquo;s happening to my family. You can help my family, Caroline, <em>please</em>.&rdquo;<br />That seemed to work. She exhaled heavily. &ldquo;Okay,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll develop them.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;How long will this take?&rdquo;<br />She looked down at the pile of cameras on the counter, then looked dolefully at some customers who had just approached. &ldquo;Uh, we&rsquo;re closing soon. It&rsquo;ll have to be tomorrow. You can leave your number, and I&rsquo;ll make sure someone calls you when they&rsquo;re finished.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />It wasn&rsquo;t what I wanted to hear, but I understood. It wasn&rsquo;t up to this hourly worker to keep the store open late for my plight. I wrote down my number on a scrap of paper and left Caroline to do her work.&nbsp;<br />###<br />I waited in tense anticipation all the next morning, a Sunday. I knew the store opened at 8 AM. By noon, I was pacing.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Dad, you&rsquo;re acting really weird,&rdquo; Kayla told me, munching on a bowl of cereal. I smiled weakly.&nbsp;<br />Half an hour later, I called the store to ask about my photos.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Oh yeah, those are ready,&rdquo; the voice on the phone said. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re so creepy! You did a good job on the effects.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; I mumbled and hung up. I called out to Kayla, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to the store. You&rsquo;re not going anywhere, are you?&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;No, I&rsquo;m having a lazy Sunday,&rdquo; she called back. &ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t tell me you have a million chores for me.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Not today, kiddo. Just stay put.&rdquo; And I was out the door.<br />Fifteen minutes later, I was at the photo counter, pretending to the cashier&mdash;not Caroline&mdash;that I had created the ghostly effect for a contest. As soon as I paid for the photos, I tore through them. As I had suspected, each set held an image more pronounced than the last. But as the image became clearer, I realized it wasn&rsquo;t Kayla in the pictures.&nbsp;<br />It was Lisa, with a look of terror on her face. Mouth stretched open in an unspoken plea. One hand pointed at the camera lens; the other clutched her necklace. The necklace that now hung around my precious daughter&rsquo;s neck.&nbsp;<br /><br />###<br /><br />I sped home, desperate to get back to Kayla. I didn&rsquo;t know what was wrong with the necklace, but it was clear that my wife was trying to warn me about it.&nbsp;<br />As I drove, I thought about my wife&rsquo;s family. Lisa, dead in a car crash. Her mother, lost to cancer before forty. Both of them had worn the necklace. Was I crazy? Or was it coming for Kayla next?&nbsp;<br />When I got home, I burst through the door. &ldquo;Kayla! Where are you?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;In here, Dad,&rdquo; she called from the den. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s up?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Um,&rdquo; I panted. I had gotten myself so worked up on the way home that I hadn&rsquo;t even considered what to tell my daughter. <em>Sweetie, your mother is haunting us through photographs, trying to warn us about her necklace.</em> That would go over well.&nbsp;<br />I walked into the den. Kayla looked at me expectantly.<br />&ldquo;I was wondering,&rdquo; I said slowly, &ldquo;if&hellip;well&hellip;you know your necklace?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Um, yeah.&rdquo;<br />I thought quickly. &ldquo;That clasp has always been a little sticky. I could get it put on a new chain with a better clasp.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Yeah? You wouldn&rsquo;t mind? Because my hair keeps getting stuck in this one, too.&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Absolutely.&rdquo; I smiled in relief. &ldquo;And it might be nice to add onto it. We could add a pearl gemstone in the middle to signify your birth month.&rdquo;<br />Kayla&rsquo;s hand flew to her necklace. I tried not to flinch.&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Yeah? Don&rsquo;t you think Mom would have wanted me to keep it the same, though?&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;No,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;I think she would have wanted you to make it your own.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;That does sound pretty,&rdquo; Kayla said with hesitation. &ldquo;It wouldn&rsquo;t be too expensive?&rdquo;<br />I laughed in relief. &ldquo;No, it would be fine. I can take it to a jeweler. Why don&rsquo;t you give it to me, and I&rsquo;ll take it somewhere right now?&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Right now? Wow, Dad. Calm down.&rdquo; Kayla smiled to show she was teasing. &ldquo;Can you unclasp it for me?&rdquo;<br />I felt like my hands were shaking as I did so. Once it was safely in my possession, I went and flipped through the phone book to find a custom jeweler.&nbsp;<br /><br />###<br />&#8203;<br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll take at least a month,&rdquo; the jeweler told me. &ldquo;Possibly six weeks. Do you want to leave the original with me for reference?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;No,&rdquo; I practically shouted, then regretted my sharp tone. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s, um, very important to me. I&rsquo;d like to keep it. Can you take photos for reference?&rdquo;&nbsp;<br />&ldquo;Of course, if you prefer,&rdquo; the jeweler said politely, if a little coldly.&nbsp;<br />The whole thing <em>was</em> expensive, but any price was worth it.&nbsp;<br />While the jeweler made a copy, I tried to destroy the original. Gold is a difficult metal to destroy. Cursed gold, I would find, is impossible.<br />Using a pair of wire cutters I kept in the garage, I tried cutting the chain into pieces. It wouldn&rsquo;t cut. I went at it with a blowtorch; it glowed red hot but didn&rsquo;t melt. Growing desperate, I took a large hammer to it and smashed it on my work table. It retained its shape.&nbsp;<br />I buried it in the backyard. The next morning, it was back on my dresser.&nbsp;<br />By the time I got a phone call from the jeweler that the copy was ready, I still hadn&rsquo;t figured out how to destroy the damn thing. I considered giving it away, but I couldn&rsquo;t stomach the thought of passing on the curse to someone else. Lisa wouldn&rsquo;t want that either, I knew.&nbsp;<br />Kayla was thrilled with the look of the new necklace and never had any idea that she wasn&rsquo;t wearing the original. I felt satisfied that, at the very least, I succeeded in keeping my daughter safe.<br />With no better ideas in mind, I put on the necklace. Once around my neck, I knew this was the only answer. The necklace could take my life, but it would be safe from anyone else.&nbsp;<br />I still had one camera left from my last purchase. I took a photo of myself, then took the camera to the store. I told the cashier there would only be one photo on the roll.&nbsp;<br />When I picked up the photo, I smiled to see it. There was my beautiful wife, no longer wearing the necklace and no longer wailing, but standing behind me with her hand on my shoulder and a smile on her face.</font><br /><br /><span style="color:rgb(161, 161, 161)">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &#128128;&#128128;</span><font color="#a1a1a1">&#128128;<br /><br /><em><font size="3">Bio: Jennifer Peaslee (she/her) is a dark fiction writer with an affinity for fairy tales and folklore. She lives in Atlanta with her cat, Trouble, and runs&nbsp;<a href="http://bleedingtypewriter.page/">bleedingtypewriter.page</a>, a community for new and emerging writers.</font></em><br />&#8203;</font></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[February 11, 2026]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-11-2026]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-11-2026#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Wed, 11 Feb 2026 08:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-11-2026</guid><description><![CDATA[Tornby Melissa Miles  A haunting supernatural story about identity and survival about a woman who receives a phone call from herself with a warning.  Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.She answered a phone call from her own number. She didn&rsquo;t know that was even possible&hellip;but the number was definitely hers, and the phone was definitely ringing, and she, foolish or wise, was definitely answering it.&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Hello?&rdquo; She said tentatively.&nbsp;&n [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<h2 class="wsite-content-title"><strong><font size="7">Torn<br /></font></strong><font size="5">by Melissa Miles</font><br /></h2>  <div class="paragraph"><strong><font color="#a1a1a1">A haunting supernatural story about identity and survival about a woman who receives a phone call from herself with a warning.</font></strong></div>  <div class="paragraph"><font color="#a1a1a1"><font size="3">Click <a href="https://www.spreaker.com/episode/torn-by-melissa-miles-a-supernatural-story-of-identity-and-survival--69879575" target="_blank">here</a> to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.</font><br /><br /><br />She answered a phone call from her own number. She didn&rsquo;t know that was even possible&hellip;but the number was definitely hers, and the phone was definitely ringing, and she, foolish or wise, was definitely answering it.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Hello?&rdquo; She said tentatively.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Hi&rdquo; she heard her own voice answer back.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;What&rsquo;s happening?&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve just called to warn you&rdquo; the other her said. She took a moment and swallowed.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Who are you? How are you doing this?&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;m you, I&rsquo;m just a little ahead of you in time.&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; The young woman&rsquo;s name was Francis, she had been born in the US, but her mother, from Guatemala, had died in childbirth.&nbsp; Her father had been hopeless and disappeared when she was little, so she had lived with her American grandparents since she was a kid, they all lived in Cleveland&hellip;she loved school and reading science fiction, but she didn&rsquo;t like this, this was like a story&hellip;but it was real&hellip;well, she was pretty sure.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;They&rsquo;re coming for you&rdquo; the other her said.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Who? ICE?&rdquo; Of course she was afraid of being deported back to a place she&rsquo;d never been.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;No, but you&rsquo;re kind of right, that impossibility has caused a rupture in the fabric of reality&hellip;in a few minutes you&rsquo;ll be in the alternate place I&rsquo;m in&hellip;that is, if you&rsquo;re not careful&hellip;&rdquo; the phone went dead.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she asked herself in a panic.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Franny!&rdquo; Called a male voice, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ve got to leave, they&rsquo;re coming!&rdquo;<br />&nbsp; Who was that? Her Dad? The one that disappeared when she was three? What was happening? She realised the only person who might know was the person she had just been speaking to, &hellip; herself&hellip;in the future.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; She punched in her number in panic&hellip;it was answered with a tentative &ldquo;hello?&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Hi&rdquo; she answered. Then after a breath to steady her nerves she asked, &ldquo;what do I do?&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Is he calling you?&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t answer, get out, escape, I can&rsquo;t&hellip;I&rsquo;ve got to go he&rsquo;s coming up the stairs to get me&hellip;I&rsquo;m so afraid if I leave this house I won&rsquo;t be able to connect with you.&rdquo;<br />&nbsp; Francis looked around, &lsquo;that&rsquo;s right, she was still at home, still in her grandparents&rsquo; house, she was in her upstairs bedroom.&rsquo; She heard footsteps on the stairs. She ran to her bedroom window, and flicked open the curtain, there was the old fire escape, the one she wasn&rsquo;t allowed to play on.<br />&nbsp; She threw open the window and started to get out. She had left her phone on the bed&hellip;she needed it&hellip;she hopped back into the room. That&rsquo;s when the door opened and a man came in. He was foreign, he looked like he might be Guatemalan.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;What are you doing? You&rsquo;re meant to be getting ready&hellip;your Mom&rsquo;s already in the car.&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;What?&rdquo; asked Francis, her forehead wrinkling in a frown. &ldquo;My Mom?&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes, what&rsquo;s gotten into you? Just pack enough for overnight. Here&rdquo; and the strange man grabbed a backpack off the floor, &ldquo;tell me what you want and I&rsquo;ll get it.&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;No, I can do it.&rdquo; She tore the bag back out of his hands, and rushed around the room on automatic, her hands knew exactly where things were. Her mind was whirling, in this reality&nbsp; her Mom was alive? Her parents were together? She stopped and stood stock still, if her dad was Guatemalan, then her Mom&hellip;she was so confused, she burst into tears. The big man strode over and gave her a hug,<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;I know it&rsquo;s frightening, but you have to hurry, they&rsquo;re coming.&rdquo; Then he took her hand in his and gave it a comforting pat. He took her other hand as well, then, quick as a flash, both her wrists were encircled by one of his big mitts. His grip was powerful, she whimpered and tried to pull away, she couldn&rsquo;t. She tried to get her face down to his arm to bite him. He put his other elbow in her face, he only said one word, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t!&rdquo; But it was enough. He groped in his pocket and pulled out a cable tie with which he deftly secured her hands. &ldquo;There!&rdquo; He said, smiling at her, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s better. We have to go, they&rsquo;re coming.&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; He pulled her down the familiar stairs, out the front door and into a waiting car. There was only one other person in it. A woman behind the wheel. The woman turned and Franny saw her face in the light from the streetlamp. It wasn&rsquo;t her mother, even if she only knew her Mom&rsquo;s face from old photographs, this woman wasn&rsquo;t her, but there was something.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;It will be alright&rdquo; the woman said. There was the faintest glimmer of kindness in her eyes for a moment, then it was gone. &ldquo;Get in&rdquo; she said to the man &ldquo;they&rsquo;re coming.&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;He bundled Francis into the back seat and got in with her. The woman locked the doors, she started the car, and turned back to Francis. Francis wore a mask of pure terror and her face was streaked with tears.<br />&nbsp; The woman softened slightly, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I know it&rsquo;s frightening, but there really is no other way.&rdquo;<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t understand&rdquo; whispered Fran.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go, I&rsquo;ll tell you when I can.&rdquo; And the woman drove out of the driveway. As they were leaving they passed a car coming in, Franny snatched a breath and squashed her face against the window, it was her grandparents&rsquo; car, and they were in it!<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; She called out &ldquo;Gramma!&rdquo; They drove on by. Francis followed with her eyes, and was certain she saw movement in her upstairs room. Did the curtain twitch?<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s no good. They can&rsquo;t see you, they can&rsquo;t hear you.&rdquo; Fran looked at the woman&rsquo;s face in the rear view mirror&hellip;there was something. The woman glanced up and there was a connection. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pull over when I can.&rdquo; Francis nodded, she felt sick to her stomach and her feet had begun to sweat. The woman gave a fraction of a nod, more to herself than to Fran.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; They drove a ways on in the dark Ohio night. At a layby, the woman came to a stop. The man next to Fran shifted around and pulled a knife out of his pocket. Fran whimpered and had to pee. The woman made a shusshing noise. Fran looked between the two adults. The man flicked his knife open and sliced the cable tie, he then smartly folded his knife put it back in his pocket, turned his bulky frame and looked out the window into the night. This wasn&rsquo;t his conversation.<br />&nbsp; The woman turned in her seat. There was something so familiar about her to Francis. She couldn&rsquo;t place it.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;There was a fold in reality&rdquo; stated the woman. &ldquo;Stupid people did stupid things and put us all at risk. That fold they made, caused a tear in the continuum of time. Some of us paid heavily.&rdquo; Francis didn&rsquo;t know if she was breathing in or breathing out, she stared at the woman&rsquo;s face. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re me&rdquo; she whispered.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; answered the woman&hellip;&rdquo;we, you and I, and others, she glanced at the big man staring out into the dark. We&rsquo;ve been paying for it ever since.&rdquo; The woman sighed, opened the door and got out. &ldquo;Goodbye Fran. You&rsquo;ll be alright until you get to this&hellip;&rdquo; and she walked away.<br />&nbsp; The silence was thick. The man got out of the back seat and slid behind the wheel.<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &ldquo;Put your seatbelt on Francis, we&rsquo;ve got a ways to go.&rdquo;<br /><br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &#128128;&#128128;&#128128;&#8203;<br /><br /><font size="3"><em>Melissa Miles is a writer based in Aotearoa/New Zealand and is delighted to return to Kaidankai. Melissa has had numerous short stories published in online magazines, and has featured in a number of print anthologies. She has one children&rsquo;s book out, Terri the Tiny Dragon, and is currently working on a short story collection and completing a Steam Punk novel. When she&rsquo;s not writing she&rsquo;s caring for her menagerie of rescue animals.</em></font><br />&#8203;</font></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[February 4, 2026]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-4-2026]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-4-2026#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Wed, 04 Feb 2026 08:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Uncategorized]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.kaidankaistories.com/february-2026-119397-471671-166181-453157-469654-607961-193373-103351-917538-872700/february-4-2026</guid><description><![CDATA[What Comes Nextby David Corisis  &#8203;A quiet supernatural story about aging, death, and the unsettling certainty that something always comes after. When a man is interrupted by an unexpected knock, he&rsquo;s forced to face what he&rsquo;s spent his life avoiding.  Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.&#8203;A knock at the front door roused me from a nap. I listened, not daring to open my eyes or give any hint that it had woken me. Any moment now the dog would bark and  [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<h2 class="wsite-content-title"><font color="#d5d5d5"><strong><font size="7">What Comes Next<br /></font></strong><font size="5">by David Corisis</font></font><br /></h2>  <div class="paragraph"><font color="#a1a1a1" size="3">&#8203;A quiet supernatural story about aging, death, and the unsettling certainty that something always comes after. When a man is interrupted by an unexpected knock, he&rsquo;s forced to face what he&rsquo;s spent his life avoiding.</font></div>  <div class="paragraph"><font color="#a1a1a1" size="3">Click <a href="https://www.spreaker.com/episode/what-comes-next-by-david-corisis-a-quiet-story-about-death-and-what-follows--69768305" target="_blank">here</a> to listen to this story on the Kaidankai podcast.</font><br /><br /><br /><br /><font color="#a1a1a1">&#8203;A knock at the front door roused me from a nap. I listened, not daring to open my eyes or give any hint that it had woken me. Any moment now the dog would bark and Miranda would answer it. I waited for her footsteps to come down the stairs and pass through the living room.<br /><br />Silence. Not so much as a growl from Bosco.<br /><br />Sleep started pulling me back in. Maybe it was just a package. It could wait until my nap<br />was over. If it was important, I&rsquo;m sure they would&ndash;<br /><br />The knock came again. The same as before: a polite but rigid tapping of someone who<br />wasn&rsquo;t in a hurry but had places to be.<br /><br />I decided to tempt fate. If it wasn&rsquo;t a package, it was probably a solar panel salesman or<br />something of the like. Nothing I needed and nothing they couldn&rsquo;t leave a flyer for. This was my one chance to catch up on sleep. I wasn&rsquo;t about to give it up just to hear a gum-chewing twenty-something&rsquo;s sales pitch.<br /><br />Again with the knocking. My eyes opened on this third round of raps and stared at our<br />living room ceiling hanging over my recliner. I sighed as my nap came to an end. At least my headache was gone.<br /><br />&ldquo;Mr. Gliner,&rdquo; a voice called from the front porch.<br /><br />Now they had my attention. I grunted with a battery only half-charged from my nap and<br />stood from my chair. Outside I could see Miranda playing with our one-year-old, Mikey. The bugs in the grass had his full attention. Bosco lay next to him with a dopey face only a golden retriever could deliver.<br /><br />Explains why no one else could hear the door.<br /><br />&ldquo;Mr. Gliner,&rdquo; the voice called again with another round of knocks, &ldquo;I know you can hear<br />me.&rdquo;<br /><br />It sounded like a woman. Not as pushy as a salesman, but not as dire as a cop. My joints<br />realigned themselves as I approached the front door. A deadbolt&rsquo;s release later and I was<br />squinting into the late afternoon light.<br /><br />&ldquo;Hello?&rdquo;<br /><br />It was a woman. I stared at a tightly wound brown bun before she lifted her attention<br />from a clipboard. She wore glasses, a blouse, a jacket, a pencil skirt, and heels. If she was a saleswoman, she was the best-dressed saleswoman ever to grace our porch. Red lips were pulled tight in a mirthless neutral draw. The kind of woman a wife worried about her husband having as a secretary.<br /><br />&ldquo;Ah, wonderful, you&rsquo;re up.&rdquo; Brown eyes flitted to her clipboard and she marked<br />something off. &ldquo;Are you ready?&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;Ready?&rdquo; I waved my hand and prepared to close the door. &ldquo;Listen, whatever this is,<br />we&rsquo;re not interested. Have a nice&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />I stopped, finally taking a moment to look past her. There was a bus parked in front of my house. Not a school bus, but a behemoth of a Greyhound chugging in idle. It dwarfed my little sedan sitting in front of it. Most of the seats looked filled based on what I could see through the windows.<br /><br />I gawked and turned back to the woman waiting and her tiny impatient lips. &ldquo;Are you<br />lost?&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;m right where I need to be. And <em>you</em> need to get on that bus.&rdquo; She looked at a small<br />watch around her wrist. &ldquo;Sooner the better, please.&rdquo;<br /><br />I almost laughed but didn&rsquo;t want to be rude. She still registered my amusement with a<br />flash of annoyance. &ldquo;I think there&rsquo;s been some kind of mistake. We don&rsquo;t have any trips planned.<br /><br />If you&rsquo;re after a Mr. Gliner, it must be some other&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />Paper flipped on her clipboard and she breathed in annoyance. &ldquo;Matt Gliner. Born<br />October 9th, 1974 to Wilma and Tom Gliner in Denver, Colorado. Married to Miranda Gliner for just over three years.&rdquo; Her eyes looked up over her glasses from the clipboard. &ldquo;Stop me if I&rsquo;m wrong.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;N&hellip;No&hellip; No, that&rsquo;s all correct&hellip;&rdquo; I turned and motioned to the back window and the<br />yard beyond. &ldquo;Let me grab my wife. Maybe&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />It&rsquo;s an odd thing to see yourself sleeping. I froze and stared at the man lying in my<br />recliner. It looked like me: same flannel shirt, same stubbly chin, same socks with a hole in them.<br /><br />But it couldn&rsquo;t be me. How could it be me when I was standing there in the doorway?<br />She saw my confusion. Her glasses clicked when she removed them. The earpiece<br />hooked over the clipboard. &ldquo;I see&hellip; You hadn&rsquo;t realized&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />I ignored her and approached my recliner. The man was as me as a man could get. Even if it somehow wasn&rsquo;t me, I didn&rsquo;t like the stillness of his chest.<br /><br />&ldquo;Mr. Gliner&hellip;&rdquo; There was a twinge of sympathy in her voice.<br /><br />&ldquo;Hey&hellip; Hey hey hey hey&hellip; What gives, huh?&rdquo; I turned on the woman standing in my<br />doorway. &ldquo;This some kind of a prank? Miranda put you up to this??&rdquo; I laughed with more<br />nervousness than I intended. I pointed at the me in my chair. &ldquo;I gotta tell ya, this thing doesn&rsquo;t look half as real up clo&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />My hand passed through the body. And the recliner. They might as well have been mist.<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid you&rsquo;ve passed, Mr. Gliner.&rdquo;<br /><br />I turned. Any amusement had left the scene. I was angry now. Annoyed that my nap was<br />interrupted for something so unfunny.<br /><br />&ldquo;<em>Passed? </em>As in <em>died?</em>&rdquo; I laughed like a king being told to step down. &ldquo;Like hell I&rsquo;ve &lsquo;passed&rsquo;. I was taking a nap!&rdquo; My hands motioned to the body. &ldquo;I still&nbsp;<em>am </em>taking a nap! Nooo no no no no, this&hellip; This is a dream! I&rsquo;m&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;Dead, Mr. Gliner.&rdquo; She stepped into my home as if she owned everything down to the<br />nails.<br /><br />I wanted to chuckle but it left as more of a panicked clucking. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not dead. I&rsquo;m<br />thirty-seven. I workout. I might enjoy a burger every now and then, but I&rsquo;m not out there<br />taunting death day in and day out!&rdquo; I was starting to yell now.<br /><br />&ldquo;<em>You&rsquo;re just someone with a bus!</em>&nbsp;<em>What gives you the right to come into my house? How can I possibly be dead??</em>&rdquo;<br /><br />Her eyes browsed the clipboard with calm serenity. &ldquo;An aneurysm, according to this.<br />Probably that same headache that made you take a nap in the first place.&rdquo;<br /><br />I&rsquo;d never shut up so fast. I&rsquo;d barely mentioned the headache to Miranda before falling<br />into my recliner. Panic had a hold on me now. I could feel my lower lip trembling. Not sure I had ever felt my emotions switch gears so fast.<br /><br />&ldquo;I&hellip; I can&rsquo;t be&hellip; You can&rsquo;t honestly expect me to&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;Shh&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />A hand came to rest over my heart. Normally I would have pulled away. The idea of<br />Miranda looking in to see a random woman putting her hands on me in our living room? Shit, I&nbsp;<em>would</em> wish I was dead then.<br /><br />But her hand was warm. Soothing. It spread through me with a peace I couldn&rsquo;t reject.<br />Panic ebbed away. I realized I couldn&rsquo;t remember taking a breath since waking up.<br /><br />&ldquo;It can be hard to accept for some&hellip;&rdquo; she said softly. Her hand pulled away. &ldquo;Takes a<br />moment to adjust. Like falling into a river when you don&rsquo;t even remember jumping.&rdquo;<br /><br />I wanted to sniffle. Or fight with logic. Or search for an excuse. But there was only calm.<br />There was something about her that made everything feel ok. Like this is just the way it was. &ldquo;So<br /><br />I really am&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;m afraid so.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;An <em>aneurysm? Really??</em>&rdquo; I wasn&rsquo;t even over the hill. Hell, I was still climbing up the<br />hill!<br /><br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;s more common than you think.<br /><br />&ldquo;And you&rsquo;re&hellip;what? Charon&rsquo;s secretary here to schedule me for a ferry ride to the<br />underworld?&rdquo;<br /><br />This earned me an amused smirk. &ldquo;In a sense.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;Not quite what I imagined as an angel of death&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;I never am, Mr. Gliner.&rdquo; She hugged her clipboard. &ldquo;This is how your soul chooses to<br />see me.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;A secretary with a bus.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been worse. And better. I&rsquo;ve been things that would make you blush or lose your<br />mind. Come,&rdquo; she led me toward the front door. I paused, not trusting her enough to step outside my house. &ldquo;See that older couple there in the front seat?&rdquo; she said, pointing to a window toward the front. &ldquo;They just died in a car wreck. They think I&rsquo;m their deceased son picking them up in an RV to take them camping. And him?&rdquo; She pointed to a man near the back, dressed in black and a white collar. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m an angelic form of his mother.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;So was he right?&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;Who?&rdquo;<br /><br />I pointed to the priest. &ldquo;Him.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;Oh. People ask that a lot&hellip; And honestly?&rdquo; She shrugged. &ldquo;No one had the full picture.<br />Everyone was trying to paint without a canvas.&rdquo;<br /><br />My headache would have come back if it could.<br /><br />&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry, you&rsquo;ll understand.&rdquo;<br /><br />Even if it didn&rsquo;t make sense, I knew one thing: every last person on that bus wore a smile<br />like I&rsquo;d never seen.<br /><br />God, they looked happy.<br /><br />Like a bunch of kids on their way to a field trip.<br /><br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;re in seat eighteen, if you don&rsquo;t mind.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;I&hellip;&rdquo; I shook my head and backed into my house. &ldquo;Thank you but I would rather stay.&rdquo;<br /><br />Her chest pushed into her clipboard when she sighed. &ldquo;Mr. Gliner, you have to.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;Or what? I&rsquo;m already dead.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;re in a state of transition. You&rsquo;re not meant for this world anymore. If you linger, I<br />promise you won&rsquo;t like what comes next.&rdquo;<br /><br />I stared out our back window. Mikey was giggling as Miranda sprinkled blades of grass<br />over his face. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not ready to leave them.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;You already have.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;<em>I&rsquo;m</em> still here. I can see them. I can&hellip;I can hear them, for God&rsquo;s sake! You can&rsquo;t honestly<br />expect me to just&hellip;<em>go!</em>&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;s my job and the way of the universe.&rdquo;<br /><br />I watched them. Mikey&rsquo;s chubby grinning cheeks made my heart ache even with the<br />warmth flowing through me. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s gotta be something? Right? Ghosts? Is that something I can do?? Stay behind??&rdquo;<br /><br />She checked the clipboard and flipped through several pages before shaking her head.<br />&ldquo;No&hellip; No, I don&rsquo;t see you marked down for that.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;What about unfinished business?! I&rsquo;m only thirty-seven, dammit!&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;It was your time.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;How can it be my time?? I&rsquo;m still needed here! I&rsquo;m&ndash;&rdquo; My voice cracked. &ldquo;You&ndash; You&rsquo;re<br />asking me&hellip;to abandon my wife and kid&hellip; How can you make that boy grow up without a<br />father?&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not up to me, Mr. Gliner.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;<em>Then who is it up to?!</em>&rdquo; My outburst gained no reaction. She stared, watching emotion<br />take control of my face. &ldquo;This&hellip; This is cruel.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;This is life.&rdquo;<br /><br />I hadn&rsquo;t felt so close to blubbering since I was a kid. &ldquo;Can I at least visit them? See them?<br />W-Watch over them?&rdquo;<br /><br />A solemn head shake told me no. &ldquo;This has to be goodbye.&rdquo;<br /><br />The house felt small. Cold. It didn&rsquo;t want me here. The bus&rsquo;s engine droned in my ears as<br />if it were calling my name. &ldquo;Is there anything I can do? This&ndash; For things to end like this&ndash;&rdquo;<br />She tapped her pen against the clipboard and scanned a page. &ldquo;Looks like I can allow a<br />note.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;A <em>note? </em>Like a&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;A written note.&rdquo;<br /><br />I didn&rsquo;t wait for more info and raced into the kitchen. A pad of sticky notes and a pen met me at a small alcove. I hardly spared a thought at the fact that my hands were able to grasp them.<br /><br />Behind me, as I poured over the pad, I could feel her serene presence lingering.<br />Sorrow choked my mind. Years of regrets, anger, resentment, petty fights&hellip; I wanted to<br />apologize. Why had we even wasted time on such silly things. Miranda and I could have been that much happier. And now&hellip;<br /><br />How are you supposed to say goodbye when there is so much to say?<br /><br />I let my emotions talk. I told her I was sorry. I told her to take care of Mikey. I told her I<br />was alright and not to worry. The Post-It filled with my heart and farewell.<br /><br />&ldquo;Ah&ndash;&rdquo; she said, reading over my shoulder. &ldquo;Apologies&hellip;&rdquo; A hand waved over the note<br />and my words vanished.<br /><br />&ldquo;H-Hey&ndash; <em>HEY!!</em>&rdquo; A blank note stared back, void of my heart. I turned on her more<br />frustrated than ever.<br /><br />&ldquo;<em>Why the hell did you&ndash;</em>&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;That&rsquo;s against the rules.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;<em>Saying goodbye is against the rules?!</em>&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;If you think about it enough I&rsquo;m confident you&rsquo;ll see why.&rdquo;<br /><br />My eyes narrowed. &ldquo;Fine,&rdquo; I growled and turned back to the note. I was halfway through<br />writing &lsquo;I love you, Miranda&rsquo; when she clicked again. I looked up with a huff. &ldquo;What now?&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;Would you normally write that on a note for her to find?&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;I&ndash;&rdquo; Part of me wanted to lie, but I knew she would know better. &ldquo;No&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />Another wave of her hand and all traces of my second attempt were gone. &ldquo;Once more.<br />This isn&rsquo;t meant to be a farewell note, Mr. Gliner. The time for farewell is over.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;Well a warning would have been nice&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />A smile came at my grumble but she said nothing more.<br /><br />If ghosts had weight, my heart hung like lead. Maybe I could have written &lsquo;I love you&rsquo; if<br />I&rsquo;d said it more often. Found the time to hide a sappy love letter every now and again. Time has a habit of slipping away, though. It&rsquo;s hard to find the moments when you&rsquo;re chasing the years.<br /><br />There weren&rsquo;t many things I could have left that fit the requirements at this point. I&rsquo;m not<br />sure that what I came up with was better than nothing. I felt sleazy putting it on paper as my last act in the world:&nbsp;<em>Nice ass ;)</em><br /><br />The pen dropped through my hand and I stepped away, sullen. A miserable summary of<br />my marriage stared back from that tiny yellow square.<br /><br />&ldquo;Poetic,&rdquo; she said.<br /><br />&ldquo;Come off it. You weren&rsquo;t letting me write anything else that I wanted. I tried&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />The back door slid open. Bosco bounded in first before I heard the self-entertaining coos<br />of my son. Miranda held him in one arm while gently closing the back door with the other.<br /><br />&ldquo;Bosco&hellip;! Bosco&hellip;!&rdquo; Mikey screamed at the dog.<br /><br />&ldquo;Shhh, we don&rsquo;t want to wake Daddy up yet! He&rsquo;s sleeping.&rdquo; Miranda held a finger to her<br />mouth. &ldquo;We gotta be quiet so he can nap&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />Mikey nodded and clutched her shirt.<br /><br />I broke. My hand reached out as she neared.<br /><br />&ldquo;Miranda&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />She passed through me. I felt no hint of her warmth. No reaction to my voice.<br /><br />&ldquo;We gotta go change that smelly diaper!&rdquo; she whispered and put him over a shoulder.<br /><br />I watched. Only watched. It was all I could do. The world felt like it was pushing me out.<br /><br />&ldquo;Bye, Daddy&hellip;&rdquo; Mikey mumbled from halfway up the stairs. A tiny hand waved at my<br />recliner.<br /><br />&ldquo;Daddy&rsquo;s not going anywhere. We&rsquo;ll get you changed and wake him up for dinner!&rdquo;<br /><br />How much was one man supposed to take? They left my view. Bosco had laid down by<br />my chair with his nose between his paws. His brown eyes knew where to look. They stared at mewith the same judgmental scowl as my note.<br /><br />I hid my face in my hand. I didn&rsquo;t think ghosts could choke on their words. &ldquo;Tell me<br />they&rsquo;ll be alright&hellip; Please&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />She led me toward the front door. A hand on my back was warm like the sun. &ldquo;They&rsquo;ll be<br />fine.&rdquo; The door approached. The bus&rsquo;s engine vibrated outside. &ldquo;I can tell you what happens, if you would like.&rdquo;<br /><br />I stared out of my house. I wasn&rsquo;t ready to leave yet, but I could feel that I had to. This<br />world wasn&rsquo;t for me anymore. It was pushing me out like security at a company layoff: mildly persuasive for now, but would get rough if I lingered. The air was vibrating. Thrumming.<br /><br />&ldquo;I&ndash;&rdquo;<br /><br />Bosco got to his feet and padded toward us. He stared at me, panting from his time<br />playing in the yard. Whether or not he could see me, I didn&rsquo;t know, but he knew I wasn&rsquo;t in my chair.<br /><br />My hand fell on his head and I gave a touchless pet. &ldquo;Take care of them,&rdquo; I commanded.<br /><br />Whatever kind of breath I had hitched in my chest and sorrow stung my eyes. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re&hellip; You&rsquo;re a good boy, Bosco&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;We have to go, Mr. Gliner.&rdquo;<br /><br />Her gentle hand guided me from the house. The last time I would ever exit my walls. I<br />felt myself cross a threshold. Pass through a veil. This might have looked like my front yard but I wasn&rsquo;t there. My unfinished chores were, though. The weeds Miranda had been asking me to pull for weeks. Our house in need of a paint job. A burnt-out porch light.<br /><br />Bosco sat in the entryway and whined. I feared he might chase after me. I don&rsquo;t think the<br />door was open for him, though.<br /><br />The woman scribbled something on her clipboard&ndash;it looked like a signature&ndash;then put her pen behind her ear. &ldquo;Would you like to know what happens to them?&rdquo; she asked again as we approached the bus.<br />What kind of husband or father would say no? I nodded and stayed silent. The emotional<br />strength wasn&rsquo;t there to say anything.<br /><br />&ldquo;Miranda will feel lost for several years. At times she&rsquo;ll hate you for leaving her alone<br />but she knows it wasn&rsquo;t a decision you made. She&rsquo;ll remarry when she&rsquo;s thirty-nine to a<br />coworker she meets at a company Christmas party. They&rsquo;ll grow old together until cancer takes him in his late eighties. She&rsquo;ll follow not long after. She&rsquo;ll still love you until the day she dies.&rdquo;<br /><br />I nodded my head and stared at the sidewalk outside the bus. Droplets dotted the grayness where my tears fell. The rumbling of the engine was all I wanted to listen to but I couldn&rsquo;t bear to ignore her words. It was the best outcome I could hope for Miranda. I knew I should have felt some hint of jealousy but I was relieved to hear she would find love again.<br /><br />&ldquo;And Mikey&hellip;?&rdquo; I choked.<br /><br />Pages flipped. She pursed her lips and looked through the data. &ldquo;Small health scare in<br />middle school&hellip; But then captain of his high school soccer team. He gets his girlfriend pregnant but there&rsquo;s a miscarriage before anything progresses too far. Graduates top of his class with a full-ride to the University of Maryland. After college he finds work as a welder, marries a lovely young woman, Kayla, and they spend their free time bird-watching and camping. They have twins two years into their marriage, Kyle and Mathew. There&rsquo;s a brush with infidelity and couple&rsquo;s therapy through the years until retirement. They&rsquo;ll travel the country in an RV until he has a heart attack at seventy-two.&rdquo;<br /><br />The bus was the only thing holding me up. I couldn&rsquo;t see my feet through my bleary<br />vision, much less process my son&rsquo;s entire life given to me in less than a minute.<br /><br />&ldquo;Mathew&hellip; He names a son after me&hellip;&rdquo; I sobbed, nodding my head again and again.<br /><br />&ldquo;That&rsquo;s good&hellip; That&rsquo;s really good&hellip;&rdquo; What more could a father ask for his son&rsquo;s life? Sure there were hiccups along the way, but what lifetime doesn&rsquo;t have them? I looked at the woman and smiled through the tears. &ldquo;It sounds like he&rsquo;s happy. Really happy.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;It certainly does. You&rsquo;ll be missed, but they will be fine.&rdquo; Her hand motioned for the<br />bus&rsquo;s door. &ldquo;Now if you wouldn&rsquo;t mind. We are on a schedule.&rdquo;<br /><br />I stepped onto the bus. I wish I could say I felt sadness or sorrow, but I didn&rsquo;t.<br />Nostalgia&hellip; Relief&hellip; Bliss&hellip; Comfort&hellip; That&rsquo;s what I felt. It was a combination of all things<br />you might feel while laughing with those closest to you around a warm dinner. At some point my sobbing had turned to tears of joy. They ran off my face as I stared down the aisle of other souls, all grinning and laughing. Kids on a permanent field trip to the zoo.<br />The elderly woman she&rsquo;d pointed out to me earlier sat forward. &ldquo;Lars, are you sure you<br />don&rsquo;t need help paying for gas? We were thinking we could visit the Grand Canyon next,&rdquo; she asked. A weathered hand gripped her husband&rsquo;s in his lap. &ldquo;Your father and I have always dreamed of seeing it.&rdquo;<br /><br />The woman smiled. &ldquo;Sure, Mom. We&rsquo;ll be there before you know it.&rdquo;<br /><br />The grandmother sat down and held her husband&rsquo;s wrinkled hand with a big smile<br />stretching her cheeks.<br /><br />I wiped my face dry. &ldquo;Seat eighteen, you said?&rdquo;<br /><br />She took her place behind the wheel and closed the door. The clipboard clattered over the dash. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s right.&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;And&hellip;where are we going, exactly?&rdquo;<br /><br />&ldquo;To what comes next.&rdquo;<br /><br />It wasn&rsquo;t an answer, yet I understood. Seat eighteen waited for me halfway down the bus.<br />My seatmate was shirtless and greeted me in a pair of pink swim trunks and a tan line from sunglasses. A gesture told me to hang loose.<br /><br />&ldquo;<em>My man!</em> We&rsquo;re goin&rsquo; to the beach! Are you ready??&rdquo;<br /><br />Looking outside, I stared into the window of Mikey&rsquo;s nursery. Miranda was there,<br />tickling him on the changing table while he laughed his tiny baby ass off. I could have stayed there watching them for the rest of eternity.<br /><br />&ldquo;No&hellip; I don&rsquo;t think I would ever be ready&hellip;&rdquo;<br /><br />I could see Miranda smiling from here. Beaming with joy at what we&rsquo;d made. She didn&rsquo;t<br />know there was a corpse in the recliner downstairs... I wondered how long until she tried to wake me up. I was on my way to happiness but a nightmare loomed over her head.<br /><br />The bus hissed and rumbled. It was time to say a true goodbye, whether I was ready or<br />not. We were already moving.<br />&#8203;<br />Onto whatever comes next.<br /><br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&#128128;&#128128;&#128128;<br /><br /><em><font size="2">David Corisis is a born-and-raised Idahoan and graduate of Gonzaga University. He lives the exciting life of a programmer by day and aspiring writer by night. When not sharing a keyboard with his cat, David enjoys running, brewing mead, playing Magic the Gathering, camping, and worrying about the ever-marching hand of time stealing everything he holds dear. His favorite books include At the Mountains of Madness, and Flatland. He couldn&rsquo;t be happier taking on the world and its challenges with his eternally inspirational wife at his side. To find out more, you can visit <a href="http://www.dcorisis.com/">www.dcorisis.com</a>.</font></em><br />&#8203;</font></div>]]></content:encoded></item></channel></rss>