Mariella had just bid farewell to a friend, and was starting to leave the station when she felt as though she was being watched. She got the sense it was someone who knew her, and knew everything about her.

She passed by a train that was getting ready to depart, she turned to see a young man staring at her from a cabin window. His sparkling blue eyes captivated her. He didn’t utter a word, but motioned with his hand for her to come to him. 

She reminded herself that this was a stranger and turned to walk on.

Then she heard a low, male voice, roguish and sexy say, “Come!”

She turned back, he smiled at her, and once again beckoned her.

She was entranced. She decided to board the train. 

The man was no longer in the cabin or anywhere. Mariella asked several people, giving them his description. No one had seen him.

She disembarked, shaking her head. She was imagining things. A good night's rest would do her well.
The train left and she walked off. Then she heard that voice again and looked across the track. He was there, beckoning to her. She had never seen a smile so dazzling, eyes so hypnotizing. She was strangely drawn to him. She had to go to him. Mesmerized, she stepped onto the train tracks. 

He was calling her. Just as she was about to step on the third rail, she heard a woman scream. It instantly broke Mariella’s trance. At that point, she sensed she had known him before and knew he was an evil soul. She saw a train coming and rushed off the tracks and hugged the woman whose scream had saved her life.
Mariella turned back.

He was still there, glaring at her. “Go Back to Hell you bastard!” She yelled.

With that, the malevolent spirit vanished into the mist.

Eliza turned it over in her hand. It was a small, oblong black stone with strange hieroglyphics. It had taken her on three journeys through time. The old woman she bought it from told her she had three choices. She also told Eliza to decide wisely. The rules were that she could not interrupt time, and could not gain anything from it. She had to stay as an observer, that’s all.

Eliza looked at the bounty of treasure she had accumulated in her travels.

Her first stop was a tomb of a freshly entombed Egyptian pharaoh. Her stash of rubies, and gold were neatly arranged in pyramid shape. No who would ever know they were missing.

Her second stop was the Hope Diamond from 17th century India, she stole it from Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, the man who discovered it. Only he would miss it, and he never saw her coming or going when she clobbered him over the head. The blue gem sparkled from her desk.

Her last trip was to Hitler’s Bunker, where several of the masterpieces the Nazis had confiscated were being held. She managed to grab a couple of Rembrandts.  Everyone knew HE had taken them. She would never be suspected; she would be rewarded for “finding” them. It was the perfect theft!

The stone was the most precious of all. She wanted to try a fourth time, although it probably wouldn’t work. The old lady told her she could ask, but if it worked, the stone would only take her where IT wanted to take her.

So, she said to the small black object, “Take me where you will stone, so I can find more treasure, maybe the best yet?”

A purple cloud rose from the stone and enveloped her. She was thrilled. It DID work a fourth time! She found herself in the woods. No treasure here. Where the hell was she?

“Witch!” Eliza turned to see where the voice was coming from. It was the old woman; she was well dressed in 17th century clothing.

“Witch! There is the devil’s mistress!” the old woman yelled at Eliza.

Several puritanical-looking men ran after Eliza. It didn’t take them long to catch her. Her 21st century shorts and tee-shirt confirmed that she did not fit into1692 New England. The old woman approached her. “See, here is Satan’s stone! She has it in her hand. She is a witch!” Despite Eliza’s protests she was hanged as a witch.

The old woman kept the stone. All the riches were returned to where they came from. The ancient woman returned to the 21st century to find her next victim.    

Doug lets out a deep sigh as he climbs the hotel stairs. Why the architect put the pool and the whirlpool, on the top floor of the hotel, made no sense to him. Sure, the view of Providence is nice while you’re in the water, but the constant leaks into the guest rooms below are ridiculous.

If only this were a call about a leak.

No. This is a call about another nagging issue.

Doug walks over to the whirlpool. No surprise, there’s no one here. Everyone ran away. Shows they are smart. Smarter than the people who chose to build this hotel in this location.

The water is frothing, bubbling, madly, glowing, green.

Slowly the hideous creature begins to rise from the whirlpool. Its distorted gill covered head still made no sense to Doug, but he had gotten use to it’s nightmarish shape. Doug calmly speaks to the monster. “Hey, we’ve had this discussion before. Go back to your dimension, or we’ll have to fight again, and you know that you can’t beat me.”

“^*&PHLU(U!X?/ Ert,” the creature replies.

“Don’t you dare use that language with me. You know I can kick your butt…. Well, I can kick all three of your butts, any time.” Doug points the power ring he wears at the monster.

“HJPOIJOJOIJjs ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZAx,” the creature gibbers.

“Yeah, you too. Now go. This is your last warning,” Doug is losing his frayed patience. He hates fighting. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll win, even though it will get messy, but then he’ll have to spend hours cleaning up the whirlpool.

With a green flash, the monster vanishes.

Why did they have to build this place on an inter-dimensional portal? If Doug had known he would be dealing with monsters when he took the maintenance job for the hotel, he would have asked for more money.

Julianne deeply loves being a librarian. Of course, as with any profession, there's always a downside. There's that couple again. Jeb and Paula. They are the downside of being a librarian.

Jeb talks too loudly. They're attention mongers. Paula smells odd. They're in at least once a month. Different days, hours, and times, but consistently annoying.

Julianne tries to ignore them as best she can. If she doesn't make eye contact, perhaps they won't bother her. Sometimes it works. Sometimes.

Oh no. They're standing right in front of her aren't they? Yes they are.

“Hi Julianne, I'm writing a supernatural book. I'd love to have some real spells in my book. There's no books about real magic here in the library are there?” Paula asked.

Julianne sighed. Should she tell them? She had to tell them. A librarian shouldn't lie. “Yes, there's one, but you really don't want to use it. You're better off finding something else.”

“Why? What's it called?” Jeb asked much louder and dramatically than needed.

“It's called the Book of the Celestial Devourer. What's contained in those pages is worse than the most evil magic you can envision. Please let me find you something else,” Julianne professionally urged.

“Can't we see it at least?” Paula asked.

Juliane pursed her lips. “I'll have to go get it from our special collection. It'll take a moment.” With that Julianne went to a locked room in the basement. After a few minutes she returned to the impatiently waiting pair of pests.

She gently put the gray water stained book down in front of them. A smear of ugly pulp was on one of Julianne's vinyl gloves. “I strongly advise you to not open that book,” Julianne admonished the couple.

They stared at the ugly volume in a rare second of silence. “Wow it really looks disgusting. I don't even want to touch it, but I'd love to read some of it,” Paula said.

“Oh come on. Magic doesn't exist. I'm opening it,” Jeb practically yelled as he flipped open the groaning cover of the book.

A gigantic maw of wet paper stretched out of the book. The dripping opening swallowed the couple then vanished. The book just lay there as normal, well perhaps it appeared to be a little less damaged.

Julianne shook her head. People really should listen to their librarian.

His form takes shape in the early morning light upon the mist covered ground of the golf course. This is his favorite place. Oh, so many fine days were spent here, demonstrating his great skill. Some say that he never lost a game. Although, he knew it wasn't true, he had lost a few rounds, it didn't matter.

He is still here every morning. Watching. Taking form. How many years has it been since he died? They still talk about him, so the passage of time means nothing. His form means everything. Two yearly tournaments are named after him.

They don't see him. They can't see him. Yet, his form exists.

He smiles as the mists fade. He washes away until the sun rises again.

Al stood at the fiery gate looking into an intense orange and red flame the size of a tall building. He felt the brutal heat immediately. “Whew, it’s a real scorcher,” he said to the black hooded man standing guard at the entrance. All he could see were the man’s flaming red eyes; piercing red and angry. He stood in the shadows and laughed, a sinister haunting laugh if Al ever heard one.

“You got that right,” replied the man with no face. His voice sounded like a truck grinding its gears. The vibration went right through Al like a fingernail on a chalkboard. Al shivered.

“What’s with the Help Wanted sign?” Al asked, pointing to the large sign to the right of the black and gold wrought iron gate. It shimmered in the heat, like looking down the street on a hot summer day and seeing ripples of water. A mirage. The sign had red letters that periodically dripped like blood then reformed to large block style lettering. Hmm. . .

“Just what it says,” the man replied curtly.

“What sort of help are you looking for?”

“Any help at all, we’ve got lots of openings. What’s your specialty?”

“Specialty?” Al pondered the question. “Well, let’s see. I held a lot of jobs. I’ve been a truck driver, a taxi driver, a chauffeur. I’ve worked in construction and even property management for a while. Tried my hand at artsy stuff too, like writing and photography. Nothing much stuck so I can’t say I have a “specialty,” just worked to survive.”

“I see,” the hood nodded. “Would you say you were a good or a bad person?”

“Mostly good, I think.” Al frowned.

“No drug or alcohol problems. No women problems. No money issues, no cheating friends or violence? No problems with the law?” The man snickered in that sinister way of his.

Al stepped back. “What’s this an interrogation?”

“Of sorts. What’s your response?” He demanded.

“I ah. . . yeah, I’ve had problems with all of that. I was even homeless for a while. But I got clean. I made amends with my family and friends. I’m good.”

“Are you?”

Why did Al suddenly feel like he was defending himself and this was a matter of life and death. Judgement day.  “Well, I think so,” Al muttered. “Better late than never. And why am I standing here at the gates of. . .” dare he say it. He wasn’t dead yet, was he? For all he knew he was in a coma from a car crash. Some drunk had hit him, like he had done once. Luckily that person survived and Al got clean.

“Gates of hell. Yesssss. . . .” the hood hissed. “Now tell me, which job are you applying for. Once you walk through those gates you don’t come back. We have lots of lost souls wandering about. We’ll put you to good use finding more lost souls to collect from the living realm once you’ve crossed. This is a job interview, you might say.”

“A job I don’t want,” Al spat.

“Well, guess you have more amends to make before you return. Guess you didn’t see the other sign. The one that said, pearly.”

“No. All I saw was the Help Wanted sign.”

The hood paused for a moment scrutinizing Al with those large red flaring eyes of his. The heat rose behind him and coughed up a heavy plume of smoke and fire. It was so incredibly intense Al thought for sure he would incinerate on the spot. He instinctively stepped back. “Now what?” he muttered not knowing what to do, or if he could do anything.

“Guess you need not apply now. Return another time. Maybe you’ll see another sign.” He laughed as smoke poured out of his dark hood. It was putrid. Al coughed and when he awoke, he heard the sound of medical equipment beeping softly beside his bed.

“He’s awake,” he heard his mother cry.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” his father said as someone grabbed his hand.