Fiction - Page 12

Gábor Medvegy

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Father Brown lived for his small flock.

As a pastor in his early forties, he gave the sermons for his small town every Sunday, knew most of the townies on a first-name basis and — perhaps his most important task of all — listened to the confessions of those who had wandered off the righteous path, gave them a momentary relief from their sins, and offered them — once again — absolution in the name of the almighty God. The townspeople respected him, and even the somewhatisly renegade teens attended the small chapel’s sermons regularly out of admiration for Father Brown.

That day started off like all others, or at least it seemed as such. Father Brown — in his cassock — walked down the main street with energetic steps, bought a croissant from Lewis’s Bakery, and, half-chewing on the delicious crescent, stepped inside the moderately run-down, but positively beaming chapel, murmuring a short prayer. It was Saturday, the birds were chirping outside, the weather was lovely; with the Wesson’s kids playing ball on the field across the parsonage, Father Brown could feel the gentle touch of God across the landscape. In an inner room of the building he put down his hat and his umbrella (he brought it in case the weather would turn about), straightened his soutane and stepped inside the confessional, patiently waiting for any penitents in need of his assistance. That was when the damned man showed up.

If I were not to tell you this information, you would never have had guessed that the man who so sheepishly stepped inside the echoing halls was damned. He wore jeans so blue they might have been ripped down straight from the skies, his chocolate-brown jacket tightly squeezed around his narrow frame, his wrinkle-free face and dirty-blonde hair hidden deep under the comfort of a grey hoodie, his unusually emerald-green eyes wandering tile to tile on the heavily decorated floor of the parsonage as if he were searching for something precious. He moved slowly; even an unassociated observer could tell he was not a regular guest of buildings like these. He passed the cross of the Messiah without acknowledging it, reaching the confessional Father Brown was residing in currently, grabbed the curtains, ready to step inside, but then hesitated. He turned away either in shame or looking for assistance, and let out a deep sigh, common to those with problems so large nobody can solve them. He shook his head in dismissal, not sure what to expect from this encounter, stepped inside the booth and sat down.

There was silence. At this point, those confessing say something like “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” mutter a silent prayer under their noses, or at the very least cross themselves. The damned man did none of these, which struck Father Brown as an odd detail. As a pastor, he felt like he was the one who had to break the silence, as the stranger seemed so unwilling to start.

– Can I help you, my child? Have you sinned and thus you’re seeking forgiveness from our holy Father?

– My faith is long broken.

The damned man’s words were short, on point and unforeseen. Father Brown was about to say something, but his mouth just couldn’t seem to form the right words. If his faith were broken, why would he willingly come and sit down in a confessional? He recollected his words and said what any other would have asked:

– Then what is it, you seek, my son? Shall I help you find our Lord again?

– I seek an answer.

Father Brown was still more confused, if that was even possible.

– An answer to what, exactly?

It seemed that these were the words the damned man was looking for, as he let out a pain-filled sigh, which seemed like a gust of wind in the silent room. He became much more talkative,

– You see, Father, I was a faithful Christian. I resented the path of Lucifer, I lived enlightened in the glow of God, or so I’ve been told. I was learning to become a priest, to spread the words of the Holy Bible, to teach the masses. I welcomed the light of our Savior in my heart and felt rueful towards those who took His name in vain. But then, one day, a friend of mine, whom I tried so hard to lead down the path towards everlasting life as he was a non-believer, asked me a question. A question that shattered my faith to this day, a question, which still haunts my every living hour. That is the question I seek an answer for.

Father Brown felt suddenly at ease. He had heard many stories of people questioning their faith; he had been anticipating something much worse. Audibly relieved, he spoke.

– As John 3:16 reads: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have eternal life.” God loves you even in a moment of peril, on the verge of corruption for you are his creation. If you seek absolution, you must ask him this ques…

– I’m asking you.

The damned man’s interruption showed that perhaps he had participated in a scene much like this one. The pastor was still in the rhythm of the verse; the rebuff from his fellow man caught him completely off guard. His voice shook as he spoke.

– I’m sorry?

– I’m asking this question of you, Father. Not God. Not anyone other. You.

– Wh- Why me?

– Because this question is something even God couldn’t deal with. A question only a pastor like you answer.

Father Brown grew increasingly curious; his human nature slipped through his usually calculated speech pattern.

– And what is this question?

The damned leaned closer towards the latticed opening through which they spoke.

– Are those who are only good in life because they fear God’s judgement, truly good?

Father Brown was about to cite the corresponding passage from memory, but as he began to open his mouth, air didn’t seem to flow through it. The words seeped into his mind; analyzing their meaning but to no avail, he remained speechless. He was about to formulate an answer, but the damned man, as if he had read the mind of the priest, continued.

– And I want a direct answer. Nothing about the enigmatic nature of God, no cited verses from the Bible. I need an answer that is open and to the point.

The priest hesitated a bit. Then, unsure of his own words, answered.

– No.

– No?

– No, they’re not. Those who put up a façade shall be seen through, for God is all-knowing. Those not true in heart will not fool him. That is my answer.

A moment of silence ensued, much like the one when the stranger stepped in the booth. Then he spoke.

– So that is your answer.

– Yes.

– And do you agree with it?

– Of course I do!

He spoke with confidence, but deep inside he too was unsure if that was the right answer to the man’s question. He was about to offer him redemption, thinking this was the end of their discussion….

– May I ask another question?

Fear. That was the feeling that these words evoked in the father. He feared what the strange man, who felt more distant from him by the minute, might ask of him. He held his hands together in prayer, and as much as he wanted to refuse, he let out a short “yes.”

– If I were to say my questions have been all answered, I declare my everlasting love towards God and I welcome Him back into my life, would I be going to Hell still for my transgression?

Rocks were dropping from the heavily beating heart of Father Brown as a rush of relief came over him. His answer seemingly satisfied the penitent.

– No, you wouldn’t be. God loves his creation and offers them salvation should they recognize the path they stepped on.

– And if I say no?

– Then I guess, my son, you have no other options but to walk the path you chose for yourself, the one towards Hell.

The damned man, again, leaned in close.

– Then answer me, oh Father, how should I love a god who throws his own creation towards endless suffering just because they do not rejoice in his name?

– Get out!

Father Brown sneered whilst gritting his teeth against each other. He lost all apprehension, all empathy towards this man. His entire being lit up in flames as he repeated those two words, for which the damned man — without a flake of regret in his eyes — stood up and left the confessional. The priest opened the door of his booth, to catch one final glimpse of this accursed man.

– And don’t you dare ever come back to our Lord’s home if all you want is to take his name in such vain! You’re damned! You hear me? Damned!

The damned man didn’t look back. His hoodie once again hid his features, as he stepped sideways to avoid colliding with the Wesson kids who were just now entering the parsonage and only catching the end of the conversation. They both looked at the upset priest, who was shaking with anger as blood rushed through his veins.

– Father, are you up…

– Don’t speak. You should be at home now, helping your mother. She must do all the laundry by herself again, you two lazy slackers!

Even he didn’t know why he was so aggressive with them at that moment; he spoke with spite, but he had nothing to be spiteful about. He had removed the rotting influence from the chapel, yet he did not feel good about it. The final question of the apparition of the Devil — as he deemed it — was still echoing in his mind. He looked through the window. Outside, the wind blew stronger now; dark clouds were beginning to litter the horizon. It would rain soon.

Many weeks, months passed since that fateful day; autumn turned to winter, then to spring. Every Sunday, the white-walled chapel of the small town awaited those seeking guidance, there were always people praying silently among the pews, and Father Brown held sermons and occupied the confessional regularly. Life moved on.

But in those moments when he was alone, he was still disturbed. He read the Bible thoroughly every single day, contacted many notable scholars who were known for studying the Holy Books, even asked for advice from his own past teachers. There were those who scolded him for these thoughts the exact same way he scolded that man. Others referred to the enigmatic nature of God, but none offered salvation. He prayed so deeply, the likes of which the locals had never seen before that day. He begged God to ease him from the questions, to lead him back towards the path from which he was diverted, but those words offered not even temporary relief as day after day the question seeped back into his mind, whenever he was praying, listening to confessions, or even walking towards the chapel or his own residence.

He felt increasingly unwell as the weeks passed by. He constantly tossed and turned in his sleep at night; more than once he woke up covered in cold sweat, awoken by his own yelling. In his dreams he saw the damned man’s face, whose glowing green eyes craved deeply into his soul, his mouth uttering that wretched question again and again, not loudly, but loud enough that Father Brown could always hear the words no matter how hard he tried to ignore them. He shook the malicious influence off off his shoulders, with more and more struggling each time he prayed, as his prayers felt less sincere with each verse. He cursed him and the day they met countless times but could not escape the doubt he embedded deep within him, nor could he escape the question, which like dark blood slipped slowly through the cracks of his forever broken faith.

Ilona Králik

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Last summer on a hot Sunday big things happened. That Sunday seemed to be just an ordinary day. Emily was talking to her friends on her phone. They all agreed to meet in the park later that day. After the call ended, Emily watched a movie and then started getting ready for the meeting with her friends. She was thinking of taking her dog, since he loved going on walks with her.

She went outside to put the leash on her dog, since she had decided to bring him along. When she stepped outside she saw three younger boys trying to hurt the dog; they were throwing small stones in his direction. She started shouting. When the boys saw and heard her, they ran away. Emily was very disappointed and sad; she could not believe that someone would do something like that. She took the dog inside her room and called her friends to tell them that she would not be going to the park. She lay down on her bed; the dog lay next to her. She wanted to take a nap but could not stop thinking about what had happened.

She was thinking so much about it that she realised that what happened to her dog could happen to any other animal; moreover, maybe those animals were not as lucky as her dog, and no one would be there to help them. She decided that she could not let that happen. She loved animals and wanted to help them in any way she could. She was thinking for hours and hours until she fell asleep.

After she woke up from her nap, she called her friends, since earlier she had not given a reason for deciding to stay home. After her friends heard what had happened to her dog, they said that she just overreacted to things. Then Emily told them that maybe other animals were not as lucky and someone could actually hurt them. Her friends laughed at her and said that she was way too dramatic. After the phone call, Emily was disappointed and mad at the same time. She was so mad that she could not do anything other than go to sleep. So she lay next to her dog and fell asleep.

On Monday, the next day, when Emily awoke, she decided that she would help animals and would not care what anyone thought about it, not even her friends. She started searching for animal protection clubs, and when she found the perfect one for her, she joined it.

In that club she made new friends, people who thought in the same way she did. She realised that this was the best decision she had ever made.

Fanni Kepenyes

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Emily was walking alone in a forest near her home. She loved spending time there. It was always calm and seemed to be another world, far from the noises of the city. Suddenly she heard a strange noise. It was like a whisper she couldn’t understand. The girl was very imaginative, and her mind immediately started to wander.

The forest was magical. This was the place where people could meet spirits and ghosts of their loved ones. However, only a few came here. Most were too scared. The forest had stood there ever since the city was founded. It could be seen on every painting and picture; all the citizens knew it. In the beginning, it was like a normal place where people would go to get closer to nature, to spend some time with their families in a peaceful environment. It was like this until decades ago when children were playing nearby. They were laughing and happy to be with their friends. Suddenly they heard strange noises and whispers. Than a strange woman appeared in front of them. The kids started yelling and screaming, and the woman disappeared immediately, but this didn’t change anything. The kids ran home crying and said the place was cursed. Their parents and other citizens went to the forest. At first they didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The birds were singing the sun was shining and they thought the whole tale had been made up by the kids. They were very angry. They wanted to get home and tell the children this joke was not funny. Before they could turn around, everything went cold and silent. Then they heard whispers, and the voices became louder and louder. Everyone started running. After this experience, they never let their children go close to the forest.

Years later a girl was standing here. She was the only one to go there, and she didn’t mind. A ghost appeared in front of her. It was a strange woman.

“I didn’t want to hurt them. I just wanted to see my son. I died in an illness when he was only one year old. I just wanted to see him. I ruined everything. Ghosts can’t see their loved ones anymore. It is all my fault. I shouldn’t have shown myself, I just wanted to tell him I love him.”

She started crying.

“It isn’t your mistake,” Emily said. “People should have listened to your whispers, but they were afraid of everything unknown to them. This place is amazing. If they had waited, they would have seen everyone they had lost. Don’t blame yourself!”

She hugged the ghost, and at that moment another ghost appeared and another. They came to the place where for centuries they had tried to tell people they meant no harm. They looked like humans, they wore clothes from different eras, and all of them were crying and glistening with a mysterious silver colour. It was the most beautiful moment Emily had ever seen.

“I will tell them all of this, I will show them that there is nothing that can hurt them here.”

The ghosts whispered, thanked her, and disappeared, but the girl still heard their whispers for a few moments, and then everything went silent. Then a voice brought Emily back to reality.

“So you are hiding here! Everyone was looking for you!” Ashley said. “Do you want to spend your birthday alone?”

Ashley, Emily’s best friend, was standing nearby, a confused look spread across her face. She never understood why Emily liked to spend so much time in the forest.

“Of course not! Let’s go!”

The two girls walked out of the forest and didn’t look back. They didn’t see the strange woman standing there silently and smiling.

Lilla Kassai

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I lived in a family house in the suburbs. It was one of the most comfortable and calming places ever: the warm coloured walls, the garden full of flowers in the spring, the modern and technically well-equipped kitchen and the Victorian furniture in the living room created a perfect balance of old and new. I always felt comfortable and calm when at home. It was the most calming, relaxing and friendly atmosphere ever.

Although I’m sixteen years old now, I still shiver when I have to go down to the basement. Unlike the upper floors, the basement was neither calming nor friendly. It was dark, and there was never enough light in the lamp to illuminate the whole place, so every time I went down there to do laundry or to find a tool that would help us fix a damaged object, I got scared. When I was little, I was afraid of even going near the basement door. The door was rarely closed: it was a long process to close it, because the lock was damaged easily, and that place was always in need of fresh air to avoid the mold on the walls, or the stale air, or even the smell of must. As I walked past the basement door, I had the strange feeling that someone was watching me from down there. I turned around, so I was “face-to-face” with the door. I swear, sometimes I heard some weird noises coming out of it, when it opened with a creaking sound. Then the scenery would turn into a nightmare: the door became a monster with razor sharp teeth, who wanted to eat me up, and the unexposed stairway downwards was the monster’s throat, leading to complete darkness. To the hopeless, everlasting darkness, from which people can never return. Then I screamed for my mom, and she had to convince me that there was no monster in the basement.

It was a very common action ten years ago, but sometime I still have the same feeling that someone is watching me from the basement. Now, I just ignore it, because it is a stupid childhood fear, and I am almost a grown-up woman! I don’t have time for this!

All the same, I still consider my house the most calming place ever. My family, my friends who come over at weekends are the most precious things. They help me in studies, or in overcoming something traumatic, like my dog’s passing.

But there was one person whom I hated when she came over: the chambermaid, who did the laundry or cooked for us sometimes. She had medium-length, wavy, greasy grey hair, and a look on her wrinkly face as if she were always smelling cat piss. And she hated me, what a surprise. She called me a Satanist for being into metal music, and always told my parents that I would rot in hell for listening to the “Devil’s Music.”

One day, everything changed, mostly my attitude to my home. The chambermaid had agonising pain for years that she couldn’t bear, so she ended her life. She hung herself in the basement after putting in the laundry. She didn’t leave a note to explain to us why she did it. My mom found her body; she is still visiting the psychologist regularly, like most of us. By now, I can’t see the same calming, and friendly place in my house that I used to see.         

The image of my home that now lives in me is the dark stairway leading to the basement. I often dream about that dark place, and I feel that my home is now haunted by the chambermaid. Around midnight, I always wake up to a creaking sound, and shortly afterward, I hear footsteps walking around in the house and the whistling of an old song that she used to whistle. An hour later, the basement door creaks again, and I hear footsteps going downwards, and sometimes the groaning of someone in agonising pain.  I know she is still here, and as a sixteen-year-old teenager, I am still terrified. It’s not like a fear that you feel when someone scares you in a prank. It is like when a soft sound sends shivers down your spine, the feeling that you are not alone, that someone is watching you from a dark corner and following you. After that, you turn around and see no one, but you still have the phobia that someone‘s always there.

 

Lilla Kassai

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Ivory Mars had been a widow for a long time. Her husband, Michael, had died three years ago at the age of ninety-seven, in his sleep. Well, many people would say, three years isn’t so long, but for Ivory, every day without him was torture. She felt an emptiness growing in her day by day. She became numb because she couldn’t feel her beloved next to her.

Still, she was smiling every time she walked in the garden of their mansion. It was built in 1947, after the war, from the remained ruins of the house, which had been destroyed by German bombs. They built their new house together; it had cost plenty of time and energy, but they made it through.

The mansion was located at the furthest corner of the little town, halfway in the pinewoods. It was painted black on the outside and had a round window on the second floor, facing the street. Whoever walked past their home would start to walk faster immediately. At first glance it seemed like a home of demons and monsters, but Mr. and Mrs. Mars were neither evil nor unfriendly. They had their own style, which kept the weak people away.

Mrs. Mars walked out to the garden. It was her favourite place: the grass was dark green, and every morning it was glistening with water drops. Behind the house was an enormous rose arbor filled with black roses. She smiled every time she peeked at the big, fragrant flowers. She breathed in the air filled with the smell of the roses and sat herself down on the bank under the arbor. The bank was guarded by two gargoyles, which had been sculpted by her husband. Ivory stroked their heads, knowing that her beloved had worked on them from morning to night, to surprise her on her birthday. She wanted to be with him, feel his strong arms around her, while cuddling, listening to his heartbeat, and kissing him passionately.

These were her everyday thoughts, even on the thirty-first of October. The black roses and the deep purple petunias were no longer  blooming. It was autumn; nature was preparing for winter, The leaves of the trees turned brown, red and yellow, and started to fall from the branches. In the window of multiple houses, Jack-O-Lanterns appeared. It was Halloween, Mr. and Mrs. Mars’ favourite holiday. They loved to carve pumpkins together, and always awaited the kids with plenty of sweets and candies, but they never went trick-or-treating.

That day, Ivory Mars was decorating the house with stone skulls, in which she put candles. She put them into the windows. She put up the little lights through the rose arbor, and lit candles in the gargoyles’ mouths. Her garden looked like the meadow of Asphodel. It had a special, underworldly, dark beauty.

“So many people are living in the light, under the sunshine, and now they have forgotten how beautiful the darkness can be… It’s not the same beauty that you see in everyday life.  Oh, my beautiful man… How many times did we dance in the moonlight or in the rain under this arbor… How I wish you were here….” she teared up, and smiled. “Don’t worry, my One And Only… You don’t have to wait long now… We’ll reunite soon….” she mumbled, and then lit a candle next to a painting she had made after Michael Mars came back from the war. They were young, happy and crazy in love.

“Happy birthday, My Dearest!” she bellowed and then sat in the window, scrolling the pages of the photo album, where they had put the pictures of their life.

Around midnight, she heard a soft knock on her door. She slowly rose and went to open it. In the door, a strange man stood in a black coat. Ivory couldn’t see his face. The cold October wind was howling, the branches were creaking, and there was no sign of anyone else in the street. Then there was dead silence.

“Sorry Mister, can I help you?“ asked the old lady, shivering in her clothes.

“Yes please,” said the stranger, but his voice made Ivory tear up again. She would recognise this voice anytime. She gasped and was able to speak only a minute later.

“Mi…Michael?” she started to cry.

“Yes, my Love,” answered Mr. Mars in a low, soft voice. “May I come in?”

Ivory could only nod, and moved away from the door. After her husband entered, she closed it and followed him into the living room. When Michael saw the painting of them, he smiled with tears in his eyes.

“I knew you’d never forget…” he mumbled. “May I ask you to honour me with a dance?”

Ivory was sobbing. She nodded and held her beloved’s hand. It was real, and then they stepped out to the garden. When Ivory saw what the garden looked like, she couldn’t do more than blink. The roses were blooming like never before, the spiderwebs were sparkling in the dark, and the fireflies, bats and owls were flying in every direction of the garden, or just resting on the roof, gazing at the couple.  But that wasn’t the most surprising thing: Ivory started to feel different, and as she threw a peek at her beloved, and herself, she almost fainted. She became twenty-three years old again. She got back her short, raven black hair and her slender but curvy figure. She wore the same long, black dress that she had worn long ago, as they celebrated the end of the war together.

Michael became young too. His short, dark brown hair and muscular figure made him look twenty-five again. He wore the same black suit and his army coat that he had worn that time. He held Ivory’s hand, and they started to waltz.

“I missed you so much, my Beloved,” said Mr. Mars, hugging his wife tight to his chest.

“Me too,” cried Ivory. “Promise me you won’t leave me alone again!”

“I promise you, Darling,” whispered Michael into her ear, and started to sing.

“Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless. Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless.”

Ivory was sobbing with happiness. This was the song they had danced to the first time. And  when Michael sang this to her back in the day, her heart was fulfilled with joy, anytime.

“Angels have no thoughts of ever returning you, would they be angry, if I thought of joining you.”

Ivory was overwhelmed with felicity, although she knew it was her “Danse Macabre.” By the time, the clock hit midnight, they stopped the dance. They looked in each others eyes and kissed each other softly but passionately.

“You’ll never be lonely again, I promise you,” said Michael, holding Ivory’s hand. “Please come with me! But you know, that means that you.…”

“It’s okay,” interrupted Ivory. “My only desire is to be with you again. No matter what.” She smiled and walked off with her Love of her Life. By the next morning, their footsteps had been washed away by the cold November rain. At the same time, Ivory woke up in the middle of a forest, lying in the arms of her One and Only.

Lili Forgács

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Lisa is a fifteen-year-old girl living in a detached house in the suburb of Manchester. She lives with her parents, but one evening they got a phone call from work and needed to leave. This meant that Lisa was left alone for the night. She wasn’t surprised and frightened at all. It wasn’t the first time, as her parents were doctors and got emergency calls very often.

She had a great evening plan: watching her favourite series on Netflix while having popcorn and chatting with her best friend on the phone. It was perfect and she had a wonderful time, but nicely and slowly she fell asleep.

She was dreaming about a Safari tour with her parents, where they saw exotic animals like elephants and giraffes. She was stroking a sunbathing cheetah, when she heard a strange noise and got up immediately. She listened carefully, but she heard only silence. “Maybe it was just in my dreams,” she thought and started to go back to sleep, when she heard it again. It came from the attic. Now she was a little bit nervous.

“What could it be? Maybe a robber? No, in case of robbers I would hear footsteps, but I’m sure that the noise isn’t the sound of footsteps. But then, what? Maybe Magna? According to legend, a giant (called Magna) lives in a forest which is really close to here, and maybe he got hungry and came here. No, it’s impossible. There is no food in the attic.”

This was her train of thought. She became more and more tense but curious at the same time. She created many alternative possibilities, but none of them seemed real.

“I should check it out. But what if I never come back again? That’s ridiculous. Lisa, you are almost sixteen, giants don’t exist and you won’t die. Pull yourself together!”

This is how she decided to find out what the source of the noise was. She grabbed a torch, put her phone into her pocket, and put on her dressing gown and slippers. She started to go upstairs. The closer and closer she came to the attic’s door, the louder and louder the sound became. She took a deep breath and opened the door. She didn’t expect the sight at all. A little bird had gotten trapped somehow in the attic and wanted to get away.

“Oh, sweetheart! I’ll help you” she said and opened the window. The bird flew away.

The next morning Lisa told her parents how bravely she had behaved and how she had saved a life. Her parents were really proud of her and gave her a kiss on her head. Since that time, every evening before going to sleep, Lisa has been checking the sky to find out if she will see the thankful little bird. Most of the time, she does.

Dániel Dancza

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Duke Reynaud grumbled to himself, “Why must I visit this godforsaken city alone?” But he already knew. After that stunt he had pulled back in the capital, the emperor wanted him punished, and dearly. He knew the story behind this place, how everyone suddenly disappeared overnight only to be slowly found, torn to pieces. He could smell death. Another body had shown up. “The king wouldn’t send anyone to help me clean it up; I’ll probably have to carry it back to the city.”

He had never actually seen the corpses himself, but had heard that they were not a friendly sight. “What could be causing this much death, and why? Why are the bodies showing up randomly, and why always in the strangest of places?” the duke wondered. Following the stench, he entered the old inn, once filled with laughter, now empty. As he ventured into the building, the doors slowly started closing; however, he didn’t seem to notice.

The stench came from the basement, so the duke followed it. “Strange, the bodies usually show up outside, at least according to the captain’s reports,” he thought. He contemplated waiting outside for a day, before returning to the capital, hoping he wouldn’t receive more punishment, but for whatever reason, he decided to wander into the basement. By the time he entered, the doors had completely shut, locking almost all the sunlight out of the room, save for a few rays seeping in through the shattered windows.

As he went deeper and deeper into the building, he saw less and less. Deciding that wandering around in darkness wasn’t favorable, he picked up a lantern and lit it. “This is bloody filthy, I should have worn some dammed gloves,” the duke said out loud. “The body better not be in too many pieces. I don’t want to get blood on this outfit.”

Around him, the shadows twisted and turned, like a dark void craving another soul. Behind Reynaud, the shadows formed a little girl, his sister, who was visiting a friend here, without her brother, who was busy trying to find a way to join the nobility. No matter how much she begged, Reynaud’s lust for power was too great, even as only a minor lord.

Even though he failed to admit it, he felt guilty for his sister’s death; he blamed himself, as he hadn’t been there to protect her. He might not say it, but the darkness knew. Something clearly moved in the darkness, even getting the dukes attention. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” he ordered. Through a little girl’s voice, the entity laughed. “Why do you care, brother? You never cared to come with me or protect me,” it said.

The duke recognized the voice. “Sister? Is that you?” he asked. The shadow said nothing, instead forming the same girl, this time in front of the now terrified duke. “Lena, oh my god, it’s you! I – I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” he said on the verge of tears. “You left me to die, you were too greedy to be with your sister!” the shadows cried out. “N-No Lina, you don’t understand! I wanted to improve life for both of us!” the duke wailed, dropping to his knees.

“All you caused was death, brother. Look what you’ve done!” The little girl screamed, pointing in front of Reynaud. It was her frail, weak body torn to pieces, the face barely recognizable. “No, sister! Whatever did this to you, tell me so I can destroy it and avenge you!” the duke said, now standing. “If you truly wanted to avenge me, you would have come sooner, and of your own free will, but fine, try to avenge me,” she said before disappearing, the shadows retreating to reveal a demonic creature. It stood on two thin, hooved legs, its arms were covered in razor sharp blades, with the fingers themselves being great claws. It growled at Reynaud, who unsheathed a small dagger, ready for a bloody battle.

He made the first move and swung at it, hoping to kill it quickly before it had a chance to end him, but the beast was faster; shifting to the side, it slashed his side with one of the many blades protruding from its arm.  The duke’s eyes went dark; hand trembling, he looked at his dagger, which now looked like a severed arm. Letting out what sounded like a deep laugh, the beast slinked into the shadows, which transformed into walls covered in gore, and a podium appeared in front of him. Lena’s head was sitting on it. The last thing he heard was the beast letting out a howl of victory, stabbing him through the heart with one of its clawed hands.

The next day, a messenger arrived to tell Reynaud that he was allowed back in the city. All he found was his corpse, dismantled, pieces hanging above the inn’s door, still closed shut.

Gergő Busa

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At military camp everyone had a knife, but my friend thought it would be a good idea to carve himself a wooden one. So he did. After a few days he was ready, everything seemed fine, but soon this kid (Ferenc) came and accused Robert of stealing his wooden knife. Of course I believed in Robert’s innocence, but there was that gnawing feeling at the back of my neck, what if he is a thief.

Anyways we (me, Robert, and our friends) shrugged him off. After some time I got annoyed and asked around about Ferenc’s knife.

Well, who would have thought it: he DID have a knife (the Staff Sergeant had carved it for him in a day), but he used it inappropriately (he was waving it around carelessly), so the corporal took it, broke it in half, and threw the pieces in the woods. (Now my ambivalence was gone.)

A day later he came back while we were eating and accused Robert again. But now we confronted him:

F – Hey you should give my knife back now!

R –  But wasn’t your knife taken, broken and thrown away?

F – Yes! I m-m-mean no!

Friend – Stop, just stop.

F – (Incomprehensible speaking.)

Then he pointed out the letter F in the knife (apparently they had a common first letter in their names).

After this he went away. Now you might be thinking it is over, but you are wrong. You see, he came back during the night and tried to steal it from Robert’s chest. But Robert thought of this and wasn’t sleeping; he was holding his boots and waiting for the right time to strike. Ferenc came, crouched down to grab Robert’s chest, and SMACK.

Robert struck him so hard he fell back and ran away. He never bothered us after that.

And now you are right. The story has come to an end.

Note: This tale is based on real events, but certain details, including the names, have been changed.

Áron Antal

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Mr. Able was a proud citizen of Sanctuary; he was a friendly fellow, liked by everyone in town. He was a nice old man, polite and calm, did no harm to anyone in his life, and was totally healthy both mentally and physically, despite his age. He had only one son, who lived in California, a businessman, so much so that he hadn’t been able to visit in years. He wasn’t at Mrs. Able’s burial. She died five years previously, on the thirteenth of July, from a heart attack caused by a wild night-motorbike-rider, whose exhaust was so loud that it caused Mrs. Able’s end. That was the reason that Mr. Able hated bikers so much. He never liked them, even when he was young, it wasn’t his style; but he started hating them more when the Japanese sportbikes invaded America with their four-row engines and fancy paint jobs. These bikes were super appealing for the youngsters, who put loud exhausts on them and thought that the road was their racetrack. And he downright hated them since his wife had died from one of them.

He was about to turn seventy-five the next day, on the thirteenth of July.

– Five years have passed in loneliness – he thought. – My only wish is that my son could visit me. I haven’t seen him in the past seven years. He couldn’t even come to his mother’s burial; he was too busy. And since then I haven’t spoken a word with him. How could his job be more important than his mother’s burial? But perhaps I should forgive him. He was trying to establish his life. At that time he found himself a girl. I wonder what happened with their relationship? But since our argument we haven’t exchanged a word. I don’t even know that he can forgive me.

With these thoughts in mind, he fell asleep in his bed.

In the morning, he woke to the sound of someone ringing the doorbell. He put on his bathrobe, went to the door, and opened it. To his biggest surprise, instead of the postman, he saw his son.

– Father! I would like to apologize for how I behaved and what a jerk I have been throughout all these years! Please forgive me, for mom’s sake!

– Oh son, I will!, I will! – cried out Mr. Able in tears.

– You don’t know what a relief it is for me to hear that!

– I know it.

– Also, happy birthday, dad.

–Thanks, son. Have you…

– Yes I have visited mom, and said a proper goodbye to her. I hope that she will forgive me as well.

– I’m sure she has forgiven you already. But come on in!

They talked all the day through, about Shaun’s business, life, and about how he was going to marry his girlfriend the next summer.

– I’m so glad to hear that! I always know you would find the perfect one one day.

– Oh, I almost forgot! – said Shaun.

– Forgot what exactly? – asked Mr. Able.

– Your birthday present! Come out, it’s in my van.

They walked out to the street where Shaun’s business van was parking. When he opened the back door, Mr. Able was speechless. Inside the van was a vintage motorbike. But when Mr. Able was finally able to get a word out, his son got a phone call.

– Sorry, dad, but I have to go now, it’s very important, but I’ll come back as soon as possible – he said, pulled out the bike from the van, hugged his father, and drove away.

Mr. Able was standing, wordless. His son had given him the one thing he disliked the most.

– I shall kill what killed my wife, he thought, walked to his garage, took a gas canister and a lighter, and approached the motorbike. But when he was about to pour gasoline on it and burn it, he realised that his son did not know the circumstances of how his mother died, and it was a present after all, so he decided to keep it. He put it into his garage and tried to forget about it.

One month later, Mr. Able realised that he had a motorbike, and started thinking. After an hour or so, he came to a realization about why he never liked the riders; he actually did like them once upon a time. He remembered a day that he had long forgotten: he was standing by a motorbike shop with his friends in 1963, staring at a special limited Hungarian model: Pannonia MT63 motocross, which was a rare Hungarian import, said to be more reliable than any Harley-Davidson, sold with T1 models of the same trade. They talked about how from their saved money they would all buy one of these (they were way cheaper than other brands), but fate thought otherwise. The next day, his father’s station wagon broke down, which he used to commute to the next town to earn money for his family, and they had just renovated their house, so they had very little savings. Mr. Able thought he would help his family out, so he gave all his savings, the fruit of years of hard work, to his parents to repair his father’s car. This way he never had the chance to buy his dream, and he became envious of his friends, since they had such great adventures in which he could not take part. And this was the origin of his hatred of the bikers.

– Why are negative memories more likely to stay in the mind? – he thought. He became delighted and felt different. He went out to the garage and realised, just then, that his son had bought him his dream from the far past: a Pannonia MT63 motorbike.

– How could that have happened? I never told him about this ever! He became super excited and sat on the bike. It had a comfortable seat, a light suspension, and a lifted exhaust.

– What are you waiting for, dad? – asked Shaun, who  had just arrived back. – Take it for a ride!

Mr. Able hesitated a bit, but decided that now was the time to make up for the past. He stood up and kicked the kickstarter. The engine revved up on that characteristic two-stroke sound. He felt super nostalgic, pulled the clutch, put the transmission into first gear, and drove away towards the horizon full of joy.

This even changed his life through his new attitude toward riders. He still did not like the loud motorcycles, but he made new friends due to his new hobby and rode his bike almost every day, sometimes with his friends, whose relationship waved goodbye to the lonely days. All of this was made possible by his son, and he couldn’t thank him enough. He felt a bit guilty that he had become a rider, like the one who had caused his wife to die, but he thought that if Mrs. Able could be with him, she would be proud of her handsome husband for having a nice hobby at his age. And with these delightful thoughts he rode his bike and commuted with it everywhere, visited his son regularly, and rode for many years and more, always thinking: how an “unintended” present can change a life.

Áron Antal

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One sunny afternoon, my mother told me to go to my grandparents’ to ask them for some meat to bring home. They lived on the outskirts of the city, and I went with my scooter. When I arrived, my grandma opened the gate for me, and I parked in the garden. My grandpa had just stepped out of the house and started to speak to me. My grandparents’ garden was huge, and they grew crops and fruits in it for the family.

– Aaron, how are you?

– Fine grandpa, fine.

– Ya see my garden? See the potatoes? Look at them! Last year, you remember how big they grew? We could barely pull them out, they were so huge.

– Yeh grandpa, they were quite huge, but….

– Now, look at the tomatoes, how beautiful they are! They were so delicious! See how many beans I grew. There will be like a hundred kilos of them. And the apples, well, they’re the best in town, aren’t they?

– Yes, yes. – I said – and how are you?

– Fine, Aaron, time passes so fast, look at you how much you have grown.

– I don’t think I grew so much in one week, but if you say….

– Ya know, you always remind me of the times when I was young, I looked much like you back then. Me and my friends went to Moscow when we were in fourth grade in secondary school. We went there by train and it took almost a week to go there and back. I enjoyed it so much. The underground metros, they were so huge; the ceiling was like fifteen meters high, you could fit a town into there, and those majestic statues… But the place where we stayed… That was a bit nasty.

– I know, grandpa, you told me these stories like a hundred times and….

– You see, the apartment was full of roaches, literally full. They were everywhere. One night we stayed up and slapped them with our slippers. We killed a few hundred, but the next day they were back, hehe…

– I came for meat, grandpa….

– When I was young, like your little sister, me and my family used to live on a farm. But when the Cooperative took our land, my father decided to become a deliverer. We bought a wagon, because the Soviets gave us two of their horses in exchange for some food and alcohol, and we started the business. I helped my dad so much that I could barely stay awake at the end of the day.

– But weren’t you at school at the….

– We delivered almost everything: crops, coal, firewood etc. There were days when we went to twenty different places to deliver something. Once when my father drank too much, I was driving the wagon when I saw a piece of money on the pavement: it was a fifty-forint note! At the time when a scoop of ice cream was 1 forint. It was big money. But an old man on the other side saw it as well, so I fastened the wagon, jumped off of it, grabbed the note and jumped back in a mere second. The old man didn’t even know what had just happened! Ya know, school was much harder to get to then it is now. You see, when it was winter, sometimes the snow was a meter high and the temperature was freezing cold. My mother boiled potatoes when I was about to leave, and we put it in my pocket, so my hands stayed warm. Glove and snack for the trip. Very practical.

– It is, but I….

– Also we had cows and my mother made dairy products of them. But we had more than we needed, much much more, so we went to the local market to sell them. Sometimes me and my mother went to the Szolnok market by train to sell these products. It was astonishing for me back then. The streets were full of beautiful automobiles, there were huge crowds. At the market I saw ladies whose nails were painted and lips covered in lipstick. At the time it was a big deal, and I hadn’t seen anyone in our village do the same, mainly because it was very expensive to buy those things back then. And the smell, perfume everywhere! Of course that was even more unaffordable for the average person.

– I really don’t want to interrupt you grandpa, but I really have to go now, ’cause you know, I am err…. going to have a err… digitaal lesson. But I really enjoyed listening to your stories as always.

– You’re such a good listener, Aaron, a very good one indeed. Anyway, here is the meat.

I put it onto my scooter, waved goodbye, and drove away.

– It is always good to hear these stories – I thought – even though I think a lot of them are a bit tall, but there’s nobody to prove that. And maybe the honest “lying” makes them all the more enjoyable.