Aerie 2026

Every neighborhood has one: that one family, that one house, that no one ever goes to. You probably know the one I’m talking about, the one that looks somehow both dilapidated and ornate? You don’t? Well, think of it this way; it’s the house whose gardens seem overgrown, whose trees are gnarled and twisted no matter the species. The house that seems to smell funny; not enough to deter you, but enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The house that a cold breeze always blows through; the house you’d think a horror movie could take place in. Now you get it. That was the house of Mr. Green, not the type of name you’d expect serious trouble could come from, but I’m getting ahead of myself. No one really knew what profession he had, but it was clearly lucrative, as he had a vintage sports car oftentimes in the driveway. Before we go forward, I have to say his house was more akin to a manor than an urban two story. But, continuing: ever since I was little, I wondered about the elusive Mr. Green, as I rarely caught more than a glimpse of him. Eventually, in my teenage years I worked up the courage to introduce myself to him, egged on by my friend, James Davis. 

James was the local troublemaker, not by means of malice, but rather by means of mischief and misused manners. He and I had become friends partly because his recklessness provided a foil for my worry but also because he found my way of talking amusing. In his own words: “Quit speaking in cursive, Shakespeare!” 

It came about on a bleak November evening. James and I decided to find out more about Mr. Green, and we decided the best way to do that was to ask him ourselves. We strutted to his door and rang the doorbell twice, watching our breath puff out as we waited. The evening was disappearing into the night, and I probably would have turned back, but James convinced me to stay. After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, the door was answered by an elderly gentleman in a green tuxedo with a cordial smile. He was a bit pale and had naught but a few wisps of hair on his head. He was also gaunt, though not extremely so; he had rough and calloused hands but held himself with a sort of dignified humility as one would expect from an old time butler. He naturally entreated us to step inside out of the cold and offered to take our jackets. No sooner had we given him our jackets then he promptly led us to a living room and disappeared as soon as our backs were turned. Were we more cautious or more observant, we would have noticed that the panels on the floor behind us now had a green silhouette etched on them. 

The silence was deafening, but it allowed me the time to observe the living room. It seemed to be a trick of the light, or perhaps the wind, but the walls moved in and out, like the room was breathing. The wind outside picked up and started to shake the trees outside in his yard. I’ve heard it said that the wind can sometimes howl or whisper, but in this case it rattled like a wooden chime or a rattlesnake. The house of Mr. Green rocked in the wind, and the moon shone pale light into the parlor, making the chilly room even colder. For whatever reason, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Looking over, I could see James’ arm had grown gooseflesh. I was considering simply going out the door when I heard footsteps approaching and the master of the house walked in. He had a green suit on, though it was clearly well worn, almost threadbare in places with reddish brown discolorations. The cufflinks were carved into the shape of a deer skull, which I took as a clue to his hobby; perhaps he was a hunter? His face had nothing remarkable, and even now I struggle to recall it, but I do remember his eyes. You see, he was heterochromatic; that is to say, his eyes were two different colors. The right eye was green, and though unusual, showed kindness and wit, like a beloved grandfather readying a favorite joke. The left eye, however, was terrifying. It is said the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I could readily believe his right eye to reflect his character, but that left eye…that left eye… It was blood red. Whatever soul it led to was clearly one of the most vile and ravenous. It looked fierce and harsh. While the eyes moved in unison, the right eye seemed to move calmly, while the left eye moved like an animal. The right eye was inviting; the left eye was territorial. When that eye fell on me, I desperately wanted to leave. 

Mr. Green noticed our unease and smiled. He sat down in an armchair before us, and said “I must apologize. I typically wear contact lenses to even out the eyes, but I was getting ready for bed when Gerald told me I had visitors.” He then dimmed the lights, making only the right side of his face visible. “Better?”.

 James looked at me, and I could tell he wanted to leave as soon as possible, but my curiosity was now piqued. 

“Mr. Green,” I said, hiding a quiver in my voice, ”I-we’re here to learn more about you-” “Pardon?” said Mr. Green. 

James recovered my fumble. “For a school project: ‘Learn about a neighbor that you don’t know very well.’ We were going to do it earlier, but I had to help my sister with her homework.” James had always told lies very well.

Mr. Green seemed to believe it. 

I began my interview: “Around when were you born?” 

He replied, “November 5, 1973.” He looked remarkably good for his age. I would have thought him in his late thirties.

 “How long have you lived here?” 

“Twenty, no, twenty-one years.”

“What is your chosen profession?” 

At this he paused. “It’s…difficult to explain…But I could show you.” He showed another wry smile, got up from his chair, and motioned for us to do the same. James looked at the window longingly.

 He led us down a hallway that I thought was rather shabby given the interior of the living room. While it was still well lit, the lights that shone from the lamps on the walls were an eerie green. There seemed to be a faint buzzing, though I presumed it to be some machine in his house making too much noise. The shadows seemed to follow us through that hallway. Eventually, we came to another large room. The wallpaper was in a deplorable state; it used to be green but was now a yellowed stain, broken in monotony by scratches and claw marks, spilling onto the floor and melding with its reddish-brown slats. The most crucial detail, however, was a massive pit in the floor, circular and seven feet in diameter, but more akin to a gaping maw than any hole made by man. It dropped steeply into a black abyss guarded only by a few upturned slats of wood. Mr. Green motioned us forward, and so we looked into that pit, partly out of curiosity, but more out of fear, for his red eye was fixed upon us. 

“What do you see?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” said James. 

Mr. Green smiled, “Truthfully, I’d be surprised if you did. That pit goes down nearly 300 feet.” James and I were astonished; to have such a pit would surely require tons of machinery, but he had never seen or heard of such a thing happening on our street, nor had I. We both were aware of how close to the pit’s edge we were and took a step back, bumping into Mr. Green, who now stood partially in front of the door. 

“My ‘chosen profession’is a monster. My job is to act as a sort of necessary evil.” 

James looked at me, and I looked at him mouthing the words, “Let's get out of here!”. 

Mr. Green continued. “This house, and nearly all that dwell in it, have a deep connection to nature, not the type that is often portrayed with flowers and cute forest critters but rather ‘Nature red in tooth and claw’ -- or, in my case, green.” 

As he loomed forward, we stepped back. “Too often, people forget that danger can lurk in unexpected places. My job, as a natural predator of sorts for humanity, is to remind them.” 

James was frantically looking around the room, doubtless for an exit, as I stood rooted in fear. “But, I am kinder than most of my brethren, and you were ever so polite. So, I’ll make a deal; if you two can get out of here alive, I’ll leave the neighborhood in two week’s time, and if not…well…there’s room in that grave, so, do you want a chance, or certainty?” 

I was still paralyzed, when a floorboard struck Mr. Green across the face. “We’ll take that chance!” yelled James, grabbing me by my collar and throwing me over the downed Mr. Green before vaulting over him right after me. I have never been more thankful for James’ athleticism. He helped me off the floor and started pushing me further into the darkening hallway. 

I wish I hadn’t turned around, but I did anyway. Mr. Green…Mr. Green was undergoing some horrid transformation. His skin was rippling and toughening, like leather being dragged along the ground, or clay, but never was clay or leather so agonizing to behold. The veins underneath his skin writhed like serpents. His face ripped in two, like dead leaves blown back in the fall, revealing what I can only describe as a skull not quite a deer, but decidedly carnivorous. The green suit he was wearing was now torn and ragged across his body, melding in some parts with his matted and patchy fur. He was growing as well, becoming lankier and stronger. His fingers began twisting and turning, knuckles bent backwards with sickening cracks, fingers turned with the nails on the floor. The fingernails grew and hardened, blackening and clawing their way out of his flesh. It seemed as though his body was some massive net that had ensnared a monster. From his fanged mouth he let out a shriek that seemed to rake across my bones, scraping my teeth and spine like nails on a chalkboard. The high pitched shriek reverberated throughout the room.

James had always been the more reckless of us; due to his constant ducking out of trouble he had become a master of evasion. I followed his lead. His shoes beat the floor, his running pace quickening. My breath came in ragged gasps, my legs were tense, and my eyes darted. The green lights dimmed; darkness washed through the windows. I turned my head to see if we had any lead. He was there. Eleven feet away. Ten feet away. Nine. I ran faster, that horrible skull on my trail. I saw James put on a sudden burst of speed. I followed suit, feeling a hot breath on my neck. The cold air in the house bit at my face as I turned down another hallway. James’ left arm slammed against my torso, followed by his right arm pulling me into a room. We dared not close the door but rather stood trembling on one side of the entrance. The thing that called itself Mr. Green started to run past but then stopped. 

He -- it -- stooped down and prowled on the floor, moving without a sound. I inhaled as quietly as I could and held my breath. James saw me and followed suit. It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. Eventually, he stood up; his hunched shoulders touching the ceiling. 

He seemed to smile, then a chuckle rolled out of his wretched fangs as he yelled “Lilly! Come on down and join in the hunt!” James stifled a gasp. My knees felt weak. The meaning of this phrase was all too clear. Somehow, Mr. Green was not alone in his bestial state. There was another, another in this house. Suddenly the walls felt very close. He listened for a response, but none came. He grunted, then descended once again. Crawling on his belly like a large lizard but still soundless. As he passed our doorway once again, I saw his red eye. It burned like hellfire. It prowled every corner. It passed every crevice. It was hungry. Greedily, it lapped the scene before it like a tongue of fire. Then he was gone. James went out first. While I often call him reckless, he was exceedingly brave. He motioned me forward, and began to lead us out. The hallway seemed different,  more flesh-like. He looked at the walls, then stopped. Then began again, turned, and stopped. He turned again, took a few steps, and stopped. He started, then stopped. I knew what it meant. 

“You can’t remember which way he came, can you?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t true. His silence was deafening. 

“Are you lost?” said a voice from behind us. I turned around and threw a punch, which was immediately caught by a soft but incredibly strong hand. 

“I understand the reasoning behind it, but it’s still rude.” She stepped forward into the eerie green light. She wore an AC/DC T-shirt and green denim pants and appeared perfectly human. She was about our age. Her brown hair was tangled in some places and had beads strung through it in others, but her eyes were a familiar shade of green. 

“I could kill you both right now,” she said, not in a cruel way, but as one would explain to a child why the sky was blue. “But I really like my food running.” She then released my hand. “I take it you’ve met my Dad? Tall fellow, little skinny?” She moved forward. “He really doesn’t give people a chance, which I think is sad. Makes the hunt so boring.” She seemed tired by this, and I tried to ignore how casually she talked about murder. 

“In any case, we’ve got enough food for the winter, and I don’t think he’d mind…so…I’ll show you the way out of here, until the last hundred or so feet. Then I get to have my fun. Sound fair?” This time I made the decision and shook her hand. She led us through hallway upon hallway, some stained with blood, others barren, but increasingly normal. Then we saw the door. I attempted to bolt for it, but she stopped me and said, “Still got ten feet until our deal runs out.” James stopped moving, but then she pushed him forward. The floorboard ahead of us warped and twisted, rising out as a humanoid figure before becoming paler. Presently, the elderly gentleman who had welcomed us into the house stood there 

“Ah, Miss Lily, out for a stroll?” 

“Yes, thank you, House,”

 “Please allow me to inform Mr. Green.” James, Lily, and I all said a foul word, James and I out of fear, Lily out of exasperation. House pulled from his pocket a silver bell and rang it once. My heart skipped a beat. James repeated his remark. Lily sighed heavily. From behind us, the sound of scrapping claws claimed our full attention. 

“Well,” said Lily, “might as well start running.” The scrapping claws got closer; James and I needed no further motivation. Lily started her gruesome transformation as Mr. Green burst through the living room doorway. James was ahead of me. My breath burned. My legs were moving so fast that I had no feeling in them. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. My heart beat so fast that it seemed it would burn itself out. I slammed into the door, desperately trying to open it. James looked at the door knob and promptly kicked the door down. The Greens were nearly on top of us. 

James looked at me once; he had always been reckless. “Look after my sister for me,” he said and threw me out the door. I landed on the walkway to Mr. Green’s house, skinning my knee and bloodying my nose. I smelled iron and grass clippings. I turned around, back to that house of horror. 

“Watch the stairs!” said Mr. Green, now back to his human disguise. 

“Are you all right?” called Lily, the same. 

“Stay away from me!” I yelled. My eyes searched for James. The house interior seemed completely normal. “Where’s James!” 

“James? Do we know a James?” 

“No, Dad, never heard of him. He came in alone.” The two of them flashed a smile between them. 

“Get home safely,” said Mr. Green, who then had to suppress a chuckle. The door closed behind them. The green light from the windows shone down on me. I was alone, except for the watchful eyes of the house of Mr. Green.

That jagged feeling of a heart yearning to be free

From the chest of quiet agony. 

Drinking in the mixture of worry and fantasy

Which conjures the many mirrors of what could be. 

The mind dreams of nadirs and apogees. 

The body shakes and twiddles, feeling only

That jagged feeling of a heart yearning to be free

From the chest of quiet agony. 

It is a useless, mounting pressure towards no synergy;

Just the tiniest of worms, burrowing in thought and dream. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. The spirit wanders about the worry, remembering 

That jagged feeling of a heart yearning to be free

From the chest of quiet agony.

The door swings open, and at last the scratching fears flee. 

They kick you out

And tell you, “fly!”

For you’re too big

To stay inside

They yank away

Your warm abode

And tell you,

“Build one of your own!”

Your sheltered wings

Now meet the light

For the first time,

You gain your sight

Frozen in place

A paralyzing fear

Apparitions of the future

Drawing ever near

You step away,

But then glance back

Unsure of your fate

Aware that you lack

But with a smile,

And a supporting hand,

You find the courage

To finally stand

The way that life moves through the cracks is mesmerizing to you 

You can’t believe that we have been on this earth for so long yet so short. 

Your life is a gun that shoots others away from itself. 

There is always something else to move on to.

My life is a maze of mirrors and every mirror reflects someone I have known.

The life I live is the absence of hate and the absence of love. 

The life I live is so confusing, the planet is dying and yet I move on. 

We do not understand this life we live.

This life we live is the way that all lives live and we shall die doing it.

We  continue to live through this life without fear nor sadness.

Because we know that all roads lead to death and pain.

And yet we stay alive.

The life we live is worth it regardless of the pain.

The life we live shall stay that way even on its deathbed.

The life we live rises up from the ashes renewed in its fervor for Love.

The way that the pain washes over us like an ocean

The pain shall not stay yet it will always come back.

We have known the source of this pain and yet we cannot cut it out.

The source is the way that care is denied; the way that lives are cut off. 

I still truly love this life we live regardless of pain.

I will always love this life we live because I know it can be better.

And I know it shall be such one day.

The lives that we all live can be saved if we work together.

If all of our lives stand together against those who hurt.

If we live together as people and not as stories we tell.

The people will live together and stand against.

Against all injustice we have stood and we shall stand again.

Albums piled high

Spines cracking with the weight

My megabytes chewed up

I’m almost out of space

Scrolling for hours

Each artifact unique

Perfect capsules of time

Moments that never repeat

Her eyes are grey and clammy, staring sedentary   

At a ceiling fan that flips on and off in chops.

But there is everything bursting on the edge of memory. 

She rummages through rotted wood cabinetry,

Rooting around forks, plastic cups, and eventually hearing the familiar jingling song. 

Her eyes are bright and joyous, and filled with victory  

The walls are forty year old stucco, filled with longevity

And bursting with water damage dripping in from the rooftop. 

There is a something stirring on the edge of memory 

The metal bed is all that’s left of familiarity.

Light blue bedsheets are tossed on in a flop.

Her eyes are a darker blue, with cataracts making them blurry 

The apartment is no longer easy serenity.

Instead covered in noise and foggy water drops. 

Her eyes are silent, filled with tears and cracking momentarily,

And then, empty handed, nothing is on the edge of memory.