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I couldn’t believe it. I’d once walked away from that house, leaving an empty yard behind. Now the house just stood there, like I’d never left. A few steps down the driveway, I could see a shadow in the guest room on the second floor. Could it be? Of course it was.

Evan came out to greet me. He’d assumed the shape of an average brown-haired Caucasian man in a black shirt and dark jeans. Even though I knew he wasn’t fully human, it was hard to see through his camouflage.

And yet, I wasn’t afraid. Evan wouldn’t hurt me.

​

I stopped a few feet in front of him. For a moment, we just looked at one another.

“I thought you were dead,” I said.

“I don’t possess the strength to die,” he muttered.

“I’m not going to pretend to understand that.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

He stepped aside, letting me in. Looking at him a bit closer, I could see the tiny hairs of shifting colors that made up his ‘clothes’. I could see the seams in his face where his membranes could break apart. I saw the pouch on his back, where folded cockroach-wings rested.

I’d missed him.

​

I sat down in the kitchen, and he handed me a sandwich. I told him about the past few months. The various monstrosities that’d tried to kill me. Everything from Saint Gall to Hatchet, and everything in-between. Headless victims, escaping from time itself. A sadistic, bloodthirsty monster, trapped in the body of a child. But it was when I came to speaking about Uncle John that I stopped myself.

There was no way he’d still be alive. He’d been, at most, hours from passing when I left him. Now it’d been… what, days? Weeks? Being stuck with those Blameless freaks out in the Hatchet grounds messed up my perspective of time.

Evan wasn’t the reactive type, but he seemed regretful.

“There is no suffering to that passing,” he said. “Your kin were strong. Only the weak resist oblivion.”

​

While I got a chance to rest up in the bedroom, Evan went to check on John; just to make sure. Despite being exhausted, I couldn’t help but to lay awake. I was so anxious that I couldn’t stop my leg from shaking. It took me half an hour just to yawn, and another half before I lost my train of thought.

It felt just like the blink of an eye. I woke up to Evan standing outside my door, looking at me.

“The proprietor laid him to rest,” he said. “It is done.”

I didn’t know what to say. It felt like a rock dropping straight from my brain into my stomach, pulling the light in the back of my mind along with it. This dark, sinking feeling. It physically hurt me, and there was no going back now. I curled up, devastated.

Even sat down next to me, placing a chitin-covered hand on my arm in a mimicked gesture of comfort.

“You are almost finished,” he said. “You may stay here.”

“I barely even… even know what this is,” I sobbed. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for any of…”

“You called upon the attention of a being,” Evan said. “That attention is important. And if you walk one year under its’ gaze, it can see your devotion. It rewards. It forgives.”

“See, I don’t… I don’t even know what that really means.”

“It means great change,” said Evan, feigning a mechanical smile. “And change is good.”

“Change is good,” I repeated. “Change is good.”

​

When I woke up, Evan had already gone down to his basement. He’d left a box of tissues, two tuna sandwiches, a coke, and an entire bag of lightly salted tortilla chips. It was all set up on a neatly arranged tray, right next to my bed.

But something was wrong. I tried to turn, but my arm wasn’t responding. There was a deep, pulsing pressure reaching all the way from my neck down to my fingertips.

No pain, but… nothing else, either.

​

I looked down at my chest. I remember that one of the Blameless freaks had stabbed me with a needle. The puncture wound wasn’t healing properly. It looked like little black veins were spreading throughout my torso. One particularly large vein reached all the way into my left arm, stopping at the stump of my ring finger; where a little metallic growth poked out of the skin.

I’d seen that metal before. It was the same kind of metal that’d killed Uncle John.

“Evan?” I called out. “Evan, are you there?”

It took a moment for a speaker in the corner of the room to come to life.

“Yes,” a set of voices responded in unison.

“I think… I think there’s something wrong.”

​

It took him a few moments to come upstairs and examine me. A cold stethoscope against my chest, a few blood samples, and a scraping of the metal stump. A few minutes later, he came back. While Evan didn’t have the facial structures to look grim, I could tell he didn’t have good news.

“Yes,” he said. “Something is wrong.”

“Is it what I think it is?”

“An infection. A refined, concentrated dose of an organic metal.”

“Same as Uncle John had.”

“No,” said Evan. “His dosage was about a hundredth of what you have.”

“A hundredth?”

“It is a concentrated dose. Your uncle had mere shrapnel.”

“Yeah, but he had it in his brain, I just-“

I was so frustrated. I was so frustrated that I couldn’t find the words, and Evan just handed me the tissue box. Maybe he knew this was coming.

​

Over the next few days, Evan tried to slow down the infection. We tried the same dialysis-technique that Uncle John had helped me with, but it just wasn’t enough. It was like using a spoon to drain a sinking ship. I was deteriorating, fast. To Evan’s credit, he stayed true to keeping me as his guest.

At first, it was small things. Losing the sensation in my arm for a minute. Having a weird headache. Tasting copper. It was all little symptoms, nothing major.

But it got worse. One of my strands of hair had turned into a sharp, solid, metal. I accidentally punctured my thumb with it once. Days later, I lost all appetite. The only food I could keep down was either heavily salted or high in capsaicin. I could drink hot sauce straight from the bottle. Suddenly the tortilla chips started to make sense.

​

The calendar crossed into December. One of my eyes had gone grey, and I couldn’t keep my back straight. I’d hear this awful feedback sound whenever I tried to listen to something through headphones. One of my teeth turned black and fell out. It was all one thing after another, and I started dreading waking up. I mean, what else would I find? Every trip to the bathroom was a horror show.

But I was comfortable, all things considered. Evan did his best to help. He made sure I had what I needed, and he gave me whatever kind of pain meds he found appropriate. Vitamin supplements, routine check-ups, and a mild exercise regimen. Evan had this vast collection of encyclopedia-like information stored in the back of his mind, and he could use it without a second thought.

But I couldn’t help but wonder; if this was just a part of the “Pacifier” I’d been struck with, what would a full dose do to me?

All in all, I was lucky.

​

I didn’t get to see John’s grave. Leah and Roy were nowhere to be found, and Evan wasn’t to keen on looking for them. He told me the Babin family was not only vicious and vindictive, but numerous. There were dozens of them, and people who went looking for them usually disappeared. He could fend for himself, but he saw no reason to push further.

I couldn’t blame him.

I just tried to focus on the next day, and the next day, and the next day. Not my hair falling out, or my left eye going black. Not the twig of metal growing from the stump of my ring finger. Not my teeth turning dark, or my tongue orange. I tried to put it all aside, and just focus on making it to the end of the month.

Maybe I could wish it all away. I’d do anything for a clean slate. Just like my dad had wanted.

I barely slept, ate, or drank. Days started to meld together. What day was it? When was the last time I ate? I started forgetting and found myself disoriented regularly. How John’d handled it was a mystery. Maybe there was a trick to it, or maybe it worked differently when it pumped through his system over a longer time.

​

I remember one night in particular.

My feet were cold, and I was rolling a little white feather between my fingers. I was so focused on it that it took me seconds to realize I wasn’t even inside the house anymore. I was standing in the back yard, barefoot, in the middle of the night. And as I rolled that little feather between my fingers, I saw little sparks. My fingertips were coated with metal, and rubbing them made sparks fly.

I hadn’t been outside much. The first snow had begun to fall, and among the snowflakes I could see white feathers. All over the night sky, they intermingled with the snow, and danced their way to the ground. It was so serene, in a way.

When I looked down, I could see the sparks had lit the feather on fire. The ashen remains fell apart in my hand.

​

Coming back inside, Evan gave me a blanket and a glass of salt water. I mentioned the feathers outside and chugged the glass.

“Then it’s almost over,” Evan nodded. “That’s the last sign.”

“Sign? What signs?”

“There are several signs that indicate its’ presence,” he nodded.

“Such as?”

“The sunflowers,” Evan said. “Have you never questioned the sunflowers?”

“The blue ones?” I chuckled. “No, those things are everywhere.”

“They are where they need to be,” he said. “They are the only thing that can grow anywhere, and anywhen. Winter, summer, spring, and autumn. They can grow here, on the other side, and at the bottom of the sea. They grow where one thing crosses a line. Where a rule is broken, and where intent is foul.”

I just looked at him. It was like listening to a robot reading slam poetry. A strange, machine-like staccato, forgetting to sound human for a moment. But Evan quickly corrected himself and continued.

“But most of all, they can grow in the back of your mind. That’s where they stay untouched the longest.”

“You mean… it’s bad to think about them?”

“And to not think about them.”

“That doesn’t leave me with a lot of options.”

“Why would you have an option?”

I didn’t have a response. I just looked at him, dumbfounded.

​

My joints started locking up more regularly. Some days, I’d have such an ache that I could barely walk. At one point, Evan had to carry me to the bathroom. I slowly lost my sense of taste and smell. I had to concentrate to focus my eyes, leaving most of the day in a vague blur. I would hear things with an echo, and my skin started to flake; revealing a subdermal layer of metal.

It got worse, and worse. Quickly.

I started having these dreams. White feathers, landing in my hand. Looking up into the clouds, and feeling myself looking back. I’d wake up with this sudden sense of awe, like the universe was calling out to me. Like someone was waiting to see me.

Evan found me outside two more times. Once when I’d fallen asleep in the bath, and a second time when I’d woken up in the middle of the nigh. He stopped me, every time. He had more than repaid whatever debt was between him and my uncle, but he didn’t seem to mind the company, or the hassle.

​

Days turned into weeks. I celebrated a meager Christmas, watching old movies on VHS in the guest room. Evan got me a little plastic Christmas tree as a gift. Battery-powered, with all kinds of lights and a little angel on top. It wasn’t much larger than my hand, but I appreciated the gesture.

By then, I could barely move. I shuffled about on crutches and had to transition to a wheelchair after a few days. I counted down the hours until the end of the year, and whenever I lost these big swathes of time to my fading grip on reality it was just more encouragement. Like falling asleep on a plane; it gets you there faster.

​

Finally, it was the night before New Year’s Eve. A thick layer of pristine snow outside. And by then, I could barely move. That night, Evan helped me get to bed. He had to speak up, so I could hear him through my rattling lungs. I could taste rust.

“Your journey ends tomorrow,” he said. “But it requires an effort.”

“To… walk. Around the church,” I wheezed. “I-I… I can’t do it.”

“No,” Evan said, shaking his head. “It is not about walking. It is about a journey.”

“Will you… help me?”

“Yes.”

That was it. Matter-of-fact, straight to the point. Of course he’d help. He’d done nothing but help.

​

That night I finally slept. I dreamt of Uncle John, finally free of his sickness. I dreamt about a field covered in white feathers and a warm summer sun. I dreamt that I saw what would come next. A benevolent eternity of never-ending excitement, love, and youth. All I had to do was stay a little longer. Then I’d be welcome to join him, and so many others. Countless others.

But I didn’t. I tore myself awake.

It was New Year’s Eve.

​

Evan prepared a wheelchair for me and a jar of salt water with a straw. He bundled me up in winter clothes and blankets, making sure a woolly hat fit snug around my ears. It wasn’t until he rolled me out of the house that we spoke.

“It’ll take hours,” I coughed. “You sure about this?”

“Yes.”

And that was that.

​

It would take hours to roll me around that lake 12 times. Evan had considered the pacing and calculated how long it’d take based on the amount of snow and the rigidity of the wheels. He’d checked weather reports and scouted ahead. Luckily, the road was salted, to stop people from slipping. That made things easier.

It was afternoon when we left his house for Frog Lake. The snow reflected the rays of the sun, casting a mirror-like sheen on every flat surface in town. The wind stood still, and I could hear every rustle from every winter bird in the forest.

Once we got to the edge of the lake, a sinking feeling came over me. I remembered the brisk walk I’d taken one year prior. I thought about what John had taught me, and how my view of the world had so drastically changed. Still, the path around frog lake was the same. Broken streetlights. Names carved into trees. Hell, even the same abandoned bike at the side of the road.

Whatever happened to me, the town would live on. Nothing would change that day, but me.

​

I drifted in and out of consciousness. I could feel Evan’s hands pushing me forward, and the rhythmic clunk of the wheelchair lulled me in and out of sleep. I wasn’t even tired. Maybe it wasn’t sleep; maybe it was just my body shutting down.

Once, he poked me face to wake me up. Turns out I’d forgotten to breathe. I had to start forcing air into my lungs, consciously. It felt like doing a sit-up with my organs, and it was a nightmare.

“You are doing well,” said Evan. “Breathe.”

​

I didn’t even count the laps. All I saw was the sun moving from the top of the sky to the edge of the horizon. The wheelchair kept squeaking, and I could see we were following our own tracks in the snow. For a while, I could almost imagine me and Evan on the path in front of us, like we were having a slow chase with ourselves.

Once the sun started to set, the fireworks started. Just like last year. I heard people cheering and music bursting out from passing cars. Even then, barely conscious, I recognized the melody to ‘The Final Countdown’. I chuckled at how appropriate it was.

“Good,” Evan said. “Make noise. I need to hear that you live.”

“It’s… it’s hard. To laugh.”

“Think of something humorous.”

“It doesn’t… I can’t just…”

I sighed.

Moments later, Evan took a deep breath, and gave me the worst acapella rendition of The Final Countdown I’d ever heard. It was like listening to a sick child trying to sing through a broken kazoo. It was so awful that it came back around to delightful, and even in my decrepit state I couldn’t help but to chuckle. He really was giving it his best to keep me sharp.

​

The sun had set and the streetlights (that still worked) came on. We started seeing people on the side roads rushing off to their parties and dinners. I was still sipping my salt water. I couldn’t taste it anyway, and I needed every little boost I could get to make it through the next few hours.

I must’ve nodded off, as once again, Evan woke me up.

“One more,” he said. “You are almost done.”

I tried to respond, but I couldn’t. My jaw had locked up and my tongue wasn’t moving. I grunted so he knew I was conscious at least.

I focused on every breath, on every blink of an eye. I listened for my heartbeats, and I held on to whatever life I had left in me. I could do one more lap. I could do a little more. I could make it to the end of the year.

And as we came back around, my heart sunk.

There was someone blocking our path.

​

Coming closer, I could see his black hair and a childlike physique. A pale kid, about eight to ten years old. I’d recognize him anywhere.

Fred. The result of a Yearwalk from another person, at another time. I’d gotten away from him once back in July, and I had the image of him drinking from a decapitated head seared into my mind.

Maybe I was imagining things. I wasn’t all there.

​

“Hi there!” Fred called out, waving at us. “Hey, mister!”

Evan stopped and stepped forward. He wasn’t easily intimidated.

“I suggest you leave,” said Evan. “This is a private matter.”

“Nah, I’m good,” smiled Fred. “I’ll stay right here, buddy.”

“What do you want?”

Fred thought about it, tilting his head in an exaggerated fashion.

“Nothing,” he smiled. “I just don’t want you to have anything.”

​

There was a sudden rush of movement. Fred cackled, but Evan wasn’t backing down. I could hear the flutter of insect wings and the clamp of a pincer. Little steps in the snow. Laughter and punctured skin.

I saw nothing. It was too dark, and I couldn’t keep my eyes focused.

​

Then, movement.

At first I thought I was being sucked in; but I figured I was being pushed. Fred was keeping Evan busy, while someone pushed me forward. A well-manicured hand patted me on my shoulder, as a whisper sunk into me like an icy dagger.

“Now now,” Leah Babin whispered. “How about you come with me, and we’ll leave these boys to play, hm?”

I couldn’t say anything. Do anything. I was being pushed forward, one high-heeled step at a time. I tried to scream for help, to move, but my joints were all locked up. I tried to force my mouth open, but I couldn’t. I was trapped inside myself, and no one was coming to help me.

​

Leah pushed me forward, away from Evan and Fred. She rolled me down to the edge of the lake. The fireworks from downtown bathed the snow in waves of red and gold. Leah leaned in close.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take that wish,” she whispered. “If you mind, just say no.”

It was cruel. Nothing but cruel. And with a chuckle, the world started moving.

She’d pushed me, and as I rolled into the icy waters of Frog Lake, I saw Leah and Roy smiling at me from the side of the road.

​

My body was so heavy from the metal that I couldn’t do anything but to sink. Deeper and deeper into the lake. There was no light, and barely any sensation. I couldn’t even feel myself drowning. Just this all-encompassing, complete darkness.

No touch. No taste. No sight.

And finally, no thoughts.

​

. . .

​

But somewhere, in the dark, there was a voice. It was like hearing something through a door; near, but still far away. A mumble coming into focus.

​

“Leah Babin is a fucking idiot.”

I opened my eyes.

​

A beach of black sand, overlooking a still ocean. A red sun sinking over a white horizon. My feet were warm from the glow.

Uncle John handed me a cigarette.

There he was, just off to my left.

He looked at least twenty years younger, and without a single stray metal hair. Clear green eyes, and with a pair of smile dimples that I’d never seen before.

“Technically, she didn’t kill you, so she doesn’t get a wish,” he said. “It was either the lake that got you, or that metal shit in your veins.”

“I suppose,” I nodded. “So… what, does the lake get a wish?”

“Nah,” he smiled. “No one does.”

“So then what? We just… sit here?”

“I suppose so.”

​

We shared a cigarette, looking out at the still ocean. No waves, no wind. Nothing but the shifting sand under our feet, and the shadows cast from the red glow of the sinking sun.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Not sure,” John shrugged. “Maybe as a comfort.”

“A comfort?”

“It’ll get real dark, real soon,” said John, nodding at the horizon. “It’s scary.”

“Evan said it takes strength to die.”

“Then I guess we’re heavyweight champions.”

​

As the sun sunk towards the horizon, we got up. It was a nice view. I could do worse.

But there was something off.

The sun stopped moving. Moments later, it changed direction; going back up.

It shifted. It changed size. And finally, I could see it.

​

It wasn’t a sun.

It was an eye.

​

I could feel it; a being beyond my understanding. A guiding voice behind the curtain of my world. It had watched me all year long. It had waited for me. And now that I was here, it wasn’t sure what to do.

John looked at it, then at me. Then back at the eye. His jaw drop in recognition.

“Hey!” he shouted at me, grabbing my shoulders. “It’s… it’s still watching!”

“So? What do you-“

“It’s not over!” he laughed. “It hasn’t stopped watching, so it… it’s not over! It can’t be!”

It wouldn’t watch a corpse. But it would watch the Yearwalker.

​

Suddenly, a darkness. My eyes opening under water. Something pulling me forward. Something else on the bottom of the lake; someone who had been dumped there, just like me.

Under water, a silhouette of a metal skull with a red eye.

​

I blinked, and I’m back on that beach. Feeling the sand sink into my feet. Uncle John rustling me back and forth.

“You gotta make your wish!” he screamed. “You gotta do it!”

“I-I… I don’t know!” I gasped. “I don’t know what… how…”

I grabbed him back and looked him in the eyes.

“You should go back,” I said. “You shouldn’t have died.”

“No!”

​

I’m back under water. The decayed corpse pushes down on me, hands closing around my throat. Crushing my windpipe. I feel my heart beating harder, but slower. Fading. Panicking.

Dying.

​

John is hugging me. Crying into my ear.

“I’d planned on doing this,” he admits. “I wanted to take it from you. I wanted it all along.”

“What are you-“

“I’m taking your fucking wish.”

​

And simultaneously, my eyes see the red eye of Uncle John’s decaying corpse, staring down at me.

And beyond, the eye of a red sun.

And as they blink, my world goes dark.

​

. . .

​

Waking up from unconsciousness wasn’t new to me. It’s just like blinking. One moment you’re there, one moment you’re not. I was lying on my back, floating in the ice-cold water. I must’ve gotten lighter; there was no metal to sink me anymore. I could taste dirt, and feel mud under my fingernails.

The fireworks were still going strong.

Someone in the distance was wishing everyone, everywhere, a ‘Happy New Year’.

​

Uncle John had taken my wish, to make sure I wouldn’t waste it on him.

Motherfucker.

​

I turned around and crawled out of the lake. Freezing and shuddering, I stood back up. Leah and Roy were long gone. Fred too. All that remained was Evan, standing on the side of the road, trying his best to stay upright. He was exhausted and bleeding.

We weren’t okay;

But we were gonna make it.

​

So why am I writing this?

Well, perhaps I just don’t want people to throw themselves into something they don’t understand. Maybe it’s just a metaphor for appreciating what little you have. Maybe it’s the pain and process of change, or the dangers of the unknown.

Honestly, it could be all of it. It could be neither. An experience is an experience, it doesn’t have to have a point. Some things just happen to you; not everything is commentary.

That year was the most horrifying of my life. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It has changed me in ways I can’t even imagine. My past self is barely a memory. How the fuck do you see what I’ve seen and not break? How do you live, knowing there are so many horrors that can end you, at a moment’s notice, without any choice or input?

And yet, I’m still here. You are too.

​

Uncle John left me a sizeable inheritance and royalties from some of his apps. I’m finally going to culinary school. I’m not staying in Tomskog, but I’m not moving back home either. I think I’ll settle in Michigan; I know people there.

I think Evan still lives in that house, back in Tomskog. God knows what he’s working on, but I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll never truly know.

And for the time being, everything will be as normal as I can keep it.

​

But I know, in my heart of hearts, that this won’t be my last Yearwalk.

I know I’ll see Uncle John again.