 Is there anyone here who's ever been to Fadaville up north? I've been thinking about my hometown a lot recently, but I've been having a hard time finding others on the internet who've heard of the place. My grandkids tell me that you can find anything on the web, but clearly that's not the case. If you know anyone who's been to or is from Fadaville, or you are yourself, please get in touch with me. I would love to reminisce about my hometown a little. Let me introduce myself. I'm Greg. I'm in my 60s now. I left Fadaville when I was 22 for an office job that went nowhere and I never went back. I figured it might be good for me to tell you fine people, some of the stuff that I remember, even if you don't believe me. At the very least, I hope you all find it interesting. If you'd like to hear more stories I remember from Fadaville, please let me know. There's really so much to tell. Fadaville was a nice place, and I'm not just saying that because I'm old and nostalgic. It had its share of troubles, but the streets were safe there. Our crime was low, our citizens fed, and we had the most wonderful parks. You could wander for hours there, entranced by the green. We let our gardens run wild, feral and flourishing, a merciless riot of color, only being so bold as to tame them when they threatened to overtake the paths that allowed us to look at them safely. They never seemed to mind. Perhaps they like the attention, but I'm getting ahead of myself. It was one of these gardens that I was wandering the night I broke one of the laws of Fadaville for the first time, or perhaps not the first time. I did my share of running wild in my teens, same as everyone else. But everyone knew that someone who got caught smoking pot or the like would only spend the night in city hall before being released, hapless and embarrassed back to his parents. It was not one of the real laws, not one of the ones told to children, not one of the ones that counted. I can hardly remember them all these days, but I remember one clear as day, be home before the sun sets. I remember when I was young, my parents took me to a movie and lost track of time, so that when we left the theater, it was nearly night, the sky painted in flame. I remember the panicked look on their faces, the way they hauled me by the arm to our car and broke the speed limits on the drive home fleeing the night. I didn't understand why. You must understand, I was quite young, and this was before the internet. I'd never spoken to someone outside Fodderville. This was the way the world worked, and I never thought to question it. The closest I came was considering it parental over caution as I reached my rebellious youth. I never once until that night thought to really ask why. I scarcely remember why I was out so late, some girl I think. I was a silly, pining youth, dreaming of bringing a pretty girl to a park full of beautiful flowers. I wouldn't have picked one for her. There were laws in Fodderville, and that was one of them. But I wandered, silly, and in what I thought was love, silly enough to not notice how late it was getting until I saw the length of the shadows around me. The phrase a chill ran down my spine is overused, but more than that insufficient. There was ice in my blood, but more than that it was the vulnerability, the sense of trespass, the sudden rush of alertness as I realized that I was not safe. I was alone, surrounded by plants that cared nothing for me, and the sun was setting. I was alone, away from my girlfriend, my parents, away from anyone who cared about me, and the sun was setting. I'd never stayed out after dark, and the sun was setting. The sun was setting, and I was afraid. I ran. Like I said, Fodderville was a reasonable place. You couldn't say out past dusk, but there was no reason you needed to be in your own home. So the city constructed makeshift shelters, little more than glorified bus stations, places to hide from the oncoming night. Everyone knew about them. There was one on every street corner, one by the school, many by every park in the city, a place to hide everywhere you looked. They were barely enough to fit two or three people, but it was enough for me. It took me only a few minutes to reach the nearest shelter. But in that time, the shadows had lengthened. I couldn't put a name to the fear that took me, as the sky shifted to purple and blue, the stars glittering like tiny eyes. I only knew, in my heart of hearts, the part of me that was still a child hearing my mother's stories. The part of me that was still a frightened mammal scurrying to the den that I needed to be inside, even the paltry inside of a shelter. The shelters, despite the importance of them, were not that impressive. They looked more like outhouses, almost four flimsy walls and a door and little else. But the door locked. And I remember the wave of relief that swept through me as I crashed inside and slammed the door behind me hard enough to shake it before collapsing against it. I was safe. In the morning, I could return to my parents and be scolded and grounded, but alive. I even dared to mock myself for my terror. What could be the problem? Only children were afraid of the dark. This was Fadaville, where it was safe. I should have just walked home. But I didn't leave the shelter. I just settled myself on the hard cot ready to wait out the night when I heard the pound of footsteps. There was a judder as a body slammed against the door, someone losing control of their momentum in their panic. Please, I heard a voice gasp. Please, please, I know, but please, I didn't wait. Perhaps I should have. Perhaps I should have thought about it more. I've thought about it a lot over the years. I did not. I had the door open in an instant, and the person ducked inside, collapsing against the wall the same way I had. Shut it. They said, hurry. The locks lit home with a click, and I turned to them. Are you hurt? I didn't know what I could do about it if they were, but I thought I should ask. But they didn't look hurt, only shaky and tired. They were tall and thin, with long, stick straight, dark hair. There was little light in the shelter, only what filtered through the tiny windows, and it made their eyes look wide and dark and strange. They gave me a dubious look and struggled to their feet. I'm fine. They said, they said nothing more, leaning against the wall with their arms crossed and staring out the window. I hesitated, so what were you running from? They gave me a withering stare. The night, obviously, they said, voice dripping icy scorn. I snapped my mouth shut. I was jittery, fidgeting where I sat on the tiny cot. It seemed, I thought ruefully, that I was going to be spending the night with someone after all. The shelter had no clock, and we just waited there silent for what seemed like hours, but could have been minutes. I scratched at a scab on my nails, wondering if braving the night and the dangers it theoretically contained would have been better than this. I was on the verge of falling asleep. When I heard the scream, it was piercing a howl that rose in a fearful crescendo, the sound of a woman in some terrible pain. I'd already rose to my feet and was at the door before I consciously realized it in my hand on the doorknob before the stranger in there grabbed my wrist. Their grip was strong, their skin cold, their long nails digging into my skin. Don't. They said, I stared at them. Are you crazy? Shut up and listen. They dragged me away from the door. I was athletic, a broad, healthy young man, but they, whoever they were, were fearfully strong. I struggled to no avail. Listen, they said. It was at that moment the scream came again. I hissed through my teeth, yanking against their vice-like hands on me. When something occurred to me, the eye of memory threw up a card and then went and hid. It had been the same scream, the exact same scream, the same wailing, shrieking crescendo like a recording played over again. I froze, even my breath stopped in my chest. It came again, the same sound like a recording or perhaps not the same sound. This time it sounded higher, colder, like an arctic wind. There was a faint distortion too, I realized. I didn't know how to describe it, only a subtle warping that I wouldn't have noticed had I not been so tense and fearful, my senses blown wide to the structure of the world. The stranger released me. I didn't open the door, instead stumbling backward to sink weakly onto the cot. Everything seemed far away. I realized, distantly, that my hands were shaking. The stranger shrugged. They were tense too, I realized. There was a practiced air of nonchalance about them, but I saw the way they sent glances toward the door and the windows, shifting their weight on their feet as if preparing to run. Haven't you? They said, ever heard of an anglerfish. I didn't ask what they meant. I didn't want to know. Perhaps it seems odd to you that I didn't question it or try to see for myself. I promise you, you wouldn't have opened the door either. Few people could be curious enough to look in the face of that cold howl. Questions were for the sunlight in the comfort of your own home. Are we safe in here? I asked. The walls, which had seemed flimsy, but sufficient suddenly seemed to be made of paper. The stranger looked at me again. They still didn't seem friendly. Their eyes still wide and odd, but their face seemed to soften a little as they looked at me and took in how frightened I must have seemed how out of my depth. That's what these are for. They said, as long as we don't open the door until sunrise, we'll be fine. All we have to do is wait. I no longer tried to sleep. I felt like a caveman keeping watch at the mouth of a cave, staring alone into the darkness. Every shift in the underbrush, the sign of a wall for a tiger. I was hiding in a flimsy little shelter, my only companion in unknown quantity, without even the benefit of a spear in my hand. It was this vigilance that made it so when there was a shift of movement outside the window. I caught it. Shhh. I closed my mouth immediately. Rude or not, the stranger clearly knew more about this than I did. Whatever was going on, I had no idea what that could be. I was not willing to die for my pride. We stared at the tiny window. I was just about to write off the movement as a trick of a tired and frightened mind when it came again. I froze. There was something outside the window. I couldn't see what it could be. All I could see was a shadow. There was something outside the window, but I could hear no footsteps. Only faint shadows behind the thin glass. I was still except for my breath, which came fast and rough. I couldn't seem to get enough air. An angler fish, my thoughts murmured treacherously. An angler fish, shhh. The stranger whispered again. We were silent, staring. It seemed too dark in the shelter somehow. It was night, but nights were never truly black, even without the full moon that shone fat and pale in the sky. It was darker than it should be, not enough light coming through the window. I didn't breathe again until the gray light of the moon returned and the movements outside were gone. Air rushed out of my chest in a long, slow shudder. You picked a bad night to get caught outside. My gaze snapped around to the stranger, whose gaze remained as cool as ever. It dawned on me how odd it was that I'd never seen them before. Foddaville was not a large town. One couldn't know every single person who lived there, but I was sociable and wandered frequently whenever I could. There were few people in town who I was unfamiliar with, but I didn't know their face, their name. At the time, I didn't ask. Something about doing so just seemed wrong. How so? I asked. They turned their eyes back to the night outside. Bad night. They said again. Lots of folk about would have been better to stay indoors, follow the laws. They said, What do you mean by folk? I replied. All I received in return was a disdainful stare. Weren't you taught anything? I was silent and resolved to ask my parents when morning came, and I could get out of this alive. Carefully, I ventured instead. Why were you out so late? They shrugged, visiting. There was no elaboration given. I wasn't sure if they were being intentionally opaque, or if they didn't realize more information was usually given, but I let it slide. They were here and they were helping me. That was the important thing. I couldn't keep precise track of time, but it seemed only a short while before the next attempt came. Three sharp knocks on the door, and then the voice, masculine and professional. Are you folks all right in there? I jumped. Hearing another person's voice was strange somehow. We'd left the real world for the realm of confusion and shadow, and hearing a police officer seemed so strange. It felt incongruous. Yes, officer, we're all right. I called. Next to me, the stranger tensed up. Their wide, dark eyes focused on the door. Don't open the door. They whispered. Their voice was soft, but I could hear them clearly. What? It's a cop. I said. And then I remembered the anglerfish. The knocks came again. Do you mind if I come in and take a look? The voice outside said it sounded so normal. That was the worst part. It didn't have the distortion the scream had. It sounded like a man's voice, tired and waiting to get off his beat and go home. But I knew the police officers in Fadaville. My father was one and I'd met most of his colleagues. I didn't know this voice. I stayed silent, staring at the door. Hello. The police officer's voice was frustrated now. Open this door. The stranger and I said nothing. A snarl. A low, furious snarl. Knocking harder and faster. I could have you folks arrested. Open this door. After another minute or so of silent waiting, whatever was outside hissed. It wasn't like a person hissing, not really like the sound of a snake either. More than anything else. It seemed like the sound of the wind rustling through dry grass. Then footsteps walking away. Is that was that the same thing as before? The stranger shrugged. We didn't speak. I couldn't bring myself to find words to say, only to sit on the cot and stare tense at the thin door, the windows that could possibly be shattered with one blow. Small talk was for the real world, the sunlit world, the world that I understood. Still, somehow I found it in myself to be bored even in my terror. One can get used to even fear if you feel it for long enough. The only thing besides us in the shelter was a tiny shelving unit shoved into the corner. It had nothing on it, except a container of salt that I found to be mostly empty in a tiny book. I don't remember the contents, only that it was one of those dime store novels. I hefted the container of salt, considering it seemed appropriate somehow. I remembered something my mother told me salt, she'd said, was important. Keep that, they said. I looked over at the stranger. They were still staring out the window into the alien night. They glanced over at me, eyeing the salt container with a look of dubiousness before turning their gaze back to the window. We might need it. We might. I asked. Just keep it. They repeated just in case. I asked in case of what, but they were not forthcoming. I set it back down and open the tiny novel. The pages were ragged, the spine broken, but it was still readable. I'd finished about a fourth of it when there was a great crash as something landed on the roof. I swore and dropped the book jumping to my feet. The stranger pushed me back down. Just wait, they said, but their dark eyes were even wider than before. I sat back down, shaking, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Heavy footfalls echoed through the tiny room as something moved about on top of the shelter. I heard scratching as if from great claws. The world seemed to hold its breath before with a sound like a great rush of air whatever had landed on the shelter seemed to disappear. I'm never going out at night again. I said weakly. The stranger did not smile, but they made a sound that could have been a laugh if you squinted. We waited in the dark for a while after that. I heard the same scream as before farther off and hope that everyone knew to stay inside. One time after that, there were bells like those on a bridle and the sound of many horses riding together. At that, the stranger seemed to freeze too, holding their breath until the riders, if that was indeed what they were, had disappeared back into the night. Many times I thought I saw a pale face looking in, pressed up against the glass, but when I looked at the window, there was only darkness. I'd almost finished my book when I heard running footsteps. I didn't look up the image of the anglerfish in the back of my mind. Whatever this was, it was a trick. I knew that no matter what, I would not open that door. That resolution died as soon as whatever it was reached the door pounding on it with desperate hands. Gregory, I nearly shrieked. Mom? The stranger stepped in front of the door, heedless of my mother's shouts. Don't open it. Their voice was low and cold. I cast a desperate glance towards the window. It was a trick. It was the anglerfish again. I couldn't. I knew I couldn't. I just... Gregory, please! My mother sobbed, please let me in. I stepped forward. The stranger tensed, but I wasn't going for the doorknob. Why are you outside this late, mom? I called. My mother paused and her weeping, apparently shocked. Gregory, why would you ask me that? I bit my lip. There's no guilt in the world worse than a child betraying a parent. Why were you out so late? I said again. I was... I was looking for you. She sucked in a breath, trying to steady herself. You were gone and I was worried. Your father, Jonathan and I, I froze. My mother, I said with a bite in my voice, has never called my father anything other than Joe, her whole life. There was a red fury rising in my chest. It didn't overtake the terror, but mingled with it, mixed with it, creating a potent boiling stew. How dare this thing, whatever it was, take my mother's face? Try harder than that, I called, sitting back down on the bed. The lure had almost gotten me, but I would avoid the teeth this time. I won't open the door. It didn't snarl like the cop had. Gregory? The thing that was not my mother sounded confused. I heard the door shake as it pounded on it. Gregory, please, it's me. I bit my lip and said nothing. I would not. There was a sound like a snarl. And the thing that could not be my mother led out a shrill wail and pounded even harder. No, Gregory, please let me in. Don't do it. The stranger said, their eyes were on me, hard and dark. You'll kill us both. I was frozen. I couldn't think. I couldn't move. I covered my ears with my hands, closed my eyes, and curled up into a ball. I could still hear the screaming, the begging, the desperate pounding on the door. It seemed like I could never stop hearing it. There was another snarl and then a desperate rising shriek. I had my hands over my ears, but I heard a wet, meaty sound, like a knife slicing through chicken. And then, silence, slowly, I uncovered my ears. Something ran its claws down the door. It felt like my heart would stop in my chest. A voice came. It was not my mother's voice. It was her voice, but it wasn't her. She could never sound like that. It said, we'll find another way in. And then the stranger spoke. I didn't understand the words, but the language felt eerie. Evidently, whatever was outside understood better than I. It snarled, still using a replica of my mother's voice. It hit the door once, a blow that made the wall shake but didn't break it. Before I heard its footsteps receding into the night, there was nothing else until morning. I didn't move until the stranger did. Following them, meek as a mouse as they unlocked the door and stepped outside. The dawn was as welcome as a lifeboat to a drowning man. After so long in the dark, the sight of the normal street in the gray early morning light, it seemed unreal. I fell to my knees, pressing my hands into the pavement just to feel the solidity of it. The realness. When I looked up, I saw the stranger walking away. Hey, I said. They jumped, turning around as I caught up with them. They looked different in the sunlight. Their eyes seemed less wide and dark, their skin less pale. They could have been any person on the street. Let me walk you home. I said, make sure you get home safely. It's the least I could do after you. I fell silent. What would have happened to me if I'd been alone and open the door or even worse left the safety of the shelter? I found that my mind skittered away from the possibilities. All that mattered, I told myself, was that I'd avoided the anglerfish's jaws. The stranger regarded me for a moment before nodding. A favor for a favor. This is correct. I did not say thank you, only turned back down the street and continued walking. We walked in silence. Around us, vaudeville continued to wake up, light switching on in businesses, people out with their dogs. It all seemed so normal. I shuddered whenever we passed a shelter. It didn't seem like it could be real. But I couldn't find it in myself to convince myself that I'd been dreaming. I'd heard the scream, the footsteps, I'd seen the shadows. I'd heard something pretending to be my mother, pretend to be murdered while I did nothing. Tears pricked at my eyes, I bowed my head. I couldn't believe that I'd done that. I had had a reason. I'd known it wasn't her, but it didn't stop me feeling like a coward. You're not a coward. The stranger said, their voice was different in the daylight, still cool and blunt, but a little warmer, a little more normal. They looked at me. I couldn't tell what it was they were thinking. Their eyes were as inscrutable as a reptiles. You acted to protect your own life. That was the correct choice. Don't be stupid and convince yourself otherwise. Slowly I nodded. I didn't know why it was hardly advice, but I began to feel better. We continued to walk. I saw a woman coming out of another shelter and waved. I wondered how the rest of the town had fared that night. Hopefully no one else had opened the door. No one else had let the darkness end. I wondered if I would find out about it if they had. The stranger came to a stop. This is me. I paused, blinking. I'd been expecting a house, obviously, or one of the rare apartment complexes. This was a park. It was different than the one I'd been wandering last night with less flowers and more trees. I couldn't see in between the trunks, only gray-greenish shadow. I shied away. After this, I wouldn't judge anyone who was scared of the dark. It seemed preeminently reasonable. Here? I asked. They nodded and looked at me. Be more careful next time. I nodded. They didn't need to tell me twice, but they weren't done talking. This is a good place, but there are laws. If we want to keep it that way, we all have to follow them. They reached forward and poked me in the chest. They were still strong, and I stumbled back. They'd been standing in front of me. When I looked down at their hand for only a moment, they'd been standing in front of me. When I started to raise my head, their shoes clearly in my field of vision. They were not standing in front of me. When I raised my head all the way, staring in an empty street. Slowly, I turned to look at the woods. The dark green woods night caught underneath the canopy. I bowed to the woods, short and respectful, and then I turned towards home.