 There is a town just off a forgotten exit on a lost highway. It is a town entombed by sycamores and shadows, trapped between our realm and another, in otherworldly hamlet misplaced on earth. It is a town that should be lost to legend and night terrors. Yet, unlike folk tales as tall as the sycamores that conceal it, the town of weirdling woods is real. In this ominous dimension, this playground for the wicked, life is a nesting doll layered in unrelenting mystery and macabre. Mythology is reality and reality is a fractured spectrum of madness. Come for a visit and stay for eternity. There are thousands of stories in the cursed town of weirdling woods. This is but one of them. Now join me as we take a walk through weirdling woods. Guardian Lila Orlock dies often. Dismissing her story as a retelling of Groundhog Day or any other versions of the trope would be fair if not for the fact that her many deaths are altruistic and annoying. See, Lila Orlock spent 13 of her 35 years on this plane dedicated to making her hamlet of weirdling woods a better place for everyone. First, a stent on the city council, then as a police dispatcher, even a few years as a volunteer firefighter, all for the greater good. These jobs paid little, but she loved her town and the fellow weirdos in it. Enough to die for them, and that isn't hyperbole. An obvious truth has both haunted and thrilled Lila Orlock for most of her life. Sometimes people have premonitions or vaguely accurate predictions that can be shaped into an appearance of validity, but Lila Orlock possesses the real thing, a celestial gift that allows her an authentic true glimpse into the future. Over her life, quite slow and deliberate, a gift or curse, depending on the day, blossomed. Little bits seeped through in childhood, but adulthood was when it began to flourish. When she was 22, Lila Orlock first utilized it. Moonlight as a cocktail waitress at the Gold Room one night, Lila began to tingle. She ran to a bathroom stall thinking a panic attack was imminent, but instead watched an entire film in her mind. She watched the bar ceiling collapse, watched the fixtures crumble and kill seven people. Every detail was tangible and present and horrifying. Even the time on the large clock on the bar wall, 10.31, numbers she knew well with Halloween being her favorite day, were awash with clarity. Then the movie stopped and she came to the bathroom stall. Twenty-three minutes before the clock hands could reach 10.31 on that night, Lila Orlock was given a gift she didn't want, the details of a pending tragedy. Then came the panic. When she emerged from the ladies room, the ceiling inside the Gold Room began to burp and expand in a slow and methodical motion. After going to war with herself mentally, she decided to risk all as the clock hit 10.30. Lila screamed and thrashed and threw glasses, plates and all the crazy she could muster. Anything Lila could hurtle towards the bar goers to scare them off was unleashed. The conclusion is easy to decipher. At 10.31, silence fell upon the Gold Room as patrons stared in shock at the devastation that nearly decapitated them seconds prior in one aggressive violent act. Of course later, suspicious eyes would be cast upon young Lila Orlock but stranger things would go on to happen in Weirdling Woods. They always did. Attention spans are short in a town with more witch doctors than medical doctors. Perhaps that's why no one connected the dots years later. Acting on the visions began that night for Lila. Scattered minor tragedies and an occasional calamity were foiled by her premonitions over the years. The gift came with rules she figured out on her own. One of the inexplicable rules she learned over time was that she had 23 minutes from tingle to vision to event. This resulted in Lila developing a superior cardio routine as Weirdling Woods is a pretty large place. This was also why she lived directly in the center of town to centralize her maneuvering. Another unexplainable rule was that the tingle only came at night. Many tragic events occurred in the daytime and the inability to help those poor souls absolutely crushed Lila. But the rules were what they were. She clocked in when the town was draped in moonlight. Lila was a third shift savior, the infomercial version of first responders. The third and most obvious rule was secrecy. Her gift had to remain hidden, known only to her. Any revelation of nonhuman power might lead to a modern-day witch trial. The werewolf panic of 1966 had practically ruined Weirdling Woods, so there was certainly a precedent. So on she went with her gift, playing by the rules and guarding the citizens of her beloved town while subsiding on ramen noodles and massive credit card debt. A final rule was added one night. Her gift evolved as a result. Unfortunately, it evolved into something entirely ominous and debilitating. Most people are scared of death, but Lila has now had enough exposure therapy to render her fearless against anything. The final rule is that Lila Orlock has to die every time she rescues someone. Lila Orlock's first death was most gruesome. Having foreseen the tragic irony that would be an arson attack against the West Side Fire Station where she had once volunteered, Weirdling Woods, engine 1408, Lila managed to rescue everyone but herself. Waking the next day, she relived the agony of the flames broiling her skin until she melted alive into ash. She had died in anguish, there was no dispute, yet there she was, alive in her bed, though non-existent physically. The horrific fiery dismemberment of her body began to torment her mentally. This torment though was not as unbearable as the unanswerable question of her bizarre rebirth. Local news reported an unknown, sandy blonde female saving everyone from certain death only to vanish. No mention of a woman's remains. They didn't even get her hair color right, but that was okay. Lila didn't do this for recognition. Then it happened again. And again and again until the once erratic calendar of heroism became a nightly affair. Since youth cells, her exploits became truly known after one specific rescue. A stormy evening, Lila Orlock foresaw a lightning strike on the Point Reys Lighthouse. The trespassing teenaged couple, Lied Dead, high above in a freak accident or at least would have had Lila not seen it 23 minutes prior. Lila arrived just in time to spare the young lovers from ruin, but again could not save herself. The morning went as usual. No Lichtenberg scar or physical evidence, but Lila remembered feeling every ounce of it. The excruciating pain suffered from the lightning strike. A solid, molten, churning core of fire and heat stemming from every nerve ending until the sweet release of death swept her away. The press had an angle and the teenager's description of a mysterious woman in black, a savior who vanished as quickly as she'd arrived with no adulation claimed, was perfect for the front page. While Lila wasn't dressed in black to look cool, the raincoat and galoshes happened to be black and she wore them because it happened to be a thunderstorm that night. Of course, the press was crafting a story Lila could never dispute, no matter how exaggerated it would eventually become. She would never reveal a thing, as to do so would break a rule. To reveal herself would risk preventing future cataclysms. The near misses and ensuing stories flooded in every day and Lila decided black was slimming so she went with it. Lila Orlock is a hero, but pays a price. Lila Orlock dies a lot. Anonymously and without fanfare she perishes and rises. The rescued never remember her death, only her disappearing after saving them. The news reports on it, it becomes a whole thing. Weirdling Woods citizens are commonly known as weirdos and it makes sense. The weirdos have labeled a reclusive woman in black Night Angel and their overactive imagination has created some serious folklore that would make Slenderman jealous. But the reality is Lila Orlock just wants to watch over her town and protect it without distractions, no fuss or attention. She wants to simply do her job and maybe take a hot bath after. None of the foolish nicknames or memes or press coverage bestowed upon her are necessary. She would love to sometimes change into pastels, but since tragedy and terror can come at any time in Weirdling Woods, she has to be ready. The black uniform is what they expect. Besides, it is nighttime camouflage. She also really wants to finish the book she is reading, but that seems unlikely since her evenings are booked. Lila most likely wants to stop dying though because dying is quite painful. Last and most pressing. If they can't be prevented, Lila at least wants her deaths to stop being so silly. No one appears to see it, but it doesn't detract from her humiliation. You see, Lila's constant demise is a real-life fail-gift compilation. Every heroic rescue, every selfless act is soon followed by an insane, often downright goofy fatality. It makes her a nervous wreck. Xanax and yoga don't help. Meditation and medication can't save her. Every time that tingle starts to say hello, Lila knows she will die again within half an hour so that some other soul might live. She is happy to save a life, humbled and blessed really. The whole constant dying thing though, frankly, it gets old. As Freddie Mercury once sang, I want to break free. She's been trying to finish her Freddie Mercury biography for a month now. The songs get stuck in her head. Her timing with this desire to break free is rather unfortunate because Lila Orlock is about to have the week of her life, or death if one wants to get granular. The heavy door of Bernie's rare books locks behind her as a blustery Monday evening beckons, and Lila takes pride in contributing yet another eight hours to the American dream. She sighs. Poor in the pocket, wealthy in literature, the assistant bookseller thinks to herself. The tingle starts immediately as she hops the curb and she groans. A confused old man and a text-happy driver are on a collision course over on Hawkins Boulevard and she has 23 minutes to get there. Part of Lila thinks about skipping the affair and watching reruns of Real Housewives of Dark County. She corrects herself internally. Honestly, the old man is inching towards the Reaper anyway. I know, I know, gifts can't be squandered. They aren't conditional yet to work, girl. Lila's shoes hit the Hawkins Boulevard pavement just in time to see the old man's walker attempt to crawl through the crosswalk on her left. She's early. The sprinting regimen has paid off. She covers her face with a black nylon mask and glances right as the careening gas guzzler screeches around the corner. Slump buster, she thinks. Plenty of time to move the old man out of dangerous terrain and not die myself. Finally, this is the one. I could end it tonight. Lila Orlock speeds through the intersection like a gazelle and carefully tackles the old man to avoid harming him, as if he's in an antique vase. The SUV is smashed into the walker and sent the now mangled scrap metal sky high into a tree. The jerk driver cruises off to complete the crime. In a millisecond, Lila inspects the old man and then herself. Two people, two pulses. An internal celebration erupts because the curse has ended. All is normal again. This, she truly believes. Until she rolls over, and the whereabouts of the airborne walker come into question. The question answered as the blunt end of one of the jagged legs stumbles down an oak tree and pierces her ocular cavity. An itchy eye on Tuesday morning reminds her of last night's death and she screams into a pillow as her mind retells the gory details that shoved her pupils through the back of her head. Tuesdays are her day off from the bookstore, so she enjoys some mincemeat pie from the local diner and shops for black sneakers at the Weirling Woods Galleria. She then curls up with the dog-eared biography about queen lead singer Freddie Mercury. Being half-parsey Indian herself, as well as a superfan of the music, she feels a kinship with Freddie Mercury. This book is a must-read and she sneaks in her favorite pastime whenever possible. If anything is going to happen, it will happen at night, as the rules dictate. Lila hopes, as always, that nothing will happen because dying sucks, but her hopes have reached life support lately. Around 7 o'clock she is breaking in her new kicks and the tingling comes knocking. About 23 minutes later, she finds herself pounding on the glass door of Craftlove's video game Emporium, where two kids have been locked in on accident. Lila can only smile and think the obvious. Accident. Right. Just like I would lock myself into a Godiva chocolate store on accident. It is what it is, but a perfect night for a carbon monoxide leak. Full moon and everything. Oh fate, you treacherous beast. Inspiration strikes in the chaos. When all attempts to breach the door fail, Lila takes several steps back and kicks her leg like a bull. Attraction is amazing on my new nikes, she thinks, as she bolts full speed toward the door and spears the thing with her body in a tremendous glass explosion. After pulling the kids to safety, she realizes she is breathing oxygen, not carbon monoxide. Lila peeks at her feet and she examines herself for signs of death and notices her untied shoe. Typically something like this is a bad omen, but no fatal injury or mistake has resulted from it, so a victory smile is allowed. Her smile does not match the look of abject horror on the face of one of the rescued kids on the ground staring at her. Lila is confused, until she sees her reflection in a neighboring store window. Everything seems in order. Well, except for that gushing sprinkler of blood from her carotid artery. Hmm, she mutters, unaffected by the sight of the pyramid-shaped chunk of glass protruding from the side of her neck. This is a new one. Then she collapses to her death. Wednesday is stupid. Lila saves a man at the wool factory but then trips over her untied shoelace and falls into one of the machines, mummifying herself with 900 yards of yarn. She knew the untied shoelace was an omen and doesn't want to relive it. It's so stupid and embarrassing to her. Like a doomsday device, the clock ticks while she takes inventory at the bookshop. Lila Orlock accepts that she will die again tonight, so she doesn't feel guilty about the flask of whiskey in her hand. The ongoing internal conversation continues. Oh, twisted fate, you malcontent. You're starting to bore me. I'm becoming comfortable in my numbness. Soon on this Thursday night, she tingles and finds herself at Hamilton's fish market 23 minutes later. Now it's getting ridiculous, her inner dialogue banters. I close the door early for this. Now I'm rescuing strays. I above the fish market a cluster of kittens teeter on a high wire. Lila can only laugh. Cats at a fish market. It seems like a cartoon. More self-conversation. Are we really this obvious? Oh, curse of mine. How does Night Angel bite it tonight? Electrocution is their front-runner, though falling to my death is a close second. Maybe you'll be creative and hit me with a lethal dose of cat-scratch fever. While Lila shakes her head and scurries up the pole, a talent she has only just now discovered. Immense concentration is required because she is a boisterous and enigmatic hand-talker, one erroneous slip while climbing and splat. Worries subside as Lila returns to the safety of the ground. No death by electricity, falling rabies or anything else expected or unexpected. Quickly she turns to flee the scene before the reaper can arrive but becomes subdued like a stone pillar. Are you freaking serious? She manages to gurgle through her blood-filled mouth. As she perishes, she looks down and laughs again and thinks about how goofy it is all becoming. Has anyone else in history died by self-impailment with a swordfish? As Freddie Mercury once sang, another one bites the dust. TGIF, she thinks as she rolls around in bed. Lila watches Wonder Woman on one of the streaming services she can't afford. Inspiration is the goal, but intimidation is the result. The lady on screen is a dang supermodel and Night Angel here is scarfing Cheetos and wiping the orange powder on the sheets. I don't care, she muses, that's why I'm just a girl scout and not a comic book superhero. I knew my cardio and my body is what it's going to be. As Freddie Mercury once sang, fat-bottomed girls make the rocking world go round. Lila has no choice but to call in sick to the only job she has on this day. On a Friday, nonetheless, which is so tacky it makes her physically cringe. Still, she thinks, Bernie's will be fine without me for one day. I deserve a few hours of sanity and me time before morphing into Night Angel. A Saturday night live skit about a bumbling do-gooder who dies more often than the town drunk's brain cells. Maybe they ought to change it from Night Angel to Night Ghost or every single stupid night ghost. Okay, there's a chance I'm becoming bitter. More vitamin O as she has deemed her snack of choice seems necessary. Cheetos, Fritos, Doritos, it's a smorgasbord of O's until the sun begins to set. Lila Orlock feels bloated, so she chooses a wavy black dress designed for movement. It is indeed the weekend and she dolls herself up like she used to when Friday night meant dating and socializing. Then she lounges on the couch and waits for the tingle. The wait is short. Ah, a classic. Lila muses upon arriving at the Lake Britton bridge and seeing what awaits. Man on ledge with a handgun as well. Nice doubling down. As she scales the rocky terrain, slipping six inches for every two she gains, Lila's cursing grows in ferocity. When she finally reaches the summit, it dawns on her that she has no idea how to play this. If she gets too close, the disturbed man might shoot himself or jump. And there isn't much to be done about that. He hasn't seen her yet, though. Some advantages exist right now. The whistling from nearby trains coupled with these soaring winds give her a sound cushion, a shield. Her face is splashed with a grimace as her first step forward leaves a crunch. A cursory glance at the bridge reveals a mess of loose everything. With much trepidation she slips out of her nikes and slides barefoot along the cold rails as each centimeter covers her feet in filth and sends an arctic dull trickle from her soles throughout her body. Closer and closer she creeps. Still, no plan. That internal voice gets chatty once more. Will I literally talk the man off the ledge? Will I kick the firearm from his hand as Wonder Woman would? Uh, no. I'm a random chick, not some superhero in heels. I don't even have shoes on right now, forget heels. I'd settle for crocs, honestly. Ooh, or uggs. Closer and closer she slides. No idea or plan coming to her. Sirens whine in the distance, so someone below has spotted the distraught man teetering on the edge of death. Time is closing in, as Freddie Mercury once sang, under pressure. Slide, slide, slide. No idea. Panic. Repeat. The cycle continues as the sirens grow louder and closer. Now she can hear the man ranting nonsensical words and still she has no blueprint. The bridge becomes wobbly and Lila steadies herself. With a cautious eye she watches her feet shuffle to avoid any disaster. She shuffles while keeping her eyes plastered on the unsteady bridge below until she runs into something that halts her progress. Oops, she says, as she looks up at the equally shocked man. Purely instinctual, she snatches the gun from the man with astonishing ease that surprises him. Wow, that was beyond simple, she says to the suicidal man, but mostly to herself. Then she remembers why she is there. Right. Oh, hey, look fella, there's a lot to look forward to. Let's discuss it over coffee. I know a joint that brews weird dark roast. Come down with me and I promise you, freeze, drop the weapon immediately or we will fire. The interrupting bullhorn from below is held by an officer with a stern expression on his face, though his mean mug pales in comparison to the collective expression from the SWAT team behind him. Lila is confused. Hey, hey, she shouts at the men below. The trains at wind and confusion make it impossible to project her voice to an audible level. I'm not doing what you think, I'm not shooting this guy, I'm saving him. Put your weapons away. The cops neither hear Lila Orlock's words nor budge. Drop it now, final warning. Lila can't hear the man and motions this sentiment with her hands as she is prone to do. She is again a hand talker. From the vantage of the law, all they see is a waving gun held by a murderous lunatic. Crap, she thinks, as it occurs to her what happens next. As Hellfire and Grimstone reign upon her with ruthless aggression, she conjures a parting revelation. After the first 30 bullets, it really becomes overkill. Saturday's headlines are not ideal. Popular Weirdling Woods' paranormal tabloid rag Gossip Ghoul posted Night Angel turned Night Terror. Former hero escapes, wanted for attempted murder. No good deed, Lila thinks. Driving to work, Lila reconsiders the entire thing, while wondering if talking to herself in her head so much is healthy. Public savior to public enemy number one overnight? That was not fair. I've saved more lives than the Heimlich maneuver. Heck, if not for me, Weirdling Woods might have to disband as a city. There wouldn't be enough of a population. No, don't be like that. Stay humble. Vanity is a sin. Is it? I really need to go to church again. Bernie always takes Saturday's off for the Sabbath, and usually Lila takes advantage and allows herself to be swallowed by the books around her. But on this particular Saturday, she spends the day glued to the Internet. She just cannot believe it. No mention of all the good she has done. Only this misconstrued chain of events. The would-be jumper could straighten the crooked thing out, but apparently he is reinvigorated by the media attention, regaling his supposed close brush with the Night Terror. The Google searches are saddle masochistic. Someone has already started an Etsy store selling bumper stickers and trinkets with a crude drawing of Lila, which she thinks makes her look fat. Attached is the crossed-out word, super-zero. How can I be that if I never was a superhero to begin with? I'm just a girl trying to pay it forward. Why are people so opportunistic and mean? Who chooses to be a troll? Leave the basement sometime, you vessels of loneliness and shame. You're the reason the jean pool needs a lifeguard. As the eyes of her customers fall upon her, she realizes she didn't think that one. It was set out loud. The bearded local with the global podcast is signing books at a desk nearby and shakes his head in disdain at her. Gnawing on some Bruno's delivery a bit later, Lila seems the same persecution tactics on TV. The news has even made animated recreations of The Night, giving the cartoon version of her the ugliest scowl. The remote stops here, she muses. Negativity is must-see television. I prefer streaming Gilmore Girls. Tingling arrives to tell her she has 23 minutes to get there, but Lila chooses to ignore it, because the destination is a punchline and honestly, the people don't deserve it, considering the disaster piece they choose to now paint her as. The tingle retaliates in a fury, but Lila Orlock is stubborn. Eventually, the tingle becomes a jolt of electricity and remembering the torment from the lightning strike, she submits to another night, another life saved, another personal death. From pizza to pakoderm in 23 minutes. It bothers her to save these idiot frat boys during their drunken quest. Lila keeps the sentence internal this time. Collecting elephant dung? That's what qualifies as a freshman scavenger hunt? When I was in college we collected vampire teeth and drank too much during pledge week. They must go to Collinsport College because they definitely couldn't get into Bradbury. I can't believe this generation is the future. Lila has a personal obligation to not allow the frat boys to be flattened like paper mache by the elephants, as will happen without intervention according to her premonition 23 minutes prior. So maybe this rescue will sway public opinion back to her favor. As she searches for the tranquilizer darts in the tiny office inside the Richmond Bachman Memorial Zoo on the east side of Weirdling Woods, she can only shake her head in disbelief at her situation. I'm seriously at the zoo, she thinks. Smells terrible. The sooner the better, the cameras will catch the Night Angels heroics and I'll die like the fourth stooge and wake up a hero once again. Or at least on a villain. I don't care about positive attention, but I definitely don't want negative attention. How can I rescue people if I'm being hunted? They will hunt me, that's how it works. Whatever. Swinging the cage open, Lila glides toward the drunken students startling them. You two cannot be this stupid. What does elephant feces have to do with brotherhood? Move morons. You really should be studying or doing something to serve your school, not this nonsense. Do you think I want to be out here right now? The elephants begin to stir, especially the big one. The college kids simply stare in days to disbelief. Lila continues, this majestic animal wouldn't even notice if it trampled on you. Do you think your parents would enjoy how you're spending their money? Through slurred words, one of them says, you're that night terrorist chick. You're not going to kill us, are you? Lila shoots a death beam with her eyes, the closest thing. The elephants sense something and begin to grow anxious. Next to the three, the biggest elephant stands or ground. Kill you, Lila responds. That would be logical if survival in the fittest still applied. It's night terror, not terrorist schoolboy, but don't call me that either. No, idiot, I'm saving you from this multi-ton beast. You were supposed to die tonight, but here I am, the hero in this town loves to hate. Step aside, Skippy, I need to calm this big gal down. What are the drunks, speaks up. Hey, why do you have a gun? You so are going to kill us. Lila glanced at the dart gun. It's for animals. It's a tranquilizer for elephants, not jackasses. Now move, please. Do I have your permission to save you from your slurred stupidity? The kid does not believe her. A swig of beer to embolden himself is followed by a plead it was fellow pledge to follow his lead. You ain't taking me, lady. Delta Kai, colors don't run. Come on, Tyler. One kid lunges at Lila who dodges it without much effort. Are you insane? She shouts at the student. Before she can chasten the reckless youth, the other one wraps her up and throws them both down. In an instant, all three roll around in the elephant pit, wiggling near the elephant's enormous, dangerous feet. One of the indistinguishable boys reaches for the trach gun, but Lila wrestles with him. Somewhere in the cloud of dust, the gun fires. Everyone on the ground stops as the blimp of an elephant wobbles. Then, without warning or buildup, the popular zoo favorite collapses on its side. Chemically asleep, by the time her massive frame crushes the trio like a cinder block falling on a spider. From the leading headline on the webpage for the Dark County Enquirer, Night Terror Snaps Kills Two, Manhunt Underway. Another headline, lower down the scroll, read, Elephant Suffers No Damage. Lila is at a total loss as she nibbles avocado toast in bed and again undertakes the brutal task of googling oneself. She has not learned her lesson. Sunday, bloody Sunday, she huffs. The inner comment section of her mind lights up again, a comment section much nicer than the ones discussing her online. Why hasn't anyone looked at the zoo cameras? Those lenses tell the true story. They wouldn't work as clickbait, but it's the true story. It was an accident those morons caused. I didn't kill anyone. Forget this. I'm done. It's over. I'm not risking being discovered and sent to jail. The village idiots can do their best with natural selection. Good luck with that. The media is out of control with this. As Freddie Mercury once sang, she's a killer queen. According to everyone in town, anyway, when the tingle comes later on this Sunday night, however, it is a premonition that cannot be ignored. In this premonition, Lila Orlock's body parts are scattered about Hooper's farm like a Rorschach test, the whirring box blades from the tractor trailer dipped in her blood. Lila drives out to the country to scout the confusing prophecy. Back in black by AC DC thrashes from the radio, a perfect accessory to her unofficial official uniform. She looks like a badass, assuming one doesn't notice the Prius she's driving, with the bumper sticker that reads, I break spear for Shakespeare. Am I seriously driving myself to my own crime scene? She wonders. What does it mean this bizarre looming vision? Am I to save myself from death, but then die? It makes no sense. I can't put the pieces together to this puzzle. And why Hooper's farm? Nothing happens there, but corn. Images of townspeople with pitchforks enter her mind. Not a premonition, but a curiosity. Will this be the culmination to the town's sudden desire to lynch her? Have the sins of Salem and the 1600s trickled to weirdling woods? Lila parks next to the tractor, which appears exactly as it did in her clairvoyant daydream, minus her blood and innards, so far. Not as well, get to it, she figures. As if on cue, a man appears from the corn stalks without sound. Lila unleashes a collapsible tactical baton and holds her position. She isn't much of a fighter, but she's seen enough movies to act the part. The man, a tall, dark and handsome type, approaches with menace, then begins to clap in slow movement. Bravo, Miss Orlock, bravo, or is it night angel? I wasn't sure you'd last such a harrowing week, but you surprised me, young lady. You have my sincere admiration. Such selflessness, such heroism. I do hope to forgive me for making the past seven nights harder than usual. Lila blows an errant strand of auburn hair from her face while reaffirming her double grip on the weapon. Who is this hot creep show with the British accent? What does he want? And did he really just do that 80s slow clap thing? Who are you? I'm not interested in stalkers. I'm swiping left, she says with false bravado. She knew she would definitely swipe right in reality based on the guy's looks. With one motion, the man flies above Lila and lands on the other side. I'm like you actually, a fallen angel who now exists as the poster child of evil for the world I live in. You're more of a metaphorical angel, of course, with the nickname. I'm the source of your power and I'm the reason you are more than just an average mortal toiling away in mediocrity. My name is Galaban. Lila continues to threaten this man with a baton. Sure dude, fallen angel, you're a demon, got it. Just a casual Sunday hanging out with a foot soldier for the devil. What do you want from me? Kill me if you want to, but just hurry up. I hate these long drawn out movie standoffs. Also, I'm super hungry for corn suddenly. Galaban flashes a devious smile as if he knows something no one else does. Now Mrs. Olock, obviously I could kill you at any time, but that's not my intention. Nor does it follow the rules. Your death, however, is your decision alone. My decision, whatever, demon boy, Lila thinks. I die daily, it's hardly my choice. Galaban says, this time on the contrary, the choice is yours entirely. Did you, yes, the demon Galaban interrupts, I can read your mind. Your thoughts on that actor Jason Momoa are quite lurid and racy by the way. Naughty, naughty girl. And I knew you wouldn't swipe left on me. Now onto the topic at hand and fast as per your wishes. You wondered earlier why you'd be saving yourself, and I'm here to tell you that you're not. Your task in my little social experiment is to save the citizens of Weirdling Woods. You know, the very neighbors you rescue daily, yet have turned on you with such ignorance and callousness. The residents of this wretched town that do not appreciate you, but rather, as is trending and viral at the moment, wish for your demise. They alone are my target, marked for death tonight, just as they have marked you. Would you still die for these vermin, Lila Olok? Lila swings the baton at Galaban, and the demon vanishes, and reappears untouched. She shrugs. Just had to be sure. Of course I'll die to save the people of this town. Get on with it, Drama Queen. Galaban chuckles. Hasty, Miss Olok. Think about it before you make a decision, because this time will be different. You see, my little revenant, unlike the many, many deaths of your past, this will be the one that does not allow you to reanimate. This time, it's final. So here we have the ultimate test of altruism. Galaban snaps his fingers, and the gargantuan John Deere tractor begins to work, held at an angle on its own somehow to reveal the spinning blades. This town hates you now, Lila. That won't change. The options are as such. You may keep your powers and live, serving me as a real angel, an angel of death. Like a traveling carnival of genocide, town to town we shall devour. Starting here, in weirdling woods where evil decided to flourish without my blessing. You will live forever. Or you can go ahead and dive into these blades here. You'll save these dregs from damnation by doing so, but they'll never know this. Rather, they will believe their prayers for your death have been answered. They'll be safe, but they'll know your identity. In your eternal death, your very name will be spat upon, an albatross to your family and loved ones. This will be the recognition you'll receive for giving your life for theirs. They'll say Lila Orlock was a murdering coward who took her own life to avoid justice. So, Miss Orlock, that's the truncated elevator pitch. Now, what is a lady to do? Well, fiddlesticks, Lila thinks as she crouches down. I know your eavesdropping hellspawn, I don't care. A girl needs a minute. Well, sexy demon Winston Churchill here has painted quite a picture. Looks like redemption's not available. The town wants me dead. I could end them all and live forever. That does sound intriguing. Hey, Gallabam, you might actually need my help the more I think about it. I mean, you're supposed to be a big scary demon, right? But, do a corn field seriously? Stephen King beat you to it. You hack? Okay, I know I'm wasting time. Live forever. Live forever. Put a thing that would be. Lila Orlock drops her weapon and rises. Well, demon boy, she sighs, you've certainly cornered me with quite a decision. That looks mortifying, by the way, Lila says as she points toward these spinning tractor blades. Way to make Option B even more terrifying. So, serve you and live forever? Gallabam again smiles as devious as a smile can be. Then he replies, Yes, Miss Orlock, you will live forever. Lila appears to ponder this. Then she begins to walk along the imaginary dividing line that separates the demon Gallabam and the roaring tractor. You know, Lila says as she slowly approaches, I would bet anything you thought I'd be this trembling little doe, didn't you? Yeah, you're probably a bit disappointed that I'm not pleading or begging or stalling. No, not me. Please, I beg of you, Lila mocked. Well, you need to keep an eye on what you create. You never watched a red Frankenstein? Anyway, I've died so many times, dude. Well, I don't want to tell you how to run your business. However, I am so over everything. Maybe the next time you pick somebody for an experiment, find someone who actually fears death. And find someone who doesn't watch horror movies to calm down, because that's how I relax. You need to do better research, because this scene you've created is like my zen space, dude. She comes within a few feet. She stops directly between the demon and the roaring farm machine. She looks at both. Gallabam, I have made my decision. Last piece of advice for your future scouting, find someone who doesn't stick to their morals, because, double guy, you sure picked the wrong lady this round. Oh, by the way, live forever with you as my boss? Hard solid no, as Freddie Mercury wants saying, who wants to live forever? By the Orlock then dives into the brutality of the tractor blades, ending her life and saving the town of Weirling Woods. Monday morning arrives for some reason, and it makes no sense. No headlines. People are walking around as normal outside of her third floor apartment window and a throbbing pulse pumps from her wrist. These three things should not co-exist in this moment. No hits upon googling her hated alter ego, Night Terror. Night Angel pops up, though, with tales of bravery from four or five days prior. It's as if the town of Weirling Woods turning on her has not actually happened, as if the events that led to it cease to exist. There are no tingles on Monday, and none on Tuesday. Wednesday night she does tingle, but after she rescues a woman from a shark attack during an ill-advised sundown swim, she does not die. It's all so confusing. Her mental chatter banters, what's the conclusion? There's no end game. This is more ambiguous than the finale of The Sopranos. On Thursday night, Lila comes home from work and finds a familiar face sitting on her love seat. Galabam. This time is different, though. The demon appears peaceful, glowing almost. The smile on his face reveals nothing sinister, only a calming, welcoming presence. Lila doesn't even reach for a weapon, rather she is compelled to sit across from him. He speaks in his British accent. Thank you for not thrashing me about, Miss Orlock. I suppose you're a bit curious about everything, but I thought I'd give you a few days to adjust. Are you comfortable? Lila nods in the affirmative while keeping her eyes glued to the beast. Splendid. Simply put, Miss Orlock, you've passed the test. I'll explain. You see, your selfless actions have caused quite a stir upstairs the past few years. It's a rare thing, but alas, we've been burned before. Human nature and all. We had to be certain. What you humans call superheroes, that's not something just anyone can do. In fact, you'd be shocked at the volume of people the big man has bestowed similar gifts upon. Rarely, though, do you hear about those people and their gifts being used for the general welfare. Watch you, madam. You're different. I had a hunch, and I was correct. Thank you for that, by the way. It's a wonderful addition to the old CV. Lila stands and scratches her head. You can't believe what she's hearing. Dying hurts, especially that last one, that tractor business. Does he not realize I feel those deaths? What kind of lunatic makes a test like this? I'm not a lunatic. It's something we've done for centuries, galaban answers. I know you're a blunt person, so I'll be straightforward. It occurs to Lila she has forgotten that he can read minds. I assure you, I shed a tear every time I was made to watch you die, dear Lila. But as mentioned, you passed the test, and if you will accept it, you will become a guardian. That is our word for the chosen protectors. The people will call you a superhero or whatever folklore is current, and that's okay. You won't be able to stop all tragedies or crimes because there needs to be balance. But should you choose to keep that Night Angel moniker, you are entitled to it. That is, if you accept. So, Lila, would you like to officially be the guardian of Weirdling Woods? It takes no time to answer yes, because destiny requires minimal thought and Lila despises drawn out Hollywood filler. Galaban smiles and wishes her well before turning to leave. Then he pauses in place. After all, he can read minds. Why, Mrs. Orlock, I believe you already know what I am, he says with a grin. Suddenly, a burst of energy encapsulates the room. Galaban has sprouted wings. We angels don't like to be too obvious, of course. It would not be very gentlemanly for me to announce myself as such. It might appear arrogant even. Best of luck, Mrs. Orlock. From what I have seen of this town, you will need it. The Angel Galaban vanishes into the night, and Lila walks to her dining room window and looks at the city below. Superhero, she whispered, did I hear that or imagine it? It will be a challenge indeed, saving the town of Weirdling Woods from itself. This, she knows. From the undead to the hell's minions to serial killers to cats stuck on wires, it won't be easy. Neither was dying. Easy is for boring people. In the corner of her eye, she notices a black cape draped over a chair, a gift from Galaban. Lila Orlock slips into the cape and the night angel emerges on the other side. Her origin story is complete. A lot of evil exists in Weirdling Woods, but so does a lot of good. And should the legions of evil tread upon her realm during her shift, one thing is guaranteed for those dark forces. You have one warning, and one warning only from the new guardian of Weirdling Woods, Lila thinks. Loud enough for anything sinister to telepathically pick up. Mess with the night angel in my town, me and my gifts will respond in one way only, as Freddie Mercury once said, We will rock you. This was just one of numerous stories to be released in the Weirdling Woods universe, written by John Allen. More stories will, of course, be featured here in the Weird Darkness podcast in the weeks and months to come. You can also find all of the stories in the Weirdling Woods book, coming soon to bookstores and online retailers. In paperback, hardback, ebook and audiobook versions. In the pages, you'll also find a bonus story at the end which will not be used in the podcast, along with a fun list of Easter eggs to look out for within the stories. You can contact me, Darren Marlar, other John Allen, or learn more about this series at WeirdlingWoods.com. All stories in the Weirdling Woods series are written by John Allen. Theme music written and recorded by Nicholas Gasparini, also known as Horror Composer Me You on YouTube. If you like this series, please share it with others and leave a rating and review of the series in the podcast app you listen from. Doing so helps Weirdling Woods get noticed. Weirdling Woods is a registered trademark, copyright Weird Darkness. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for walking with me through Weirdling Woods.