Henry and Wendy had returned home in rough shape. They had encountered the Skeleton Man again, but this time they had killed him. They'd even returned home with a trophy. A scoped rifle like those Mark had seen snipers use in the war. It was a pleasant boon in their favor. Something they'd desperately needed.

Mark was surprised they'd managed to survive the encounter, let alone kill the Ghost Story. He'd racked his brain, trying to understand how they'd managed to avoid getting shot. When Wendy told her version of events, he finally understood. It seemed the Skeleton Man liked a sporting kill. Wendy had basically gotten the Ghost Story to agree to a duel of sorts. It seemed the Skeleton Man responded to challenges of skill. Mark filed that information away. It might be the weakness they had hoped to find.

Both Wendy and Henry had been exhausted after their grocery run and had quickly gone to sleep. Chelsey was still avoiding Mark whenever she could, so she’d vanished to her room as well. That had left Mark alone with his wife again. Just as he'd feared, Grace wanted to hear more of his life's story.

They sat on the floor of their shared room. Grace was as beautiful as the day he'd first met her. Her glossy black hair ran to her shoulders like an onyx waterfall. Her green eyes shimmered like the surface of a calm lake. Her beauty made it harder for Mark to focus on the details of the story.

“It had been two and a half weeks since I'd first gotten to Paradise. In that time, a great many things had changed. I'd killed my first Ghost Story—an undead ancient Mayan priest which had come with Mia. I'd explored my own zone and encountered my own Ghost Story for the first time. Pete killed me, of course. It would be a long time before I finally managed to kill him. I was lucky that none of the others died during that encounter. In the war, I'd wanted to see my hometown one last time, and in a strange way, I did. Most importantly for the story, I had grown to know the others quite well. Spending two months living with only a small group of people will do that, as you know. There were two in particular that I had grown close to: Jennifer and Marco. Marco had become something like a best friend, I suppose. We talked about the future and the changes in the world. He had me read books from his own time that he liked.” Mark said.

“And Jennifer?” Grace Asked.

Mark shot her his best attempt at an embarrassed smile.

“We were dating… if that's what you call it here,” Mark answered.

"Oh, I see,” Grace said.

“You don't have to worry, dear. She could never hold a candle to you. It was a different time, and I was a different man… The illusion of normality we'd gotten used to was about to change. It was after my sixth week in Paradise that they'd run out of kerosene. That meant we'd have to make a special grocery run to Hangman's Swamp. After that trip, everything changed.”

***

“What did you think?” Marco asked as Mark finished reading the last issue of a particular comic run.

“It's fun, I guess. I think I liked the last one better.”

“Daredevil? Yeah, he's one of the best. Hard act to top.”

Over the last few weeks, Marco has been getting Mark to read comic books. He called it a book club. Mark had been unsure about the idea at first, but he was actually enjoying the stories. They were fun and interesting in a way he hadn't expected. He was using the comics as a way to see how the world had changed. TV had the same effect on him. Each new book he read or movie he watched with the others showed him things he'd never imagined. It was a window into a future that, by all accounts, he should never have seen. It was thrilling in a unique way.

The latest comic Marco had given him was called Captain America. It was about a World War II soldier like Mark, given superpowers and an invincible shield. He fought the Nazis before being frozen in ice. He liked this one much less than the one about the blind lawyer fighting criminals.

“I thought you might like it because you fought in the war,” Marco admitted.

“It was a good thought, but the war wasn't like it is in the book. In the comic, it's all about action and gunfights. And there's always good and evil. Real life isn't quite so simple. Most of the soldiers I killed were boys, just as scared as me. Most of them weren't even fifteen yet. They weren't any more evil than I was.”

“You haven't talked about the war before,” Marco said.

“I guess I haven't. It's funny,” Mark mused, “The battlefield was surprisingly quiet at times. There were these moments between the fighting where all you had was the anticipation of the next battle. Even in that lull, the fear never leaves… Never. You'd see men in the bunkers trembling because they didn't know when the next attack would come or if they'd survive it. Soldiers couldn't sleep for more than a few hours because the nightmares would come. I hated the nightmares worst of all. Lucky for me, there wasn't much time to sleep.”

“Sounds like a living hell,” Marco said.

“I guess it was, but you get used to hell after a while. Learn to thrive in it—some parts of it anyway. I'm always surprised by how adaptable men can be. We're like rats in that way, always fighting to survive, even in the mud and rot.”

“That's a hell of a line. Do you mind if I use that?” Marco asked.

“For what?” Mark asked.

“My comic. I don't know what it's about yet, but I've always wanted to write one. I'm not going to let Nowhere stop me. Besides, now I've got the free time to actually do it.”

“Sure, use anything I say. I just want a cut of the sales.”

“We'll call it fifty fifty partners,” Marco said with a laugh.

Mark laughed with him.

“Are you two done with your book club yet? Because we may have a problem,” Mia said as she entered the room.

“What kind of problem?” Mark asked.

“We're out of kerosene,” Mia answered.

“What? That can't be right. We should have supplies for another month or two,” Marco said.

“Yeah, we were supposed to... You should just come and see. It'll be easier than explaining,” Mia said.

***

Mia led them to the basement, where they stored things they didn't want getting reset. There, they found Jennifer and Terry waiting. Jennifer had a large frown on her face. Mark thought she looked scared. He'd never seen her look like that.

“What happened?” Marco asked.

“Take a look for yourself,” Terry said.

Marco and Mark slowly moved down into the dimly lit basement. It was a mess. Things were knocked over and torn off the walls. Large gasoline canisters were tipped over, and kerosene was spilled onto the floor. Most of it had soaked into the dirt floor of the basement.

“Christ, someone sabotaged it,” Marco said.

“Yes…” Jennifer said.

“I hate to ask, but I need an answer. Mark, where were you last night?” Terry asked.

Jennifer scoffed

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“What? You think Mark did this?” She asked incredulously.

“I'm simply asking questions. He's new, and this didn't happen before he came. It only makes sense. I know you two have a thing: Don't let it cloud your judgment,” Terry said.

“It's alright, Jennifer. I have nothing to hide. This wasn't me. Last night, I was in bed sleeping like the rest of you,” Mark replied.

“You twat Terry… I was with Mark last night. It wasn't him. You know damn well who did this.” Jennifer said.

“We signed a peace deal with him. He's smart, and it was mutually beneficial. Why would he break it now, Jenn?” Terry asked.

“Because he's a fucking psycho. You never understood him, and you never will. He doesn't think like you, and this is just the sort of thing he'd do.”

“Who are you talking about?” Mark asked.

“Clone. My monster. He's devious and dangerous, despite what Terry thinks,” Jennifer said.

“Maybe you're right about him,” Terry relented, "we can figure that out later. The fact is, we won't survive the night unless we get more kerosene. We have to go to Hangman's Swamp.”

“I hate agreeing to go to that shithole, but we don't have another choice,” Marco said.

“Right, I'll get the salt,” Mia said, "I hope it wasn't destroyed at least.”

“What's Hangman's Swamp?” Mark asked.

“It was the swamp outside my hometown,” Marco said, “Now, it's also home to my monster. The Ghost Bride of Trinity Plantation. The ghost was once Eloise Coleman. Eloise died on her wedding night after her fiance left her at the altar to run away with a younger woman. She was so consumed by grief that she took her own life with a pistol. The stories said that her spirit was bound to the mansion by the hate she felt for the man who had left her behind. Growing up, we all heard about the ghost bride who haunted the old plantation house. We used to dare each other to get as close to the mansion as possible,” Marco explained.

“So she's a ghost. I take it; she's the reason we're not supposed to go to the Hangman's Swamp alone.” Mark asked.

“Yes. The bride can possess a human body and take control of it. She's extremely dangerous. But the mansion is also the only place to get kerosene. Luckily, we've learned how to fight her,” Jennifer said.

“How?” Mark asked.

“Salt. The ghost cannot pass a line of salt,” Marco said.

“I think we should bring Mark. He needs to learn how to do a kerosene trip,” Jennifer suggested.

“I don't see any harm in it,” Mia said as she carried over a large bag of salt.

“Yeah okay. Just keep an eye on him, and don't let him pour the salt. We can't afford for the bride to escape right now,” Terry said.

“Me and Marco will take him. It'll go smoothly.”

***

Two hours later, Mark found himself standing before a haunted mansion. The mansion sat at the end of a row of drooping willow trees. It appeared to be in a state of disrepair, much like you might have imagined. Its windows were either broken or boarded up. Its once white columns were now a dull brown, covered with dirt and mud. Vines and other foliage from the swamp had begun to reclaim the house. The old iron gates were rusted and chipped. Large metal letters above the gate read, Trinity Plantation.

The strangest thing about the haunted house was the darkness that seemed to loom around it. Before they had entered the plantation grounds, the strange sky cast its usual green light across the swamp. In the presence of the haunted house, the sky was dark, and there was little light to speak of. It was almost as if the mansion were cast in a permanent veil of night. It was eerie.

“Once we answer the house, the ghost will seek us. If you see her, call out to us. We'll draw a line in salt and contain her. After that, we can get our kerosene and leave.”

“I understand,” Mark said.

“Good,” Jennifer replied.

She took Mark's hand and squeezed it tight. Then the three of them entered the mansion. The inside of the building was much like the exterior. It was overgrown with rough foliage and weeds. Muddy footprints left by various wild animals covered the floor of the abandoned house. The windows were boarded up, and only small amounts of light filtered in through the cracks left open. They had prepared for that. They each lit up their kerosene hand lanterns.

“This place is a mess,” Mark observed.

“Yeah, this dump has been abandoned for years. No one wanted to live in it because of all the horrible stories,” Marco replied.

“I don't blame them,” Mark said, “I saw buildings bombed in the war left in better shape than this.”

They made their way up a large, rickety staircase to the second floor. There, they found a long hallway that ran in either direction.

“What do you think, Jen? Right or left?” Marco asked.

“Left. It's always left,” she answered.

“I don't know... I'm feeling right this time.”

“It'll be your funeral,” Jennifer said with a laugh.

“What are you two talking about?” Mark asked.

“We're trying to guess what direction she'll come from. We'll seal off that side of the hall with salt and trap her,” Marco answered.

“I see. And the salt will really hold her back?” Mark asked.

“That's how it works,” Jennifer said.

Suddenly, the sound of a wailing woman filled the air. It echoed from down the hall.

“Sounds like left to me,” Jennifer said.

“Shit, it's always left,” Marco cursed.

“I accept your defeat,” Jennifer said.

At the end of the left end of the long hall, the transparent form of a woman appeared. She glowed a faint blue and appeared to be wearing a long, flowing dress. Her piercing, dead eyes were a glowing green. He could see where she had taken her own life. The back of her skull was completely gone, and there was a bullet hole in her forehead. The bride floated down the hall lazily and moaned in pain. Quickly, Marco and Jennifer sprung into action. They each began to pour a line of salt, blocking off the side of the hallway where the woman was. Their quick movements got her attention. She turned to look at them and let out a scream.

The ghastly woman twirled down the hall towards them in a swirling pattern of flickering blue light. Her translucent clawed hand reached out and tore three long gashes into the floral wallpaper. Her glowing green eyes seem to leak a mist that danced into the air. The monster’s hungry eyes stared at them with desperation. Jennifer finished pouring the salt line. The other two then stood still and just watched as the specter approached. Mark had to fight not to flee in the face of the poltergeist. He had to trust that the others were correct about the salt stopping the bride. The ghost was so close to reaching them now. The poltergeist hauntingly sobbed as she moved. It was so soft, Mark almost couldn't hear it.

When the twisted apparition reached the line of salt, it seemed to slam into an invisible barrier. It clawed and bashed at the invisible wall, but try as it might, it could not get through. The specter floated back from the salt line and seemed to study it. It let out a piercing scream, and all the windows in the hall shattered. Paintings fall off the wall to the floor or begin to spin on the wall. The scene was horrifying, but the monster had not killed them. Mark let out an audible sigh.

“It worked. I wasn't sure,” Mark said.

“Of course it did. Ghosts hate salt,” Marco said.

“I didn't know ghosts were real until today,” Mark replied.

“They aren't,” Jennifer pointed out.

Marco simply gestured to the ghost of the Victorian woman floating just beyond the salt.

“I'd say I have evidence to the contrary,” he said.

“We are not rehashing this debate again,” Jennifer said.

“What debate?” Mark asked.

“Marco thinks the monsters here are like us. He thinks they were real back on earth, hidden from humanity in destitute places like this. I guess he thinks the red-eyed man just plucked them from wherever and brought them here like us,” Jennifer explained.

“It makes sense. After all, Jennifer, we know your monster is real in the outside world. He even remembers his life,” Marco argued.

“That doesn't mean anything,” Jennifer pointed out.

“Whatever you say,” Marco replied.

***

“You know, I wasn't sure about Marco’s theory until Henry came to Paradise. When I was alone, I had a lot of time to think. I'd wondered if maybe Marco could've been correct after all. I knew my Ghost Story could’ve been real, I suppose. It was the same with the rest of them I'd seen,” Mark said.

“Why did Henry change your mind?” Grace asked.

“Henry said his Ghost Story was from a movie... So it couldn't possibly be real out there because we know for a fact that the Skeleton Man is fictional. It meant Marco was wrong. There's something else at play here.”

Oh, that makes sense,” Grace said, “so what happened next?”

“After they finished arguing, we each went off on our own in search of kerosene. It was supposed to be safe. After all, we’d contained the bride. But the house had secrets they didn't know. Secrets I unfortunately discovered.”

***

Mark made his way into the first room down the hall; they'd told him to search. He held his lantern out, and the rotten furniture in the room grew long shadows that stretched across the floor. Much of the furniture had been overturned or outright smashed to pieces. A few paintings of sharply dressed men and women hung in the room. Most of their paint had peeled or cracked. One of the paintings, depicting a young man with dark hair, was ripped apart with a set of distinct claw marks. He could see the other lantern, just like his own, hanging on the west wall of the large bedroom. That was what he was looking for. It would hold the kerosene oil he was supposed to pour into his gas canister.

As Mark began to make his way through the room, he tripped on a piece of a broken chair. He fell hard to the ground before he could catch himself. He heard the sound of shattering glass as his lantern broke on the floor. He was plunged into pitch-black darkness. He cursed his own stupidity. Luckily for Mark, the kerosene spilled from the lantern did not burst into flame.

Trapped in darkness, Mark fumbled this way towards where he had seen a lantern on the wall. He stumbled over broken furniture and even tripped once more before he finally reached the wall. He felt blindly at the wall with his hands until he brushed against the lantern. He grabbed it and tried to pull it off its hook. It didn't come loose, so he pulled harder. Something clicked, and the entire lantern pulled free. There was a small rumbling sound, and the bookshelf beside him slid away. Now visible was a short hallway lit by lanterns. It led into another room somewhere else in the building. At the other end of the hall, the pale apparition of a bride stood still. Her head twisted up as she studied Mark. Her transparent lips split, and the spirit spoke in a shaky, rasping voice.

“Ulysses? You left me. I will take what is mine!”

She let out a scream of rage and levitated towards Mark. The flames that lit the hall grew brighter.

“Fuck,” Mark mumbled as he turned to run for his life.