Steven filled up a glass with water, dropped a couple ice cubes in it, and set in on the tray with all the food.

                “You really think it’s come to this?” Jeff asked.

                “Yeah. He hasn’t left his room in two days. He’s gotta eat.”

                Jeff shrugged. “I guess. Good point.”

                Steven picked up the tray and headed to the stairs. He called down. “Chris? Dude, what’s going on?”

                No answer.

                He took a deep breath and went down, carefully balancing the glass of water. Jeff followed.

                Steven motioned for Jeff to open the door to Chris’ room when they reached the bottom.

                Jeff reached for the knob, turned it, and pushed. Chris was sitting on the floor in the middle of his room.

                Jeff and Steven walked in, perplexed. Chris’ room was filled with cardboard boxes. Stacks of different styles and sizes sat, organized around his bed. Steven set the tray down on a stack labeled “XD2.”

                “Isn’t it amazing?”

                Steven spun around when Chris spoke, his elbow knocking over the water. He didn’t care. All he saw was the open box on the floor in front of Chris.

                “What’s in it?” Jeff asked from the door. He seemed almost afraid to enter the room fully. Chris didn’t answer. He only inhaled deeply, his head directly above the box.

                “Chris?” Steven asked again.

                He simply continued gazing into the box, his grey eyes hidden under brown hair longer than he normally kept it. Several days’ worth of stubble darkened his jaw.

                Steven scowled and really noticed the spilled water for the first time. He righted the glass.

                “It’s the last one we have. The very last.”

                Steven nearly knocked the glass over again.

                Chris finally looked up, his eyes sad and hopeful at the same time, and lifted the box. “See?”

                Steven looked down into an empty box, save for the markings in the bottom.

                “Thirteen by ten by six?”

So, first off. The titles of each of these pieces are actually the titles of the short stories they’re from (except in the case of novel excerpts, in which case the titles will be the chapter titles). Thusly, this piece is the beginning of a short story titled “The Face in the Dream.”

                The face staring back from the mirror was ugly. It was the face of a murderer. It was the face of a sixteen-year-old girl.

                Lisa steeled herself as she put her makeup on; it was hard to escape her thoughts and her dreams. The eyeliner, the blush, the mascara; it was all a mask, not to put forth a good face to the world, but to hide her face from herself.

                She did her best to ignore the smooth cheeks, the deep brown eyes, and the long, straight, black hair that she knew were her own features. She lengthened her eyelashes, to hide the brown eyes. She applied blush, to change the cheeks. She curled her hair, to make it less like the hair of a killer.

                Lisa closed her eyes when she finished, and simply sat before her mirror, preparing herself for another day at school.

                Her mother’s voice filtered through the closed door to her room and into her bathroom. She sighed and got up, though she didn’t feel ready to face the day. It wasn’t a new feeling for her; she never felt ready. Her feet tread the carpets of her house nonetheless, down the stairs and into the kitchen.

                Her mother was bustling about, a smile on her face. Lisa almost had trouble seeing her mother; they looked more and more alike each day. She hated seeing even the smallest vestiges of the killer in her mother’s face.

                One key difference was apparent, though. Her mother smiled all the time. Lisa forced a smile onto her face, her now-habitual morning grimace for the sake of any members of her family still home when she came downstairs. They didn’t know about her. Nobody knew the truth about her.

A man stumbled as I watched. He fell to the dirt, scraping his hands and knees on the twigs and roots and rocks that littered the forest floor. He hurriedly pushed himself back to his feet, his breaths coming in shallow, fast paced spurts. Terror painted his face when he glanced back over his shoulder.

                From my vantage point in the tree above, I could see his pursuers. And I knew why he was so scared. I felt his fear.

                He sprinted again, the sound of breaking branches and laughter flogging him onward, toward his vain hope of a civilized town. I knew he would never make it, and vainly tried to block out thoughts of what was going to happen to him.

                When he passed below me, the shapes behind him were a scant twenty feet back. They laughed and called out to him as they leapt over roots and bushes, somehow finding their way despite the falling darkness. Wild smiles lit their filthy faces, and their eyes gleamed with an inner light. I didn’t move when they too passed beneath me. Terror held me still.

                After a minute or so all of them passed beyond my sight, but I could hear the ruckus they made, crashing through the forest undergrowth.

                Then a louder crash filtered its way through the trees up to me, accompanied by a cry of despair. The man had fallen again. The giggles and shrieks of the followers grew louder, and the man began screaming.

                It lasted for almost an hour, while I cowered in the upper branches of my oak. I couldn’t control my shaking until the last screams faded away.

                Just in time. The pursuers came back, even dirtier, with blood splattered across their faces and chests. Their hands shone in the pale moonlight, glinting wetly as they walked back beneath me. I held my breath as long as I could, fear of drawing their ire paralyzing me.

                They disappeared back the way they came, and my breath became ragged. Blood pounded through my body. I sat in the tree until morning. Only then did I know it was safe.

                The Children of the Night do not come out after dawn.