My story was about “Zombie,” a new drug that had hit the streets of Detroit, but was still so underground only those heavily entrenched in the world of hard drugs and law enforcement knew about it.
I could barely focus on anything. After forcing myself through my morning routine, I ended calling a cab and headed over to the doctor’s office.
We ran. Time stood still.
“What did you remember, Amanda?” she asked quietly. “You saw something. Whatever it was, it was so bad it made you sick. It’s about that, isn’t it?”
“That’s right Toto, back to Kansas! Because there’s no place like home for the spirit of Christmas.”
No place like home. What a joke.
“What did we practice for all week, Mandy?”
I hated those practices. I hated baseball, too, after a while.
“Sarah!” I called out again, I felt a little panic bubble up from the bottom of my stomach. Maybe she got scared, I thought to myself, maybe she went back to the car. I started running.
Apparently their activities managed to open a “portal to hell,” which summoned Satan himself as well as a “gatekeeper” of sorts known as “The Shadow Man.” Legend states that the Shadow Man still patrols the tunnels.
He slowed his pace down to a power walk and heard a high pitched voice over Dave Grohl screaming about not wanting to be someone’s monkey wrench. The old lady was motioning a distressed hand towards him to come back.
It wasn’t in an envelope. It didn’t have a postmark or a stamp or even an address. It must’ve just been… left there.
In bold Sharpie-black letters, the disk read: BALLET RECITAL 1992