Hilda lost her way in the woods. Grandmother lived all the way out in Nachtgarten, past the safe embrace of the valley, where the ebony woods grew darker and wilder than any of the forests at home. As she hiked past walls of blackwood trunks, she clutched her father's pocket watch close to her chest. Its silver face and golden bezel chilled her fingers. Her thumb traced the etched letters on the back: Befürchten der Vollmond; befürchten die Wolfssegner.  Hilda didn't speak the old tongue as well as her father did, but she knew the inscription by heart: "Fear the Full Moon; fear the Wolf Charmers." She pulled her red hood over her head and pressed on beneath the vines and creepers.

The top 40 hits pulsed in the car speaker. I clenched my thumbnail between my teeth and gnawed to the beat. Rain flicked against the windows. Cars passed us with high beams that cut the night and tires that sliced at puddles. I pulled out my phone. No new texts.

Rodney stopped for a red light, “Why so nervous?”

"What? Nervous? I’m not nervous. What are you talking about?” I faked.

“You’ve been checking your phone every five seconds.” He pulled a toothpick from the cup holder between us and offered it to me, “Better this than your nails.”

Nothing feels longer than waiting for the bus after a rough day. I don’t know if it’s the eagerness to get home that makes time go by slower or that, with the winter approaching, the weather is getting unbearably cold. Or maybe it’s the fact that once I get on, it’s still going to take another two to three hours before I actually get home. But something about it makes it feel like a decade will go by before I step through my front door.

The door shuts behind me. I place my boots in a pile next to the front door and step into the house.

I remember the living room used to be a pale blue, the walls decorated with pictures of forgotten people. Time has revealed that these photographs served another purpose; masking gauges and cuts etched into the paint from long ago. Music echoes from deep within the walls of the home, growing louder and louder with every breath I take.

A melody to sway the tides

The snow is falling incredibly thick and I have to set my wipers to max just so I can see. I hear sirens in the distance, and I wonder if someone crashed up ahead. Not that it would need to happen to cause bumper-to-bumper traffic here. I roll slowly onto the Brooklyn Bridge, careful of the shiny black Porsche in front of me. I've already rubbed the warning clip off my breaks and if I hit that car... Well, I couldn't even pay for the cup holder in one of those things. Has this guy never heard of a winter beater? Why the fuck would anyone drive something that nice out into this shit? I see a yellow light flash at me from the left. Seriously buddy? You want in now? Moron.

“I wish you hadn’t,” Liz said, emptying a bag of Doritos into a bowl. She was turning of age tomorrow, so Jen was throwing her a party.

“I know, sweetie,” Jen said, teasing. “You never like anything fun.” Liz crumpled the bag and threw it in Jen’s general direction. Jen ignored her. “By the way, someone invited Max.”

“That Max?”

“Yup.”

“Shit.”

My feet made soft shluffing noises as I made my way down the embankment. Poppy bounced in front of me, pulling the leash taut as her nose drew her in every direction. Her paws made little prints in the heavy sand, mingling with the older tracks amongst the grasses blowing in the cool wind. They say it’s always cooler by the water and I regretted not grabbing my coat. The other beach goers were smarter.  There was a guy stuck in the 90s with matching fluorescent striped splash pants and windbreaker throwing a frisbee for his dog who was also wearing a coat.  The few people running along the surf had spurned shorts and t-shirts for hoodies and track pants.

The air still smelled of sticky candy floss and an excess of butter as Gideon Thomas walked the grounds, dragging an industrial sized garbage bag behind him and a long, pointed trash-picker over his shoulder. His dusty work boots crunched over the grey dirt that was littered with empty popcorn boxes and soda cans which he speared and bagged before moving on. His watch beeped once, signalling the new hour: midnight. His shift was just starting. The game booths and food stands, all made of the same faded red-and-white striped wood, had closed up for the night. The laughter and cheers had died down nearly an hour before, leaving only the puncturing sound of his trash-picker as he walked.  Only the whine of the slowly turning carousel broke the silence. The overhead lights glinted off  the smooth porcelain horses as they moved. The gentle autumn breeze carried the creaking of gears, and Gideon soon found himself absently working to the rhythm as he cleaned up the carnival grounds for the next day.