How are you? I’m fine. Mama teach me how to write. Mind my punct—puncthu—my peeriods and my esclamation marks she says. Am I doing it right Papa? How are you? I’m fine too.

Mark hit me again today in school He is dumb Don’t tell Mama I said dumb. But Mark is! He really is! I saw him eat boogers and ask him why he eating boogers and he hit me. I hate him.

Papa…. Im scared. I think Im sick. Am I sick Papa? I wish you come home orredi. Scared. Mama she don’t like to tell stuff but I can hear her talk to the white coats on the tellefown. She said something like haloo-see-nayshun, what is that Papa?

Try my best to write coz I think Im sick,,, or Mama thinks I’m sick. Don’t know anymore. But they made me talk to a white coat. Funny, Papa they all wear white coats. They made me look at pictures but not really pictures because it’s just a bunch of inkblots and I really think they want to pin me down and tell me I’m crazy but I’m not I’m not fucking crazy.

Mama has big shoes I can hear her now,, up up up up she comes up up up.

Well, okay Papa. I have to go now. How are you? I’m fine.

- David.

She quit her job shortly after that, realizing that advertising wasn’t meant for her. After jumping from one writing job to the next, she also realized that writing for magazines, newspapers, television shows and radio shows will not make her happy either.

Throughout the course of her career, Jane learned two things: One, that media makes idiots; and two, that she doesn’t want to make idiots.

So now she finds herself inside her room, staring at the blank screen of her computer while nibbling on a carrot. Her hair was in a messy bun and her ninja turtles t-shirt needed to spend some quality time in the laundry. Her right leg was spread and stretched and rested on top of the desk right between her nendoroids and her Robert Ludlum novels, just one turn of her foot would send either the toys or the books crashing down the floor.

The computer gave out a warm and comforting glow which illuminated her oily cheeks. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and stared some more. What are you waiting for Jane? Suddenly, she was reminded of Nuna’s dinner. She peeled her eyes off and looked under the desk then craned her neck to check above the bookcase. “Nuna…? Nuna where are you, girl?” Jane leaned back on her chair and called out into the empty hallway. “Kittycat?”

No response.

“Nuna!!” Jane raised her right leg and then put it at the edge of the desk to push herself away from her workstation. She stood up and felt the carpet prick her feet. After pushing her chair back towards her desk, she made her way towards the living room to look for Nuna.

There was something cliché about a single woman living in an apartment with a pet cat. There was also something cliché about an ordinary girl named Jane. But what transpired after Jane walked through the narrow hallway of her apartment was something no ordinary Jane with a pet cat could have experienced.

——

Ezra felt himself falling through darkness. As he flailed his arms around him hoping to grab onto anything that could break his fall, (anything, please!) he could feel his memory shattering. The little fragments of memory hung suspended above his head for a while before fluttering away, never to be recalled again. He was there, with The Three Sisters. He was going to find out the truth, or be punished or he was going to find out the truth AND be punished afterwards. Was this his punishment then? What happened in that room?

Nothing. He can’t recall anything from that meeting. All he could see and feel now was darkness above, below, ahead and beyond and that sick sensation of falling.

Am I going to die? But I can’t die. Soul pickers don’t die.

Then a dreadful thought occurred to him. It was spoken by a voice he knew very well.

“Do you know what happens to soul pickers who lose the soul they’re supposed to pick?”

For the first time since he was five, Ezra screamed.

——

Jane qualified every stereotypical description there is of a spinster. The hair, the librarian glasses, the cat, all the way down to the fact that she was a virgin. She was 24 years old and has never felt the caress of a man, not that she was ashamed of it. Jane wasn’t looking forward to marriage or family or even the concept of a boyfriend. Every married couple she knows both in and out of fiction ended up in divorce or murder. Just look at Dolores Claiborne! Jane believes that she can survive without a naked man anywhere within ten feet of her.

And yet just now she found her Siamese cat sitting on top of a naked man in her living room.

Mom is so throwing a party if she sees this.

“Psssst… Nuna… Nuna!” She hissed and motioned her cat to come. Nuna ignored her and instead licked her white paw.

The wind made thumping noises against her window. She looked out and the rain tried to impress her by going harder. Jane went back inside her room and surveyed the area for a blanket. It wasn’t on her bed, nor was it on the floor. She peers under the bed and found it dumped, dusty and forgotten. Jane whipped it out and dusted it off. It will have to do.

When she got back to the living room, she half-expected the naked man missing and someone suddenly stabbing her at the back. This thought brought a chill down her spine, cut back on the suspense novels Jane, those things do awful things to your nerves her mom always said. The man was of course still there and still naked. She threw the blanket over his nakedness which made Nuna jump out of the way. Nuna was the only cat in the city or perhaps even the world, who hated the dark.

Without saying another word both to Nuna and herself, Jane proceeded to make tea. When this man wakes up and she’s sure that it was going to be soon, he would most likely be cold.

As Jane took out tea leaves, her thoughts wander. Why aren’t you calling the police, you stupid girl? There’s a naked man in your living room. A naked man. Call the fucking police!

But that was exactly it, the man was naked. What harm could a naked man do?

And then, at the sound of a bloodcurdling scream coming from her living room, the teapot she was holding slipped and crashed on the floor.

“I’m tired.” Johnny popped a fruit drop in his mouth. “Mmm… grape.” He stretched his legs over the grass and felt the comforting heat of the sun on his face.

“Come ON Johnny! You just came from a mission, right? You GOTTA have stories!” Ezra covered the can of fruit drops and hid it behind his back before Johnny could get another one.

“That’s exactly it, you little runt. Missions are tough. It drains all our strength… that’s why we need—“ Johnny makes a quick grab for the fruit drop tin can, making Ezra lose his balance and fall on his bum. He opened his mouth to protest but ended up sneezing. “— sweets and sunlight.” Johnny said and popped another fruit drop in his mouth.

He looked at the 5-yr old Ezra, sniveling and sneezing uncontrollably. “Why did you even follow me here? You know you’re allergic to grass” Johnny stood up and held out his hand but Ezra couldn’t stop sneezing.

“I, Ah—kkkcchoo! wanted to, ah—ah—kk—listen to your stories!” Ezra’s nose puffed like a clump of cherries. “You’re a hunter, Johnny. You’re cool!”

Johnny didn’t say anything. He picked Ezra up and gave him a piggy back ride out of the park. Hunters were scattered all over the park, most of them were lying down on the grass, soaking up as much sunlight as they can. Johnny wasn’t kidding. It really was a tough mission. Souls just aren’t as passive as they used to be.

One hunter was spread on the grass like a used rag. Johnny, still carrying Ezra, stopped to look. The sunlight shone bright but even then, the hunter looked gray and lifeless.

“Keith?” Johnny called. The hunter turned to his direction in a mad jolt. What Johnny saw didn’t surprise him anymore but it was still as terrifying and as dreadful as the first time he saw it happen.

Keith’s face was completely wiped off; he had no eyes, no mouth, nothing. Smooth flesh occupied where his face should have been. Slowly though, you can see that even that was starting to give way. The young hunter was dissolving. The way Keith’s head tilted, you can almost hear him beg for help.

Ezra had been concentrating on stopping his sniffles. Before he could look at the faceless hunter, Johnny dashed away, making Ezra bounce on his back. “W—w-what’s wrong?” the little boy asked.

Johnny didn’t say anything until they were out of the grass.

—–

“Ezra… have you thought about what you’re going to be when you grow up?” Johnny asked, twenty minutes later. They were still in the park but now they’re eating cotton candy. Johnny had two sticks of cotton candy while Ezra had one.

Ezra frowned at the question. He has obviously been thinking a lot about this. Johnny looked at the kid and felt a wave of brotherly affection overwhelm him.

“I want to be like you, Johnny!” Ezra bit off his cotton candy and beamed at him.

“Why don’t you be a soul picker instead, huh?” Johnny asked. “I think soul pickers are cool!”

“No they’re not! Soul pickers are nerds!” Ezra stuck his tongue out. “This kid in school ‘name is Joshua he says he gonna be a soul picker when he grows up.”

Ezra wrinkled his nose. “Joshua smells. And he farts all the time too. I don’t like him. Don’t wanna be a soul picker like ‘im!”

But Ezra was going to be a soul picker. Johnny made sure of that. He closed his eyes and an image of Keith’s faceless head burned through his eyelids.

Her white hands slide inside her bag. She pulls out a pen and twirls it between her fingers, throws it from hand to hand, twirls it again.

“You can kill someone with that.” Markus sits in front of her.

The pen falls on the floor. She didn’t make any effort to pick it up nor did she make any effort to say anything. All powers of speech abandoned her. For a while she feels stupid and betrayed. But then again, isn’t that why she called Markus in the first place?

Markus was a man who neither smiled nor frowned. This was business. He pulls out a folder from his bag and places it on the table. Inside that folder were things she may or may not want to see. Looking at it makes her feel sick.

“Standard procedure.” Markus said. “Do you want to continue with this?” his eyes revealed nothing.

Do you? Really? A moment of reluctance fades as quickly as it came. She nods.

One by one it all came pouring out of the folder: photos of children, of a woman, of a home. Receipts, tickets, a marriage certificate. It spreads on the table like a disease. A brief shock. Disbelief. She closes her eyes to make it all disappear.

Then finally, acceptance.

“So this is how it feels” she says. “to be the other woman.”

A young man stood nearby, he was tall and slender and pale. He looked like the fifth member of Franz Ferdinand, his hair was the whitest shade of blonde I’ve ever seen. His thin lips were pursed tightly together while his eyes roamed the area. I tried not to look at him because each time I do, I find his eyes piercing through mine. What was most unnerving about this man was that although his shoulders were at ease and his posture was perfect, his eyes made him look like a starving animal.

The group was dragging itself around in what seems to be a big plaza. Hovering overhead were hues of purple and blue, stamping a bruise throughout the plaza. There was light but whatever passed for it was slowly fading. A storm was coming.

The group walked through a long and winding path right around the apartment. The rooms pulsated through the doors, urging us to come in. In a desperate flash of my memory’s attempt to activate my self-preservation instinct, everything dawned on me.

I remembered that this man with the brutal gaze grouped us together. We were his social experiment and now is the time to collect his specimen. This dreadful fact seized all my senses, he was going to kill us off, one by one.

And because this is a nightmare, I have no use for transitions.

We find ourselves under the sea. We were swimming, some were faster than the others. I lagged a bit behind, my legs were not as strong as it used to be. Up ahead I could see the trapeze artist gliding like an eel. Until now, whenever I close my eyes I can still see how gracefully his limbs followed the current.

Then Ferdinand came and pierced his throat with an ornate knife. From a puncture the size of a walnut, the trapeze artist bled and choked in his own blood.

What came next were a blur of images, of deaths that were not so kind. Forgive me for not being able to describe it more.

We find ourselves back in the apartment building. Ferdinand ushered us towards a sushi restaurant and then I knew. Finn was next.

Ferdinand was going to skin Finn’s face and use the fat of his skin to roll his own grotesque preference for sushi. I also knew that Ferdinand was going to do this while Finn was alive. For the first time throughout the nightmare, I panicked.

Finally, Ferdinand stood up and asked Finn to come with him to the kitchen. I could see it all in my head. He was going to push Finn’s head on a chopping board and start slicing his face off starting from his forehead. I tried to scream but no sound came out of my lips. I didn’t have to scream though, because Finn’s scream was more than enough to compensate for all the screams that anyone in the world would dare make in his lifetime.

Ferdinand came out of the kitchen, his face was as pallid and his eyes still as hungry as before. A waitress followed him. She was carrying several plates of sushi that looked like nata de coco. It jiggled with her every step. Ferdinand instructed us to eat. I excused myself and told everyone I wasn’t hungry. So I stood up and went outside to ‘get some fresh air’. I didn’t throw up, if ever you’re wondering.

As soon as I stepped out of the restaurant, I made a run for it. I was running through huge crowds, pushing and elbowing my way through. But each time I turn to look behind me, Ferdinand was always there, staring with those wild, cannibalistic eyes.

I changed my course and jumped inside a room. The place reminded me of freshly baked cookies. The family who lived there seemed like the type of family who used to be rich but was now forced to squat in the city. They asked me to sit down. And then I saw Finn.

Now, understand that this is the part where I’m about to wake up. All I remember now is that Ferdinand targeted the businessman next. And that at one point, I had a talk with him about ideologies and the importance of hope in human life.

Then I woke up and wrote this all down.

The brown-eyed soul picker listened to the thoughts around him:

“Ohshitohshitohshit I’m gonna die!”
“… fuck, did I leave the windows open?”
“Motherfucking storm.”

There was no storm; that, Ezra was sure of. The storm was yet to come.

Ezra passes by a woman who was yanking her skirt down amidst the raging wind. Her thoughts were on a rampage. “I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die!”

“Not yet, ma’am. Not yet” he replied with a grin. Ms. short-skirt looked at him, bewildered.

“Fuckn’ weirdo.” she said under her breath.

Ezra had no time to react because the wind fought harder and attempted to tackle him to the ground. It took all of his strength to not be swayed by it. On second though, maybe there really is a storm today. Maybe the weather knew of his failure and was trying to beat him up for it.

Just a little more… Ezra looked up ahead and he could see it: The tall building that was originally designed as a relocation apartment for squatters in the city. It was a project by the previous city mayor but now the apartment was just another empty building in the slums.

He reached the gate and peered through the iron bars.

The air coming from inside smelled of spoiled macaroni and cheese. The smell was so thick, he could practically taste the sourness in his tongue. Blocking the path to the stairs were rotten bodies slumped on the floor, some on top of the other. They were throbbing as one.

“Right.” he said out loud. He needed to hear the sound of his own voice.

The moans and groans got louder as he walked through the bodies, careful not to step on any protruding limb. When he reached the stairs, he paused and threw up all over his shoes. Okay, that’s it. I can’t do this He turned his head to look at the gate, tasting the idea of living to fight another day but Johnny’s voice filled his head like an alarm.

“Do you know what happens to soul pickers who lose the souls they’re supposed to pick?”

The thought alone jolted Ezra back to reality, or in between reality, wherever this godforsaken place is. Ezra wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and waited for his stomach to settle down.

Left with no other choice, he filled his lungs with the damp, sour air. The Three Sisters were on the 8th floor.

It was a long way up.