S14E19 - "Dimensionality" - Horror Hill

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Go to qince.com slash horror for free shipping and 365 day returns. Quince.com slash horror. If you're a fan of true crime, horror, or creepy encounters, sign up for your $1 a month trial at shopify.com slash setup. If you're a fan of true crime, horror, or creepy encounters, you've got to listen to disturbed true horror stories. Each episode shares the terrifying experiences of real people, retold by professional actors. I bit down on his hand and he pulled back, but he pushed the knife a little harder against my sweatshirt. I began to hear the breathing and growling of what could only come from a monster. Undisturbed true horror stories wherever you enjoy your podcasts. The following program is a production of Chilling Entertainment and the creative team at Chilling Tales for Dark Nights and a proud member of the Simply Scary Podcast Network. Visit simplyscarypodcast.com to learn more about this and our other weekly storytelling programs and become a patron today to show your support and get instant access to our extensive archive of downloadable tales of terror. Thank you for listening and enjoy the show. Disclaimer. Horror Hill is a horror anthology podcast bringing you scary stories from all corners of the internet and beyond. As such, certain stories include content that some listeners might find offensive. Specifically, tonight's segment includes depictions of children in violent and abusive situations. Listener discretion is advised. Good evening, my friends, and welcome back to Horror Hill. I'm your host and narrator, Eric Peabody. Tonight, I have a tale for you from Ryan G Peacock, who was last featured on this show. Let me just check my notes here. Back in season two when Jason was still hosting. Well, I think it's high time we treat you to more of Ryan's work. Tonight's story is titled Space Girl, and it's a bit longer but for good reason. This narrative is actually split into two parts. The first detailing the latter half of the story from the perspective of Jane, a young girl, and then the second fills in the earlier details from her classmate Megan's perspective. Folks, this is a walk down some dark roads and shows how spiteful and cruel children can be. Common themes in horror fiction, sure, but particularly well executed here. Sometimes those on the receiving end of childhood torment aren't quite as helpless as they appear. You're listening to the free edition of this program. If you'd like to help support Horror Hill and also remove these pesky ads, head to Chilling Tales for DarkNights.com and click patrons in the upper menu to sign up today. You'll get instant access to hundreds of ad-free stories, so what are you waiting for? Also, if you're watching on YouTube, do us a favor and drop a like and subscribe. Become part of our dark circle, listeners. And now, from author Ryan G. Peacock, I give you Space Girl. Part 1. Jane's Story. We called her Space Girl. Her real name was Megan Daniels, but no one actually called her that. Since second grade, she'd always been Space Girl. She was the kind of kid who stuck out in the crowd with her long red hair, ghostly, pale skin, and coke-bottle glasses that hid the coldest blue eyes I'd ever seen. For as long as I'd known her, Space Girl had been quiet. She didn't like to be around us. She didn't play with us when we were kids. She didn't even talk much. Most of the time, she'd find somewhere to sit, far away from everyone else. And she'd open up her little notebook and scribble inside of it. Sometimes she wrote poems, sometimes she drew. But she was always off in her own little world. Nowadays, I understand why we targeted her. She was different, and she was alone. That doesn't justify any of it. The kids can be cruel. I remember it was Sasha Brown who told me that Space Girl was retarded because her mother was on drugs. Thinking back on it, Sasha had probably just made that up, but we all believed it anyway. She had always been the worst towards Space Girl, and she kept that up until the end. I can't pinpoint one particular moment where everything started to go downhill, but the moment I remember best is when Sasha took her notebook. It had been sometime in fifth grade. It had been raining that day, so we had an indoor recess. Space Girl sat in the corner at her desk, eyes focused on her notebook as she methodically worked on a drawing. Sasha and I had been sitting nearby at our desks, and we simply watched her do her thing. I can't believe they let that retard sit in with us, Sasha murmured. Look at her. Why do they even let them in schools? They aren't going to learn anything. Better than leaving her at home with her crack-head mother, said Tanya Everett. She and I weren't exactly friends, but she sat close to Sasha and me. My dad says he sees a different car in front of her house every day. He says that she lets boys come and they pay her so they can have S.E.X. None of us could actually say the dreaded S. word at the time. Sex was still a terrible, unknown thing, and we had all been raised to believe that nobody decent would ever do it. Space Girl paused, and her eyes darted away from her book to look at us. I can only imagine she'd heard us. Sasha just stared right back at her. What? Do you have a problem, Space Girl? She asked. The teacher was out of earshot, and that gave her carte blanche to say whatever she wanted. Space Girl didn't respond. She just looked back down at her notebook, but Sasha had been challenged, or at least she thought she'd been. She looked over to the teacher's desk to make sure she was busy. Then she got up and moved closer to Space Girl. What are you even doing in there, retard? She'd reached out to snatch the book before Space Girl could stop her. What even is this? A unicorn? What are you, five? She handed the book to me, and I took it on instinct. There was a brightly colored drawing of a unicorn inside. The artwork was actually pretty nice, but I would never have said so. The book was passed on to Tanya next, and Space Girl could only look at us helplessly. Wow! You can't even draw! Look at this! She tore the page out of the notebook. Space Girl had out a whimper of protest as if she'd just been struck. The picture was crumpled up, and the book was thrown on the floor by her desk. Draw something that isn't trash next time, Tanya said, and Sasha just giggled as if it was anything other than being mean-spirited just for the sake of it. Space Girl slowly picked her book up off the floor, avoiding eye contact as Tanya and Sasha turned away from her. I continued to stare. I remember that the way she moved was so defeated as if she were shrinking in on herself. She looked up at me, but only for a moment, and I felt bad for her. I really did. But I didn't do anything about it. I just left her to rejoin the others. After that, Space Girl became an easy target for Sasha and Tanya. Every chance they got, they'd harass her, and I regret to admit that I was usually right there with them. During the days where we could go outside for recess, Space Girl would always sit beneath the same tree, and she'd always work in her notebook. Sometimes Sasha, Tanya, and I would just go and stand by her tree to hang out. Sasha would always lean on the trunk and look down over Space Girl's shoulder. Wow, that's really good, Space Girl! That was how most of her comments would start. Do you mean to draw it like it got hit by a truck, or is that just your style? There was never a compliment. She would always find something to needle, and she would do it over and over again until finally Space Girl moved. Then we'd follow her, harassing her about her work. Most of her art was fantastical. She liked unicorns, detailed kingdoms in the clouds, fairies, mermaids, and things like that. She didn't deserve the treatment we gave her. But she got it anyway. Can you draw me? Tanya asked once. I heard that retards were always like, Art Geniuses or something. Maybe it'll even look like a person. Space Girl didn't look up at her. She seemed to be trying not to acknowledge the insults. Usually, Sasha and Tanya didn't care, although every now and then they'd steal her book, to thumb through it, make fun of everything she'd drawn, or just tear out the pages. I won't pretend like I was blameless, either. I never stopped them, and there were plenty of times where I was right there making fun of her because that was what we did. We made fun of Space Girl, and we weren't the only ones. More or less, everyone hurt her in some way or another. But she never complained. I think she was too scared to. It was late December in seventh grade when things got even worse. I don't know all the details, and I don't know just how long things had been boiling over, but I had heard a rumor that James Hardy had it out for Space Girl. James had only been in my class a few times, and he wasn't in my class that year. He was a small, mousy-looking kid who was convinced he was the world's toughest gangster. By the time we were twelve, he dressed in loose basketball jerseys and jeans that sagged. He was as white as they came, but he listened to censored M&M, so that made him a gangster. The rumors said that someone had seen his dad going into Space Girl's house. Naturally, there had been speculation that his dad was sleeping with her mom. Someone told me that James' parents had been divorcing because of it. Somehow all of these rumors had mutated and declaims that James and Space Girl were dating, and I think that was what had rubbed him the wrong way. We were coming in from recess when some boys decided to pull a little prank on James. The whole prank had been set up by Brian Jordan or his brother Mike. They had some mistletoe for the holiday season, and had set it up in the hall leading back to our classroom. Mike had grabbed Space Girl during recess and was holding her behind the door where the mistletoe was. When James walked through, they pushed her at him and snapped a picture. I'd been just behind James when it happened. I watched as Space Girl came flying out of seemingly nowhere, eyes wide and afraid, as she crashed into James. They both hit the ground, and I could hear the other boys laughing. Look, she wanted to give you a kiss! One of the boys said. Space Girl was trying to crawl away from James and pick up her notebook, but somebody had kicked it out of sight. I remember that she looked back toward James, and there were tears in her eyes. She must have been terrified by everything that was going on. She clearly hadn't wanted any part in this, but there she was at the center of it. You fucking assholes! James yelled as he picked himself up, along with some other slurs I won't repeat. Hey, she just wanted to give you a smooch! laughed Brian. Come on, give her a kiss! Someone pushed Space Girl toward James, and he glared at her as if all of this was her fault. She tried to stand and run, but he was angry and wasn't thinking straight. He lashed out at her with a square punch to the jaw. Then he tossed her to the ground and went after Brian next. A teacher had to get in to pull James off of him. He, Space Girl, and the Jordan brothers ended up getting suspended right before the Christmas holiday. We didn't see Space Girl until January, and we didn't see James or his friends ever again. On Christmas Eve, there was a car accident on the highway outside of my town. Supposedly, it had swerved off the road to avoid an animal of some kind and gone into a ditch. Mike, Brian, and their parents didn't survive. On December 27th, James was killed while shoveling his driveway. My parents told me that he'd been attacked by an animal, probably a deer or something. But that seemed so unusual. I'd never heard anything about deer attacking people before, especially not in my area. I went over to Sasha's house on the day before New Year's. We'd both gotten some gift cards for Christmas, and we were planning to walk to the mall together to use them. Sasha's parents weren't home. They both had to work, so it was just us when I got there. Hey! Kept me waiting! She said when I knocked on the door. Sorry. It's fine. I'll be ready in a bit. Come on upstairs. I want to show you something. I didn't question what it was. I figured it was just something else she'd gotten for Christmas, so I went upstairs with her. You're gonna love it, she promised me. It's gonna be so funny! She led me to her bedroom, and as soon as she opened the door, I spotted a familiar notebook on her desk. Where did you get this? I asked, walking closer to it. This girl dropped it when Brian and his brother pulled that prank the other day. I saw it, so I grabbed it. You know, just for safekeeping. She cracked a rye grin before opening the notebook. Look at this. She's been drawing the same damn unicorns forever. She didn't even finish this one. She paused at one small picture that was labeled the Unicorn Prince. It depicted an empty field with a blank space where the titular prince should have been. Sasha flipped through the pages a little more until she got to the newer ones. I figured since they kicked Space Girl out for a little while and her mom is too poor to get her anything for the holidays, I'd step up. What do you think? Sasha wasn't anywhere near as good an artist as Space Girl was, but the simple detail in what she had drawn turned my stomach. In her first picture, Space Girl was hanging from a rope. Her tongue was hanging out and her eyes were closed. In the second one, Space Girl had a gun in her mouth. In the third one, she was standing on the edge of a building. Sasha giggled as I flipped through her crude depictions of suicide. A bottle of pills, getting hit by a car and slitting her wrists. What do you think? She asked with a grin. I bet you'll lose her shit. I closed the notebook and looked over at Sasha. Why was she so happy with this? How did she not realize what she was doing? Are you out of your mind? I asked. Sasha's grin faded. What do you mean? You stole her notebook just so you could draw these? Sasha, that's really messed up. It's Space Girl. Who the hell cares about Space Girl, Jane? You just drew her killing herself over and over again. I took the book off her desk. How don't you understand what's wrong with that? Sasha just stared at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was crazy, but not for drawing the line there. I was crazy for not drawing it sooner. Fine, sue me for trying to be funny. Sasha said, just give it here. She stretched out her hand to take the notebook, but I pulled back from her. No, you're just gonna put something else in there. Anger flared in Sasha's eyes. Jane, just give me the book. No, I don't trust you. I opened the book and I started to tear out those pages of Space Girl's suicides. Sasha lunged for me, trying to grab at the book and stop me. And I pushed her back. I didn't mean to push so hard, but I did. Then she fell, landing hard on the ground. Sasha looked up at me, wide-eyed and shocked. I don't think anyone had laid a hand on her like that before. Then I saw something in her eyes, not just anger. Something worse. It was the same thing that prompted her to draw those horrible pictures of Space Girl. Slowly, she got to her feet, her eyes trained on me. I could hear her breathing getting heavier, and I took a step back. It wasn't the first time I'd seen the really ugly side of Sasha. But it was the first time it was ever directed at me. And now that I looked into her eyes, what I saw scared me. I turned and ran, bolting down her stairs, outer front door, and back into the snow. I clutched Space Girl's notebook to my chest the entire time, and I didn't let go of it until I got home. I spent the rest of the Christmas break terrified that my parents would get a call from Sasha's. I'd pushed her, and that seemed like such a big deal at the time. In hindsight, I doubt Sasha would have told her parents what had happened. They would have asked why I'd pushed her, and I would have told them about the notebook. On some level, she must have known that what she'd done was wrong. She was a cruel person, but there had to be a point where even she would recognize that she'd gone too far. Part of me hoped that she'd realized that I was right, and we could patch things up when school started again. But honestly, I wasn't so sure. I remember looking through Space Girl's drawings, the ones that she'd done. I remembered the ones I'd made fun of the most. There was one with a mermaid on a rock combing her hair. Her eyes were closed in a relaxed bliss. I remembered saying how stupid her facial expression had looked. Honestly, I kinda liked it. I flipped through the pages some more, through unicorns, fairies, and castles. But I paused at the page depicting the unicorn prince. Back at Sasha's place it had been blank, but at my house it was finished. The unicorn prince stood proudly in his field, looking skyward with his horn proudly displayed. Maybe I'd been thinking of a different picture. I brushed it off and flipped to the back where Sasha's pictures were. One by one, I started tearing them out of the notebook and tossing them in the trash. It was a waste of paper, but I refused to give it back to Space Girl with those images still in it. On the first day back to school, I was up early. I made sure the notebook was packed into my bag and was out the door as early as I could be. The snow on the ground was almost pristine as I walked to school, but I remember seeing some tracks on my lawn, headed down the side of my house. Deep, U-shaped indents that looked like they'd been made by hooves. A deer, perhaps. I didn't dwell on them and made my way down the freshly shuffled sidewalk and back to school. I wasn't entirely sure if Space Girl would be back yet, but she was. She was alone in the classroom, sitting at her desk and drawing in a brand new notebook. She paused briefly when I walked in to join her, and I could see her side-eyeing me. She didn't say a word as I drew nearer, but I thought I saw her shoulders tense up ever so slightly. Hey, I said. I'm… I hope you had a nice holiday. She didn't respond. She just watched me from behind her coke-bottle glasses, and I could sense the distrust radiating off of her. I'm sorry about what happened the other day. I didn't know anything about it, but it just seemed really mean-spirited. Still, no answer. I reached into my backpack, taking out her old notebook. I put it on her desk in front of her. She stared at it, still silent, then back at me. Sasha took it. I was over at her house the other day, and she showed it to me. I'm sorry that I had to take some pages out. She drew some really awful things in there. I didn't think it would be right to give it back with those things still in there. I paused, feeling smaller as Space Girl stared at me. She didn't seem angry or thankful. She didn't seem anything at all. Just… stoic. I'm sorry if I wasn't all that great to you before, I said, and then shuffled off to my desk. Space Girl waited until I sat down before she opened her notebook and inspected it. Then she closed her new book, and started something new on a fresh page in her old one. It wasn't much, but it made me feel at least a little good for what I'd done. When Sasha got in, she didn't talk to me. She didn't even look at me. Neither did Tanya nor any of our other mutual friends. I knew from the moment they walked in that I'd burned my bridges with them, but I still wanted to try. The teacher hadn't come in yet, so I figured it might be worth it to try and talk to Sasha. I got up to move closer to her, and she gave me a look of utter disgust. What do you want? She spat. Now it was my turn to be silent. Fuck off and leave us alone, Tanya said. You'd obviously rather hang out with a fucking retard than us. I really don't want you spreading your retard germs to us. It's a quarantine issue. I stared at both of them, and I could have sworn I knew how Space Girl felt. What was I supposed to say to any of that? Instead I just returned to my desk without a word. Space Girl stared at me the entire time. Her pencil rested over her notebook, but she didn't write anything. She set it down, tore out the page she'd been writing on, and jammed it into her pocket. I later saw her toss it into the trash during lunch. I didn't really have anyone left, so I thought that maybe it might be a good idea to pull it out. Maybe it was something she wasn't happy with. I'd never seen her throw out a drawing before. I was thinking that maybe I could use it as a peace offering of sorts, or something along those lines. Looking back on it, I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting to do with it. When I saw what she'd written on it, though, I almost threw it back into the trash. Your Words There is a land where your sorry may go, a sickening land where it always snows. The snow is putrid in color and smell, its substance, filth, and things I won't tell. Only your father has been there before. One day your boyfriend will visit once more. This place is your carcass, this humanoid hell. Your sorry can go there to this hole in your shell. My unsubtle message, this subtextual jazz, is to take your apology and stuff it up your ass. This was unlike anything I'd ever seen her write. It was so crass and spiteful. This was as close to hatred as she could have gotten. I understood why she'd thrown it out. It didn't fit with everything else she'd done. Those things had been beautiful, despite what people had said and done to her. She still tried to make beautiful things. This was angry and ugly. This was something she'd written for me. I put it in my pocket. I wasn't going to give it back to her, but I wanted to keep it. Even if she'd thrown it away, she'd written it about me. She'd written it about the way I'd treated her. And I wanted to remember that. There was a service for James, Brian, and Mike a few days into the first week back. No one mentioned what had happened to them, but there were a few whispers that Space Girl had somehow been responsible. Of course, nobody actually believed it. It was more of a joke than anything else. Their deaths had been tragic accidents, supposedly. But kids would always gossip. Those three boys were more or less forgotten after seventh grade, and their prank was forgotten too. People instead chose to paint them as bright young spirits who'd been lost before their time, instead of the pieces of shit that they really were. This episode of Horror Hill is brought to you by Quince. It's a new season, folks, and it's time for a new you. You've been walking around in your old, pilled sweatshirts and dumpy jeans all winter, and I'm sick of it. I mean, look at yourself. What's that stain there? Spaghetti sauce? Get it together! You're better than this, people. In fact, you're worth the very best, and that's why I need everyone here to visit quince.com. 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You have to show up in person to cover the news and get the secrets, and I have a way of getting people to talk. I cover stories others ignore with a relentless determination to get to the truth. Listen to Brian Enten Investigates every day wherever you get your podcasts. Eighth grade wasn't fun for me. I had very few friends left, and Sasha never forgave me for turning on her. Her version of the story was slowly warped as time went on. First, I'd punched her and stolen the book. Then I tried to kiss her, punched her when she'd refused, then stole the book to try and get her in trouble. Rumors of me being a dyke spread pretty quickly, and hot on their heels came the rumors that I was dating Space Girl. I tried not to let them bother me too much. I knew the truth, and at the end of the day, I'd done the right thing. By the time high school rolled around, I was hoping for a fresh start. There were new faces, and I figured I could make friends with them before Sasha's rumors spread. I had a bit of success in that department. I fell in with a better crowd, at least. Sasha stuck with their same old clique. It grew ever so slightly, but she was determined to live out the movie Mean Girls, and most people didn't pay her any mind. Space Girl barely changed at all. I didn't see her much when high school started. She was in a few of my classes, but I rarely saw her outside of them. Whenever she had a moment, she'd be in the library, usually working on her drawings in one of the corner cubicles. I thought about talking to her and trying to strike up a friendship, but it never felt right. Years had quietly passed, and I'd never forgotten the way I'd treated her, or that angry little poem she'd written. Sasha's bullying never led up, of course. Of course, she stalked Space Girl to the library, where she'd pulled the same old shit she'd been pulling since the fifth grade. She'd leer over her cubicle and comment on her drawings, picking them apart just like she always had. I stopped her whenever I saw it, but I didn't always see it. Coming to her rescue again, huh, Jane? Sasha asked once when I'd interrupted her. Tanya leered at me from behind her, chewing gum with her mouth open. What's she ever done to you anyway? I asked. She's just minding her own business. Oh, what's she done to you, dyke? Sasha hissed. She leaned down over her cubicle and looked at the notebook. Unicorns. Unicorns, unicorns, fucking unicorns! When are you gonna grow up, Space Girl? Hey, I told you to stop! I rounded the cubicle, and I saw Sasha recoil. For a moment, I saw a bit of fear in her eyes. It vanished quickly and was replaced by a familiar rage. Fine, she said. Let's leave the happy couple to their alone time, then. She pulled away from the cubicle and disappeared, with Tanya nipping at her heels like a faithful terrier. Space Girl remained hunched over her notebook, her long red hair spilling over her shoulders. She seemed impossibly still. I turned to leave her when I heard. Thanks. I looked back at her and saw that she was looking at me. Um, you're welcome, I said. Let me know if she bothers you again, all right? I will, but you're usually there anyway. Her voice was soft and low. I'd heard it before, but I don't remember her ever speaking directly to me. Yeah, well, it's just not right. She's such a child. One of these days she's going to have to grow up. Space Girl just nodded, looking over toward the library door, then back down at her notebook again. For a moment I thought about asking her about what she was drawing. I thought about saying something else, but...no, I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. I left her alone again. In tenth grade, I took art as an elective. I wasn't much of an artist, but I figured it would be an easy course. To the surprise of no one, Space Girl was there. She'd grown into her red hair as she got older, but had otherwise barely changed since the day I'd met her. She was as quiet as ever, although I couldn't help but notice that in art class, she seemed just a little bit happier. I actually asked her to work with me on the first group project of this semester. I think the prospect of being asked to work together was foreign to her. She looked at me suspiciously when I did it, but when she realized that this wasn't just another sick prank or attempt to harass her, she actually smiled. It was a slowly spreading smile that seemed just a little bit goofy, and it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. I'd like that, she said, and the modest tone in her voice just cemented my own decision. I ended up going to her house that weekend to work on the project. We were supposed to take turns drawing portraits of each other, and I'd volunteered to let her draw me first. Rumors of her mother's sexuality had always surrounded Space Girl, so I wasn't entirely sure what to expect when I got there. I certainly wasn't expecting the quiet and neatly kept house that I found. Her mother was the one who answered the door, and she looked like an older version of her daughter, sans the Coke bottle glasses. You must be Jane, she said. She wasn't smiling, but she didn't sound upset, either. Yes, ma'am. Come on in. Megan's upstairs. She was just getting ready for you. The house was warm and cozy, with plenty of knickknacks on the walls, plates, and porcelain dolls mostly. The living room looked more like a waiting room, and I spotted a few framed degrees on some of the walls. I'd later end up learning that her home was actually her office. Her mother was a psychiatrist who worked out of her home. I was just about to bring some snacks upstairs, her mom said. But Megan gets very focused when she's working. She doesn't like being bothered. Do you mind running them up for me? Sure thing, I said, and her mother handed me a plate full of peanut butter cookies. Thanks, I'll be down here if you or Megan need anything. That sounded almost like a warning, and I wondered if her mom knew about the way I'd treated her daughter in the past. I didn't ask about it, and just quietly took the cookies upstairs. On the landing leading up to Space Girl's room, I could see a mural of family photos and paused to look at them. I could recognize Space Girl and her mother in most of them. Space Girl never seemed to be smiling, although her mother usually had a wide grin. I only saw her father in a few of the very early pictures. He was a gruff-looking man with glasses and a beard. Space Girl looked like she was only a young child in the few pictures I saw him in, though. I didn't dwell for long and headed toward what I assumed was her room. The cardboard stars and planets on the door gave it away. Sure enough, she was inside waiting for me. She sat facing the door behind an easel in the center of her room. Her bed was neatly made and tucked away in the corner. She had a clean little desk that she'd clearly been working on, and it set a chair out for me to sit on. I hadn't expected something so overwhelmingly formal, and I almost started laughing. But then I noticed her walls. They weren't just covered in drawings. The art pieces on them were full-on paintings. They were the same fantasy depictions she usually did, but the colors were so vivid. The clouds looked like fluffy pillows, and the castles seemed great and infinite. There was something lonely about them, though. The subjects were always in the center, surrounded by a vast, colorful world that seemed so beautiful, and yet so empty. Hey! I said, but I was clearly distracted. Holy shit! Are these yours? They are, Space Girls said softly. She stood up and took the plate of cookies from me, then moved it to her desk. It... it's soothing, she said after a while. Painting, I mean. I picked the drawings I liked the most, and I finished them. She spoke slowly, like she was carefully choosing her words. I almost felt like there was something that she was trying to avoid. I spotted a painting on the floor that looked like her father. The style was similar, although a little less refined. This looked like an older piece. I would have figured she'd done it as a child, if not for the way her father looked in it. The look on his face was one of absolute terror. Even in that cruder format, it was impossible to mistake it for anything else. His eyes were wide, his mouth was open, and he looked like he was screaming. Space Girl looked down at it, and her brow furrowed into disapproval. She turned it around so I wouldn't have to look at it. We should get started, she said. Sorry, I shouldn't have been talking. No, it's all right, I said. I sat in the chair for her. I'd like to hear about it. Space Girl watched me from the corner of her eye for a moment as if she doubted I was being serious. But eventually she sat down behind the easel and started to draw. Soon after that, she was talking, too. I stayed long after she'd gotten what she needed for her sketch. I made her tell me about her art. She told me that she'd always liked fantasy and how she liked unicorns because they were simple but pretty. I hung on to every word, and I could have sworn I saw her smiling shyly as she talked. The portrait she'd done of me was something else entirely. Her work had always been beautiful, but this… this made me look transcendent. I wasn't entirely sure that I was looking at myself at first. There was something about the look on my face. There was a small, almost content smile there. The warmth that conveyed was almost Disney-esque. I love it, I told her. That's incredible, Spa— Megan, that's really great! You can call me Space Girl if you want, she said. I don't mind the nickname. Not as much as I mind the people, at least. My awe quickly turned to shame, but Space Girl didn't look upset. She just stared at me blankly like she so often did. No, not blankly. Her face might not have conveyed much, but there was definitely something there. I wish… I wish I'd been nicer to you when we were younger, I said. Is that why you're here right now? Space Girl asked. No, I… I'm here for the assignment. I mean, the art assignment, the portraits. She continued to stare. Did you pick me because you felt bad for me? She asked. No, I just thought it would be cool to work with you. Space Girl didn't react for a moment, but then she just nodded. Okay. Her flat tone made it hard to know what she meant by that. She stood up and started cleaning up her supplies. Mom can drive you home if you need a ride, she said. She didn't look at me. I opened my mouth to say something else. I wanted to apologize, but I didn't know what to say. Had I offended her? Had I said something wrong? All right, thanks. It was the only thing I could think of. See you tomorrow. With that, I left her. I was almost afraid to see Space Girl the next morning. I drifted through my classes that day until I reached art. And when I did, I wasn't expecting what I saw. Space Girl had clearly been up late, but what she'd brought in stole my breath away. It was my portrait, but she'd done more with it than I thought possible. She'd painted over the sketch, turning me into something beautiful. Flowers bloomed around my brown hair, and a crown of daisies, lilies, and chrysanthemums adorned my head. The colors were so vivid, and I looked so at peace in it. Space Girl was looking right at me as I came in, as if she was gauging my reaction. But I simply didn't know how to react. All I could do was stare wide-eyed and in awe. When I looked back at Space Girl, I saw that smile I'd come to love. Small and subdued. But so much bigger than it seemed. My portrait of her didn't turn out nearly as good, but Space Girls had not only netted us an A on the project, but also got the privilege of being hung up outside of the art classroom. Of course, I told her how much I loved it, although I don't remember what words I used, nor if they were coherent. Whatever I said, Space Girl only listened with a small, knowing smile as her cheeks flushed red, and I remember thinking how pretty she looked when her blush matched her hair. My portrait was up for barely a day before Sasha had to make a comment. I'd been at lunch and had just gotten some fries from the cafeteria when she and Tanya ambushed me. Whereas your flower crown dyke, Sasha sneered. Did she draw you like one of her French girls, too? Tanya snickered at that, even though it wasn't even funny. Leave me alone, I said, brushing past them. But Sasha was out for blood. I always knew you were a little dyke, but now you've posted solid proof of it. We've gone and cracked the case, haven't we? So what happened? Did you go to her house and liquor-retarded little snatch? You must be a real good dyke because she went and drew that for you. I tried to walk away from her, but Sasha and Tanya just kept following me. What's wrong? Am I not pretty enough for you, dyke? She snapped at me. Maybe she only fucks retarded girls, Tanya said. I'll bet Spacegirl squealed like a pig when she came. I stopped, dead in my tracks, and I heard Sasha stop behind me. I don't know what it was about what she'd said that pissed me off so much, but those two had finally struck a nerve. I spun around, swinging my lunch tray as hard as I could. Fries were scattered everywhere, but although I was aiming for Tanya, I hit Sasha. She went down hard, and I'm not sure if she was even still conscious when she hit the ground. Tanya was on me in an instant. She slammed me back against a wall and kept me pinned. She had size and strength on me. There wasn't a thing I could do to stop her. What the fuck! I heard her shout as several other students grabbed at us. A teacher finally got involved, and all three of us got escorted to see the principal. As we left the cafeteria, I saw Spacegirl and one of the halls just staring at me. Naturally, I got a three-day suspension, but Tanya and Sasha were fine. Both of them said they'd just been walking, and I'd attacked unprovoked. It was their word against mine. Sasha had a familiar shit-eating grin on as she left the office, with only a bruise on her forehead to show for her troubles. But there was a familiar look in her eyes, the same anger I'd seen last time I'd laid a hand on her. And it scared me just as much as it had the last time I'd seen it. When I came back to school, I realized that I had every reason to be afraid. My portrait was missing. I wondered if they'd taken it down because I'd attacked Sasha, but the truth was a lot worse. Someone took it, Spacegirl said. She was sitting in her usual spot in the library when I found her, sketching flowers in her notebook. When? The day after you hit Sasha. I don't think anyone's found it yet. She didn't look up at me, just stayed focused on her art. She didn't need to say it for me to know who she blamed, who else would it be. Though she didn't show it, I could tell from the thick, aggressive lines in her sketch that the theft had gotten to her. She'd been proud of that portrait. She'd put so much work into it. And now Sasha had taken that too, just like she'd taken and ruined everything else. I had half a mind to confront Sasha about it, but I didn't know if it would be a good idea or not. Sasha could easily just cry wolf. I wouldn't put it past her. I would probably just leave it alone. But Sasha wasn't done yet. No, she'd been good and pissed off at me for years, and she finally was ready to do something about it. I should have known she would. About an hour later, when I was headed to art class, the painting was back. But there had been some modifications made to it. The words, retard fucking dyke, had been crudely painted across my portrait in bright red. I saw it from down the hall, and could see some other students whispering among themselves beneath it. I didn't know what to say or do. But this felt like too much. The picture was taken down quickly, but the damage was done. Sasha had gotten her revenge, and it didn't stop with just the painting. Space Girl looked different than when I'd seen her in the library. She seemed uneasy, and her eyes were red like she'd been crying. I'm sorry about the painting, I said softly. She looked at me before sighing. I knew she'd do something like that, she said. I'm so used to it by now that it doesn't bother me anymore. I'm sorry she wrote those things about you, though. But you worked hard on that, I said. I'd be upset, too. She just shook her head. That's not it, she said. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled up piece of paper, then slid it over to me. Slowly, I uncrumpled the paper, and my eyes widened as I recognized what was on it. It wasn't the same drawing, but it was close enough. It was a depiction of Space Girl hanging herself, and this time I was there beside her. A caption read, RETARD DIC WEDDING. There were so many in my locker, Space Girl said. She slid them through the cracks. I don't know how many. I know, I said softly. This is what she drew in your notebook when I returned it to you. This is what I had to take out. Space Girl looked down at the picture again before averting her eyes. As class started, I jammed the drawing into my pocket so I could throw it away later. Space Girl didn't pay much attention during class. Instead of taking notes, she sketched in her notebook. I looked over a few times to see her drawing another unicorn. This one seemed so similar to the prince I'd seen before. She must not have been quite happy with it, though. When I looked back at her notebook, the unicorn wasn't there anymore. She must have just erased it. But it seemed so clean, like it hadn't been there in the first place. I remember seeing Tanya giving me a shit-eating smirk in the hall near the end of the day. And when I started my walk home, I noticed that Tanya was following me. It was hard to say for sure at first, but as I got further away from the school, I realized that she was doing it deliberately. I didn't know what she had in mind, but I didn't want to put up with it. When I was in the middle of a small walking path that cut behind some of the houses on my street, I stopped and looked at Tanya as she kept approaching. What do you want? I asked. Just seeing where you go, Tanya replied. I was wondering if you were just fucking space girl, or if you did a whole tour of all the retarded girls in town. She was avoiding the question. Very funny. What are you really up to? I asked. Tanya just continued to smile at me. It's a surprise, she said. Sasha and I just want you to know how much we love Dykes in this town. Oops, I've said too much. I wanted to hit her. Dear God, I just wanted to hit her, but we both knew she could overpower me. I didn't want to go home, either. Whatever Tanya had in mind, it wasn't anything good. She drew closer to me, unafraid of anything I'd do. Come on, Dyke. Go home, she said. Let's go check out your surprise. In a sudden, horrible moment, I realized that Tanya was threatening me. I also realized that I couldn't outrun her. I couldn't fight her off. I didn't really have much of a choice but to do as she asked. Slowly, I turned and walked toward my house, with Tanya at my heels. It wasn't far, and up ahead, I could see Sasha sitting on a park bench. From a distance, I recognized the red gas can beside her, and I stopped dead in my tracks. What the fuck are you—Tanya seized me by the arm and dragged me toward the bench. Sasha just watched with a wide, manic grin. Hey, Jane, she said. How's it going? What the fuck is this? Just wanted to chat, Sasha said with a cold chuckle. You think you can get away with pulling the shit you did the other day? No. You've been treating me like garbage for years, and for what? Because of Space Girl? You know who you're fucking choosing, right? Right? She sighed in frustration. God, I hate that retard girl. But you know what? I hate you even more, acting like you're better than me just because you feel bad for her. You're crazy. Sasha just laughed. I'm not the one who clocked someone with a fucking tray just for a little teasing. You are absolutely fucking psycho. On the bench behind her, I saw the portrait that Space Girl had painted of me. Sasha picked it up and tossed it in front of me, then picked up the gas can and dumped it onto the canvas. You want to be a dyke? I don't care, but I'm not letting you and your retarded whore put your shit up, so say goodbye to your little project, slut. Sasha reached into her pocket and took out a book of matches. Her grin widened, before vanishing as she looked at something behind us. Holy shit, Tanya said, and I craned my neck to try and see what they were seeing. As for believing it, that was another story entirely. Standing on the path behind us was a unicorn, although there was something very wrong with it. This looked nothing like a regular horse. Its body was plain white and almost textureless, save for the many thin blue lines that ran along its body. It looked like it had been cut out from a sheet of lined paper, but that was impossible. It had to be impossible. Neatly done gray lines defined the shape of the horse. In fact, it looked exactly like one of the unicorn's Space Girl true. It almost looked as if it had walked out of one of her notebooks. Tanya let me go and stumbled back a few steps, wide-eyed as she stared at the advancing unicorn. Its tail swished violently back and forth, its ears seemed to be pressing to its head, and let out an angry noise before charging straight for her. She panicked and tried to run. In her desperation to escape, she bolted down the path, but she couldn't outrun the paper unicorn. It lowered its head as it drew nearer to her. In one swift movement, the horn pierced Tanya's back, impaling her straight through the chest. She screamed as she was hoisted off the ground, and the unicorn circled back to fix Sasha in a murderous glare. Tanya looked down at the massive spike sticking out of her, eyes wide with horror, and her body twitching its last spasms as life quickly drained from her. The unicorn lowered its head to let her slide off its horn, and she hit the ground in a bundle of limbs. Sasha and I stared in silent terror as the unicorn reared up on its hind legs and brought its hooves down upon Tanya's body. She didn't scream, she didn't fight. She simply lay there as she was trampled again and again. I can only hope that she died quickly. Sasha dropped the unlit match and took a slow, terrified step back before toppling over. I stumbled back and looked down to see the portrait of me at her feet, but it had changed. That beautifully painted version of me was now leaning out of the canvas, invading the real world and clutching Sasha's leg tightly. Still with that look of contentment on her face, I watched as the painted version of me slowly slipped back into her painting and took Sasha's leg with her. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Sasha desperately swatted at the painted me, but she couldn't overpower it. She couldn't escape. Her nails tried to dig into the pavement as she was slowly dragged into the canvas. She looked at me in horror, silently begging for help, but all I could do was stare back at her in silence. Jane, Jane, help! Please, oh, oh God, Jane, Jane! The hands of the painted version of me reached up, seizing Sasha by the hair and forcing her down into the canvas. It was like watching something pull her underwater. One minute she was there, the next she was gone. I stood silent in the park, staring at the painting, then at the paper unicorn. The unicorn huffed before retreating off into the woods. Then I was alone. Slowly I approached the painting and looked down at it. It had changed. The writing was gone. The art style was the same, but I was no longer the subject. Now it only depicted Sasha as she reached out for help with her mouth open in an eternal scream of terror. After some hesitation I picked up the painting. I could return it to Space Girl in the morning. They chalked Tanya's death up to an animal attack and nobody ever found Sasha. Rumors of her being kidnapped or getting knocked up and running away were the most popular ones. They were whispered between students for the rest of 10th grade, but in the end they peed her doubt. There was a simple memorial service and a picture in the yearbook before Sasha and Tanya were cast into the back of everyone's memories, just like Mike, Brian, and James had been, all those years before. I never asked Space Girl about what I saw that day. I don't know if she even would have been able to explain it, although she certainly knew much more than I did. Whatever she'd done, whatever she had the ability to do, it wasn't my place to ask about it. My school was 10 years ago, though, and I've chosen not to remember much of it. I'm a different person now, and so much has changed. I've got my own life to live now. I try not to question the things that I shouldn't. Sometimes I see paintings move, but when they do I don't bother with the second glance and I never ask my wife about them. She doesn't like to talk about it, and I won't ever force her. She has her secrets, but that doesn't change how much I love her. The painting of Sasha hangs in her studio at home, right beside the painting of her father. Sometimes I look at it and I wonder if maybe things could have been different. But I don't feel too guilty about it. I wouldn't feel too guilty if I heard another story about a suspicious trampling or animal attack, either. But to my knowledge, there's been nothing of the sort. Megan is calmer when she's with me. I think that's part of why we ended up together. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. I do what I can to make sure that nobody ever hurts my beautiful space girl. Please stop the gap. Another morning, another reminder there's a gap to be careful of, but maybe it's time to bridge the one between your nine to five and your dream of living life on your own terms. At HSBC, we know ambition looks different to everyone. Whether it's retiring early or leaving more for your family, we can help. Because when it comes to unlocking your money's potential, we know wealth. Search HSBC Wealth Today, HSBC UK, opening up a world of opportunity. HSBC UK current account holders only. Part 2. Megan's Story. I need you to understand that I never wanted anybody to get hurt. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I can't stop myself from doing it. My mom once told me that what I can do is a gift, but some days I'm not so sure. What exactly do you call it when everything you draw or paint comes to life? My name is Megan Daniels, but people have been calling me Space Girl for years, and I've had my ability for as long as I can remember. I never really questioned it when I was a child. On the contrary, I remember that I couldn't have been happier. I was by myself so often that it was nice to be able to literally make my own friends. Mom was never a bad parent, but she had a career to focus on as well. I know she made some sacrifices while juggling motherhood and her practice as a psychiatrist. She'd set up a home office while I was still fairly young and spent a lot of her time there with her patients. While she was working, I would usually play in my room. Dad, on the other hand, was a bit of a different story. He wasn't home very often, so I didn't see much of him. I barely even remember what he looked like. If it weren't for the few photographs my mom kept, I would have forgotten everything except his intense blue eyes and the smell of alcohol that often hung like a cloud around him. I could smell it on his breath every time he was close to me, and even now, years later, I can't help but think of him every time I catch a whiff of alcohol. He worked a nine-to-five office job, but usually wasn't home until long after I'd gone to bed. When I was young, I never understood why. Mom never talked about it in front of me, but I knew from the arguments that sometimes kept me awake that she was mad at him for it. Since Dad was never around and Mom was always busy, I was often left to my own devices more often than not, and that was just fine by me. As I said before, I made my own friends. Some of my earliest memories involved watching the sea creatures I'd drawn float off the paper and swim around my bedroom. Crude fish and an octopus with only four tentacles swam around, dancing out of my grip as I chased them around the room, laughing all the while. I remember a portrait of my family, consisting of three stick figures moving around on the page, all together and smiling in a way that my own family never did. I remember them standing around my room, content to play with me since I had no one else. Whatever I wanted, I could create with nothing more than some crayons and paper. My work was crude back then. I was just a child, after all, but the quality didn't matter. Just as I'd drawn them, my work would come to life, just for me. Of course, everything would return to its place the moment I heard footsteps in the hall. I'd learned quickly that the things I'd created were shy. They were just for me, and didn't want to be seen by anybody else. When I told my parents everything, they just dismissed it as my imagination. One can't possibly keep a secret that big for long, though. When I was four, I'd gotten it into my head that I wanted to pony, and I did what any little girl with my ability would have done. I drew my own. I remember laying out a sheet of lined paper and grabbing some of my crayons before I started on the landscape. As I drew, I imagined what my pony would look like. He would be noble, just, and kind. He would be brave and strong. He would be a knight. No, a prince. A unicorn prince, in fact. I remember gleefully drawing his limbs and his horn, giving him shape and making him real. I remember setting my crayon down and watching expectantly as my prince began to move. He shook his head. If he'd had a mane at that point, it would have tossed about majestically. Instead, all he had were two dot eyes and a dopey smile. It didn't seem to matter, though. He moved all the same. Just like everything else, he emerged from the paper. He wasn't quite as big as a real horse. At that age, I had no idea how big a horse really was. But he was still taller than I was. I remember reaching out to pet him for the very first time. His hide felt like paper, although it held a warmth in it. He remained still and even lowered himself a bit so I could ride on his back. His paper hooves thudded against the hardwood floor as he let out a bold whinny, and I suppose that was a little too much noise. As my unicorn prince circled my room, I didn't hear the footsteps in the hall over the clop of my impromptu pony ride. I didn't hear my mom coming in to check on me, not until I saw the door open from the corner of my eye. And even then, all I could do was grin at my mother and wave. Hi, Mom! She didn't smile back at me, nor did she wave. Instead, her eyes went wide, her hand went to her mouth to stifle the scream. The unicorn prince froze. I remember feeling his body tense up before he rushed toward the piece of paper sitting on the floor. In an instant, he was gone and I was on the floor. Some raced toward me and scooped me up, pulling me away from the drawing on the ground. I couldn't understand why she was so afraid. She frisked me, checking me for injuries, and when she found none, she looked me dead in the eye. What was that? She demanded. Megan, what was that? He is my pet unicorn mommy. I drew him. Where did it come from? I drew him. I really did. I looked back at the picture on the floor. The unicorn prince didn't move, but I knew he was staring at me, even in those simple dot eyes. I could see some sign of life. My mother fixated on the picture, studying it in silence, but keeping her distance as she processed what she'd just seen. She didn't speak to me for a few moments. She just held me protectively close. When you make him come out again, she finally asked. Her voice had a notable tremble in it. Slowly, she set me down again, and I went to Neil beside my drawing. It's okay. She's not going to hurt you. I whispered to my prince. It's just mommy. The drawing remained still for a moment, before finally starting to move. He didn't leave the paper, not again. He was either scared or trying not to scare my mom. Even without stepping out again, though, just moving was enough. Mom stared down at him, eyes wide in disbelief. Can I take him outside and ride him in the park? I asked, eagerly. No. The response was curt and automatic. No. No. Just... just leave him for now, okay, honey? Mom brushed her hair back and looked at me. She still looked as if she couldn't quite believe her eyes, before shaking her head and forcing an uneasy smile. How about some lunch? She said, hiding the stammer in her voice. I'll make alfagetti. Can my unicorn have alfagetti, too? Maybe later, baby. Let's just talk about this first. She offered me a hand, and I took it as she led me downstairs. Did I ever tell you about Great Grandma Ruth? She asked, as I sat over my bowl of hot alphabet soup. Who's Great Grandma Ruth? I asked. Mom managed a sad smile as she sat down across from me. Well, she was my grandmother, she replied. When I was very young, Grandma and Grandpa sometimes let me stay over at her place. I always loved it there. She had a cottage in the woods, way up past London. It was quiet. There was a big forest to play in. It was beautiful. Can we go and see Great Grandma Ruth? Unfortunately, no. She's been dead a very long time. She liked to draw, too, though, just like you. And when I was a little girl, I used to like to pretend that some of her drawings would come out and play with me. She paused, watching me carefully. I stared back at her, my eyes lighting up a bit. Did they really come out? Just like my drawings do? I asked. I don't really know, baby, she said with a sigh. I used to think it was all my imagination. She died when I was young, and Grandma's gone, too, so I guess I'll never know for sure. What you can do, though, not everyone can do. Maybe Great Grandma Ruth could, but you have to understand that this isn't. Most people can't do it, and they might not understand it if they see the things you drew coming out of their drawings. What do you mean? I asked. Mom tried to put on a reassuring smile. People aren't always nice, honey, and when they see something they don't understand, sometimes they get scared. I need you to be careful with your drawings. You're going to be starting school soon, and people can't see them move. They don't like it when people see them, I said. And that's good. We just need to make sure it stays that way. Are you mad at me? Mom's eyes widened. No, no, sweetie, absolutely not. Why would I be mad at you? She left her chair to crouch down beside me and wrapped me in a tight hug. I'm not mad at you, I promise. I just want you to be safe, that's all. And it's best if we don't tell Daddy about this, though. It'll be our secret, you and me, she said. Why can't we tell Daddy? I asked, and she hesitated for a moment before giving me an answer. Daddy, sometimes he doesn't think and says things he shouldn't. We can show him one day, just not right now, okay? Okay, I said, and gave a slight nod. And now, I'm still not sure I fully trusted her tone. Mad might not be the right word to describe how I think she found. Afraid might be more fitting, and I suppose if it were me in her position, I would have been afraid, too. At the time, though, I hardly knew any better. I was so sure that she was angry with me, and I wasn't quite sure what to do about it. For the next little while, I didn't play with the things I had created. Even if my mom hadn't intended it, the idea that my ability was somehow wrong had entered my mind, and it wouldn't go away. But just because I wasn't playing with them didn't mean they stopped being alive. When I was in my room, I could see them moving around on the paper, watching me. I'd hung the unicorn prince up on my wall and could see him pacing about restlessly. His simple facial features betrayed a look of unease that was impossible to mistake, and beyond that, a look of concern. My own emotional state must have rubbed off on them. They knew that something wasn't quite right, and so they stayed in place, moving less often and rarely coming out. I remember that part of me felt relieved that they could be normal, and yet part of me missed them. It's not easy for a child to go from having something so magical in their life to having nothing at all, and without the things I'd drawn, I had nothing. I think it was obvious that it wasn't going to last. Maybe my artwork knew it too, I can't say for sure, but it wasn't long before I couldn't help myself. When I told my mom I wanted to go outside and play, I only took one drawing outside with me. It was carefully folded up in my pocket, and the choice was an obvious one. I'd never had a chance to properly ride the pony I'd drawn. Since it was an overcast day, I thought I could slip out and do it while mom was busy. Our yard backed onto a small park. There was only a chain-link fence and a small gate separating us from the park itself, and I remembered that the day was gloomy and foggy. No one else was out and about, and there were enough trees that I probably wouldn't be seen. Mom had told me to stay in the backyard, but I knew she had a patient and wouldn't check on me. I knew I had time. As soon as I knew she wasn't looking, I opened the gate and stepped out into the park. I remember that giddy feeling of doing something I knew I wasn't supposed to be doing, tasting a forbidden fruit, as it were. I didn't understand just how dangerous it was for a four-year-old to be running around unsupervised, and being a four-year-old myself, I simply didn't care. I took the folded drawing from my pocket and opened it, smiling as I looked down at my unicorn prince. You can come out now, I whispered to it, and watched with a familiar excitement as he bounded off the paper. I remember thinking that he looked happy to see me as I petted his neck. The light rain didn't seem to have much of an effect on his paper hide, and after examining his surroundings, he knelt down before me, offering me a place on his back. I felt like the queen of the world as I climbed on. Go! I said as I held onto him. Run! And he did exactly that. The park was abandoned, and we were lucky for that. My prince might not have been as fast as a real pony, but I didn't care. For a little while, I was completely free, and I will never forget that wonderful feeling. Mom never caught on to my little adventures with the unicorn prince, which very quickly became my go-to activity. In a sense, he became one of my best friends. When we weren't outside, I spent my time drawing newer and better versions of him. My art style began to get better with practice as my prince slowly began to resemble a real horse. It was always him who came out of the newest drawing. No matter how we'd changed, he was always the same. When we were together, he and I would linger by the edge of the park in a small spot covered by trees and away from prying eyes. That small patch of woods wasn't much, but for me it might as well have been my very own fantasy land. I only got caught outside of the backyard once, and even then, Mom had no idea that I'd had one of my drawings out with me. Once I remembered that I'd brought out two pictures of the unicorn prince. I'd been hoping that maybe I could create two of him, although he only came out of the newer drawing. I suspect that was only because it was the better one, and he seemed to prefer looking good. He was a vain one, but I suppose I made him that way. When I looked at the paper, both of them only showed the background. The prince himself was absent. It's how I knew that no matter how many times I drew him, so long as it was meant to be him, he was the one who'd come out. That didn't mean I couldn't draw other unicorns, though. I only tried at once before deciding that if I had too many unicorns out at once, I'd probably get caught, and Mom would get mad. It was on one of those overcast days when I saw the coyote. I'd finished my newest drawing of the unicorn prince and wanted to see how he'd turned out. As soon as I knew Mom wasn't watching, I slipped out the back gate and ran for the trees, hiding my drawing under my raincoat. When I made it to the safety of the trees, I took it out, and watched as the prince stepped off the paper. He was still a little cartoonish, but I was sure that he looked better than he had before. The prince lowered his head to me, a gesture of respect, and I bowed in response, before moving to climb on his back. Before I could, though, I saw something moving through the trees out of the corner of my eye. It looked like a dog, although I couldn't quite identify the breed. I remember thinking that it might have been a husky. Only it had a gray coat with spots of brown. Its ears were triangular and folded back as it crept toward me. I got the impression that it looked a little shy. Nowadays, I'd recognize it as a coyote, but at that age, I doubt I even knew what a coyote was. Hello, puppy! I said, and took a step toward it. It shrank back, bearing its teeth at me as it did. I didn't take the hint, though. Behind me, the prince moved protectively to my side. From the corner of my eye, I saw him watching the coyote carefully. It never occurred to me that the animal could have been dangerous. I just saw a dog and wanted to pet it, not understanding that it didn't want to be petted. When I reached out for it, the coyote snapped at me before darting to the side. It didn't bite me, but I leapt back as if it had all the same, and that seemed to be the only provocation the unicorn prince needed. When he moved, the coyote tried to get out of the way, but the prince was faster. I remember hearing the crack of its bones under the prince's hooves. I remember seeing its body distort as it was pulverized. It died instantly, and I suppose that was for the best. I'm not sure how I would have handled watching it suffer. But the sight of the thing that I'd drawn trampling the life out of another living thing was hardly much of an improvement. As the prince rammed its horn into the broken corpse, goring it in a show of violence that was like nothing I'd seen before, I screamed and stumbled backward. I lost my footing and fell as I stared in horror up at my unicorn. He looked at me with big, colorful eyes, soft and kind, and yet his hide was spattered with blood. I stared up at my prince, looking at him and shaking as he stood over the corpse. He shook his head, shaking some of the blood off before he advanced on me. I tried to crawl away, tears streaming down my cheeks. No, I stammered. Don't hurt me, please! The prince stopped and looked down at me, studying me. I could see in his eyes that he knew I was upset. I could tell he was thinking about what to do, and after a moment he just bowed his head and knelt down in a gesture of submission. For a few moments neither of us moved. I was still shaking and crying. The prince waited for me to make the first move, and when I did, all I could manage was to quietly take out the paper I'd drawn him on so he could go back. He stood up and approached me slowly. He didn't go back to the paper, though, not at first. Instead, he lowered his head toward me and gave me an affectionate nudge, silently asking if I was okay. I looked over at the pulverized carcass of the coyote, and I remembered the way it had snapped at me. I think I realized that it would have hurt me if it had gotten the chance. And if that was the case, then my prince had done nothing but defend me. I looked over at him and finally reached out to pet the side of his face. He nuzzled into my hand, before returning to his drawing. I went straight back into the backyard. Mom didn't know I'd been gone. I had no intention of telling her either. I didn't go on any more adventures after that. I think it goes without saying that I didn't spend much time around other children when I was young. Mom had a few friends who'd bring their kids over every now and then, but that was it. Mom had told me that she'd wanted me to go to preschool, but my dad was adamant that it was a waste of money. I'm sure they argued about it more than once during the occasional fights I'd overhear as I lay awake in my bedroom at night. That lack of socialization, though, made it so much more difficult when I started school. I won't pretend to remember every single detail, but I remember the fear. I could handle being on my own. I'd been alone for more of my life than I probably should have. It was being around other people that was hard. I preferred to simply avoid the other kids. During playtime, I'd sit on my own and draw. I'd bring a notepad to school and fill it with crayon drawings of fantasy lands, mermaids, and the like. That isolation made it difficult for me to make friends, and I suppose it made me an easy target. People can be cruel, but children have a special kind of cruelty to them. I know that the bullying started early. If it wasn't my coke bottle glasses they made fun of, it was my frizzy red hair. But more than any of those, they teased me because I wanted to be by myself with nothing but my notepads and sketchbooks. I think it was around second grade when someone first came up with the name Space Girl because I was always spaced out, but I don't remember exactly who used it first. Either way, it caught on to the point that people called me that more often than they called me by my actual name, and it wasn't long before people started taking it further. It was a few months into second grade that Chris Burton took my sketchbook. I usually spent my recesses out in the field behind the school. If the weather was good, I'd sit down beneath one of the trees and draw. Sometimes people bothered me, but my mom had told me to ignore them, and that's what I tried to do. This was a couple of grades above me, and I was one of his favorite targets. He just loved trying to get a reaction, however he could. Sometimes he would pull grass out of the ground and sprinkle it in my hair trying to get a reaction. I usually just brushed it out and moved to a different tree. On that day, though, I guess he wasn't going to accept being ignored. I could see him from the corner of my eye as he came toward me, flanked by a few other boys. Didn't you draw into day, Space Girl? He asked as he reached me. He leaned against the tree and tried to peer over my shoulder. I didn't give him an answer. Mom had said not to dignify him with an answer. He gave me a little push trying to get my attention. Hey, Space Girl! SPAACE GIRL! I still didn't reply, even when the question started. Are you ignoring me? Don't you talk? Don't you know how to talk? No answer. I just continued working in my sketchbook. I was nearly done with the drawing of the unicorn prince. You know that unicorns are for babies, right? I kept my head down, trying to at least finish my sketch before moving. But I never got that chance. Before I could react, Chris had snatched my sketchbook for my hands and with a manic grin on his face, he took off. Give it back! I yelled after him before scrambling to my feet. Chris already had a head start on me, and I was barely on my feet before someone else pushed me over. As I hit the ground, all I could do was watch as Chris took off toward the school. I scrambled to pick myself up again and give chase. I wasn't as fast as him. There was no way I'd catch up in time. He was already inside the school by the time I got to the doors. I had no idea where he'd gone. He couldn't have been in one of the classrooms, could he? Maybe he'd gone to hide in one of the bathrooms? I knew that technically I wasn't supposed to be in the boy's bathroom, but where else could he have gone? Hey, space girl! I heard him call from just down the hall. I turned. And sure enough, I saw him standing in the doorway to one of the bathrooms. My heart skipped a beat as I began to dread what he'd done. I took off after him. I didn't see my sketchbook in his hands, and I tore past him toward the boy's bathroom. The smell was the first thing I noticed, and I could see one of the stall doors hanging open. I came to a stop in front of it, already knowing what I'd see. Chris had thrown my sketchbook in the toilet. The pages were soaked, and it stank like piss. Behind me, I could hear Chris laughing as if he'd just played the greatest prank in the world. I gagged as I took my sketchbook out of the toilet. The pages were soaking wet when I pried the book open. Most of my drawings were ruined. The things that had been on them didn't move. They were still and lifeless. And that sent an unfamiliar stab of panic through my chest. I flipped over to the incomplete sketch of the unicorn prince, expecting it to be damaged as well. That page had been spared the worst of the damage, but I could only see the background I'd drawn. No sign of the prince himself. See, I made some improvements! Chris teased. From the corner of my eye, I could see him hovering over my shoulder. My heart raced, and I felt a flash of rage. Before I knew it, I could feel my fist against his face. You ruined them! I cried. You've ruined all of them! Chris stumbled back a step, no longer smiling. I could see a thin trail of blood running from his nose before he hit back. We were both on the ground, hitting each other when a teacher found us and broke us up a few minutes later. Chris and I were both sent home that day, and I never got my sketchbook back. I imagined that one of the teachers threw it out. It was ruined, anyway. It was Dad who picked me up from school that day, not Mom. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that was punishment enough. It was something of a blessing that I barely saw him. I never felt comfortable when I was around him. As we left, he seemed quiet. And angry, just quiet. It wasn't until we got in the car that he said anything. So, you hit that boy back, huh? His tone was gruff and made me a bit uneasy. He took my sketchbook, I replied. Dad just chuckled. Well, boys will be boys. I guess he had a crush, huh? When should I expect you to bring home your new boyfriend? I shifted uneasily in my seat. I'd expected him to be angry, but something about the way he was talking seemed off. I could smell the familiar smell of alcohol on him as he keyed the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Chris is a jerk, I said quietly. Most boys are, kiddo. You'll learn to like it eventually. You'll notice it more when you get older. You're probably going to look a little like your mother. Always for days. He lit up a cigarette as we drove and I looked out the window, quietly shrinking away from him. I could feel him looking at me and I hated it. Mom was waiting for me when we got home and as soon as I got through the door she had me wrapped in her arms already fussing over me. Megan, what were you thinking? Did he hurt you? What happened? Chris threw my sketchbook in the toilet, I said quietly. I'm sorry, I got mad and I hit him. Relax Annie, it's just kids being kids. Dad said, brushing past her to head to the kitchen and get a beer. There's no point in making a big fuss over it. Sounds to me like it's just a little boy with a crush. Mom looked over in his direction, glaring daggers at him. She watched as he took two beers out of the fridge. Kids being kids, she repeated. Did you look at her? She's got bruises all over her arms. It's a bit of rough housing, nothing to worry about. Dad said with a shrug. He opened one of the beers and took a sip. Did you even ask what happened? How many times has she told us that the other children were bothering her? We need to set up a meeting with the school. Don't you think that's overreacting? Dad stood in the doorway of the kitchen. This kind of thing is normal. The school will tell you the same thing. Stop worrying. It'll toughen her up a little, make her socialize. God knows she could use a kick in the ass. Excuse me? Mom snapped. Her tone of voice made me flinch, but my dad hardly seemed to notice it. He just took another sip of his beer. I could see the rage in mom's eyes as she tried to figure out just what to say to him. Her attention shifted to me for a moment. Mechon, why don't you go upstairs to your room? Daddy and I need to talk. Why are you coddling her? She's a big girl. She can take it. Dad said, as I headed for the stairs. The argument had already begun before I even made it to the top. She's six years old, James. Do you really think she deserves to be harassed? They're kids. This is what they do. It's natural. It'll help her grow a thicker skin. Just relax, will you? I took off toward my room and closed the door behind me. My hands were shaking. Going through the door, I could hear the muffled sounds of my parents screaming at each other. From the corner of my eye, I could see the drawings I'd put up on my walls, shifting around, sharing in my discomfort. I could feel them watching me. I pulled away from my bedroom door and went toward a recent piece I'd done of the unicorn prince. I needed him, if for no other reason, than to have something I knew I could call a friend close by. But as soon as I approached the picture, I saw that it was empty. The prince was nowhere in sight. He'd left his drawing, and the sight of that gave me pause. He'd never left his drawing without me before. I looked around, and none of the other subjects for my artwork were missing. It was just him. As my parents argued downstairs, I felt alone and sick to my stomach. Somehow, in my gut, I knew something was wrong, something bad was happening. I didn't know just what. Not yet. But I could sense it, and that alone was enough to scare me. The unicorn prince was back in his drawing the next morning. I remember seeing him standing just as I'd drawn him in the picture. He didn't move when I looked at him, and I didn't have time to bring him out. Having his absence left me with a lingering sense of unease, and it wouldn't go away. I went back to school the next day, and didn't see Chris in the recess yard at all. Later that morning, we were told that recess would be indoors for the next few days in spite of the lovely weather. The teachers didn't tell us why. That much, I overheard from a few of the students. During the first indoor recess, I could hear one of the other girls, Sasha, talking to some of her friends about how Chris Burton hadn't quite made at home the other night. My dad works at the hospital, and he said that he'd heard that Chris and his mom got attacked by an animal yesterday. He said that they're probably going to die. There was a glee in her voice that didn't quite fit in with what she was describing. I didn't listen in for long. I couldn't even if I had wanted to. A hollow feeling in my stomach overtook me, and I suddenly felt sick. I was a child, but that didn't mean I couldn't put two and two together. The prince had been out of his drawing the other day, and it just so happened that Chris and his mom had been attacked by an animal. A vivid memory of the coyote lying dead on the ground flashed through my mind. I remembered its vacant eyes, and caught myself wondering if Chris would look the same if he were to die. I sat still, the collar draining from my skin. I couldn't even bring myself to look at the fresh sketchbook I'd brought. How could I, knowing that one of my drawings had just put another person in the hospital? The other kids in the classroom around me paid me no mind. The teacher didn't even seem to notice my trembling hands as I tried to comprehend the truth that I couldn't avoid. My drawings had nearly killed someone. That sat on me like a weight, and I didn't know how to handle it. I felt like I could barely breathe. The next thing I knew, I was crying, and I couldn't tell a single person the truth as to why. I didn't know what to do about what had happened. When I got home after school, the thought of ripping every drawing off my wall and tearing them to shreds had crossed my mind, but when I tried to make myself do it, I couldn't. I could only stare at them as they watched me, waiting for me to do something. These were my creations. I had given them life. Could I really bring myself to take it away from them? I remember looking at the newest drawing of the unicorn prince I'd made. I could see myself tearing the paper, but even if that didn't kill him, I'd have felt guilty for even trying to hurt him. The prince just stared back at me, a quiet resolve on his face. I knew that even if I could destroy him, it wouldn't be what I wanted. I knew I'd need to do something else, and I wasn't quite sure just what else I could do. Aside from draw. Maybe in hindsight, it was likely a bad idea. My art had put Chris and his mother in the hospital in the first place. Giving him a drawing probably would have seemed more like a threat than an apology, but I still convinced myself it was a good idea. If nothing else, maybe it would make me feel better. I looked up at the drawing of the prince again, my brow furrowed. Why'd you do it? I asked. Why'd you have to hurt them? He just looked back at me before stepping off the paper. I took a step back as he stared me down. You can't just hurt people whenever you feel like it. You can't. The prince just huffed. I'd never imagined a fake unicorn could sound dismissive, but he somehow pulled it off. He tossed his mane before nudging me with his head. I pulled away from him. You're never going to hurt anyone else again. I said, my voice shaking. Do you understand me? Never again. My eyes darted around to the rest of my drawings. I could feel them all watching me. None of you is going to hurt anyone. I got no replies, no sign of agreement from them. Just uneasy silence. The prince quietly turned away from me and stepped back into his drawing. What he meant by that, I wasn't quite sure. I got myself some fresh paper and started on a handmade card. I can't say I ever knew Chris particularly well. Aside from harassing me, I didn't know what he liked, so I stuck with something simple. I drew a picture of him. People liked seeing portraits of themselves, right? I spent almost an hour working on it, drawing him from memory. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my other drawings moving around on my wall. On the inside of the card, I wrote a simple message. I'm sorry that you got hurt. I hope you get well soon. Just writing that made me feel a little better. I looked at the drawing I'd made of the prince. He was still watching me intently, as if he had a problem with what I was doing. I'm apologizing, I said defensively. You heard him, I have to do something. The prince just huffed, that same dismissive sound as before. I'll take the card to the hospital, and when he's better, maybe he'll leave me alone. It's better than just attacking him. I checked my clock. Maybe I could get mom to drive me before it got too late. I knew that she had been in her office when I got home. I imagined she was probably still there. I held the card I'd made for Chris close as I went downstairs. Mom would understand. She'd probably be happy to help me make amends. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard the TV blaring from the living room. Maybe mom wasn't busy, even better. I wasn't greeted by the sight of mom sitting and watching the television, though. She was nowhere to be seen. Instead, it was my dad on the couch. He'd taken off his tie, and I saw a half-empty bottle of scotch on the table in front of him. He was in the midst of nursing another glass. Hey there, kiddo. He said. He didn't even look away from the TV. Hi, dad. Where's mom? She went out for a bit. Shrink work, you know. He finally looked over at me. What do you want, kiddo? Could you drive me to the hospital? I asked timidly. I wanted to visit someone. Oh, so you've got a friend now? He asked playfully. Come on, sit down. Why don't you tell me about him? I hesitated for a moment before I sat beside him. What did you draw? Dad asked, noticing the card I was holding. He snatched it from me before I could stop him. A boy, huh? Your friend from the other day? What was his name? Chris? Yeah, it's for Chris. I murmured as I sat down beside him. Dad studied the card, a smile on his face, before he chuckled. Isn't that cute? I guess you've got yourself a boyfriend then, huh? I feel bad because we got in a fight yesterday, and now he's sick. Yeah, yeah, I get it, he said. Hey, he's a lucky guy. You're going to grow up just like your mom. I can already see it. I could feel his eyes on me, and it made me uncomfortable. Can you drive me to the hospital? I asked again. It's too late for that. I'll take you on the weekend, he said, and downed his drink. I like to meet the young man who's got my little girl all worked up. Hell, you look all shy now. Isn't that cute? He pulled me closer to him, and the stink of alcohol was almost overpowering. I didn't want to get closer, but I didn't know what else to do. The card was tossed onto the coffee table. So, did you steal any kisses from your new boyfriend yet? He asked, grinning as he fixed me in that hateful stare of his. No, he's just my friend. It's all right, I get it. You're growing up, you're getting to be a big girl, and you're beautiful. Just like your mom, he said. He gently ran his fingers through my hair, and for a moment he looked thoughtful. Just like your mom. The next thing I knew, he'd leaned in to kiss me, not in the way a parent should ever kiss a child. The stink of alcohol was overpowering and made me sick. Every nerve in my body wanted to pull back, but I couldn't. Even if he had let me, I was too scared of what he'd do if I did. It's all right, baby. You can trust daddy. He whispered, but I knew he was lying. I knew something was wrong, but for all the fear that I felt, I couldn't fight back. I didn't know how. I could feel his hands on me as he tried to pull me onto his lap, and it was then that I resisted. Stop! I stammered as I finally tried to pull away, but his grip on me tightened. I saw a flash of rage in his eyes that was enough to break whatever terrified defiance I had in me. However, what he might have done to me was nothing compared to what was about to be done to him. From the corner of my eye, I saw movement on the coffee table. That flash panic kicked in as I struggled to get away. I saw hands reaching out of the card and pressing onto the table. I could see the drawing I'd made of Chris beginning to pull itself out, and I knew what was about to happen. In a panic, I pulled away from my dad. I kicked at him and scrambled off the couch. There was confusion on his face, followed by a look of realization, or perhaps remorse. Then came the terror, when he at last noticed the living illustration of Chris that now reared out of the card on the coffee table. He screamed and froze, eyes wide as he looked at the drawing. But he didn't run. He didn't fight, as the impossible loomed over him. All he could do was scream. I covered my eyes as the hands of my drawing gripped his throat. I couldn't watch it. I didn't want to. I could hear it, though. The screams. I could hear a terror deeper than anything I'd heard before. And that was enough. There were screams, and then there was silence. It was a while before I allowed myself to look and see what had happened. The picture of Chris was gone, and in its place I saw one of my dad. The style of art was mine that much I knew, but I hadn't drawn this. His mouth was open in a silent scream, his eyes were wide with terror, and he was completely immobile. He didn't move like in my other pictures. He didn't shift. He just remained there, still and silent. Lifeless. My heart was racing, as afraid of my own father as I'd been a moment ago. I wanted him to move. I wanted to see some sign of life. I held the card, silently begging for something to happen. But nothing did. I remember the quiet, creeping realization that he wasn't going to move again. He was gone. I never wanted anybody to get hurt. The coyote, Chris, my dad, or any of the people who've fallen victim to my ability in the years since. But the choice isn't mine. I learned that the hard way. Perhaps they deserved what they got. The things they did were not by accident after all. Chris chose to bully me. My dad chose to try to hurt me. And so many others have hurt me since then. But that doesn't mean I want it the same for them. Over the years, I've done what I can to keep myself in check. They react to my rage and my fear. As long as I control those, I can keep them at bay. But every now and then, I slip. One pushes me too hard, and I can't bury the rage or the fear. It gets out. And when it does, they react to it. And people die. I thought I could do it forever. I really did. But I have my limits. Well, had. Not anymore. You'll see what I mean. Soon. You've been listening to Space Girl by Ryan G. Peacock. Ryan G. Peacock is allegedly an author based in Ontario, Canada. After hearing about the No Sleep subreddit back in 2018, he thought it sounded like fun and promptly stopped sleeping. His unhinged ravings from the resulting madness have been featured on the No Sleep podcast, chilling tales for dark nights. Hey, that's us. And creepy. You can purchase collections of his work at Velix Books. It's very easy for me to complain about, well, pretty much everything, as I drag my carcass into middle age. But outside of a few exceptions, I am so damn glad that I do not have to deal with school anymore. And I didn't even have it nearly as bad as our poor Space Girl did. Luckily, stories like these remind me that I've actually got it pretty good, relatively speaking. To those of you with your own children, let this be a reminder to not let them be jerks to anyone, especially the weird kids. Not everyone can manifest supernatural horrors from their artwork, but why take the risk? Thanks to Ryan G. Peacock for an outstanding story tonight. And thanks to all of you fine listeners for joining me. I'll be back next week with a fresh slab of Horror Hill for you. Until that time, stay spooky. You've been listening to the Horror Hill podcast, a production of Chilling Entertainment and the creative team at Chilling Tales for Dark Nights. Tonight's episode was hosted, narrated, scored, and finalized by yours truly, Eric Peabody. Additional music by Nikki McSorley. Got a terrifying tale of your own that you'd like performed? Email it to us at submissions at simplyscarypodcast.com to have your work considered for future production. Note that any writing utilizing artificial intelligence is ineligible. If you enjoyed tonight's episode, why not help us spread our dark presence online? You can follow Chilling Tales for Dark Nights on social media, and upvote, subscribe, and hit the bell notification icon if you're listening to this on YouTube. It helps us out a lot and also keeps you up to date on new episodes. 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