S14E19 - "Dimensionality" - Horror Hill

It's time for a refresh, everyone.

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Go to q-i-n-c-e.com/horror for free shipping and 365-day returns. Quince.com/horror. 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've been down on his hand and he pulled back, but he puts that I have a little harder against my sweatshirt. I began to hear the breathing and growling of what could only come from a monster. Find disturbed, true horror stories, wherever you enjoy your podcasts. Join Tails for Dark Nights.

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Be sure to subscribe and hit that bell to turn on notifications. The following program is a production of chilling entertainment and the creative team at chilling tales for Dark Nights, and the 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. [Music] 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. This in our 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 2, 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.

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 as 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 one, 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'd 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, but 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 some time and fifth grade, and 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've 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 at 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 SEX. None of us could actually say the dreaded S word at the time. This 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 cart 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 their retard? She'd reached out to snatch the book before Space Girl could stop her.

What even is this? A unicorn? What are you? 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 Batania 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 let 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

I continued to stare. I remembered that the way she moved was so home 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.

“Did you mean to draw it like a gut 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, ferries, mermaids, and things like that. We 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, "Our geniuses are 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 just 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 heard her in some way or another, but she never complained.

I think she was too scared too.

It was late December and 7th 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 12, 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's parents had been divorcing because of it.

Somehow, all of these rumors had mutated into claims that James and Space Girl were dating.

“And I think that was what had rubbed in their own 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 it 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 a 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 wound 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

She tried to stand and run, but he was angry and wasn't thinking straight.

“He lashed out at her with the square punch to the jaw.”

Then he tossed her to the ground and went after Brian next, a teacher had to get into 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. I was at Leaded, swirved 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 27, 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 years. We'd both gotten some gift cards for Christmas, and we were planning to walk to them all 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 out 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. Here can love it. She promised me. It's going to 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. Spacegirl 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 "ry 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 labelled "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 Spacegirl 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 Spacegirl was, but the simple detail

and what she had drawn turned my stomach. In her first picture, Spacegirl was hanging

from a rope. Her tongue was hanging out, and her eyes were closed. In the second one, Spacegirl 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 slidding her wrists.

What do you think? She asked with a grin. I bet she'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 Spacegirl. Who the hell cares about Spacegirl, 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 its sooner. Fine. Sumi 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 going to put something else in there. Anger, flared, and 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 Spacegirl'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, and 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.

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. My turned and ran, bolting down her stairs, out her front door, and back into the snow. I clutched Spacegirl'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 Spacegirl'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 and a relaxed bliss. I remembered saying how stupid or facial expression had looked. Honestly, I kind of 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 Spacegirl 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 doors 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, you 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 Spacegirl 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 into 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.

When I paused, feeling smaller, a 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

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 said 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 piece 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 "sari" may go. A sickening land where it always snows. The snow is putrid in color and smell. It's 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. Our sari can go there to this hole in your shell. My unsuttle message, this subtextual jazz, is to take your apology and stuff it up your ass.

This was unlike anything I'd ever seen her right. 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.

Then as 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 Quinn's.

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Quinn's.com/horror. Thanks for your support and for supporting our valuable sponsors. Hey guys, I'm Brian, the host of Brian Enten Investigates. Most of their chute crime and breaking news podcasters are in their basement or studio, but not me, I am out on the road every single week.

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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. 8th 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 spacegirl. 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 room

or spread. I had a bit of success on that department, I fell in with a better crowd at least. Sasha stuck with their same old click. 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.

Spacegirl 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.

Sometimes I thought about talking to her and trying to strike up a friendship, but had 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 spacegirl to the library, where she'd pull the same old shit she'd been pulling since the fifth grade. She'd lear 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, ha Jane? Sasha asked once when I'd interrupted her, Tanya leared at me from behind her, chewing gum with her mouth open.

What she ever done to you anyway, I asked, she just minding her own business. "Oh, what she done to you, Dijk," Sasha hissed. She leaned down over her cubicle and looked at the notebook.

“Unicorns, unicorns, unicorns, fucking unicorns, what are you gonna grow up spacegirl?”

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, had 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 and nipping at her heels like a faithful terrier. She's 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, "sanks.

"Um, you're welcome," I said. "let me know if she bothers you again, alright?" "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 gonna have to grow off." Spacegirl 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 10th 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, Spacegirl was there. She'd grown into her red hair, she got older, but it 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 attempted 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 volunteered to let her draw me first.

Rumors of her mother's sexuality had always surrounded Spacegirl, so I wasn't entirely sure

what to expect when I got there. My 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 knick-knacks 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. Would 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 were Megan need anything. That sounded almost like a warning, and I wondered if her mom knew about the way I treated her daughter in the past.

I didn't ask about it, and just quietly took the cookies upstairs. In 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 and 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.

"Holy shit, are these yours?"

They are. Spacegirls said softly.

“She stood up and took the plate of cookies from me, then moved it to her desk.”

"It's soothing," she said after a while. "I'm 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 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 crude or 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. Spacegirl looked down at it, and her brow furrowed into approval. 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.

“Spacegirl 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 got in 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, my tolder. That's incredible, Spick.

Megan, that's really great. You can call me Spacegirl, 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 Spacegirl 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 wished I'd been nicer to you when we were younger, I said. Is that why you're here right now?

Spacegirl asked, "No, 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." Spacegirl 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, and was the only thing I could think of.”

See you tomorrow, with that I left her. I was almost afraid to see spacegirl 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. Spacegirl 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 crescentimums adorned my head. The colors were so vivid, and I looked so at peace in it.

Spacegirl 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 Spacegirl, I saw that smile I'd come to love.

My portrait of her didn't turn out nearly as good, but Spacegirls 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, Spacegirl 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. Was your flower-crowned, 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 lick her retarded little snatch?

“You must be a real good dyke because she went and true 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, "How that 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, and was there word against mine. Sasha had a familiar shit-eating grin on, and 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." One, 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.

Now, 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.

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 saying, "I know 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 she 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. The caption read, "retard, dieke, 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 a verding her eyes. This 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 and 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

retard girls in town. She was avoiding the question. Very funny. What do 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 dikes in this town." Hoops. 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 on a fray of anything I'd do.

Come on, Dike, 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? I 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? She sighed in frustration.

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 trade 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 diek?

I don't care, but I'm not letting you and your retard at horror 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, all these shit, Tanya said, and I crained 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, saved 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.

That was impossible, it had to be impossible.

Needly done gray lines defined the shape of the horse. In fact, it looked exactly like one of the unicorn's spacegirl 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 eyeed as she stared at the advancing unicorn.

Its tail swished violently back and forth. This ears seemed to be pressing to its head. Atlet out an angry noise before charging straight for her.

“She panicked and tried to run, and her desperation to escape she bolted down the path,”

but she couldn't outrun the paper unicorn. At lowered its head as a drew nearer tour. 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 spikes 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 eyes 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. My 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, so, hope 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 polar 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, and it changed.

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 chocked Tanya's death up to an animal attack, and nobody ever found Sasha. Rumors of her being kidnapped are getting knocked up and running away with 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.

“High 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 sword. 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.

I do but I can to make sure that nobody ever hurts my beautiful space girl. Part two, 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 under 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 patience.

While she was working, I would usually play in my room. I had, 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 9-5 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 drawn, float off the paper

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, my 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 dopy smile. It didn't seem to matter, though. He moved all the same, and 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 witty, 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 into 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, and in instant, he was gone, and I was on the floor.

Mom erased 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's 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 just seen.

She didn't speak to me for a few moments, she just held me protectively close. Can 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.

Mom stared down at him, eyes wide and disbelief.

“Can I take him outside and write him in the park, I asked, eagerly, "No, the response”

was Kurt and automatic." No, no, 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 Alphagetti. Can my unicorn have Alphagetti, 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 Alphabetsub. "Who's great grandma Ruth?" I asked.

Mom managed to sad smile as she sat down across for me. "Well, she was my grandmother. She replied. When I was very young, grandma and grandpa sometimes let me stay over at her place.

My 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 it, 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, too? I asked.

I... 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 draped 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. Even 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.”

A frayed 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. Not 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

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 could not 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 remember 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 track 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 he'd changed, he was always the same. When we were together, he and I would linger by the edge of the park and 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, and 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.

I remember thinking that it might have been a husky, only it had a gray coat with spots

of brown. It's 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, doubt I even knew what a coyote was.

"Hello, puppy?" I said, and took a step toward it. At 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.

On 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 peted. When I reached out for it, the coyote snapped at me before darting to the side. It didn't bite me, but I left 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 a watching it suffer. But the side 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 the gesture of submission. For a few moments, neither of us moved, my 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 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 fight side over here 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 note pad 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.

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 note pads and sketchbooks. I think it was around second grade when someone first came up with a name, space girl,

because I was always spaced down.

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 the 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 taught me to ignore them, and that's what I tried”

to do. Chris 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. What you draw in today's 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, space girl! I still didn't reply, even when the questions 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 a 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 boys' 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 boys' 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's 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 pride 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. Just stumbled back a step, no longer smiling.

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. Not angry, just quiet. It wasn't until we got into the car that he said anything. So you hit that boy back, 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?”

Once did 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 keed 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, legs 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. For Laax and he, it's just kids being kids, dad said, brushing pastor 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, blaring 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 bitter rough housing, nothing to worry about, dad's sad with a shrug. He opened one of the beers and took a sip. Did you even ask what happened? How many times has he 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's normal, the school will tell you the same thing, stop worrying, it'll toughen her up a little, make her socialize.

Not 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. Megan, 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. That 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?

Their 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. From 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 prints. I needed him, if for no other reason, then 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 prints was nowhere inside. 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 from 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.

But I could sense it, and that alone was enough to scare me. The unicorn prints 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. Remembering 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 and the recess he arted on. Later that morning, we were told that recess would be indoors for the next few days, and 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 it home the other night. My dad works at the hospital, and he said that he'd heard the 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 for 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 the single person the truth is 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've watched me, waiting for me to do something. These were my creations, I'd 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. I'd be in hindsight, it was likely a bad idea. My art had put Chris and his mother in the hospital in the first place, sending 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. I 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. Nobody meant by that, I wasn't quite sure.

I got myself some fresh paper and started on a handmade card.

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 for 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 riding 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 is 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 I 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 a man's. 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 side 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?" He said, "Did 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.

"Mom, sit down. Aren't you telling 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. "The boy, huh?" Your friend from the other day, I 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. "He's in that queue."

“I guess you've got yourself a boyfriend, then, huh?”

"I feel bad 'cause we got in a fight yesterday and now he's sick." "Yeah, yeah, he got it," he said. "Hey, he's a lucky guy. You're gonna grow up just like your mom," Mike, and 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 I've worked up, and 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, "Grenning, 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 as 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 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.

Fresh 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 crisp 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 had 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.

That 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 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, someone 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 Vellix Books.

carcass and 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.

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 their

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 Mixorley.

About 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.

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