Scifi, Monsters, and Survival:
Author Ariele Sieling’s Blog
Deidre Day is a holiday I invented so that I had something to celebrate in December instead of all the religious holidays. Deidre was my mentor, who unfortunately passed away in 2019. I miss her every day, and wanted to honor her. She loved holidays, so I made her her own.
Learn more about the holiday and Deidre.
It’s almost the end of the year, so a poem called “The End With Wingtips” seems at least a little appropriate, though it’s probably got some darker themes than most people prefer for end of year holiday time period.
I do not know what mood I was in when I wrote this poem, but I do know I’d been binging a lot of Supernatural.
So there you have it. That probably explains it.
Can you hear the end of the world?
It’s right around the corner
with wingtips on its feet
and a silken cravat
and a laugh that rattles the bones in their graves.
Can you hear the end of the world?
Its knees are old and bony,
and with fingertips of brass,
everything it touches
melts away like a flower in a river of lava.
Can you hear the end of the world?
Its empty eyes and empty soul
reflect back our own
as it floats past,
cape swirling round its ethereal form.
Can you hear the end of the world?
It’s right around the corner.
Brain fog. We’ve all had it.
This is my poem about brain fog preventing me from writing.
There’s a dinosaur in my brain.
It eats my gray matter for lunch,
and then spits it back up,
mixing it back into what was there before.
So, if I can’t remember your name,
or where I parked my car
or what I ate yesterday,
it’s because there’s a dinosaur in my brain.
The city was dressed in shadows as I made my way to the old railway bridge, its iron framework looming like the skeleton of a long-forgotten beast. It was the kind of place you went to disappear—a place where the city’s noise faded into the rush of the river below, dark and churning. This was where Millie had told me to meet her, where the stakes felt as high as the drop beneath our feet.
She was already there when I arrived, standing at the edge of the bridge, the wind whipping her coat around like the wings of a fallen angel. The city lights flickered behind her, reflected in the dark waters below. She turned as I approached, her face a mix of defiance and something softer—maybe fear?—hidden beneath the mask.
“Clawson,” she said, her voice barely audible above the wind and the distant clatter of trains. “You came.”
“Yeah,” I said, stopping a few feet away, the old metal groaning under my weight. “I figured we had some unfinished business.”
The river roared beneath us, the sound drowning out the city, and for a moment, it was just the two of us suspended between past mistakes and whatever came next. She looked like she belonged here, caught between light and shadow, danger and desperation.
I pulled the velvet pouch from my pocket and tossed it onto the iron railing. The jewels spilled out, catching the faint glow of the bridge lights in a way that made them look both beautiful and dangerous.
Just like her.
“You got into the safe,” she said, her voice trembling as she stared at the jewels glinting in the light of the streetlamp.
“Yeah,” I said, stepping closer. “And a few things I didn’t expect.”
Her eyes flicked to me, something dark and dangerous lurking in them. "Such as?"
"A pistol." I didn't waste any words. "Answers."
Her eyes widened, just for a second, before her poker face slipped back into place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play coy, Millie.” I stepped closer. “You didn’t drag me into this mess because of some map in a safety deposit box. You were trying to cover up a crime—a crime you committed. Ten years ago, down in that basement, you murdered your uncle.”
"It wasn't me. It was Rusty." She didn’t flinch, but I could see her gears turning, calculating her next move.
"If it was Rusty, why would he have called the tip hotline?" I'd spent the majority of my day digging up that little tidbit, but it had been worth it. It was all the proof I needed.
Sure enough, her expression darkened. I had her cornered.
“You don’t have proof.”
“I’ve got plenty.” I leaned against the railing of the old bridge. “The body buried in the basement, the gun with your name engraved on it and a smear of blood on the barrel, the jewels you stashed away like insurance. Not to mention Rusty's witness statement. And the fact your uncle has been missing for ten years. It all points back to you.”
She gave a hollow, bitter laugh that echoed in the darkness. “So what, Clawson? You think you’ve got me figured out? You’re no better than the rest of them. You wanted a piece of the pie just like everyone else.”
“Maybe I did,” I admitted. “But not like this. You used me, Millie. Tried to make me your fall guy while you cleaned up your dirty little past. And now you’ve got nowhere left to run.”
She kneeled and reached for the jewels, fingers trembling as she scooped them up. “You don’t understand, Clawson. This... this was my only way out. The only way to put it all behind me.”
I saw the desperation in her eyes, the kind that drives a badger to dig themselves into a hole so deep they can’t climb out. She clutched the jewels like they were her last lifeline, but we both knew they weren’t going to save her. Not this time.
“You’re right,” I said, stepping back. “I don’t understand. But I know one thing—you can’t bury the past forever. It has a way of clawing its way back up.”
She looked at me, her mask finally cracking, and for a moment I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
But then she straightened, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“So what now, detective? Are you going to turn me in? Cash in your find and walk away?”
“No, Millie. I’m walking out of here, and you’re going to take a good, long look at those jewels and figure out what they’re really worth. Because from where I’m standing, they’ve cost you everything.”
A siren screamed in the distance. The cops would be here any minute to arrest Malinae Brock and solve one of the oldest cold cases in town.
I turned and headed back toward town, the weight of it all sinking in. She’d tried to dig up her past, but all she’d done was bury herself deeper.
As I stepped off the bridge, I heard her call after me, her voice cracking. “Clawson...”
I paused but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”
She didn’t answer right away. I could hear the faint clink of jewels being dropped back into the pouch, her last desperate grip on what little she had left. “You were never just a pawn.”
I nodded, tipping my hat. “Neither were you, Millie. But you played the wrong game.”
I left her there, alone with the jewels—all but the one diamond I'd taken as payment—and the weight of her choices. The rain had started up again, light but steady, washing the city clean—or at least giving it the illusion of something pure. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees as I pulled my collar up, ready to disappear into the night.
I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but I’d survived one more day in a city that chewed up badgers and spit them out without a second thought. And that, for now, was enough.
Morning light didn’t do the Barrow house any favors. In the harsh daylight, the ancient building looked even more like a forgotten tomb than a home—a mausoleum of secrets hidden behind faded grandeur.
Police cars were parked haphazardly along the overgrown drive, blue and red lights flashing dully against the gray sky. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze.
I slipped through the crowd that had gathered—nosy neighbors, rubberneckers, and a couple of reporters sniffing around for a story. I kept my hat low and my coat pulled tight, and made my way toward the front gate, trying to blend in with the chaos. The cops were crawling all over the place, their radios crackling with chatter about evidence bags and warrants.
It was strange. A simple break-in shouldn't warrant this much police activity. Something else must be going on.
I spotted a familiar face near the door—Detective Grayfur, an old badger with a silver stripe and a perpetual scowl. He was barking orders at a couple of rookies, pointing them toward the house like he was directing traffic.
“Clawson,” he said, barely glancing up as I approached. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Morning, Grayfur,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Just passing by. What’s the commotion?”
Grayfur sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Murder. A ten-year-old cold case, finally thawed. We got a tip last night. We thought it was a prank until we got inside.”
My stomach tightened at the thought. “Murder? In this place?”
He nodded grimly. “Found a body in the basement. Buried deep, like someone didn’t want it found. Looks like it’s been there a while. Still got forensics in there poking around.”
I forced a casual nod, but my mind was racing. A body in the basement? No wonder the cops were here in force. Millie had been looking for her uncle’s stash, but now it looked like she was digging up something much darker.
“Any idea who the tip came from?” I asked, keeping my tone light.
“Anonymous,” Grayfur grunted, eyes narrowing. “But I don’t buy it. Whoever tipped us off knew exactly what we’d find. Somebody wanted us here.”
"Any suspects?"
Grayfur eyed me. I could tell his patience was wearing thin. We'd helped each other out for years. Not friends, exactly, but associates. But his willingness to talk would only go so far.
"One. Name's Rusty. Muscle for hire. Didn't think him the hired gun type though."
Rusty. That might explain what he'd been doing here last night. Trying to cover up any evidence that might lead the cops back to him.
I glanced at the house, my thoughts turning to Millie. She’d been cagey from the start, always one step ahead but never quite telling me the whole story. The map, the key, the safe—it had all lined up too neatly.
And now, a body buried in the basement? Rusty as the prime suspect? The pieces were starting to paint a picture, but I couldn't quite tell which way was up and which way was down. It was more of a Picasso than a Monet.
Taking a deep breath, I put a friendly look on my face. “I know you've the place locked down, but since I'm already here... you want me to take a look? See if anything jumps out at me?”
Grayfur scowled.
"If I don't find anything, I'll owe you one," I said quickly, before he could say no. "Been a while since I helped out an active investigation."
"The answer is no," Grayfur grunted at me. Then he leaned in and muttered. "Don't tough anything, you hear? And stay away from the basement. Forensics still at it."
Abruptly, he strode away, hollering at one of his colleagues for an update.
Casting an eye to make sure no one was watching, I slipped under the tape and stepped back into the house’s gloomy interior. It was a hive of activity, with cops dusting for prints and taking measurements, but my focus was elsewhere. I moved quickly, keeping to the edges, and trying to look like I belonged.
I made my way to the stairs leading up to the hidden study. No one paid me much attention; they were too busy poking through the wreckage of the past.
The study door was open, just as we’d left it. Cops were too busy with the basement and the mess downstairs to bother with this dusty little room. The safe sat in the corner, silent and waiting, like a time capsule of secrets no one was supposed to find. I reached into my pocket, claws wrapping around the cold brass of the key. Without hesitation, I slid it into the lock.
The safe opened with a reluctant creak, and inside, nestled among the dust and shadows, were two things: a small velvet pouch and a dark, polished case. I hesitated before reaching in, my heart beating slow and heavy in my chest.
I pulled out the pouch first, the fabric worn but still rich to the touch. I could feel the weight of it, heavier than I’d expected. I loosened the drawstring and peeked inside, catching the glimmer of jewels—rubies, emeralds, and a string of pearls that looked like they’d been pulled straight out of a grand heist. They were worth a fortune, no doubt about it.
I slipped the jewels into my pocket and reached back into the safe, claws brushing against the smooth, cold surface of the case. It was simple but elegant, the kind you’d expect to hold something precious—or dangerous. As I lifted it out, I noticed a name engraved on the front: Melinae Brock.
Millie.
This wasn’t just any case; this was hers.
A chill crawled up my spine. I flipped open the latch and raised the lid. Inside, resting on faded velvet, was a pistol—small, unassuming, but deadly. Its barrel was scratched, and there, just near the trigger, was a faint, dried smear of blood.
It hit me like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t just about her uncle’s secrets. This was about Millie. She wasn’t here to find some lost treasure; she was here to cover up something much worse. She’d dragged me into this house of horrors to tie up loose ends, and I’d played right into her claws.
I stared at the gun, the faint scent of old oil and gunpowder filling my nose. The pieces fell into place, each one darker than the last.
The body in the basement, the tip-off to the cops, the frantic search—it wasn’t just coincidence. Millie was cleaning up her past, and I was her unwitting accomplice.
I closed the case carefully, my paws trembling. I knew I couldn’t take it with me; it was evidence, and more than that, it was Millie’s confession without words. But the jewels—the jewels were another story. I patted the velvet pouch in my coat pocket, feeling their cold weight settle against me.
I left the room as quietly as I could, making my way back down the stairs. The cops were still combing the place, oblivious to what was hidden in that little room. Grayfur stood near the front door, chewing the end of a cigar, his brow furrowed with worry.
“What’d you find up there?” he asked, giving me a sideways glance.
“Quite a mess in the upstairs library,” I said, adjusting my hat. “Looks like a struggle. You might want to take a look.”
"Thanks, Clawson. Now git." Grayfur waited until I had slipped past him before motioning for a couple of officers to head upstairs. I watched them go from behind the crime scene tape, my pulse steadying.
I’d seen enough to know I was in deep, but I wasn’t ready to show my hand just yet. Millie had pulled me into her mess, but I’d found something she hadn’t planned on. And now, with the jewels in my pocket and the truth in the safe, I had a decision to make.
I stepped outside, the sun breaking through the clouds, the rain finally easing. I glanced back at the estate one last time, its crumbling walls holding onto secrets that were about to spill out in a big way.
Millie’s story wasn’t finished yet, but I was no longer the pawn in her game. I had the jewels, the key, and the upper hand.
And now, it was my turn to dig up some trouble of my own.
