Maxim Trevelyan
Writer, Ravenclaw

I think I just have one of those faces. People always want to tell me things. Secret things, deep things, painful things. Secrets that have been on their minds and hearts for far too long.

“My baby... I haven’t seen my baby since he was two years old. When her daddy left me and took her with him. I don’t know where they went, I worry for her so much. I kept hoping they’d come back, but they never did. I keep hoping that I’ll see her, but how will I even recognize her?”

I listen though. To everything they want to tell me, every detail, no matter how dark, every hiccup and every sob. Some people are like a river, their hopes and secrets come rushing out, from others, secrets drip out slowly, like a melting icicle under winter’s sun. I consider this phenomenon like a confession, just without a priest.

People such as these, I don’t think they know why they want to talk to me. They don’t even know me. But when they get desperate, when they need something so much it hurts, they always find me. In the park, in a bar, on a bus, the doctor’s office, anywhere.

If I am there, they find me. They never lie, not even to themselves.

“I spent all our money, all our savings, my son’s college fund, even the money we hid for hard times. All gone. My husband’s going to notice any day now. I want to make it right, how can I make it right?”

Oh, don’t mistake me. They know what they’re doing. The deal they’re making. I’m not a fixer, nothing like that, but I do offer an ear, and a solution for their problems. And I give them their deepest desires.

“I should’ve taken her phone call, why didn’t I take her phone call?”

Sometimes, it’s simple. A wrong person at the wrong time. A car that runs a red light.

“I wish my parents would just disappear.”

Sometimes, the problems require a bit more skill.

“If I could go back and do it all over again…”

In the end though, they all get the peace they’re really looking for with me. As can you.

So tell me, what is it that you most desire?

All it costs you is your soul.

Maxim Trevelyan
Writer, Ravenclaw

I am shaken awake by the notification on my phone. I look around in confusion, my eyes settling on a green blinking light on my device. Thinking back I recognize the sound that shook me awake as the pet camera me and my wife have had for the past two months. The kind that start recording as they detect movement and start recording it, all together with alerting you to it. I check the phone, 3 a.m.

I admit, we don’t use the cameras so much, they’re mostly for the peace of mind. We have two dogs, big, and admittedly, a bit lazy, Tony and small, yippy Steve. While we don’t really need the cameras, they’ve been useful in answering questions such as which one of them made this mess or learned how to open the fridge (but not how to close it).

Of course, now I’m lying awake because the light from the phone is blinding me. I’ve never been as good at falling asleep as my wife. I try to ignore it and turn away from the phone. My upper body moves, but my legs stay, sluggish and not wanting to move. I almost scream before I realize that my legs are simply trapped under Tony, the big lug, who always sleeps at the foot of our bed, spread over our feet. So, if there’s a mess downstairs in the morning, it must be Steve.

I try to free my foot and when I am successful, I accidentally hit a smaller lump on the bed, which gives a light, high-pitched woof. Definitely Steve then. But that means...

​I strain my ears to catch any errant noise, hearing four sets of breathing in my vicinity. I can hear faint rustling downstairs, but really, the noise could be a thousand innocent things. We live in an old house, we could have mice, one of the windows could be open, the one in the kitchen being very persistent about opening for no reason. I’ll check the camera and then go to sleep. If there’s something, I can always wake my wife, she’s a cop.

Giving in to the fact that if I don't check the app, I won’t go to sleep, I take my phone and check the camera. My heart jumps when I see a big, dark lump on the living room floor, white eyes gleaming in the bad night vision quality. My hand almost shoots towards my wife to wake her up when the lump lifts its leg and scratches behind its ear. The sudden rush of relief spreads through me when I realize it’s just Tony.

​With an annoyed sigh, I put the phone away. I snuggle back under my covers and close my eyes. But before I could fall asleep, a question entered my head.

If Tony is downstairs, what, or who, is laying on my legs?