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I was born to Precious An, who, by the way, was one of the best moms I’ve had. Not because she spoiled me or pampered me with affection, but because of her sense of humor. My childhood was filled with laughing with my mum, and everything seemed to be going great in our little town.

Then, when I was three, a bell rang.

It was unlike any bell I had ever heard before. It was eerie. Two dings. For a moment, it seemed as if everyone stopped in their tracks and gazed in the direction of the noise.

I previously had no home marker. But now I did. It read “HOME, 1.2K <-“ My brain went wild. Upon hearing the noise, I knew it meant something bad must have happened. My mother smiled deviously, and I did the same. A bit uneasy, I made my own home marker and got to work, covering up that noise.

I baked, I made compost, I smithed. But the bell never left my mind. I was so curious. I had children. Three beautiful babies. The bell never let go of my thoughts.

When I finally became fully distracted by my work, a young teenager, and forgot about the bell, I heard it again. I felt… strange. Why again…?

I worked until I heard it again. A third apocalypse ding. Something was very wrong, I knew. My curiosity piqued. I needed to know what was over there. Why were there so many dings coming from that location? I decided once I hit menopause, I’d give my clothing to my children and set off. I returned to work.

I grew paranoid with age. I swore I heard it again. And again. But that was impossible, I knew. There was no way five apocalypses could be ready for stage two at around the same time. It made no sense.

When I hit menopause, I left that town. From the second I cut down my home marker excitement grew in me. I had been waiting for this moment my whole life. I was tired of living in a town, doing the same things day after day. I needed to have an adventure. I bid my children farewell and passed on my knife to my son Rocky. Then I hit the road with nothing but an empty pack and a fur coat.

I grew starving. My mistake was bringing no food. I scrambled for berries and managed to eat at my very last second of life. My feet grew weary as I trudged on. I became surrounded by mosquitos and fell ill. I was almost ready to succumb to death, but I had gone too far. I followed the noise for ages, until I grew tired and wrinkled. Dodging mobs took a lot of time.

Finally, my heart raced when I found the stone path. I rushed down it at top speed. I was so excited. I wondered how the people would react to a stranger in their town. My destination grew closer with every step I took. Finally, the path came to an abrupt stop.

“Hello?” I called out cautiously. I heard nothing. But surely, there were people here. The berry bushes had been freshly watered and were still languishing. I crept around town. I became more disturbed as I saw clothing strewn about, next to graves. No signs of life.

I followed the home marker north slightly. I encountered more and more bloody graves. I swear, there must have been eight or nine. But the fact that there were so many murder graves wasn’t the thing that creeped me out. It was the fact that they WERE murder graves. After a few minutes, murder graves turn into fresh graves. But… these were still bloody. Those people had been recently murdered. Within the past few minutes. My blood ran cold, and I scooped up a knife I found next to a bloody corpse. If someone wanted to attack me, I would definitely need it.

But, honestly, that wasn’t even the creepy part. My journey was complete when I saw the apocalypse base. I was in horror. There wasn’t one base. Not two. Not even five. Not ten, either. Shakily, I counted eighteen. Eighteen people had been killed. The tower bases were all blocked off with Newcomen blocks.

I was so disturbed, and I expected some wild murderer to come out and stab me at any moment. I was getting old and weak. I wanted to return to my children in my safe little town. I heard footsteps.

Three people. They didn’t seem to find my presence alarming. They all had knives. I tried to speak with them, they spoke a bit, but when I asked them about the bloody graves and all the apocalypse towers, they became very vague and strange. It was so creepy. It remains a mystery to me. They were part of the Schuler family, although I can’t recall their names.

So, kids. Rocky. Scarlet. Ifeanyichukwu. I know what I said. I know I told you that adventure was good. That everyone ought to get some fresh air and follow their dreams. But please, please. If you’re reading this, don’t follow that bell.

Love, your mother, Mykiyah An.

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