Why is it these days that so many people hate reading? Some people won't even touch a newspaper or magazine. It isn't television that kills reading, or cinema or radio, or even those accursed little things known as video games. People used to read all the time, but when the century shifted subtly, somewhere along the way, people forgot how to imagine. When did it happen? At what point? Who or what is to blame? Maybe it's just because the world has become so cold and scientific and shallow in recent years.

At last evil and corruption take over,” Mearth laughed icily, her eyes filled with a wild glow. “Someday you’ll become so unstable that you’ll kill anyone you’ve ever cared about in your life, and when that happens I only hope that you leave any outsider witnesses alone as you fade out of the world.” Alecto froze for a moment, completely silent, setting the camera down on the fence and thinking things over. Mandy could see him clearly now that he was on the video, but he looked obscure. “What’s on your corrupted mind, pretty little Sydney Tar Ponds?” Mearth asked, dropping the wire cutters and stepping closer to him.

“I hate you,” he answered icily.

“Oh, no you don’t, you just think you hate me,” Mearth insisted, her voice kind, caring, almost loving. “You didn’t mean to try and kill me, you’ve been worn-out by life, you’ve been alive a very long time, your mind is a storm and your usual insight is gone.” Mandy was inclined to agree with Mearth; he looked like a storm, his eyes had dark shadows under them, he was limping when he walked, he was shivering and coughing and his head was leaning to one side slightly. Nonetheless, he still seemed to be able to reason, because when he noticed Mearth’s falsely cheerful words he glared at her hatefully, smoke trailing from his cigarette. “I’m going to tell Cheryl what you’ve done, all those times you tried to kill me, I’ll tell her and she’ll know what you did,” he threatened.

“No Sydney Tar Ponds, you won’t,” Mearth replied softly, “because if you tell her, I’ll kill her and you’ll have a few more super 8 home videos to add to the collection of celluloid memories.”

“…You wouldn’t,” Alecto exclaimed.

“If you really do love her, if you really care about her and she’s your friend, you’ll stay silent,” Mearth told him. “You think what I’m doing is cruel, sadistic, but it isn’t… you aren’t even a real person, you don’t understand.”

Alecto said nothing back to her.

The television screen faded to black and Mandy just sat there in the darkness, her expression blank.

People are often wary of reading or watching anything in the horror genre because in their minds, it's just senseless gore, death and violence. Well, I can tell you from avid experience, that's not what horror is about. The horror genre teaches us that sometimes really bad things happen to really good people, but that hope always prevails in even the darkest of situations. That's a very important lesson, no matter how frightening you think the teacher is, and to be in the top of her class, all you need to do is to go in with an open mind.

Newspapers take peoples’ tragedies and force the world to experience all of it.

Her gaze wavered towards one of the books on the sales counter beside the register, a hardcover copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet with many of the pages dog-eared and stained with coffee and tea. The store owner caught her looking at it and slid it across the counter towards her. “You ever read Hamlet?” he questioned.

“I tried to when I was in high school,” said Mandy, picking up the book and flipping it over to read the back. “I mean, it’s expected that everyone should like Shakespeare’s books and plays, but I just….” her words faltered when she noticed him laughing to himself. “What’s so funny, Sir?” she added, slightly offended.

“…Oh, I’m not laughing at you, just with you,” said the store owner. “Most people who say they love Shakespeare only pretend to love his work. You’re honest Ma’am, that’s all. You see, the reason you and so many others are put-off by reading Shakespeare is because reading his words on paper, and seeing his words in action, in a play as they were meant to be seen, are two separate things… and if you can find a way to relate his plays to yourself, you’ll enjoy them so much more because you’ll feel connected to them. Take Hamlet for example – Hamlet himself is grieving over a loss in his life, and everyone is telling him to move on but no matter how hard he tries to, in the end all he can do is to get even with the ones who betrayed him.”

“…Wow, when you put it that way… sure, I think I’ll buy a copy just to try reading, why not?” Mandy replied with a smile.

When your friend who died was still alive, did you ever tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re… what’s the word? Celibate?” Tony asked, trailing his fingers along the buttons on the remote control but not really finding himself able to change the channel. His name, his daughter’s name, it all could’ve easily become a statistic, an obituary, had they not left the tower when they did.

“I’m asexual, not a celibate,” replied the lawyer, “and sure, I told him…” She froze for a moment, averting her eyes to the ugly gray-and-red carpeting on the floor. “Clarence didn’t care, he was married, anyway. He always used to tell me, “you know, you’d make one hell of an ace attorney, Bailey!