It had been another dreary night on that St. Patrick’s eve. It was a Sunday, and the roads were notorious for the drunken inhabitants of the city. One must take great caution when traveling on nights like these, as one could easily lose their own life. For Shaye Shaye, however, tonight would be one in which far more strange things happen. Luckily for all of us who are indulging in this story, the characters in this bit are all real, although some of the following prose may be false, and some of the characters made up, it shall still represent something in which I’ve always wanted to do; tell a story.
So let’s get on with it, shall we?
Our story begins with little Miss Shaye Shaye as she was driving her just bought 1997 Toyota Corolla on the eve of St. Patrick’s day. Now Shaye Shaye was a good, innocent girl. She didn’t drink, she didn’t smoke, and she didn’t like drugs. She had just gotten her license and was ecstatic to go get out on the open road.
“Finally,” she slurred to herself. “I’m finally driving my own car. I can do anything… I can go anywhere. This is real.” On her way to the




, she saw what appeared to be a homeless man. Just then, a thought popped into her head.
I should see if this man needs any assistance.
Knowing full well her boyfriend wouldn’t approve, and her father would have a literal aneurism from disapproval, she pulled to the side of the road. “Hello!” she yelled to the man. “Is there anything I can assist you with, sir?”

“Why yes, I believe there is,” said the man in a scratchy voice, almost a whisper. “I need some help with my things. Would you be a dear and follow me to them?”

Shaye Shaye hesitated. The old man, covered in old, tattered rags walked with a wood cane, possibly something he had made himself. His eyes, stained light blue as if he had been staring into the sun for hours, and only three teeth to fill his decomposing jaw. She knew the dangers of strangers, yet she felt so bad for this helpless, old fool. Surely there must be something I can do, she thought to herself. “Yes,” she said. “I most certainly will.”

The man led Shaye Shaye down the sidewalk, and into an alley. It was dark, and there were many homeless people lined along the walls, huddled around fires. They approached a rather big tent, with two fairly large men standing at either side of the entrance.

“I’m here to see Ka-Fewloo,” the scraggly old man said in a lowered voice. The men looked at each other, nodded, and gesticulated towards the entrance.

“What is this place?” Shaye Shaye asked one of the guards. The guard shoved her, almost knocking her over.

“No speak!” he shouted.
They came to a hole with a ladder descending into the earth. Shaye Shaye was frightened, for she could not see all the way down, and she was deathly afraid of heights. Without warning, the old man, who must have seen her uncertainty, grabbed Shaye Shaye and whispered in her ear, “you shall not leave this tent unless you get in that hole…”

…And so she did, as did the old man and the guards. They climbed for what seemed like hours, further and further until the only light visible was that from the flashlights of the guards. Still they climbed, until finally they reached the bottom. It smelled vile, and without any hesitation, Shaye Shaye knew where she was.

The Sewer.

She took a step, and then heard a splash. There was filthy, disgusting water everywhere. Piles of garbage lined the walls.

“It’s like an underground landfill,” she said aloud.

“Mainly where we keep the bodies,” the old man croaked. Shaye Shaye starred at him with terror, though he didn’t look back. “Up here on the left.”

There was a service entrance. One of the guards went up to the door, and knocked what seemed to be some sort of code. There was a loud bang, and the door slowly opened. There were more guards, who led them to what seemed to be an altar. A man appeared, he looked as if he was Nigerian, and sat down on one side of the altar.

“Come child,” he said. He had a knife in his hand. “Join me.”

“Why?” she quivered. “I want to go home.”

“There is no leaving ‘dis place, little one,” said the Nigerian. “Not unless you are the one we are looking for. See, you normally wouldn’t have helped that man, but you decided to and ‘dat is what brought you here.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“We are going to see if you are the one. If you are, I swear you will thank us in the end. If you aren’t, well then, you will have join your fellow white devils in the trash bags outside.”

Without given much choice, she sat across from the Nigerian, and looked him dead in the eye. “What do I have to do to leave this place?”

He took her hand, and without saying a word, sliced her tender, fragile wrist open. As the blood poured out, he grabbed a goblet, and let the blood fill it almost halfway. “Here child, drink.”

She looked in astonishment. Was this really happening? Surely it couldn’t be, but it had. She could feel her vision getting fuzzy, and she was started to grow incredibly tired, incredibly thirsty. She grabbed the goblet, and gulped it down in one chug. Instantly, she felt her own vitality return to her, and then, something happened. She had all of these intense visions about the future, foreseeing what would happen in the time to come. She looked down, and to her amazement, her wound had healed. As she raised her head to look at the Nigerian, he said four words, and then everything went black.

“You are the one…”

Shaye Shaye awoke suddenly, sitting straight up in her bed. She looked around, and realized she was in her bedroom. Confused, she concluded that it was all just an intense dream. She then looked down at her wrist, only to see a faded, white scar, covered in dried blood.