The group of writers stood on the porch of the mysterious house, regarding the dead woman.

"What do you know about that?" Steven said. "The box of chocolates was empty."

"What does the story mean?" Chay asked, when Jesse was finished. "Are we supposed to, you know, kiss her?" He gestured toward the body.

"Go ahead, though I wouldn't recommend it," Jesse replied.

"Maybe we should try to find the bus," Amber suggested. "We were all in a bus at one point, weren't we? We should get on it and get back on the road to ComicCon."

"Yes!" Kristin replied. "I remember now, we were all supposed to be on a panel together. If we knew what time it was, we could figure out if we're late."

"Do we even know what day it is?" Dave asked. He shifted his backpack. Whatever he carried, it was heavy.

Amber started down the path, her robes trailing behind her. "Who wants to come with me? If nothing else, we can find a road. Even if we don't locate the bus, maybe we can find a way back."

First one, then another of the famous authors followed. Last to depart from the porch was Chay, who eyed the empty box of chocolates mournfully. Finally, after letting out a long sigh, he followed the others. The walk around the house revealed more mysterious corpses. There was a boy lying next to a bicycle in a ditch, a couple lying on a picnic blanket spread beneath two apple trees, and an old man with a sharp set of clippers poised near a row of neatly trimmed hedges. All had gray leathery skin, and bright gem-like eyes.

As before, there were mutterings of sympathy and whispered prayers.

Once they reached the back of the house, they at last spied a road. The sun was hot on the group of elderly writers as they plodded along, hoping to find a way back to ComicCon, their adoring fans, and comfort. Instead, after climbing a short hill, they found themselves in the midst of a collection of cages. Each held a dead animal of some kind. A lama, a pair of goats, a half dozen horses, and four pigs. All dead. All with bright eyes.

The writers, endlessly curious creatures that they were, wove between the cages examining everything.

"It looks like these bars are new," Steven said. "Hey, I wonder if the gardener has a key?"

"Why would you want to open them?" Dave asked.

"I don't know," Steve admitted.

"Over here," Amber said. "This one's not an animal."

Amber stood by a cluster of shrubs near the edge of the field, bordering on the forest. As each writer drew closer, they spied a cage.

Inside was a girl, barely twelve years old. Like the others, she had ashen skin and candy drop eyes, bright as lemons. Unlike the others, she was standing. Her claw-like fingers wrapped the bars.

"Is she alive?" Nancy asked.

"No," Dave said.

"Again, the chocolate is gone," noted Chay as he drew near.

Indeed, a small metal dog dish lay in one corner of the cage, stuffed with empty candy bar wrappers. Unlike the box on the porch, these still bore a faint smear of melted brown. Unfortunately, they were covered by a busy group of ants.

"How does a person die standing up?" K.J. asked, keeping her distance from the body.

"After rigor sets in you can stand them up," Chay offered. "I've done it--err, I've seen it done dozens of times." He coughed. "Seen it in videos, I mean. Not that I'm into that kind of thing."

This comment drew more than one inquisitive stare, but Chay chose to ignore it.

"No," Dave said. "I don't think she was repositioned after death. I, too, have a story. It dates back from the days when President Kanye West authorized the use of biological weapons to reprogram the DNA of ISIS."

"Not his best moment," K.J. said, shaking her head.

"What you don't know," Dave said, "Is what happened to the scientists who worked on the viruses, their families, or the town they lived in."

He set down his backpack, stretched his shoulders, and began his story.