Cage felt a well of anxiety in his stomach all the next morning and afternoon. He kept going over the night before in his mind. Had he dreamt it? His leg still hurt, but did he meet a talking bat named Margie? Because, if so, that’s pretty fucking wild.

Cage arrived at the playground just before dusk and sat on one of the wooden stairs. He waited for close to an hour, and just as he was about to leave, he noticed a bat darting overhead. He watched it zigzag back and forth, and then fly off.

“I bet we all look the same to you, huh?”

Cage looked over and there was Margie, hanging upside down from a monkey bar. She shook her head at him in disgust.

“There are over 1,400 classified species of bats, Cage. A multitude surrounds you. Anyways, follow me. I’ve got something to show you.”

Margie took off and flew toward the school soccer field. She occasionally circled back or hovered in place so Cage could keep up. Once they passed the soccer fields, they entered an unmowed meadow filled with tall grasses, yellow and white and purple flowers. Birds whistled as the sun set, and there was the symphonic buzzing of insects as he stomped through the vegetation.

“I love this place,” Margie said through a mouth stuffed to the gills with some winged insect. “Lots of treats this time of year.” A mashed up leg fell from her mouth as she spoke and chomped. “Did you know bats can breathe up to 600 times a minute?”

“What? No.”

“Well it’s true.”

Cage looked up at her. “Fascinating. Where are we going?”

“Well, somebody’s in a mood. Look, all I’m saying is bats are a freaking miracle. We can fly with a greater cardiovascular efficiency than hummingbirds.”

“Is that how you’re able to talk so much? Do you ever shut up?”

She looked down at him, unbothered. “Sure I do. Usually during the day though, when I’m alone in my coffin.”

Cage looked over. “What are you talking about?”

Margie flew down and hovered close to his face. “You heard me,” she said, with a maniacal look in her eyes, the tip of her fangs glistening in the fading light. She bucked at him and screeched a tiny, scratchy wheeze, like someone stepping on a used-up dog toy. Cage flinched--barely. Margie laughed.

“Yes Cage, I sleep in a coffin, only to come out at night and suck the blood of the living and invite them into my eternal hell. You sure you’re okay? You don’t look so hot.”

“Let’s just go,” he said. “Where are you taking me?”

“This way.”

They continued past the meadow and into the forest. A light rain trickled down and there was a pattering on the broader leaves of the canopy.

“Over there,” she said. “Right on your right; you can’t miss it.”

They came to a stream cutting through the undergrowth. Deeply colored ferns crowded the banks, and bright green grasses grew underwater, flowing with the gentle current. Cage looked up the river and saw an old wooden mill built into the bank.

“What do you say we take a look?” she said.

Margie flew ahead and entered the building through a broken window. She was gone for a moment and then reemerged. “She’s a fixer-upper, but with a little TLC… she’ll shine again. I think you’ll find what you’re looking for inside.”

Cage stood there, staring at the mill.

“Go on,” she coaxed. “I’ll be right here.”

Inside the front door, Cage’s legs felt clumsy beneath him. The room was predominantly empty, with the noticeable exception of an old circular grinder set into the center of the cement floor. The interior walls were made of stone and rock, and a wooden staircase led up to a second floor.

Cage went up the stairs. As he came to the top, large clouds moved overhead and shaded the light from the windows. But the dimming continued, and soon blackness swallowed the room. “Margie!” he called back. But there was no reply. The stairs had vanished, and everything felt still.

After a few minutes, Cage’s eyes adjusted. As they did, he saw the boy, sitting alone and huddled against a far wall. Cage took a step toward him.

“Don’t!” the boy cried.

“I want to help you,” Cage said. “Is someone keeping you here?”

“I want you to go now.”

As he spoke, the fog poured in around him, and he curled in tighter on himself. Cage could hear the heavy breathing in the darkness. The boy closed his eyes and yelled. “Go away!” he said. But it was too late. The crashing legs and arms were rooting themselves into the boy, holding him there trembling, crying; the molten eyes stared into Cage from the darkness.

Cage tried to yell. He tried to move; but he was powerless. The monster breathed, and its eyes glowed more intensely as it exhaled a poisonous steam. Cage looked to the boy, and the creature released a bellowing scream. The scream ignited its body, and it burst into flames, smoke pouring down in a thick grey blanket across the floor.

Cage tried to reach the boy, but his every capillary was filled with acid. He tried to scream, but his throat was a soundless vacuum. With every cell he attempted to push forward, exhausting every resource, but the beast burned and shrieked death upon his efforts.

But then Cage felt something. A presence. Crawling up his back and over his shoulder. It was Margie. The darkness vibrated around them as she clawed her way to his ear and whispered into it. She looked at him and winked, then rocketed straight up into the blackness.

As if broken from a spell, Cage had agency. He saw the boy, crying on the ground. He saw the flaming beast shrieking pain toward him. Cage pushed forward and the beast made a desperate call, opening its great mouth and shaking the night with a terrible roar. In that moment, Margie dove from the sky and shot herself down the monster’s burning throat.

Cage screamed, “No!”

The beast reared back. It looked confused, perhaps even afraid. Cage ran to the boy and crouched next to him. The monster pulled its claws from the boy and tore at its own chest, the flames tearing into the black space above. It looked down at Cage and howled fire and smoke at him before falling to its knees.

Cage knelt over the boy and whispered something in his ear. He laid his head on the boy’s chest as the monster watched and swayed. Its flames were dying, and it lowered its head to the boy. In that moment, it looked more like a faithful pet than a hostile captor. And as it let out its final breath, it said to Cage in deep, reverberant tones.

“I am a protector.”

And then it turned to smoke; and it faded away; and so did Cage, and so did the boy.

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