Tick Tock

Tick Tock

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. Of course, you didn’t listen. Not that it would have mattered anyway. Tick Tock. Tock Tick .

Fate is truth, dear. And so here you are, my dear Evangeline. Here you are. Can you see it now? Your destiny mapped out before you — the routes all different but the destination inevitable. Can you see them? Your mother and aunt hushing into silence when they walked past — the gentle allusions to the secrets kept within the walls? My voice echoing in your waking sleep?

Oh, I am sorry, does it hurt? No need to cry. It will be over soon enough.

This could have been avoided if you had heeded the warnings, listened. You were always so full of brooding self-entitlement. And always so fascinated by the macabre. Even as a child you watched the blood draw instead of looking away. A little different now that you’re on the other side, still now, you can’t help but wonder if your disappearance will end up on one of those true crime pages that you so obsessively followed. Oh! If they could see the crime scene photos they would pretend to be disgusted but study every cut, every bruise, they would speculate on how long you lasted. They wont of course, because you will never leave and they will never come here. You will be a footnote, a novelty only because they knew you and you disappeared.

The perfect choice I suppose. Predictable but perfect. A willing sacrifice.

Naturally you don’t remember getting from door to chair, but that’s the magic sweetheart. Plus, even if you could get out of the restraints you wouldn’t be able to re-open that door. It’s extremely one way, if you catch my drift. Don’t look so gloomy.

If it’s any consolation, you’re not the only one. You never really had a choice. Being human and all. Needing to know is embedded in you. Some things are better left alone dear. Like space. But they’ll learn that the hard way. Hmmm. Where was I?

Oh yes. You remember Madelinka? Of course you do! No one forgets their first love. Let’s just say she couldn’t resist the itch. There was no family move to Montana. You want to know? Ha! Watch.

Oh, don’t mind the screams, dear. She was always so dramatic, you remember that. Always wailing about something or other. It’s almost poetic really. If a little Rossetti for my liking. I was never a fan. Too self-absorbed.

I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I’m not usually such an, um, open door. But I watched you grow up, you have always been my favourite. See. You weren’t entirely unloved. I suppose I should thank you, and your family is definitely thanking you, as long as I stand, they will remain comfortable in all areas of their life. It’s all in the contract.

….oh, you’re gone. Well, thanks for the company, and the sacrifice. Welcome home.

If this resonated, share it on Bluesky (or anywhere folks still have an attention span longer than a moth after a sleepless night), leave us a comment, or check out our latest anthologies

Poetry Collection, ‘Is this all we get?’

Prose Collection, ‘ Fifth Avenue Pizza’

One-Time
Monthly
Yearly

💜 Help keep the chaos caffeinated and the cats in biscuits. Every crumb helps. Whether you’re funding feline existential monologues, glitchy portals, or late-night creativity spirals, your support feeds the moglets (and occasionally, the magic). 🐈‍⬛

Make a monthly donation

Make a yearly donation

Choose an amount

$5.00
$15.00
$100.00
$5.00
$15.00
$100.00
$5.00
$15.00
$100.00

Or enter a custom amount

$

Thank you, fellow wanderer. Your generosity has been noted in the Book of Kindness, which the cats may or may not use as a pillow.

Your contribution is appreciated.

Your contribution is appreciated.

DonateDonate monthlyDonate yearly
Underland Updates
✒️ 🎤 👑 📜 🐔 🏰 😼 🤖
Face in the dark
AI face

The Underland Review

We are seeking:

  • Poetry that twitches
  • Microfiction that self-destructs
  • Essays with fangs
  • Visual art that shouldn’t exist
  • Redacted files, haunted code, cursed diagrams, scanned receipts from imaginary revolutions

We do not care about your CV.
We do not require polished bios.
Previously published works? Sure.
We do not pay (yet — sorry, capitalism).
But we do offer love, weirdness, and a spotlight.


✴ Featured contributors will receive:

  • A digital copy of the zine
  • Features on our site and socials
  • An invite to our glitch-lit open mic (date tba)
  • The deep satisfaction of being canon in a lie


Deadline: May 10th, 2025
Format: PDF or Word for text. JPG/PNG for art. Max 1 piece per person.
Email: riverandceliainunderland@gmail.com
Subject line: This submission is a lie – [Your Name]

We don’t tolerate bigotry, AI slush, or boring work.


Discover more from River and Celia Underland

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.

Leave a Comment