The Dan-Howard machine was buzzing and pitching all kinds of fits as Lily and I entered the bright white room deep in the bowels of Ertragen.

The room was plain and extraordinarily clean, barely more than the machine set on the white-tiled floor in the room. Bright fluorescent lights illuminated the tiles and made the room almost feel like you were standing in light itself. There wasn’t even a chair for me to sit on and wait.

The machine itself was colored white as well, a tall cylinder with no truly distinguishing features besides a split down the middle that comprised the doorway for Lily to enter through. There were no wires, no tubing, no crazy sci-fi contraptions. It was simply a seven-foot-tall white tube that would open up into a seven-foot-tall white interior.

“Are the lights bugging you?”

“You know they aren’t.”

I did. The lights in this room were designed specifically for Ghosts: bright, blinding light but somehow still comfortable for the typically heliophobic creatures. It had something to do with the radiation, but I wasn’t entirely sure of the science behind it. If there even was any.

“Freddy?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand?”

“I don’t understand . . . why are we here?”

That was typical, too. Loss of memory. Slowly losing a grasp on this world. Feeling lost. Unsure of the methods of the people around them. Unable to remember the past.

“It’s okay, Lily.”

“Okay.”

She started crying. Tears flowed down her transparent cheeks and pooled on the white tile, but disappeared after only a few moments. Her eyes were pressed closed, as though hoping that keeping her sight locked way might make the things she didn’t understand go away.

“Lily, what’s wrong?”

“I just . . . huff . . .  I jus’ don’ wanna go in that big scary machine, daddy.”

She was sobbing now, her tears coming at a constant stream. Her breath came in fits and starts, unable to piece the syllables together without drawing air in between them. She was a mess, and I nestled close to her, placing my arm around where I approximated her hips would be.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

“No, it won’t!” She screamed, running away from me and the pride and joy of Sirs Victor Dan and Kevin Howard.

Bang, Bang. She was up against the door, banging against it and screaming for help. Slowly, though, it dawned on her that no one was coming and she sank dismally to the floor-- tears still sitting on her invisible cheeks.

“Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what you have to do now?”

“No.”

“You have to get into the machine, Lily.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t.” She hissed with such ferocity that it even made me recoil for a moment. Lily wasn’t someone to be feared-- especially not now with her sitting on the floor with tear-stained cheeks and messy hair-- but the way she was treating this made me feel like she could honestly hurt me.

She remembers the machine. Somehow, someway, she remembers it deep inside of her. Even though she shouldn’t, even though she should step out completely new (more or less) . . . she remembers what it’s like in there. And she doesn’t want to go back.

I went and sat down next to her.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie.” I figured it was better to play along as her father, rather than force her to remember who I am.

“That’s a bad place.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

“But how do you know?”

I didn’t. I mean, that’s the truth, isn’t it? If I went into that machine and closed the door all I would see is an empty white tube. I could stand in there for hours, days, weeks, or months and it would be nothing but an empty white tube. I could die in there and there’s a good chance all it would be is an empty white tube. I couldn’t be Replaced, because I was still human. And, thus, all the Dan-Howard machine was to me was an oversized packing tube.

But I couldn’t tell her that.

“I just do.”

“Okay,” and then, a few moments later, “What will I see in there?”

“Hmm . . . what do you want to see in there?”

“I want to see rainbows, and ponies, and a gumdrop forest!”

I laughed, heartily. I never knew Lily when she was like this. She was wearing combat boots by the time I met her. Even Ghosts are children at one time.

“I’m sure you’ll see all of that when you go in there, Lily. All that and more.”

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“Before I go in, could you tell me a story?”

“Sure. What would you like the story to be about?”

“A knight saving a princess.”

“Okay,” I chuckled a little, “There was a knight--”

“Daddy!”

“What?”

“Stories have to start with ‘Once upon a time’”

I chuckled again. Maybe all of this should have disturbed me, or made me upset or angry, or made me depressed, but, for the first time in a long time, Lily was really happy. She couldn’t remember who I was or where we were or what the purpose of all of this was or even her own age, but she was happy. She wanted me to tell her a story. She wanted me there, with her, right now.

That’s all that mattered.

“Once upon a time, there was a brave knight who lived in a small town at the base of a bright pink castle. Every day this knight would wake up and stare longingly at the castle, imagining the rooms and hallways adorned with gold and silver. He would imagine going there and swearing to protect the king and queen, and he would imagine being sent out into the world to fight dragons and monsters for them. But most of all, he would imagine their daughter-- the princess-- dressed in stunning blue gowns made out of silk. He would imagine, after defeating these monsters for the king and queen that they would be kind enough to let him ask for her hand in marriage.

But every day, the knight would walk to the gates of the castle and be turned away by the king and queen. ‘You’re too dirty,’ they’d say, and if not that then ‘You’re too weak’ or ‘You’re too short.’ And every night, the brave knight would return to the town and stare at the castle, trying to think of ways to better himself. Until one day--”

“Mr. Benton.”

A chill ran down my spine. The voice of the Man from Nagai rang through the room. I spun around, trying to find the source until my eyes settled on a small loudspeaker attached to the ceiling in the corner of the room. I had never even noticed it before.

“Mr. Benton, I assume you realize that it’s time.”

I looked at Lily. She was still there, but only just. The Man was right, she needed to be Replaced.

“Sweetie? It’s time to go into the machine now.”

“But, Daddy! You didn’t finish the story!”

“I promise I’ll finish it for you when you’re done.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I stood up and looked down at her, her eyes solemn and dejected. I reached out my hand towards her.

“Will it make it better if I hold your hand?”

She nodded and got up. I could feel a rush of cold air press against my left hand.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded, and I led her across the room to the doors of the Dan-Howard machine. Opening them up, I helped her inside. She turned towards me. 

“Daddy, I’m scared.”

“It’s alright, sweetie. I’ll be right here, and it’ll only be a moment.”

I backed away from the doors as they slowly closed on Lily standing there. She was staring at the floor, eyes dejected until she suddenly sprang up and faced me.

“I love you, dahling!”

When I heard that word, I sprang to life and ran to the doors of the machine, which had already closed. Oh god, oh god. Scrambling, clawing, trying to open the doors. Screaming “It’s alright! We don’t have to do this! She’s fine!” Cursing my luck, banging on the doors, begging please God just let me get these open.

“Mr. Benton.”

That voice, this time coming directly from the doorway. I turned to face him.

“Mr. Benton, it’s already started. There’s nothing you can do.”

Weeping, I nodded. He was right. I turned back towards the big white cylinder and pressed my hand against it.

“I love you, Lily. I’m sorry.”

The machine started up, roaring to life. From inside I heard Lily screaming, weeping, calling for me, for her dad, for anyone. Screams of pain shot through the room. Cries of absolute terror, like she was staring down into Hell itself. Sounds of bones crushing and skin being torn.

And them, just like always, silence. Just like the other six-hundred and eighty-five times.

The door into the white cylinder reopened, and Lily walked out.

She looked around the room and her eyes settled on me. She smiled.

“Who . . . are you?”