Don’t let the Moon grant your wishes. The year was 2002. I was a young man who had become detached from a tour group in the midst of the Australian Outback. After a few hours, I started to succumb to dehydration. I was envisioning a plodding, laboured death in the heart of nowhere, but that didn’t happen. It seemed like a mirage, but *the Moon spoke to me*. Looking upon me with far-flung craters, which felt like remote eyes, the talking rock said it could save me. I followed a misty, moonlit trail across the arid landscape, and I eventually stumbled onto the town I’d been trying to find. Later that night, in my hotel bed, the Moon called to me. It offered three wishes. I rushed to the window, confused as to how my replenished body, now fed and watered, could still be hallucinating. And yet, I somehow knew that it was real. I knew the Moon had saved me from the desert. *What do I have to lose by making some wishes to find out?* So, I wished for three things: 1. Money 2. Safety 3. Health The creature had many conditions, but I heeded the warnings from ever story I’d ever been told about both genial and ghoulish genies. The Moon made the parameters of its wish-granting quite clear. *No wishing for more wishes.* *No wishing for more wish-granters.* *No wishing for things to give to other people.* *No wishing for anything that would contradict the laws of your natural realm.* The ideal wishes seemed obvious. **Money.** More money than anyone could ever need. Obviously, I couldn’t shower loved ones with wealth. I kept my job to support my family, but I used the riches to support my own needs. *There’s always a catch with wishing. Becoming the wealthiest man on earth will make me a target.* When I realised that, I had the idea for my second wish. **Safety.** I was not asking for security beyond the laws of nature. I simply wanted assurance that my financial safety net, if it were ever discovered, would be protected. *But what about security against the passage of time? I can’t wish for immortality… I can employ the world’s greatest doctors, of course, but that’s not enough.* **Health.** I specified to the Moon that I was simply talking about safeguards which would abide by the laws of nature. For example, if I had a genetic proclivity towards developing certain diseases, either physical or mental, perhaps the wish-granter could provide a cure. Perhaps the Moon could simply conjure a cure for *every* ailment that could ever face a human being. The rock conceded that, even if there were no current cure for certain illnesses, it *could* provide a solution for every health problem that might befall a human being. The Moon couldn’t make me live forever, but it could ensure that I live for an absurdly long time. I thought I’d covered all of the bases. I truly believed I’d outsmarted some sort of deity. I was a fool. I never should’ve made *any* wishes, but I *certainly* shouldn’t have made the third wish. Twenty years after my Australian encounter, my wealthy and healthy life took a sour turn. The Moon ensured that there would always be a cure in place for any ailment I would face. It had abolished my mental illness, thanks to a wondrous pill that I wasn’t permitted to share with others. So, this November, I wasn’t phased when my doctor gave a harrowing diagnosis. “Congestive heart failure,” The woman tentatively said. *Not to worry*, I thought. *The wish-granter will fix it. It gave me a pill for my mental well-being, and I’m sure it’ll give me a new heart, too. Perhaps it’ll simply grow one for me.* I waited. Like a werewolf in a kennel, I howled at the unresponsive moon for attention. Nothing. After weeks without solution, I started to feel consumed by dread. *Has it forgotten about me? The wishes were supposed to apply for the rest of my life.* Then, one night, the Moon arrived. It didn’t speak from the sky, this time. It spoke from the darkness of my house. A floorboard groaned in the far corner of the living room. Heart thumping rhythmically against my ribcage, I found myself staring into the depths of my lounge’s darkened corner. Something was watching me. The direful creature I hadn’t seen for twenty years. It had no eyes or discernible shape, but it had awful white lips, which glowed like a deformed moon in the night sky. Fear gripped me. “It’s you,” I croaked. “I am sorry,” The creature wheezed. “You do not have much time.” “There’s a waiting list for heart transplants, but I thought you’d have some means of speeding things up,” I replied, trembling at the hidden thing in the corner of my room. “Yes. I *must* grant your desire. It is my only purpose,” The Moon mouth maliciously whispered. “A wish is a contract. I will find a heart for you.” Before the creature evaporated, its white, lifeless lips curled upwards into a malevolent grin. The almost-human expression filled me with a feeling of terror which cannot sufficiently translate to words. Suddenly, I realised the dread in my heart was more than dread. *Oh, fuck*, I thought, as I clutched my chest. *It’s happening.* An invisible blade twisted into my heart, and I felt my body seize. Blackness swallowed my surroundings. My vision faded. *Just one more time*, I remember thinking. *Let me see Wendy and Maisie one more time.* When I woke, I was in a hospital room. My chest felt light. It was the healthiest I’d felt in weeks. Wendy was sitting at my bedside, tears flooding her vacant eyes, and a smile was forcefully painted on her pale face. “You’re awake,” My wife whispered. I smiled. “Hello, sweetheart. I must’ve given you a scare. I feel much better now, though.” She sobbed and squeezed my hand with tremendous strength. There was love in that squeeze, but there was also rage. Inconsolable *rage*. “They did it, honey. They gave you… They… You…” She moaned like a wounded animal. “You have a new heart.” That explained the lightness in my chest, but it didn’t explain the fear on my wife’s face. Her agonised expression haunted me. *Why is she so distraught?* I wondered, shuddering. “Wendy…” I whispered. “What’s-“ “- Maisie,” My wife interrupted, now bawling. “This evening, she was in an accident. She… She… She didn’t…” Wendy didn’t need to finish any of her sentences. I knew what had happened to our daughter. I knew whose heart was in my chest. I knew what the Moon had done to grant my wish.