Promises Made
I’m the only one who can hear the tap-tap-tapping on the window pane. My momma told me it was the branches from the bushes outside. But I looked, and there ain’t no branches close enough to do that. And my dad told me it was just the rain, but I hear it when the sun’s out and no drip-drip-dripping runs down the glass.
But I’m the only one who hears it, the only one who lies awake when the moon is high and listens to that rap-rap-rapping. We read a poem in school bout some guy who heard a knocking at his door, and I wonder if there’s a beast waiting out there for me just the same.
I get out of bed and it goes quiet. Like always. Like it knows I might catch it. As silence stretches around me; all of a sudden the sound starts. It knows I’m not coming.
“Whaddya want?” I bark, too loud. Momma and dad will be stomp-stomp-stompin down the hallway any minute now, coming to tell me to keep it down. People are trying to sleep, ya’know.
It just keeps up its click-click-clacking against the glass, and I feel my heart a thump-thump-thumping.
“I’ve had enough of you.” My voice is brave, but I am not.
The tap becomes a scratch, raking down the glass. Nails on the chalkboard, like dad described the music on the radio whenever I turned the dial.
“Out with it,” I growl. There’s a brewing irritation, a fear that my guest might not be playin’ fair. A worry that I’m losing my mind like Old Grovy down by the river.
Then there’s a laughing that rattles the whole window frame. A clang-clang-clanging glass on wood that sounds like it’s all about to break. And I imagine trying to explain how my window just shattered, spraying tiny slivers across the room.
“Quit it!” It’s supposed to be forceful, but I sound like the little kids crying on the playground.
I breathe, the air shake-shake-shaking down my throat. “What do you want?” This time each word is steady, commanding. I channel my exasperated mother and irritated father into the words.
“To get what has been promised,” hisses a voice from the window. From the corner of my eye, I see golden eyes round in the moonlight, pointed teeth arched in a smile. They float in the space, like window clings left up after Halloween.
I wish I believed they were decorations.
“And what’s that?” I cross my arms, hoping to draw comfort from the pose. I can feel goosebumps prickling on my arms.
“A firstborn child. Promises have been made. Promises must be kept.”
And the goosebumps are a whole gooseskin, squeezing every drop of warmth from my blood and bones.
“I–I didn’t make no promises.” Shaky words in the night, loud enough I hope someone comes to tell me to quiet down. I strain for the creak-creak-creaking of the wooden stairs, but all I hear is the air conditioning kicking on. Don’t they know it’s ice in here already.
“But you were promised.” It laughs again, and I can see the teeth split into an open maw, shaking with the force of the sound.
I am brave.
I’m no baby.
I call out. “Mommy!”
Now there’s a flurry outside, steps racing up the hall. The creature silences and watches. My door swings open, bang-bang-banging against the wall. Mom’s in her nightgown, hair all askew, eyes foggy with sleep. She sees me standing still in the room.
“What’s wrong?”
“The thing at the window.” I raise a shaking arm to point, but the light from my now-bright room floods the glass. She looks at it, looks past it, turns and takes my hand.
“There’s nothing there, sweetie.”
“But it said it was here to take me away. Because I’m the firstborn.”
Her face changes. The comforting smile replaced by one I’ve never seen before. Worried. Unsettled. I liked it better when she was calm and confident. “I see.” She turns back to the window, looking into the darkness. “I had hoped today would never come,” she says with a sigh.
“Mommy?” The word comes sob-sob-sobbing out of me. Parents aren’t supposed to be scared of monsters in the dark. Monsters aren’t supposed to be real.
“Promises must be kept,” she says with her hands on the latch. The tap-tap-tapping raises to a fever pitch now, eagerness spilling from the other side of the glass in time with my trembling limbs.
“I’m sorry.” The window opens.
Terse Tales: Blue as Sky
Theme: Blues
Emily lay on the porch swing, carefully considering the haint blue ceiling. It was no good at keeping spirits away, she knew that for a fact, but it was pleasant to look at on a day like this one where the sky was filled to the brim with grey, threatening clouds. Wind howled across the openings in the bottle tree, playing a mournful tune fitting for the dreary setting.
The swing chains creaked in steady rhythm as she used one foot to propel herself forward and back. The paint was chipping, peeling. This house was old—it had been passed from generation to generation long enough she had lost count of the residents. But the swing was still her favorite spot on the property, no matter what other changes might come.
Dark hair coiled on the white painted bench slats, and she caught peeks of the overhanging trees as the swing rocked back. There was peace found in the predictability. Other places on the property filled her with unease or dread. And she certainly avoided that dark patch in the front yard with all her might. Memories grew there she had no desire to harvest. But this place was calm. It was hers.
There was the sound of the blinds indoors shuffling back into place, and Emily felt her solitude disrupted.
“Hannah, come quick,” came the words through the window pane as the resident turned back. That would be Mitch, based on the voice. He was always hovering about, absolutely certain the place was haunted. He wasn’t wrong. “She’s back. The girl on the swing is back!”
Before the new footsteps could draw near, Emily breathed out a sigh and let the wind carry her away to another place. Perhaps her respite was waiting for her there.
Mondays
“So did you click the link in the email?” Jeanine asked, hands already massaging that troublesome spot on her temple. The day was just beginning, but it was off to a great start.
“It said it was important information about my iSouls account, so—“
“And then your cubicle walls started bleeding, correct?”
George stood in her office door, head bobbing up and down aggressively, as if that would unpossess the cell phone in his hand. It continued to chant something in backward Latin that Jeanine figured would lead her down some rabbit holes in translation.
She gave a hearty sigh. If those walls could talk, they would mostly sigh, too. “Did you read the email that went around last week about spear-summoning? This is a very common tactic.”
George looked to the floor, not willing to answer or meet her eyes. She reached out a hand and he placed the phone there. “Will it take long?”
Jeanine opened a drawer and an echo of chanting and screaming began to seep into the room. Protective wards glowed on the side as she spilled one more addition into the maw. “Just go see Mick for a replacement. I’ll see if I can at least back up your data.”
George turned to leave, then paused and shuffled anxiously between the hall and door. Finally he developed the courage to speak. “Uh, they also said that they, um, they had gotten my soul because of some, er, some activities—“
Jeanine raised her hand sharply, She had been down this road one too many times. “What you do in your own time is yours, George. But unless you remember verifying a contract, it’s just another scam. They want some indulgences sent to them or else they’d sell to the highest bidder, yeah?”
His head flapped again like a flag in the breeze.
“Just be more careful.” She shoved the door closed and watched his shadow retreat from her door.
More coffee. That was what today called for, and she had yet to finish her first cup. And she hadn’t opened her email yet. Ever since the devil had modernized, IT Support had become, well, more hellish than usual.
Coffee in hand, she dared to open her email and begin the dive. Mondays. She had a few offers about upcoming training for enhanced summoning defense and unauthorized soul acquisition. She clicked a reminder to return to that later.
Another string of messages detailed the weekend’s upgrade. She had not gotten any SOS calls, so it appeared to have gone as smooth as they ever do. But at least it applied the most recent patch and would help secure financials. One less backdoor.
Meetings, agendas, emails that should have been a basic Google search. She sorted and sifted through enough to earn a break and walked down to the break room.
Trevor and Monica were already in there. Jeanine summed up the situation in a blink. Monica held her cup in one hand, a polite smile on her face. Every few seconds, her head wiggled in a simple nod and her eyes glanced toward the door. Trevor prattled on, leaning against the counter and blocking Monica’s escape.
Jeanine considered offering a distraction, but realized Monica was the sacrifice she needed right then. Without making too much of a fuss, she crept toward the coffee pot.
“Ah, Jeanie, you’d know about this!” Trevor crowed as he caught sight of her.
Damn. “Sorry, Trevor, can’t stay long. Got a lot working—“
“Yeah, I was just telling Monica here about soulchains. You know about that, right?”
“I don’t really get into that too much. I really should—“
“Oh, I think it’s the next big thing. Takes soul trading out of the hands of the big guys and makes it accessible to everyone. Not only can you invest, but people can find someone out there who can meet their needs. It’s a real win-win.”
Monica just nodded and scooted closer to the doorway while Trevor’s attention was elsewhere.
“I see. Very interesting,” Jeanine poured the coffee and took a sip. “Well, back to—“
“I’m getting an account set up. Figure in a few months I’ll be out of here and on my way. People are making millions.”
“I’m sure they are.”
Monica had stopped to pull something from the fridge, effectively blocking Jeanine in. Her eyes peered over the fridge door in a quick apology, then she ducked down again to continue her rummaging.
“Come on, you know all this tech stuff. Surely you’re getting in on it, right?”
Jeanine weighed the options. Office politics or the honest truth? It had not been the best morning and her customer-service smile was already starting to ache. “Y’know, I get a little suspicious. I mean, how can you even know if you own a soul?”
Trevor’s mouth opened once, the smile dimming a little. “Well, you get a certificate. It says you’re the owner.”
Monica was deeper in the fridge now and Jeanine’s eyes bored through the door. Had her breakfast fallen through to Narnia? “I guess you just hope the devils keep their word, huh?”
“Well, yeah, it’s all verified and…” Trevor waved his hand, evoking some tech god that would explain the confusion. “Lots of people are doing it.”
The door closed, Monica victorious with a cup of yogurt. Both she and Jeanine broke out the door, taking different paths down the hall. She almost collided with George, who was walking toward the break room. Before she made it to her office, she heard Trevor start up again.
“Hey, George! Have you heard—“
Jeanine closed her door. Her screen showed a number of new emails, all marked varying levels of urgent. Taking a seat, she opened the first filled with capital letters and exclamation points. Only halfway through, she rested her head on the desk and sighed.
The CEO had run an excel master summoning script, and the top floor was currently amok with a few minor demons and gate guardians. As if on cue, the lights overhead flickered in time with a rumble.
Jeanine opened the other drawer in her desk and drew out her go-bag. Crosses, holy water, a number of incantations, silver and iron tools, and some garlic for good measure. It never hurt to be prepared.
She walked to the elevator and something roared again through the building, and then opted instead for the stairs. The smell of sulfur had already filtered down. Jeanine pulled a cloth mask scented with lavender over her nose and held tight to her prayer book in the other, taking the steps two at a time as the cinderblock walls began to ooze and drip with substances she’d rather not consider.
Oh, Mondays.
Course Correction
Nathan removed the plague doctor’s mask and gas mask beneath it, taking a deep breath of filtered air as the portal snapped shut. His apprentice did the same, wide-eyes still contemplating what had just happened.
“We were responsible for the Bubonic Plague? That ravaged Europe?” She got the words out breathlessly, trying to ignore the tightening in her chest.
Nathan moved to hang up the gear, letting the room’s scrubbers work to remove any vestiges of the past that might have snuck through. “Of course. You don’t think things like that just happen by chance, do you?”
Cassie felt the world spin and her lunch revolt in her stomach. Before she knew it, she had redecorated the interior of the clean room. Nathan sighed and rolled his eyes.
“You newbies are always so dramatic.” He punched in a command on the wall’s keypad, and cleanup bots swarmed to the site of the potential contagion.
“But I just helped kill millions.”
“And by doing so, you saved billions. Surely you’ve seen the time reels regarding what happens without our intervention?”
Cassie nodded wordlessly, eyes staring unfocused in the distance. She had entered the portal that morning full of hope and optimism. She was elite, about to change the world. Now she felt a horrifying sense of shame covering her. Nothing in the clean room was going to remove that.
“Come on, not every day is like this,” he offered in lukewarm tones. She could see his eyes going to the readout on the wall, counting down the minutes until the contagion cycle was complete and he could leave. Nathan was good at the job and terrible with people, which seemed to be the fit the Organization wanted.
Her breathing was starting to stabilize, reality retreating and making room for a fantasy she could construct. One in which killing millions truly was not only the lesser of two evils, but a kindness.
She had seen the reels, of course. Global famine, children starving in the streets, riots, looting, destruction. Human progress slowed to a crawl and took centuries to return. And it rebuilt worse, more brutal. She knew that. And yet the feeling of horror continued to eat away.
“Couldn’t there be another way to change things?”
Nathan gave another frustrated sigh, now not even trying to hide his gaze. He focused on the countdown as if willing it to drop. “Of course there are other ways. For some events. Why do you think we save babies and prevent asteroids? Or introduce a rumor to one particular street corner? Or remove a particularly troublesome lynchpin?”
“Then why not that here?”
“Because we tried all of that and none of it works. It just kicks the can down the road a few decades and ends up with the same garbage.”
Cassie dropped to one of the benches along the wall. Now that the initial panic had ebbed, adrenaline dwindling in her system, she began to tease apart the problem. Nathan was not watching her, did not see that spark of determination in her eyes.
“How many of the world’s catastrophes have our fingerprints on them?”
“Ours specifically? Only this one. And a small fire in 1873, but that was only a local catastrophe.”
“No, the Organization as a whole?”
Nathan paused a moment, nodding his head as he thought through the situations. “Probably most of them. Humanity as a species needs a lot of course correcting.” He smiled at that, shaking his head and chuckling. “If not for us, we’d have been extinct ages ago.”
The timer on the wall chimed, doors whooshing open. Nathan did not wait, but breezed out into the hall. She could hear him down the corridor, stopping and speaking to someone else.
“Another easy success. Things should stay on track.” Mumbled responses, then the sharp click of boots down the hall to somewhere else.
A few faces peered in at Cassie, but quickly hurried away. There was an intensity to the set of her face that was uncomfortable. Bystanders wanted plausible deniability and sped from the area.
Only when the chime sounded to admit another team did Cassie get up and exit into the hall. Something cold and heavy had settled on her thoughts in those moments alone. The Organization had developed from Earth Neutral, with no interference. A brutal place wracked by war and atrocities.
And somehow they were the arbiters of what human success should be?
All the “course correcting” in the universe would not help if the map was all wrong.
Someone—and Cassie felt a strange sense of purpose in the thought—was going to need to correct that map.
Terse Tales: The Next Step
Theme: Image “Home Sweet Home” by AmethystRaven-Art
She wished the situation had been dreadful so leaving would be easy. But it wasn’t, and so she stalled. Lucy shoved her suitcase into the trunk and slammed the lid, looking wistfully at the house with its sagging shutters and chipping paint.
When she decided to leave midday, it seemed wise. Fewer teary-eyed well-wishers. They could say goodbye before work like any other day, and she would slip away unnoticed. But that decision felt anticlimactic now, unfinished.
Deep breath. Her hand rested on the open car door, eyes glued to the image before her. There on the roof was the spot she watched the stars with her dad. A lopsided sign guarded a bed of wilting flowers dubbed “The Fairy Garden.” She had painted it in fourth grade, and it showed the years of age on it now. Just behind the house, she could see the sweeping branch of the old oak she liked to climb and read when the sun was high, safe in the shaded branches.
The air smelled like fresh cut grass, and somewhere in town the train sped past, horn carrying on the wind. Lucy set her jaw and blinked a few times, trying to prevent the world from going blurry.
She slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door. Her hands shook as she turned the key, bringing the hunk of junk to life. Buckled in, she adjusted the mirrors, taking more time than usual to ensure everything was just right.
Lucy pulled down the mirror to wipe the smudges from around her eyes, and a note fluttered down in familiar handwriting.
We love you. Call us when you get settled. We want to see your dorm!
A crooked heart sat above the final word.
Mom.
Lucy pulled away, ready for the next adventure.
Contract Negotiations
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Agatha’s face contorted in a mask of rage and confusion as she stared down the guard.
“I mean what I said. I don’t know what happened to the prisoner.” Colwyn was far too calm, leaned against the wall and looking everywhere but at his employer’s face.
“But that is literally your job.”
A smile broke out on his face; his trap had been sprung. “Ah, you’d think so, right? But do you have a copy of that work contract with you?”
“No, why would I carry something like that around?” Her impatience mounted, coiling every fiber of her into a knot.
“Well, you seemed to have it pretty handy last week when I needed some vacation time. But no worries, I have it right here.” He produced a rolled scroll from behind his back, hidden in a pocket that Agatha felt certain was not standard on the uniforms she ordered. But that was a question for later.
Colwyn unrolled it, skimming over the words until he found what he was looking for. One gauntleted finger jabbed at the page. “See, right here under ‘Job Duties.’”
Agatha leaned in and read the page. “Yes, see, it says here: ‘As a guard, your responsibility is monitoring the prison cells and taking swift action to correct any abnormalities.’ It’s written right there.”
Colwyn straightened and made a stiff salute. “And I am happy to report the cells are completely unchanged, with no abnormalities of note.”
“But the prisoner is gone,” she screeched, contract crumpling in her fist.
Colwyn carefully reached out to retrieve the document, smoothing the creases and tucking it away. “Well, that may be. But as I was hired to watch the cells, I would not know anything about that. You may want to consider hiring someone with those duties.”
She could have thought him an imbecile, but she knew better. That glint in his eye told her everything she needed to know. “This is because of the vacation thing, isn’t it?”
“I believe your words were: ‘The contract outlines everything in clear English even you can understand. You must follow it to the letter, even if it is inconvenient’. I think, but I could be wrong.”
Agatha felt anger boiling within her, but good help was hard to find. He knew that. She had been through a whole bevy of henchman and assorted personnel recently, and hiring was slow. For some reason, no one wanted to work for the maniacal sorceress any longer. What was the world coming to?
“We can renegotiate. But, before she dooms us all, where is the prisoner?”
Colwyn shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know.”
Agatha stormed down the hall with a wave of curses and expletives. Colwyn smiled and waved into the shadows, watching a form sneak out onto the castle grounds.
Maybe Agatha would one day learn it paid to treat people with a bit of decency. But Colwyn wasn’t going to wait for that.
Terse Tales: The Housing Market is Killer
Theme: “The signs had always been there.”
No one says foresight is 20/20. It’s obvious now, but I was rational. Had I been given to flights of fancy, well…the signs had always been there.
When I moved in, the neighbors peered out at the moving van with the subtlety of toddlers. Their curiosity did not abate as I started work on the house. It was a bargain, but that meant it had needs. Top of the list was new paint. As I worked in the hot sun, I tried to shake the feeling of eyes on my back. After a week, I met the first family one gloomy evening.
“We live across the street,” the woman said with an effervescent smile and an accent I couldn’t place. The man beside her nodded, hand on his presumed son’s shoulder.
We exchanged the usual pleasantries. They worked late and slept during the day. But if I ever needed something, just knock.
“What stinks?” The boy wrinkled his nose.
“Oh, just making some spaghetti,” I responded. “I have extra, if—“
The father shook his head sharply, and they excused themselves back home.
That opened the flood gates, and a parade of strange inhabitants followed. One woman was overly interested in the weeds growing by my front porch; a shaggy haired-man scratched incessantly at his ears and asked if I was sure I did not have a cat. I saw them gather at night, chatting and eyeing me as the outsider I was.
Being neighborly, I sent out invites for a barbecue. Everyone arrived late, ate little, and left early.
The first full moon came shortly after, and the road transformed. There were howls and growls, creatures running in the street. Despite my rationality, now I understood.
A neighborhood full of monsters, and I had invited them all in.
Not So Happily Ever After
“My hero,” Gwinnette exclaimed loudly, breathlessly. Then, in a whisper Rittendorf would surely miss, snapped, “What took you so long?”
Sir Greenthorn kept a frozen smile on his face, gazing into her eyes. His lips barely moved. “I was in the middle of something.”
Behind the pair, Rittendorf was flailing in theatrics, ruing days and offering curses, If only he knew he’d orchestrated the most perfect curse for his mortal enemies. “Forsooth, my plan has yet again been foiled!” he cried, collapsing to the ground.
“Brave knight, you have rescued me from his machinations. Now we must dispel this evil.” Gwinette gritted her teeth, but imbued the words with enough emotion to be convincing. The haze of the tower helped obscure her eyes, which burned with annoyance.
“Yes, the power of our love shall defeat him!” Greenthorn drew his sword and squared up against Rittendorf, the mage still quivering on the floor.
“No! I’ll not be undone!” With a wave of his hand, the smoke in the room intensified. As it cleared, Greenthorn and Gwinette were left alone with echoing laughter. “I will destroy you yet,” came haunting final words.
The two visibly relaxed, disentangling one from another and taking their own spaces in the now empty tower room.
“You were in the middle of something?” she snapped. “Rittendorf’s keep is not the worst accommodation I’ve had the displeasure of staying in, but I have to listen to him prattle on. I need you hear on the fastest steed you can find.”
“What was his plan this time?” asked Greenthorn, sheathing his sword and taking a quick look around the room for any treasure worth pawning. The plates and goblets would fetch a few coins, at least.
“Same nonsense, just a new verse. Capture me, lure you here, orchestrate some grand betrayal that would sever our undying love, yadda yadda.”
“Hm.” Greenthorn lifted one of the curtains. Threadbare and moth eaten. Better to just let it stay here and rot. “If he ever figures out we aren’t in love, he might actually be able to accomplish something.”
“Or he might just find someone you actually do love.”
Greenthorn stiffened at this, eyeing her with measured distrust. “You didn’t tell him—“
“About your paramour? No, I’m not the evil one in all of this.”
The air between them was noticeably chill as Greenthorn finished a final sweep of the room. A pittance, truly, but the king’s boon for once again vanquishing Rittendorf would make up for most of it. Still, it was getting more and more difficult to live the life they had become accustomed to.
“Are you ready?” he asked her, formality still icy in his words.
“I was ready two days ago, but you had something better to do.”
His cheeks flushed at this, shame and anger competing for dominance. “It’s not easy having to just drop everything, you know. I’m trying to live my life—“
“As am I,” she added quietly.
Greenthorn huffed and ran a hand through thinning brown hair, eyes searching their history for where things had taken such a turn. He had been the knight of the kingdom, destined, foretold. It was his destiny to protect the kingdom from the worst of evils. Only that evil had turned out to be Rittendorf, an eccentric mage with poor planning skills and an unhealthy obsession with love magic.
“Listen, I’m sorry I did not come sooner. I’ll make that my priority.”
She nodded, placing a hand on his armored shoulder. “And do not worry, your secret is safe. I’d not want harm to come to either of you.”
“But it would free you. Rittendorf only takes you because he is convinced the key to victory is severing our bond.”
She gave him a bitter smile, years of anger and frustration surging in her eyes. “Yes, but he’s forced me into this. If that cretin gets one moment of satisfaction or joy in this world, it’s too much.”
Greenthorn laughed, leading the way down the tower and toward safety below. “We can at least agree on that. And Martin thinks he’s close to something that can actually kill him.”
Gwinette’s face brightened. “Oh, that’s lovely news. Almost makes those days in his captivity worth it.”
As they left the tower, the dust resettled and the room returned to abandon. But in the corner, a small scrying glass peered, echoes of victorious laughter rippling into the stillness.
Terse Tales: Guilty Conscience
Theme: The sky was no longer red.
The door squealed in protest as it opened. According to the radio, it was safe to venture out for a short stretch of time. Surely it would be an eternity before it was fully safe, but anything was better than the same grey walls and neat stack of rations.
Carter covered his eyes and blinked against the bright sun. The owners had spared no expense in the construction of the shelter, which was remarkable given how steep the prices soared when threats moved from bluster to reality. Nevertheless, the artificial lights mimicry of daylight were no match for the real deal. Tears stung his eyes.
The sky was so blue. It was offensive how cheery and…normal it was. Only it wasn’t, and evidence of that crunched beneath his feet. Blown out glass sparkled in the light, and the plants were wilted and brown. Look up, and the world was a happy place. Down, and it was barren.
Other doors were opening, following the recommendations as he had. Carter heard voices of the neighborhood. They must have gone in on a package deal to build these; the street was coming back to life. Joyful families embracing the chance to live another day.
Not wanting to be seen, he scurried into the strange house. Wind swept through the rooms, playing with artifacts of a life before. They were memories out of place in this world of destruction.
Carter tried not to look at the unfamiliar faces smiling on the walls. He tried not to match the images to the voices he had heard first reasoning calmly, then pleading, then screaming. He tried. But images of a burning sky bled into his thoughts.
The smiling faces stared in judgment at their killer, just as sure as he had pressed the launch button himself.
Family Curse
Glinda leaned into the family curse, because fighting against it had only ever made her miserable. Maybe willing acceptance would ultimately loosen its hold. Doubtful, but she was out of better ideas.
The Sight had its advantages, to be sure. She had avoided more than one unfortunate accident thanks to premonition and perception. But her family legacy was dying in the line of duty, and she was ready for that to change.
Glinda felt the smooth handled daggers in her grip, the more tangible side of her family boon. They had been for protection. Perhaps they still were, but now with a more preventative bent. She took a slow breath and looked around the corner again at the crowd.
They waited beneath the flickering neon and holographic haze. Jump-bikes and motorcycles were lined in disorganized chaos around the bar. It was a dive in the best terms, but Glinda knew more. If she looked askance, their human faces remained perfectly poised. But when she focused, all of that melted like wax from a candle, showing the horror of what lay beneath. Something from another plane, fingers poking through the material of the world and using skin puppets to do their bidding.
Maybe once it had been enough to live side-by-side and pick off those who stepped out of line. But with a genealogy drenched in innocent blood, Glinda was not going to wait for slaughter.
With time, the crowd thinned down to a manageable number. Glinda left her concealment with a smile on her face. She was out of place, a young woman with no affiliation approaching a place like this in the middle of the night?
They took the bait. “Hey little lady,” crooned one. “You lost?”
Glinda plastered a smile on her face. “Maybe. Is this The Veil?”
“Yeah, you’ve got the right place.” He glanced around at his companions, eyes saying plenty, even if Glinda had been unable to eavesdrop on their thoughts. Soon, they’d start to notice the brush of something unfamiliar sharing that intimate space. She’d need to be fast.
Three remained, which were odds she could manage. She closed the distance, studying them. These were unfamiliar monsters, but monsters nonetheless.
As they leaned in, closing around the supposed prey, she lashed out. The daggers flashed with a kaleidoscope of light from the artificial fixtures above. One in the eye of the monster leaning on the bike, another in the chest of the one on her right. There was shock, silver blades burning a hole through whatever tethered them here, and the empty puppets dropped to the ground.
The third had mouth open, eyes wide. He almost looked afraid, but the true face still snarled at her. Pulling the blades free, she launched forward and buried them again.
Then back to the shadows, just as always. She knew the newspapers would make a fuss, reporting on the latest slayings in the city. But she had to protect them, even if they did not know it yet.
Terse Tales: Blossom
Theme: Medusa by Kailee Morgue
Being a forest witch in the city was never easy, and so Sheri sank gladly into the refuge of her apartment. It hummed with life from creeping vines and growing plants. There was barely room to walk, but it was home in more ways than one. The walls wrapped around her, pulling her into respite.
Outside the door, the world still raced on. Metal, steel, concrete, and glass held society together, draining every ounce of life it could. Sterile. Cold. Dead.
As she walked toward the kitchen, the leaves twisted toward her, tugging on her mind. There were no words or language, but an instinctive sense of welcome.
And something else. An edge of worry slithered behind the limited consciousness of her botanical friends.
Once Sheri turned the corner into the kitchen, the source of the fear was obvious. A woman was seated calmly at the table, sipping a piping mug of tea and looking perfectly at home.
“These are yours?” the woman asked with a casual wave at the plants crawling along every surface.
“Who are you?” Sheri demanded, rooted to the spot.
The woman turned, eyes studying Sheri with the kind of scrutiny that laid everything bare. Sheri ignored the urge to hide her perceived nakedness behind the large monstera leaf beside her.
“Don’t worry. I’m here to help.”
When Sheri did not move or relax, the woman beckoned a leaf toward her. It unfurled, soaking up the shared magic in the air.
“You can’t think you could hide an oasis like this—power like yours.”
Sheri looked around the room, seeing anew her incomprehensible forest crammed within the apartment. It was remarkable. “You’re here to help?”
“We witches have to stick together,” said the woman with a smile. Behind her, the wall shattered into thousands of waving blooms.
Terse Tales: Blink and You’ll Miss Me
Theme: Time Travel
He promised me adventure, and like a sucker, I bought it. Who would turn down the adventure of a lifetime? Of a thousand lifetimes, all rolled out in an endless string of time and place?
I took his hand and did not look back until it was too late. And there was adventure. We delved the corners of the galaxy together. I saw stars light and die in the span of a breath.
“Blink and you’ll miss it,” he teased.
He orchestrated a graceful slow dance of the moments in the world, the exquisite and the tragic. Marveling with me in the beauty and offering solace in the darkness. He was ever gentle, ever patient. A perfect gentleman.
I loved being blinded by his charm and wit. I applauded the smoke and mirrors of the role he played, lazing in willful ignorance of the deadness in his eyes. I was content being enamored with the thought of him, and he was content to be idolized and never scrutinized.
But all my journeys only confirmed the atavistic wisdom, that hindsight is truly 20/20. I can see the cracks clearly now, the way the paint chipped away and revealed a palimpsest of heartache underneath. How many people had he taken to that same star, to those same moments?
When he tired, when the path grew rocky, when those chasing him began to catch up, I was dead weight to jettison. He dropped me in whatever where and when he could conjure.
“Thanks for the memories,” he said with that dead smile. “Take care of yourself.”
And now I’m here, where all of you spend day and night trying to convince me that it was nothing but a lovely delusion. Because it sounds too good, too fantastic, to be true.
And it was.
No Honor Among Thieves
Here is the second round entry for the contest I mentioned last week. The prompt for this one was: a vet, duct tape, and a lobby. While I really love what I wrote and feel proud of the final product, it was not quite enough to make it onto the final round. Still, it was a fun story to write and I am happy to share it!
My day was supposed to be simple. I would go to work, have a busy morning, sneak off sometime far too late for a quick snack, run by the bank to deposit a check, and then back to the grind until closing time. That was the way of things. But then I found myself face down on the lobby of the bank, breathing the crisp scent of floor cleaner. Around me were sobs, whispered prayers, and the purposeful shuffle of three bank robbers making their heist.
I kept my head down, literally and figuratively. When the first gunshots sounded, I found a place on the floor like it was a race. There was no need to tell me twice. Two of the goons began busying themselves with the cameras and windows while the third paced over to the teller windows.
“I’ve pushed the panic alarm,” the teller said much too loud. But maybe she was trying to reassure all of us that help was on the way.
The third man clicked his tongue and spun on his heel. “I was banking on you following protocol,” he said with a satisfied chuckle at his own joke. “Alright, my new friends,” he yelled around the space. I watched him from the reflection of the floor, the way he spread his arms as if welcoming an adoring crowd. “I’m gonna need each of you to put your phones and wallets on the ground. My companions will be along shortly to collect them.”
As if on cue, the two men finished their initial job and began moving around the room, collecting the goods.
There was a sudden start of noise, a growl followed by the slap of a body hitting the tile. I couldn’t help but look up. A brave soul had thrown himself at one of the goons, bringing him down and wrestling with him on the floor. Those near them squirmed away, trying to avoid stray arms and legs. It went on for a brief moment before the first robber—the clear leader—stepped in. With determination, he brought the end of his gun down on the back of the would-be-hero’s head. The man went still.
“Come on, now. Nobody needs to get hurt,” bemoaned the leader. “Is there a doctor in here?”
His disgraced companion scrambled to his feet, casting angry glances at the rest of us on the floor. The silence stretched on.
“You,” the ringleader looked at me, hand outstretched. “You’re in scrubs. Get over here!”
My tongue dried up and retreated into my mouth, a useless ball of flesh making it hard to breathe. But he didn’t waver, keeping his gaze fixed on me as he walked forward.
“Come on, I don’t want any blood on my hands. I’m sure you don’t either.” His teeth glistened in the opening of his mask, pearly white against the black fabric. The teeth of a predator, a monster.
“I’m a vet,” I finally choked out.
He shrugged his shoulders, smile never dropping. “If he were conscious, I could have him bark for you if that’d help. Get on up. A body is a body after all.”
That was not true, but I was not about to argue with the man holding us hostage. At first, my legs rejected the idea, wobbling and threatening to send me back to the ground. Eventually, they cooperated well enough to lead me the few paces over.
I dropped to my knees beside the man and checked vital signs first. He was breathing and his pulse was easy to find. A hopeful start.
“Alpha, where’re the zip ties?” yelled one of the other goons, lifting a half-empty duffel bag. The rest of the contents were strewn across the floor in a jumbled mess.
“I brought the duct tape instead. That’ll work just as well.”
The third man joined in the conversation. “Come on, Alpha. We looked it up online. Zip ties are far superior for—“
“Yeah, well this is my plan. I needed duct tape, so we got duct tape.”
I tried to focus on my job. I parted the man’s hair, studying the laceration running behind his ear. Yep, it was a head wound alright. They bleed so much, and my hands were sticky with it. Unfortunately, I could not tell much more about the injury from examination, and so I turned to other signs. Pupils were fine, breathing normal. No leaking fluid from any other orifices. He might have been dying every second I spent examining him, but I did what I could. “He needs a CT,” I mumbled.
Alpha turned back to me, cocking his head with a colder smile on his face. “A CT, sweetheart? You think I got one of those in my bag over there?”
“I’m not the right kind of doctor.”
“Woof. Woof woof!” His eyes went wild as he barked at me. I shrank back, and in the reflection of the floor I saw wide eyes set into a too-pale face. I was staring at a ghost of myself etched in marble. He continued, the sound growing louder as the other two began to laugh.
“We should clean the wound, get a compress.” I finally shouted.
“Bandages I got. Gamma—“ The third robber stood from where he was securing a teller’s arms behind her back with the roll of duct tape. “Give me that kit we brought.”
I opened and studied the dollar-store first aid kit in my hands. There were alcohol pads and gauze. I did what I could to clean and bandage the wound with the available supplies. He never stirred, though I prayed each breath would elicit a groan or grimace, anything to let me know he was coming to.
And then the leader loomed over my shoulder, inspecting the work. “Nice job, Doc.” I could smell tobacco and breath mints as he leaned down close. Part of me wanted to leap up, fight back. But that part of me lost to the scared, cowering woman yet again.
“Beta,” he whistled toward his companion, “get this one wrapped up.”
“Got it, boss,” the man grumbled as he grabbed my arms and spun a few twists of duct tape around them. He followed up with my feet shortly after, and all I could think was that someone braver would have kicked him in the face. But then he was gone, on to the next person.
The only people whose hands didn’t get tied were the tellers. Instead, they were given bags and instructed to shovel as much money as they had into them. Off in the corner, the leader was having a heart-to-heart with the bank manager. His name badge had been knocked askew in the chaos, barely hanging to his suit jacket now.
I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw the man tremble. He nodded his head a few times, and then pulled out a key. The leader patted him on the back in a way that was anything but friendly.
“Gamma, got you a present.” He threw the key toward his accomplices. While they disappeared, he settled into a seat behind the counter to work at something, moving methodically from one task to the next.
Minutes later, victorious shouts echoed from the back room, followed by the jubilant robbers with their prize. They returned with a collection of small bags, which Alpha snapped up. He tucked them carefully beneath his jacket.
“Great job, boys,” he crowed. “We’re ahead of schedule, even. Beating our best times by a mile!” One of the desk phones began to ring, almost as if on cue. “That’ll be the negotiation call.”
“Are—are you going to answer it?” asked the manager, as if it took everything he had to force the words out.
The leader smiled. “Nah. That’s not part of the plan.”
The phone stopped ringing, and silence returned.
Alpha sighed. “Well, we’re in the final act.” All three of them trembled with the nervous anticipation of near victory.
And for Beta and Gamma, that was that. With a smooth motion that I barely saw even while watching, Alpha gripped the gun in his hand and fired two shots, striking his accomplices square in the chest. They were still smiling when they hit the ground.
“Listen up, friends, the robbin’ is easy, the gettin’ away is the tough part. If anyone asks, there were two robbers. They shot each other in a dispute.” Alpha paced the room as he spoke, looking at each of us in turn. He began to remove off his mask and gloves, shoving them into the pockets of Beta and Gamma. He was older than I expected, hair as grey as his eyes and face cut with lines earned from a hard life. When he smiled, it was like a puppeteer forced the strings to rise.
Then the lights went out, leaving the room bathed in the glow of emergency lighting.
“And there’s the last bit,” he said with a sigh. “Now, I’ve got home addresses from each of your IDs sent off to an associate of mine. A word of this gets breathed, and my friends will pay them a visit. Don’t care which house they start with; just told them to work down the list.”
He took the duct tape and began wrapping his ankles, then pulled off a lengthy piece. With a practiced motion, he twisted his arms behind him and wrapped the tape around. It was sloppy, but good enough to pass inspection from an unsuspecting emergency responder trying to shuffle hostages away from danger.
“They’ll know things don’t add up,” he reassured us. “And they’ll figure out the ballistics don’t make sense. But I’ll be good and gone by then. So, you keep our little secret, and I’ll ride off into the sunset, never to darken any of you good people’s doors again.”
He settled into a spot next to me. “Hey, doc, you did good today.”
My whole body shook, and sweat dripped down my back as the minutes stretch by with him next to me, eyes locked to the doors. He knew the end was near.
Eternity stretched out in the lobby before a new commotion arrived. There was breaking glass and smoke, the sound of radio static fighting against shouting voices. The flashlight beams arced across the room as the team swept in. They had come ready for a fight, and found the fight already over and done.
I was crying when they finally pulled me up, some kind person letting me lean on them. They whispered soothing things, but all I could hear was his voice behind me.
“It was terrifying,” he choked as he faked a stumble to his feet. “Thank god you all got here when you did.”
Terse Tales: A Once-in-a-Lifetime Event
Theme: Image: Circus
Priscilla leaned her bike against the dilapidated wooden fence that surrounded the fairground, peering around for any sign of her friends. Their bikes were here, a jumbled heap beside the loose board the high schoolers had been gossiping about.
“Did you guys already go in?” she texted. No response.
Of course they had. Camden was irritated enough they had to wait until she got done with dinner, so they would have charged right in. Priscilla sighed and pulled the board back.
Inside, she scoured the area for any signs of her friends. The message was still unread, sitting plaintively in the group chat.
Camden would have dived straight into the first thing that looked interesting. Priscilla tried to channel that audaciousness as she made for a tent. The bottom hem was already disturbed, she noted with satisfaction.
Inside smelled dusty and damp, and darkness reclaimed its domain as the heavy fabric fell back to the ground. It left the space feeling claustrophobically quiet.
“Guys,” she hissed. The brief light from outside had shown her a path, and so she took hesitant steps forward. “Camden? Jess?”
There was a murmur of conversation ahead, a greyening in the darkness. Priscilla slid her feet along the ground, hands outstretched. As she neared the suggestion of light, her hands met fabric again. Another tent within the tent.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. This was ridiculous. But, determined, she lifted the fabric and ducked through.
The light was blinding now, and she noticed the sound stopped around her. When her eyes adjusted, a ring of painted faces was looking at her. Their smiles stretched the gaudily painted ones to their limits, sharp teeth glistening with an unsettling red of their own.
“Look, friends,” said one smiling face. “Our dinner came with dessert.”
Curiosity Killed the Cat
This was submitted for an online writing contest with the prompt: A caretaker, a journal, and a conservatory. It placed first in its round and allowed me to move on to round two. I’ll share the round two story next week!
Winston leaned against the rake, taking a moment to catch his breath. Used to, he’d have the whole property crisp and cleaned within a day. Now it took a week of attention, and then it was time to start back at the beginning. Damned leaves kept falling, grass kept growing, and clutter kept accumulating. Winter would be here soon with its endless fight against snow and mud.
It was seasonably warm. Sure, the newcomers and tourists would gripe about the heat in autumn, but Winston had lived long enough to know summer never gave up without a fight. The heat would break, and people would beg for a little warmth soon.
At least his afternoon’s work would take him to the conservatory. It was warm and humid for the benefit of the plants, but it was controlled heat. And there were plenty of benches and stone edges where he could rest his tired bones as he worked.
He meandered down the hallways to the conservatory, appreciating the cool interior. While his house was technically the one out on the edge of the property, these walls felt like home, too. Opening the heavy doors, he was momentarily dazed by the bright sunlight. Winston quickly retreated beneath the dappled shadows of overhanging growth.
There was a squeal to the left of him, and he caught sight of Juniper, one of the current owners, sitting at a metal table in a pool of sunlight. She took a deep breath and forced a shaky smile, pushing sweaty bangs from in front of her eyes.
“Sorry, Winston, you startled me.”
He offered an apologetic tilt of his head. “Sorry, ma’am. Just coming in to tend the beds.”
“Oh, of course. I planted some of the new exotics around the fountain.” She held up dirt-kissed hands as evidence.
“I appreciate that,” he replied while inwardly making a note to ensure she had done so in a way that at least a few might survive.
Juniper stood stiffly and abruptly, folding hands in front of her. “Well, I’ll leave you to your work.” She marched past him and out of the room, ducking her head as if that would hide her frightened eyes. Winston was left shaking his head. It seemed the odd ones always chose this place. Given her high-strung nature and the worn appearance of the home’s furnishings, he suspected it would not be long before the house was again for sale.
He turned toward the workbench, scouting around for his preferred hand trowel. It was not where he left it. But, of course, Juniper had been playing in the gardens, so he made his way over to her table. There was the trowel, still muddy. That sent a wrinkle of irritation through him.
As he drew close, he noticed she had left her journal open on the table, ink scratching across the crisp white pages. He was not trying to look, but he had to reach across it to pick up his property.
“Help me.”
The words had been written and rewritten in thick black ink, nearly tearing through the page. Dozens of iterations danced on the page. It was impossible not to read, and Winston felt a chill.
But he knew better than to get involved in the homeowner’s squabbles. Being nosy had never worked, usually ending in an abrupt dismissal and a black mark on one’s reputation. He was too old to find another career.
Besides, houses like this attracted the troubled sort.
Winston tried to forget the image as he walked toward the largest bed in the conservatory. In the middle, a stone fountain splashed. He saw the area around it had been extensively disturbed. There was dirt on the ground, on the base of the fountain, everywhere. And a lumpy mound in the middle bore a handful of wilting botanicals that had not been properly planted or watered in. He dropped to his knees beside them to begin his work.
The trowel did not sink far into the earth before meeting resistance. Winston pulled back and tried again with the same results. He gave the ground a hearty stare, then reached in to uncover whatever was causing the problem. An irrigation line? A stone?
Whatever it was, it was large, his fingers fumbling in the dirt to find an edge. He brushed away the soil and found himself staring at a neatly buttoned shirt, white fabric turning dingy.
It took a moment for his mind to understand what sat there in front of him, and then shaky hands shoved more of the dirt away. Eventually, he reached a face, the wide, pale blue eyes of Cyril, the home’s other owner, staring sightless at the glass of the conservatory roof.
Winston scrambled backward, eyes locked on the face in front of him. One part of his mind scrambled. She had to intend for him to find this. And that surely meant something, though he did not know what.
Meanwhile, the rest of him was caught in a wordless scream, like an emergency broadcast’s unending drone.
The police. That was what one did when they uncovered a body. Phone the police right away and let them handle it. And stay away from killers, came a helpful corollary.
Unfortunately, the nearest phone was in the house. Winston picked himself up from the ground and brushed away what dirt he could, trying to assemble himself into someone that appeared calm. After a few steadying breaths, he walked toward the conservatory doors. Winston was never one for smiling, but he attempted one as he walked down the hall toward the kitchen and house phone.
Seeing Cyril sitting in the study came as a thorough shock. He was decidedly un-dead, humming to himself as he leafed through the newspaper.
“Do you need something, Winston? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Cyril’s voice was calm, warm, and friendly. But there was something in his eyes.
“I—“ Winston stammered. He could feel his heart starting to hiccup in rhythm, the prickle of sweat on his brow. “I thought I saw…”
Cyril rose from his seat, prowling forward with curiosity. “Oh, a ghost or something better? Step in and tell—“
“You!” Juniper was in the hallway now, pointing at Winston with a vindicated grin. “You saw him, didn’t you? I’m not imagining it?”
Winston looked back and forth between the two, finding nothing that made any sense of the moment. His mouth had dried out, tongue lying thick and loose. The room was not quite spinning, but it was less stable than before.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve gone and drawn him into our game, honey. That was supposed to be our thing.” Cyril leaned out into the hallway, fixing her with a petulant frown. Then his face flipped again into a monstrous grin as he considered Winston. “So where’d she hide me this time? The dried well? The cellar? Hidden in the boathouse under some old tarps?”
“The conservatory gardens,” Winston whispered through stiff lips. Now his heart was fluttering unchained about his ribcage, picking and choosing whatever beat suited the moment.
“The gardens?” he crowed. “And what, my dear, did you try this time? Poison, wasn’t it?”
By now, Juniper had reached the two in the doorway, and Winston felt trapped between the warring couple. “I’ve killed him six times,” she said between gritted teeth. “And he won’t stay dead!” Her voice rose in volume with each word until she roared.
Winston wilted between them, wanting nothing more than to escape. He had known nothing good would come of meddling in the owner’s affairs, and here was the proof.
Cyril laughed as if this was a fine joke. Then, his mouth snapped shut and the sound died. There was a dark glimmer in his eyes as he looked at the two of them. “Of course I won’t stay dead. That’s the whole point of an immortality spell.”
Winston was still placing the pieces. “Six times,” he repeated to himself. But Juniper heard.
Her posture became defensive, squaring up as if ready for confrontation. “Well, he killed me first. Pushed me down the stairs and sunk my body in the lake.”
Now Winston’s wavering gaze swam back to Cyril, hoping anyone would start making sense.
“How else was I supposed to know if it worked? But you’re fine. I don’t see why you’re still carrying such a chip on your shoulder about it. I gave you immortality.” His tone was the same as if he was describing a decision to buy stocks, laid out with simple logic and undeniable reason. Winston wanted to ignore the words and just rest in that tone.
In fact, he noticed he was feeling very tired. There was an ache radiating from his chest now, his heart exhausted from flailing against his ribs. And the room was definitely spinning, whirling about on an axis that flashed Cyril’s leering face and Juniper’s enraged one in an unholy carousel. They still yelled, but the words were distant.
“I never wanted this,” Juniper hissed. Cyril laughed again as the room spun on.
Winston needed to rest. All he wanted was to sit on one of the soft couches in the study, but there wasn’t time. He was too tired. The floor would have to do. And then there was sweet, quiet darkness.
Winston woke the next morning in his bed in the caretaker’s cottage. He rolled over, trying to shake off the vestiges of the terrible dream barely remembered in the morning light. The feelings lingered: panic, confusion, fear. It was bitter on his tongue.
Nothing a day’s solid work wouldn’t fix, he reasoned as he readied himself. There was always work to do, and he knew the house would need something, Shutters needed paint if nothing else. He had knocked off early yesterday, for a reason that escaped him…
He did not expect to see Cyril waiting on the steps for him to arrive. He expected even less the broad grin that broke across the man’s face.
“Winston, my friend. I guess this means you’re one of the family now!” he said by way of greeting. Winston tried to nod and move along. He had an uneasy feeling being near the man that he could not quite place.
“Oh, come on, don’t be that way. Juniper and I feel awful about yesterday. We buried you out by the orchard, thought you’d like that.”
Winston reeled, feeling memories trickle back, impossible things that defied logic. He forced his mind back to the day’s chores, pushing past Cyril without any more regard.
“Winston, we’re going to be together forever. Don’t start us out on the wrong foot.”
But Winston kept walking, ignoring the risen man who beckoned him. He had forgotten one key rule.
Never meddle.
Family Secrets
I smacked the tape recorder down on the table harder than I intended and the ancient device clanked in protest. “All right,” I said to the emptiness around me, “we’re settling this once and for all. Come on out.”
I looked around the sheet-covered furniture, waiting for something to stir. Dust drifted in hazy sunbeams around me, irritated at my disruption to the long-abandoned home. The family home, as I had grown up knowing it. I peered through the flickering shadows and light for any sign of what I knew lurked within.
“You know I know you’re here, right? No need to hide!” I yelled toward the ceiling. Above I could hear footsteps, some tittering laughter. And then a smoky white form descended down to the living room below.
“Of course we know,” spoke a feminine voice. Carmen. I jotted that down on the piece of paper beside me. Hopefully some names and the internet would help me put these pieces together. She settled on the couch across from me, vague features moving as if she were smoking something.
Someone else blustered in from the hallway, harrumphing and grousing as usual. George had made his appearance, carrying with him a general air of disorganization and frenzy. And down the way, I could hear giggling. That would be Charity, demonic imp of a girl she was.
“It’s been some time since we’ve had guests,” huffed George as he stirred about the room in agitation.
“Yeah, you may have noticed the rest of the family abandoned the house when Gramps died. No one wanted to keep up the orchard.” There was an uneasy pause in the room, then Carmen spoke.
“A true shame. My Stevie planted that orchard when we first got the land. He spent weeks—“
“I know the history,” I jumped in. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Well, by all means, do enlighten us as to how we might help you,” said Carmen, turning away.
“I’m going to prove to the rest of the family that you all are real. That it was not me who broke the third floor window or started the house fire. That I did not pester the maids until they quit, Charity. One of the sheets rustled and then burst into a fit of giggles. There were a few different laughs in attendance, so we had the entire gaggle here to watch. More names to add to my list.
“But the pranks were too wonderful. You should have seen their faces.”
“So, I have you all on tape now. I want you to explain to me and my family why I was the only one who could see you.”
It was hard not to let my mind wander, let the bitterness billow up. I remembered so many ruined family dinners as I watched ghostly figures sweep around the room. The sharp glances as I was blamed for spit wads, for dropping the potatoes, for leaving the doors open. My protestations had always been dismissed. The taste of soap filled my mouth as I thought of all the punishments for lying, over and over.
They’d have to apologize now.
“So, out with it. Were you all just my personal hell on earth?”
“Such language,” bristled George. “Keep that up and I’ll have Ma Chandler down here to give you a talking to.”
“Please, invite the whole family. I would absolutely love for each of you to take account of your actions here.”
The temperature dropped in the room, pressure building. I could see more and more wispy shapes filtering in, hear the rising bubble of conversation.
“Calm down, everyone,” I heard Dwayne’s authoritative voice rise above others, watched as his shade shifted through the room toward the front. “Now, what’s all this, Trixie?”
“I’m here for a few answers, Dwayne. I want to prove to my family you all exist. I’m recording, and I want you to admit that you were all here and explain why I’m the only one who can see you.”
There was a chorus of response, multiple agreements that the participants were, in fact, real. Dwayne cleared his throat, and the sound died down to make way.
“Of course we’re all here, Trixie. This is still our house. Always will be. As for why you can see us, well…”
I would have had to be blind to not notice the fleeing figures from the room. Carmen stood and pranced straight through the kitchen wall. George mumbled an apology and drifted toward the attic.
Dwayne turned to a far corner. “Kids, I think you should go outside and play.” A thunder of steps tripped one over another, scattering from their hiding spot behind the chair and out onto the veranda. “Now, Trixie, I can answer your questions. But are you sure you want to know? You can’t take back knowledge.”
“Yes, Dwayne, I’m sure. I’ve been sure. Enough of the vagaries and riddles. Just out with it.”
He sat down across from me, close enough that the cool spot around him made the hair on my arm stand on end. I watched as he lifted a hand and tried to place it on mind, but fell through to the table. He cleared his throat again.
“The answer is very simple, actually. You’re the only one who can see us because you’re the only living member of the family who died in the house.”
“Excuse me, what?” I tried to make any part of that make sense, but it all dissolved into nonsense the more I grappled with it.
“Yes, I know this is tough, but you died here. When you were four. It was a game of hide-and-seek with your cousins where you got trapped in the attic. In July. Not a pretty picture.”
“That’s ridiculous, mostly because I am alive. I’m here. I can walk right out of here and not come back.”
“That’s true,” Dwayne conceded.
“So I can’t have died. Besides, I’d remember—“
And as if his words had unlocked something, the images began to filter in. I did remember that corner, dusty and dark. My skin prickled with the feel of sweat on my brow, trailing down into my eyes. Of the dry, scalding heat of the tiny space with no windows and no air. I remembered hammering the door with feeble strength.
“But then how—what—I mean, I’m alive.”
Dwayne nodded slowly. “Mostly, yes.”
“Mostly?” I did not think I could get more unsettled after the initial revelation, but Dwayne was proving full of surprises.
“Well yes. None of us quite know what will happen when you die…again.”
“But how am I alive at all?”
“Uh, well, I’m not sure…”
Carmen intruded again, pushing past Dwayne until she was directly in my face. As usual, the aroma of tobacco wafted after her in a cloud. “Let me handle this. You were never good at the delicate stuff.”
Dwayne stood, stomping away with familiar steps I had heard trod up and downstairs every night I spent here in my youth. Try sleeping through that.
“You see, dear, you were quite young at the time. I mean, very few memories in general. And there was little Maggie. She was about your age when she died, too. But do you know how challenging it can be taking care of a toddler ghost?”
I felt my facing falling into a more and more puzzled expression the longer the pause stretched. Carmen sighed.
“A toddler that can float through walls and ceilings? Who never takes a nap? We saw an opportunity and, well, that was that.”
“What was what? I don’t understand.”
“Well, Trixie died, and Maggie stepped in.”
I pushed away from the table, feeling the room reeling around me. “You’re not saying that—You mean?” I grabbed the back of the chair to steady myself. The dust prickled my eyes and I felt like someone had wrapped a pillow around my head. The world swam. “I’m Maggie? I possessed me.”
“I’m not sure all the ins and outs of it,” interrupted Dwayne, crowding toward the table, “but that seems a succinct encapsulation, yes.”
“But what happened to me? Am I trapped here?”
“Trixie dear,” said Carmen, “you are you. Of course you’re not trapped. You said so yourself, you can leave this place whenever.” Her words were saccharine, as if explaining the obvious to a child.
“No, the real Trixie. Is she—“
Dwayne let out a deep, guttural laugh. “God no. We’d just have traded one problem for another. Since…the original Trixie was not buried here, no spirit.”
“Precisely,” said Carmen in satisfaction.
“Just don’t let them bury you in the orchard when, you know, you die. Again,” added Dwayne as an afterthought.
This was too much, and I felt lunch beginning to squirm upward in my stomach. The house was too hot and too cold, too big and too small. The walls closed in around me while they swallowed me into their emptiness. I reached for the tape recorder.
“Well at least this—“ I froze. The tape in the window was stubbornly still. No whisper of a motor or whine of spooling tape.
“Yes, I had wondered if you meant to have that on,” added Carmen, standing stiffly. “But I do need to be going myself.” Without waiting for a farewell, she dashed from the room. When I looked up, Dwayne was gone to. I could hear the whole crowd bustling around in the other rooms, whispering about what had just happened.
“Of course,” I said to myself. It would always had to have been this way. My lot in life was to be ever unjustified, ever unvindicated.
The last time I saw the house, the door swung shut behind me with a stuffy, “Don’t forget the thing about the orchard.”
Good riddance.
Terse Tales: The Life Cycle
Theme: This place was more prison than paradise.
Waking did not come with the flutter of eyelids, but with the steady brightening of the world. Inwardly, Marcus groaned. Exhausted was a poor word for his experience.
“Welcome to Second Shift,” said a saccharine voice from inside his head. He wanted to jump, but couldn’t.
“Disorientation is common. Don’t worry! You will regain full motor control after initiation.”
Images began to drift across his vision, playing as if on a projected screen. A cheery logo with a clock, the smiling and wholly artificial face of the digital assistant.
“You have died.” There was a chord of sad music as the avatar frowned. “But your second shift begins now.” The smile returned. “During your life, you received advanced payment for your service. Now, your consciousness will help handle the mundane tasks so society may flourish. Second Shift was happy to provide you with a secure, relaxing life. And now you will enjoy a productive afterlife.”
I’m not sure I belong here, he thought. The spokeswoman smiled wider.
“We have documented twenty-seven years of payment. You will work twelve-hour shifts to repay the debt. You may use your off time for rest using any of the pre-programmed modules or request access to your robotic body for travel and approved leisure activities.”
Sensation returned to his limbs, and he found he was seated on a bicycle hitched to a cab. There was a momentary flash of light as a sign activated above his head.
“Available.”
Marcus felt the mad world settle in fully around him, though his artificial body remained perfectly calm. Someone hailed him and his legs began to move.
“Please transport your passengers safely and securely. Any deviation will be met with immediate correction.” The cheery voice never faltered. “Remember, we have your mind; we know your fears.”
The Queen’s Secret
There was a frozen moment as the men rushed toward the throne, swords raised. The guards would never react in time, not from their lazing positions in the wings. In slow motion, I could see the king’s eyes widen, his back straighten, his mouth begin to open in some sort of call.
And then the court was awash in flames. The roars of the would-be attackers dwindled to helpless cries of pain, but even those were cut short. I covered my face, feeling the warmth buffet my cheeks. Yet it was restrained, targeted. When I looked back up, the room was quiet.
King Dorne was in his usual posture, slouched back in the throne with his head balancing perilously on his hand. The guards stared fixedly ahead, hands loose on spears, eyes unfocused. There was nothing of what had happened save a small scattering of ash that, even as I noticed it, was swept up by an errant breeze and scattered.
I glanced around the room. Had I fallen asleep on my feet? The summer air was heavy, the day long. I would not be the first.
And then the Queen made her entrance from the doorway, smiling broadly. She trailed behind her glorious wings in reds that faded to black. As she gestured warmly to the King, I saw soot running along her hands and the delicate fabric of her gown.
The king sat up with a start, wide smile on his face. Even the guards straightened a bit. No one seemed to say anything about the wings. I had been in the court for many years, far more than I like to consider. And I knew for a fact that we had never had a winged queen.
My mouth was on the floor and I felt my heart struggling to escape through it. Her smiling eyes turned toward me and closed to a sliver.
“Ah, so you do have the sight,” her voice whispered in my head as she repositioned a political smile on her lips. As she spoke, I watched her reach and embrace the King, say some kind word. And yet I also knew her gaze had never left mine. Nothing but her voice reached me, trapped in an eddy while the world spun around us.
“Come now,” she said with a veneer of comfort in her voice, “let’s keep this between us. Meet me tonight at midnight in the gardens and I will be happy to explain.”
Like that, the moment snapped and everything settled back into place. She was in her seat, chatting happily with Dorne. The halls bustled with the usual mix of servants and leaders moving to and fro. I smelled dinner cooking, but it mingled with a smell of char I could not shake. Still those wings loomed over everything. And only I looked on in horror.
It was simple to excuse myself with some ill feeling, dash away to my quarters to panic in private. I barely made it into the room before my chest was heaving with breaths I could not expel quickly enough. The room spun and my lunch jostled in my stomach. I collapsed into a chair, holding onto it like an anchor.
As I hiccupped and gasped my way back to lucidity, a thousand possibilities crowded in my mind. I had grown up with the legends like all children. Dragons that gave up much of their power to blend in with mortals. Lingering vestiges of ancient power. In the stories, it was always a band of ne’er-do-wells who happened upon a seemingly hapless traveler and discovered their mistake. A morality tale, meant to discourage violence against those who may appear weaker, I had always thought.
But now?
Or, and I felt a reassuring peace from this thought, I was going mad. My mind had come untethered from this realm and prone to flights of fancy. I fell asleep and the dream bled over. I had been poisoned, perhaps, and would soon fall further victim to its ill effects.
I almost convinced myself not to go out to the gardens in the middle of the night. It was foolish and there would be nothing to show for it. And yet, a doubt writhed through my mind. If I did not go, and if it were true, that might signal my defiance. If I went and there was no one—as of course there would be—I’d know the answer lay somewhere in the mundane.
And so, the tolling bells of midnight found me standing at the entrance to the gardens. Late night smells of rose and jasmine drifted in the evening breezes. I could hear the guards calling and marching, but even they seemed far away.
The sound of soft-soled shoes on the cobblestone path turned me toward the Queen. She stood as a silhouette against the night, returned now to her usual image. I felt my heart rate slow. I had imagined it. Here she was, flesh and bone, no wings to show.
“Have you always known you had the sight?” She examined a rose as she spoke, words carrying to me on the breeze.
“I—“ My mouth was dry and tongue felt as if it filled my entire mouth. “I don’t know what you mean, milady.”
Her mouth curled into a smile and she met my gaze. I saw a flash in her eyes, something reptilian that took over the pupils, and then the wings returned.
My heart stopped. My breath stopped. The world stopped.
Then she spoke. “Come now. We both know what happened. I have been hidden for so long, though I suspected you. Never once did you give away you could see beyond the Veil.”
“I don’t know that I can. I mean, I’ve always had a gut feeling about things. Maybe a good hunch—“ Words tumbled over one another in a race out of my lips.
“Which is why you’ve been such a helpful advisor all these years.” She walked forward, cool smile on her face.
“I suppose. I only want what is best for the king. For the kingdom.”
The Queen stopped and nodded her head. “Aye, I can see that in you. Loyal and honest.”
I nodded in return. Those seemed like good things, but her voice had the air of a judge reading off a sentence.
“Do you know who those men were today?” she asked.
“They said they were envoys from a mining village.”
“Yes, they did. But we both know that was a lie, don’t we? They were assassins from the Southwest Isles. They would have disrupted everything.”
“And you killed them. You protected the King?”
She considered this for a moment. “I suppose so. We have the same goals, you and me.”
“We do?”
This was the first genuine smile I had seen from her since it began. “Of course. You are so suspicious. “ Her hand touched my arm and I felt a ripple of primitive terror race through me. If my feet weren’t rooted to the spot, I would have fled straight to the ocean myself. “I only want what is best for the kingdom. Do you know why?”
My head shook on my neck, bobbling side to side as if flapping in a windstorm.
“Every dragon needs its treasure. Your little kingdom is mine.” She stepped closer, now only inches away. I could smell smoke and sulfur on her breath, see a warm light glowing from within her. “And I will destroy anyone who tries to take it from me.”
Her eyes were mesmerizing. Again, they shifted from human to something foreign. I felt those eyes plunge deep inside me, searching out all my secrets and darknesses. Every moment of me was laid bare in that garden. Then she resurfaced with a satisfied nod.
“I believe,” the word stretched out as an offering and a threat, “we can come to an arrangement. You keep my secret, I let you live, and you rest comfortable in the fact I will destroy anyone who tries to harm the prosperity we are building here. “
I nodded, then stammered out an answer beneath her demanding look. “Understood, milady. I won’t tell a soul.” They’d think me mad anyway, I thought but did not say.
She turned on her heel and started back down the path. Before she ducked below the archway of the palace walls, she paused. “It is good to have an ally with such…perspective. I may have need of you in the future.”
Her wings dipped to enter the walkway, and then she was just another shadow moving along the palace in the late hours. I fell to my knees and sat there until the morning sun broke me from my reverie.
We were safe, of course. Weren’t we?
Terse Tales: Purpose
Theme: This place was more prison than paradise.
Death came…predictably. Cypsoo had felt the end approaching through her body. After a week in bed with only failing strength to show for it, she had made peace with the facts.
And now she opened her eyes in paradise. There was warmth on the breeze, the distant sound of birdsong. She sat up, elated by the ease of the motion. It had been decades since she had moved so freely.
While she beamed with joy, something was off. Around her, others trudged onward, faces drawn and gray. No one paid her any mind.
“Hello,” she called out; no response. Cypsoo got to her feet, reveling in the springy earth beneath her. Continued greetings were met by her fellow dead with a glance, then retreat. And so she made her way to a makeshift structure nestled beneath leafy trees. There, people congregated about a fire, not making eye contact.
She approached a woman crouched to tend the flames.
“Hello.”
The woman looked up and sneered. “You look happy. New here?”
“I just arrived.”
The woman raised her eyebrows, but remained transfixed by her task.
“What’s going on?” Cypsoo tried again. “Is this not paradise?”
“It is, I guess,” the woman replied with a sigh. “I’ve been here so long. It never ends.”
“Isn’t that good?” Cypsoo could not keep the quaver of fear from her voice. But this was her reward, fear was not supposed to intrude. She scavenged deep within to find promised peace.
“You would think, yes. Years of perfection. Always sunny. Not a thing needed.” Bitterness dripped from the words.
Cypsoo looked anew at the others, how their directionless steps wore paths in the lush grass.
“Perfection is madness,” said the woman with finality, and turned her back.
Cypsoo suddenly felt cold despite the ever present warmth above.
Animal, Mineral, or Vegetable?
College campuses had been bloodbaths in the beginning. Take a bunch of “adults” who are struggling to survive on their own, cram them together, unleash a deadly zombie virus. If you’ve ever seen a stomach bug sweep through a dorm, you can imagine the carnage. While rich with resources, it was a death sentence.
Only now, months after the beginning, did I feel confident to walk past the bloodied sign and try to scavenge something useful. They had a pharmacy on campus. Might as well be a literal goldmine.
Still, the campus was not abandoned. Nowhere was. Now that the swarming was over, it was as if someone had lifted the entire population of the world, shaken them, and distributed the remains across the globe. When shelter was not a consideration, population density had a strange way of evening out.
I limped between buildings, nursing an injury from the last close call. Zombies were easy to outrun and outsmart, as long as you paid attention. Humans, on the other hand.
I shook my head and tried to stay focused. I could hear some shuffling and groaning from near the quad, so ducked behind an assortment of classrooms. It opened onto another green space, more enclosed than the rest of campus, but lit happily with a beam of afternoon light. A tattered sign, once laminated and crisp, proclaimed it the community garden.
Overgrown grasses, rustling leaves. A haven for snakes and other pests. I went to go around.
“You may want to go another way. Linebacker’s been hanging by the admin building for a few days, and I think I heard him bellowing this morning.”
I looked around for someone who could respond, senses on high alert. My hand had flown to the machete at my side without a thought.
“Thanks for that. Where are you, friend?” I asked as my eyes scanned the tops of the surrounding buildings. There were a number of good vantage points. I felt my skin start to crawl with the imagined feeling of eyes on me.
“Oh, I’m down here. Just under the tomatoes.”
The voice carried a calm, copacetic tone that I recalled from smoky rooms and late nights. I pushed forward into the garden, using the machete to sweep away the tallest of the growths.
“Hey, careful with that. I’m trying to help and you’re here slicing my arms off.”
Finally, the stranger appeared. It was a muddled form mostly buried in the dirt. There was a head and a neck, and I could start to follow the torso, but after a few inches it was hard to tell what was ground and what was pallid body. A few paces over, there was a leg, and my eyes traveled the same path into vegetation.
“What the hell?” I said. I had seen a lot, but this…
“Nice to meet you, too. Gee, they said my generation was the one without manners.” It chuckled, eyes blinking slowly in the warmth.
“Are you…what are you?”
I watched the top of the shoulders rise and fall in what might have been a shrug. “They used to call me Jay. But then I got bit, then hacked into pieces, and then when spring came…” He waggled his head toward the blooming plants and vegetation, “I grew back with them.”
“So you’re a zombie.” I shifted in my hand, firming my grip and setting my jaw. I hated this part, but life depended on it.
“I mean, maybe. But none of those zombies can talk. And none of them can grow all of this. And none of them are vegetarian,” Another strange wiggle that might have been a shrug. “Animal, mineral, or vegetable? Maybe I’m all three.” He giggled again at this and watched me, waiting for a response. When I remained stone-faced, he composed himself.
“So you don’t eat people?”
“Nah, girl, I was a veggie-bro before all of this. Had a little lapse there for a bit, but we’re good now.”
There was a commotion from around the building, something colliding with what sounded like garbage cans. The world’s most state of the art alarms nowadays. I ducked as Jay shushed me.
“Ah, shit. That’s probably linebacker listening to me yap. He always comes around to investigate when I start talking.”
True to the prediction, a hulking figure stumbled from between the shadowy building, lumbering into the sunlight with a look of confusion. He sniffed the air and then started toward my hiding spot.
“Bro, I told you to keep out. You start stomping all my vines and it takes me days to recover.” As Jay spoke, I watched the vines begin to wiggle along the ground and snake toward the approaching zombie. They reached his feet, looping around a few times, and then snapped with a flick. I watched as the trespasser rose into the air and then flew back out of the protected space.
A thud, hollow and rotten sounding, followed by a groan.
“Maybe I broke his leg this time. Keep him from wandering,” muttered Jay. The vines that had dealt with the zombie continued along toward the wall, racing up and weaving back and forth across the opening to form a temporary wall. “There,” he said with a satisfied sigh.
“Thank you,” I said as I stood from my hiding spot. Jay smiled with the one half of his face that worked properly.
“Don’t mention it. I haven’t had visitors in a while.”
“But you said Linebacker comes around when you talk.” My suspicions shot up, immediately suspecting betrayal. Everyone lies.
Jay laughed, a sound that doubled and tripled on itself as the echo bounced around the small space. It went on longer than it should have, but his joy seemed genuine. “Oh yeah,” he finally said as the laughter subsided, “I’ve been talking to myself for months. I named that tree over there Chuck, and we talk about the weather. Today’s sunny, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“How long have you been alone?”
“You know, I can’t really write down the days or anything. Long enough for all of this to grow. I’ve only seen one season, though, so no more than a few months. But y’know, solitary is inhumane punishment.”
I nodded and eyed the other open exit. I knew he could snag me if he wanted, so it was going to require some quick thinking on my part. The soil beneath me shifted a little, rumbling back toward Jay’s head.
“But I’m sure you weren’t here for me.” There was a sad, wistful look in his eyes as he smiled. “Can I give you directions?”
“Pharmacy?”
I watched as vines and stems coalesced into an image, an aerial map of the school. A pale yellow squash flower bloomed before me. “We’re here,” Jay said with resignation. Another blossom appeared across the image. “Pharmacy’s there. You’ll want to avoid the main quad, but I think Kellman’s been pretty empty for the past few weeks. No food to be had, so the shuffling horde moved on. It’s here,” a third blossom, “and might make a good shortcut.”
I looked between Jay and the exit. On the one hand, this was a deadly zombie who might appear reasonable, but who would almost certainly eat me. On the other hand, he had also protected me. And given me directions. And he said he was vegetarian. Though, that might make him a cannibal, and the thought of the taboo gave me pause. I was pretty sure eating people was worse than veggie-cannibalism, but that was a thought that would have to wait for more peaceful time.
“Do you mind if I come back here? After the pharmacy?”
His face brightened and the greenery around me seemed to stand a little taller. “Really? You’d come back?”
“Sure, maybe chat. You can give me the intel on the area?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I watched runners shoot along the ground and toward the openings, diving under buildings and twisting around obstacles.
“Yeah, definitely. I’ll keep an ear to the ground—“ he broke into a brief chuckle, the composed himself again, “—and get all the lowdown.”
“Deal,” I said, and walked out of the sheltered space, back into the open world. But it was hard not to see the new growth springing up around me as I went, flowers watching my progress along the campus.
Allies were hard to come by. You often end up having to kill them. But maybe, though it was foolish to hope, this was a place I could take root.
Terse Tales: Another Saturday Night
Theme: Song: Warrior by Atreyu ft. Travis Barker
The punch connected with Chuck’s face, and he made a convincing fall to the floor. The concrete was sticky, but cool. He lay there, hoping they would accept their win and move on.
Nope.
Instead, a boot swung in to meet his stomach. He curled inward and let out a practiced “urgh.” Another came, and he repeated the act.
Standing up was an option, but that brought questions. Why aren’t you still bleeding? Where’s the broken nose? How’d you do that?
He’d rather the brawlers wear themselves out and leave. Not like they were actually hurting anyone.
But then he heard a voice raise toward someone else, the slap of another body hitting the floor.
Chuck grabbed the boot before it could land again, smoothly transitioning his attacker from standing to the floor. The man lay in a stunned puddle.
In a few strides, Chuck crossed the bar and peeled off the other goon, flinging him toward the door. It swung wide to aid in his involuntary escape.
Pests cleared, Chuck righted a table and pulled over a chair. He scooped up the unfortunate and woozy patron and deposited him in the seat.
“Lucy, he’s going to need a drink.”
There was a clink of glass behind the bar, followed by the glug of something strong. Chuck found another chair in reasonable condition, pulling it up for himself.
“Make that two.”
She brought the drinks over, eyeing him with a mix of appreciation and irritation. “I ought to start charging you for repairs,” she said with a long exhale.
“Hey, I never start it.” He emptied the glass in a gulp as his seated companion stared in shock.
“But you could end them before they destroy the place.”
Chuck shrugged, emptying the other glass to avoid waste. “Too many questions.”
Terse Tales: The Last Quiet Moments
Theme: Jungle
You feel the unfamiliarity crawl over you before your eyes open. This is wrong. This is not a place you know. The air here is heavy, burgeoning with a storm on the horizon. Even now, you can feel that twitch of cool in the air, a hint on the breeze signifying something is coming. Fear and pain race through your skull in turn.
Your eyes open to darkness.
This isn’t the darkness of camp, lit by firelight and torches. This is pure, where only the moon could hope to pierce. Only she has disappeared behind a horde of clouds, their silver edges the sole reminder that light still exists.
The smell of soil and heavy vegetation confirm your suspicions. But how? Your mind races, playing over any scrap of information you can recall. You know you set camp, tents sprawling out like a plague infesting the jungle. Cabot had promised you were close to the goal, probably an easy trek by nightfall. And he had turned in early while you sat by the fire…
Then someone raised the alarm. He was missing, along with the talisman.
Panic, yells, a flurry of activity. You raced off into the darkness. You had to stop him before—
What exactly? Something had clicked into place in the firelight that now danced hazily away. Your head pounds, and the matted stickiness reveals the rest of the story.
Only a fool sprints through unfamiliar jungle at night.
Unless there was no other choice. Unless everything hung in the balance.
In the distance, something splits the darkness, a sickly light that tugs at your bones. There is a chorus of unnatural howls, soon drowned out by the panicked squeals of the sleeping jungle now woken.
You don’t have to know the creatures to know the message.
Run.
To the Moon and Back
I had traveled far enough that the stars made unfamiliar shapes within the viewport. My landmarks and guideposts had failed a few hops back, and I was navigating on hope alone.
“This is the location of the final ping?”
“Yes. This is the last known location.” The finality in the computer’s words drove the feeling of sorrow deeper. I knew it was hopeless when I purchased the ship and plotted the course. Now here, the enormity of my undertaking fell upon me.
What now?
The emptiness stretched around me. There was no clue as to what had unfolded next. She had sent me the usual videoburst, full of smiles and wanderlust. When she missed the next scheduled upload, I attributed it to a hiccup in her itinerary.
But dread grew alongside the yawning silence after. Now it swam fully formed around me, threatening to choke me off from everything.
“Computer, scan for any objects with the mass of The Starskipper or larger within a half lightyear.”
I studied the dark expanse as if I could see the answer. The vastness mocked me. When looking for a needle in a haystack, at least you could burn the hay away. How did one compete with the eternity of space?
It would take time for the computer to complete a thorough scan, so I went to my quarters. I lay down, mind filling the emptiness with every hope and fear that I had carried with me. I’d asked for her at so many waystations and received so many sympathetic smiles in return. If this was a dead-end…
The computer chimed and broke through the dark thoughts crowding around me.
“Scan complete. Seven objects found. One debris field, three mid-sized asteroids, one planet, two orbiting moons.”
“Display results on the screen.”
The assorted details of each location appeared before me. The answer was in there, but I did not know what key would decipher the code.
“Plot an interception course along all waypoints, shortest travel distance.”
With a chime, the computer complied, and I felt acceleration kick in.
Three disappointing stops later, we neared the planet and its moons. My best chance lay on the planet itself; at least there was hope for a controlled crashland. I gave the command to scan the planet.
It would take three repetitions for my mind to grasp the response. “Bio and energy signals located. Should I route a landing pattern?”
“Yes,” I finally answered in a bare whisper.
I watched as the planet, pale pink and hazy, coalesced into something solid. Cliffs and rocks appeared. And then wreckage along a scorched path in the earth, ending at a heap of rubble.
I was at the hatch before the ship settled, knowing it would still take time to go through protocols to disembark. I studied the makeshift shelter before me, imagining signs of life in every blink of my landing lights.
As my hatch opened, a curtain moved to the side from the cobbled-together lean-to and a figure stepped out to meet me. The sight of her gun found me before her eyes, but then it clattered forgotten to the ground.
“Laurel?”
“You forgot to call home, so I thought you might need help.”
Terse Tales: Bounty of the Forgotten Earth
Theme: Image: The Robot Graveyard
Myra worked the loamy soil as she always had, fingers digging deep to retrieve the bounty. Another harvest was at hand, and she diligently scraped the metal clean to reveal what the earth had swallowed.
Sweat dripped down her face as she uncovered the figure. It looked intact, but looks were deceiving. And Myra had reached her fill of liars. No use in getting her hopes up, not until the diagnostics. She’d follow protocol as she had for decades.
Birds swooped and sang above her in the canopy, calls equally praising the beautiful day and scolding the old intruder in their midst. Myra half-listened to them. As long as they continued, everything was fine. Silence or a ruckus would be her first sign of danger.
The sun was heavy in the sky when she uncovered the final robotic limb. It lay like a corpse, still caked in mud. But the connection ports were accessible. She linked her data pad and reviewed the results. Her intuition was right; the machine should still work. Nimble fingers retrieved a charge pack from her bag and swapped it into the spot behind its eyes. They blinked open with telltale flashes. Four blue, three red.
“Defense programming, eh?”
The machine whirred, servos clicking as it freed itself from the muck. The stilted, artificial voice broke the natural peace of the glen. “I am programmed in defensive and offensi—“
Myra waved a hand and shushed the robot. “Defense is what I need.” Her fingers spun over the screen, inputting a series of commands. “You’ll be patrolling the perimeter for me. Maybe see if you can catch a few deer for dinner.”
The eyes blinked in quick succession, registering the command. Then the metal figure hulked away, and Myra turned to the next lump in the mud.
Atticus's Attic 
Recent Comments