“Come on, man!” Damon protested. “I asked off for tomorrow night!”
“I know, but Zach was supposed to be your fill-in, and nobody’s seen him for two days. Like he fell off the face of the earth. Surprised he lasted this long.” Mr. Corman smirked, his eyes inscrutable behind thick spectacles.
By Alicia Peterson When my grandkids ask about the Halloween Blizzard Invasion of ’91, I do what everyone my age does. I lie through my teeth. “Did Great-Grandpa Dave really let you run the flamethrower?” Six-year-old Nora asks the same question every time. I can practically see fire reflected in her hungry eyes as she
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My eyes gleamed with satisfaction. For tonight’s ritual, I’d spent months selecting the proper wax, melting it over the mystical fire, and pouring it into heirloom molds. I’d spared no effort to ensure that every detail was perfect. The result?
Twisted white tapers in the candelabras shone serenely over the dining room table…
Wishes drifted past my balcony in a dreamy river of light. If only I could make more than a handful of them reality.
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat as I looked down through the host of floating lanterns at the streets below. It was impossible to see even a scrap…
Samuel T. Clemens stared down the white sugar slope. He had a task before him that would cause many a man’s knees to melt. Not him though; he wasn’t some soft butterscotch cookie. No, his was a legacy of proud, hard, gingerbread men.
Samuel’s piercing green frosting eyes measured the distance. “Come on!”
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