Mom used to tell us stories about October on the Old Planet. Like clockwork, the autumn breeze would billow across the valley, tugging leaves from their branches and filling the yard with ember orange and gold. She’d gather them into piles for her siblings to launch into, the foliage crunching and crackling beneath…
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You may have heard that many of the legendary cures for lycanthropy aren’t worth the yellowed parchment they’re scrawled on. Well, friend, buy me some ale, and I’ll spin a yarn about that very same supernatural libation. It may seem fantastic, but I swear ’tis true. And I’ve got a feeling that once I finish…
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My glasses fog, smearing the police tape into a fluttering yellow ribbon against the forest. Sunlight cuts across my cheek, but it can’t shake the chill under my skin. I’m shivering as Andersen finishes the report.
“The kids disappeared, just like…” He glances at me, concern thick as molasses.
I sip my latte.
The holes in the bottom of my shoes don’t irk me no more. My feet had gotten tough even before all this walking. ’Cause when the honeybees got sick—Mama said they was dropping like flies—food got scarce. People got hungry and then sick like them honeybees. And when people didn’t know…
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I’ve been stuck in this cave for three days. Trapped by a wildergar. Once in a while, I peek through a crack between the barrier stone and the cave wall to see her—the largest and most terrifying of the mountain cats.
Her fur floats around her like feathers as she paces back and forth…
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