“I had been planning to spend my afternoon curled up by the fire with a good book and a cup of tea.” I picked a crumbling burnt-orange leaf out of my hair and tossed it to the ground. “Instead, I’m tramping through the woods on the hunt for an imaginary monster because you didn’t want to go on your own.”
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In the dense forests outside one of the last Earth cities that survived the great atomic war, the underground revolution continues. Centuries after the war, the once-vibrant landscape is now filled with towering ruins and abandoned machinery. The grim reminders of humanity’s past mistakes are being reclaimed by lush greenery that slowly fades into its fall colors.
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“Five minutes to midnight, folks!” I called out, my voice echoing in the grand workshop. “Get your lists ready and stretch those fingers. It’s going to be a wild ride!”
Black Friday was nearly the busiest day of the year, second only to Christmas. As Head Elf of the Technology Department, I had transformed
Dion isn’t yet twenty-four hours old, and he’s causing more problems in real life than he does in my story.
The six-foot-six holographic Atlantean warrior snorts, scanning the conference crowd. “These posers reek of weak character arcs and chosen-one tropes.”
“That’s rude,” I whisper.
“This place is crawling with tropes.” Dion points at people
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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October 29. National Cat Day. Once a holiday for sharing feline photos on social media but now a day of remembrance. The day I singlehandedly averted an interplanetary crisis and the world changed forever.
It started out as a normal, autumn morning. Felix and I had just finished breakfast on the patio.
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!”
“My dear Jean-Luc, this is an essential part of the holiday,” Victor clapped me on the back, steering me past hay bales and piles of pre-cut pumpkins, heading deeper into the patch. “We select a pumpkin, then carve a design into it, and display it on the front stoop.”
I scowled and stared out over the field of orange and green.
“Great,” Mo mutters. “Our plans for watching Star Trek reruns are botched.”
“Full moons always occur on the most inconvenient nights,” I sigh.
We hurry around the facility gathering werewolf hunting supplies. Mo fetches the night vision goggles and thermal imaging cameras. Dad goes for the silver net and wolfsbane tranquilizer guns.
I studied the young gnome slouching in the chair before me and forced myself to keep a straight face. Today, Tilli had come dressed as a mushroom. A large dome-shaped hat hid all but a few pink wisps of her hair.
This should be interesting. I adjusted my glasses. “How can I help you today, Tilli?”
I panted, clutching my side as I pressed my back into the parking garage wall. I stared down at the bloody gash across my forearm. Dark veins branched from the cut.
My head spun. I was infected. I studied the progression of the dark veins. Veining became obvious in Stage Two? Stage Three?
The pen is mightier than the sword, they say. What they forgot to add is that the pen is often meaner, too.
“You wench! Do not put me beside that foul beast.” Pride and Prejudice squirmed in my hand, its pages fluttering as though it wanted to fly away. In honor of Canadian Library
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