“You really want to attend The Cupid’s Cafe Single Mingle?” Marguerite folded her arms and arched an eyebrow. “What about our girl’s night? Hunting monsters and slaying vampires?”
“We do that every year, and most weekends. Let’s try something new?” I clasped my hands and gave her exaggerated puppy-dog eyes. “Please!”
Here’s a fact: Santa Claus isn’t one person. He was, once, as far as we can tell, but now, he’s five, and they go by S.A.N.T.A.
Sven, Antonio, Nielson, Tantony, and Archibald—Five, because expecting one man to do all they do in one night is ridiculous, even if he did have magic to help.
Saturday, February 22, my junior year of high school, was the most memorable day of my life—and the president’s.
It started the night before, when I was in my room doing trigonometry homework and listening to a replay of President Lance Quagmire’s afternoon press conference. I had to shut it off.
Groundhogs are the worst—but not for the reasons you might think. Sure, they’re annoying pests. And they have a talent for wrecking my yard and tearing up my carefully tended garden. But my hatred for the large rodent stems from something far greater: their deviousness.
It all started when Mayor Jones decided
“Hemorrhoids.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I buried my face in the menu. It wouldn’t be the first time my darling Joe had embarrassed me in an elegant restaurant like Tony’s. I’d just hoped our forty-ninth anniversary might be an exception.
“Hemorrhoids!” Joe announced. A few patrons side-eyed each other.
I lifted my face slightly and…
In my defense, when the aliens have the size and consistency of ketchup packets, it’s very easy to forget one in a flight suit pocket.
You know, that little bicep pocket where you stash the neural-connection ear buds?
On top of that, we’d been celebrating Zenibrian New Year—which is a pretty big deal…
I perched in the trees with my flock, waiting for the land walkers to leave. The tourists had nicknamed our home Murder Island ever since we chose to inhabit it. My name is Maximillian, but my crow brothers called me Boss.
Twilight painted the sky orange and pink as the last two…
Let me preface by saying I didn’t mean to get cursed into a dragon.
It just sort of happened. When your father wages a surprise attack against a rival enchantress queen, curses are bound to occur.
All in all, I thought my father got off easily. Invade a neighboring country, get a cursed son.
I leaned against the fence, my jaw hanging open. Am I dreaming or drunk? “Dr. Conley, you said you needed a sheepdog for your flock.”
He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Exactly. From what I’ve heard, Mr. Ferguson, that border collie of yours is the best in the business.
When I was a kid, teleworking and remote learning didn’t exist. If the snow fell hard and fierce, we got a snow day. Meaning, no work for the grown-ups, no school for the kids. Heavenly bliss! That’s why, in 1983, I caused one of the biggest blizzards in New York City history.
Read it now
“My name is Jean-Luc Beaufoy. I am a vampire. I am old enough that it is impolite to ask how old I am, and these are my memoirs.”
I scowl at the words illuminated on the screen. What a boring way to start a story. Informative, yet lacks pizzazz.
Every January, for one week, the North Pole sleeps. Elf families tuck in with enough firewood to last, the kitchen elves pass out reheatable frozen meals prepared before the break, and if an elf so desires, he doesn’t have to see another soul for seven blissful days.
This is my favorite week…
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