Henry stared wide-eyed at the top of his tent. Was Gerald’s snoring growing louder? Sighing, he crawled from his sleeping bag and unzipped the flap. Memories of campfire smoke and burnt hotdogs clung to the crisp night air. His stomach growled.
“Might as well have a midnight snack,” Henry muttered. “No use…
I really don’t like me.
That sounds harsh. What I mean is I don’t like past-Trudy who sacrificed herself and got me into this mess.
Could I see this other me doing the things Mr. Blue explained? Entering a bubble to save people I didn’t know? Or love? Yep. It tracks.
But that still
Sir Gregory stepped out from behind the overturned table, dusted the ash off his boots, and exhaled in relief. Not even a scuff on the shiny leather. He ran fingers over his cape made from a manticore’s pelt. That, too, was as luxurious as ever. He stared through the broken wall at the departing
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After my brother Barney and I complete the second wrapping of tinsel, we spread out Mami’s lock-lid ornament tubs.
Barney nudges me. “So, Arnold, any thoughts on the job offer? I know, you’re an”—faux crystal bell in each hand, he air-quotes—“entrepreneur. You can still be your own boss. A boss that
“Ma’am, we have an issue.” My mousy assistant Anne cleared her throat, approaching my leather chair.
I waved my pen at her before I continued counting sums. “Go on, then.”
“It’s…” Anne gulped. “Scrooge.”
I peered over the edge of my pince-nez glasses. “What about Scrooge? He’s sufficiently corrupted.” I tapped his name
Tacos.
I woke from a delicious dream of seasoned meats and melted cheese. Hazily, I grappled for my phone and tried to focus my still-bleary eyes. Of course I was dreaming of tacos. It’s Taco Tuesday.
Or it should be Taco Tuesday, but for me there would be no carnitas wrapped in soft,
The ring winked in the pale evening light, mocking me for my foolishness. Sure, I didn’t know the difference between a faceted sapphire and a chipped piece of glass, but I’d reasoned such a pretty trinket was worth at least a loaf of bread.
Unfortunately, the baker disagreed. His face was an ugly shade
Most people are skeptical when they hear a sentient cake has a PI’s license, but get your picture in the paper enough, and you begin to gain credibility with a capital C. That, and the delicious smell of my chocolate ganache, is how Agatha Vanderbruin Von Marnestein found her way to my office.
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“This is all your fault,” a robotic voice growled.
Mark glanced in the rearview mirror at the cream-colored Himalayan. Though Zeus looked pitiful splayed across the backseat, eyes droopy and tummy bulging, Mark felt little sympathy. “How is this my fault?”
“You left that cake on the counter,” Zeus whined. His translation collar blinked
Saturday night in the World Capital Hospital’s Emergency Department is often full of surprises. Maybe the biggest came when Earth’s President, Derek Percy, was wheeled in strapped to a gurney after trying to claw his own face off. As the chief resident of the Emergency Department, it fell to me to investigate.
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Matt Caterpillar raised his guitar, looked out across the crowd at the Garbage Bowl, and heard crickets. And ants. And roaches, beetles, and myriad other insects—all cheering for him and his band.
As he strummed the opening chords of their new ear-worm hit, “Gimme Some Leaves,” he marveled at their
It smelled like apricot. Actually, more like an apricot that had been left on the counter for a month, and then shoved in the corner of the fruit drawer, where ethylene gas had rotted a month’s worth of produce.
Dr. Daniel Leslie stood in the science building at Blaylock University after receiving…
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