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…
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.
“I’d like one pixie-sized pumpkin spice latte, please.” I flash a smile, though my voice still flutters like broken wings. “Oh, and extra whipped cream.”
The barista accepts my coins and scribbles my order—the same one my sister and I used to share, before she left for college.
Has Willow really only been gone for two months?
Wisely they leave graves open for the dead
‘cos some too early are brought to bed.
I flung the last shovel of dirt over my shoulder and climbed out of the hole. Tossing the shovel to the ground, I wiped my hands on a handkerchief from my back pocket.
“How many more this week?” I asked.
“What time is it?” The question echoed through the chamber, more command than query.
A cacophony of voices answered, “It’s time for Wise Wizard Warry’s Show!”
Screeches rose from a group of witches in front while a trio of centaurs yelled in a husky baritone in the back. Between them a hundred other species…
It was so peaceful, there in the lake, that it was a long time before I noticed I was dead. The green water was cold with autumnal chill yet gentle like the sweetest embrace. I drifted in it among the tall water plants and funny little fishes, humming to myself and thinking of…
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So, I did something stupid.
A barn cat’s number one rule is simple: catch the rats, leave the chickens alone. It’s not a hard rule to follow. Chickens are mean. The ones with the larger combs threaten to kill me just for walking by—rude considering I protect their nests from rats.
“We risked going to prison for a flashlight?” Big Ricky’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. Meager light from a flickering yellow streetlamp outlined the alley’s brick wall and a dumpster off to the side. A brisk September breeze swept past them as Ricky and Jimmy crept down the alley. You wouldn’t have guessed…
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I stand on the Goldberry Bridge, glaring at last week’s newspaper. “Good Boy, Ace!” the headline declares. Everyone in Tuttlesburgh thinks Ace is a heroic golden retriever responsible for dramatic river rescues. But there’s more to the story. I think it’s a ruse, and Ace himself is at the center of it.
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Ever since I read through fifty-six Nancy Drew books in one summer at age eleven, I’ve wanted to be a detective. Five years later I got my first case. What I hadn’t imagined was that my first case would be the mystery of my own disappearance.
After my older brother Levi learned…
“Nina,” whispered Greg. “We shouldn’t be out here at night.”
“Go home, Greg. I never asked you to come.” She walked on, the water continuously lapping around her ankles.
“If Mum finds out, we’ll be in huge trouble.”
“Well, it’s a good thing she won’t find out, isn’t it?” She spun around and glared at her little brother.
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