“I’ve been told that you have some very special… abilities,” Madeline Collins said, her eyes darting about the room as she tried not to squirm. She was used to finer homes, but this house was one notch above a trailer park.
“I suppose you could say that,” Val Owens replied, taking a sip
The Great Wall of China. Hadrian’s Wall. Their builders weren’t just trying to keep the enemy out. They were safeguarding what was within. Secrets of the night. Joy. Laughter.
Only a fool would leave the safety of his walled city to risk exposure and capture.
Which is why I should never have come to
Announcing the winners of the “Remember January” flash fiction contest!
Read it now
Get comfortable, my exquisite Snowflake. I have a story to tell.
My tale begins with a meandering stroll through a chilly, moonlit forest. As I wandered, families slumbered in cozy cottages, blissfully unaware that dawn’s golden light would soon reveal intricate patterns on their windowpanes, an icy gift from none other than myself, Jack Frost.
Ten minutes to midnight, the arrow sliced through the window. Glass sprayed. An arrowhead thumped, piercing the wall an inch away from my right eye. I dropped to the floor, army crawled toward the shotgun on the coffee table, and pumped a round into the chamber.
With the weapon ready, I slunk toward
“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!”
I admit I screamed the words: “If there ever was a time to speak up when the minister says that bit about why this couple shouldn’t be joined together in holy matrimony, it was to tell him you’d turn into a rat on our honeymoon!”
“I thought that was just for the people
The doorman of the Marriott Marquis drew the doors, revealing a grand crystal chandelier. I smoothed imaginary wrinkles from my royal blue cocktail dress—a far cry from my shabby barista’s apron.
I tucked a lock of my long, dark hair behind one ear. Just breathe. My black heels clicked unevenly across the threshold
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.
“Is this gonna hurt?” A wet bead crept down my neck. I wiped it off. Smeared it across my T-shirt.
“No more than a broken heart.” Magnus gave a boisterous laugh.
I forced a smile. Scary-lookin’ dude. He could do more than hurt me.
The bald behemoth winked, then sat next to me,
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.
My consciousness slowly absorbed the sounds and images around me. I’d been summoned. I floated above the scene, an incorporeal presence. Until a creator conjured me into a physical form, I remained an observer of the world around me.
“Hurry, Jinny, we have to finish before we go to school!”
“I just opened the
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