My stomach churned when I saw the cabbie that’d driven me to last night’s ball. The paunchy man hadn’t noticed me yet as he took off his cap, revealing the horrid bald spot that his dark, shoulder-length hair surrounded. I took a deep breath.
A bird landed on a mailbox nearby and squawked rather
Yuletide never ceases to remind me of the day I ruined everything.
The wind chills me, and I shiver in spite of thick fur. I stare from my tower balcony to the snowscape below.
I hold the lute in my clawed hands. Living and enchanted, he had once been my father’s minstrel.
Last cookie of the night—store-bought, but still tasty. Washed it down with a sip of milk. After so many stops, one cookie was really all I could bear to eat without it all coming back up. But the night was over. Wearily, I climbed back into the sleigh and didn’t even need to
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The snowstorm hit without warning, and out of its white curtain, the stag king appeared. From the sides of his head, antlers towered above elongated ears. His impressively broad shoulders bore the mantle of a white deer hide, and he stood a good two feet taller than my average frame. The rest
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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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I cruise the upscale neighborhood looking for parking. Finding nothing near the estate sale, I settle for a space a block over.
Great, I’ll have to carry Craig’s junk all this way. My pace slows as I round the block. Pulling out my phone, I choose a filter and take a selfie in front
The other thieves whisper that I’m cursed. Dangerous, like all unknowns. They say I’m cold as ice. Heartless. They call me Sixth—a nickname I’d earned in my initiation into their gang—not the name my mother gave her son.
To them, I’m nothing more than the mask I’ve presented.
They might be right.
“How old are you, boy?” the elderly gardener asked, leaning on his pitchfork. Heat rushed to my cheeks, making me feel redder than the orchard’s ripe apples surrounding us. “S-seven and ten.” He grunted, eyeing me up and down before extending the implement. “So, nobody else wanted you at the orphanage?” Pain jabbed my chest as I accepted the handle.
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When I spotted Sarah Becker enjoying a meal at Luigi’s outdoor café, I ignored my better judgement and approached her. When she saw me coming, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Detective Jordan. If you remember, my charges over the Gode Tech heist were dismissed.”
I set down a yellowed photograph featuring a man wearing a suit…
Time has fallen into silence.
I can still remember when it happened that early spring day; the way the light went out and my soul trembled. When life snatched away my bride and children. The day I lost my world. I trudged through the dark forest; the last rays of sunlight spilling in through the canopy of trees
I was only seven when Aunt Toni tried to find her own fountain of youth, so some of the technical details are a little fuzzy. For instance, I can’t remember the name of the anti-aging cream Helena Rubenstein made, but I know that this once-great cosmetics company sold it for big bucks since it was reputed to restore your skin to that of a newborn babe.
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Let’s get one thing straight: I hate Pinocchio. It’s because of that dumb puppet we celebrate Pinocchio Day on April 1st, where everyone tries to see how many lies and pranks they can get away with. That’s fun—but then comes Honesty Day.
See, the Blue Fairy who brought Pinocchio to life felt slighted that he—and others—reveled in lying on April 1st.
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