The real and imaginative adventures of Dennis Spielman

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Imaginary Adventures

An Unbound Library Halloween Party

A group of librarians in possession of a book that can make characters come to life decide to have a big Halloween party and in true literary fashion, everything goes wrong.


NOT EVERY DETAIL OF EVERY PLAN GOES ACCORDINGLY. EVEN PROMPTS TO TELL A STORY COULD TAKE AN UNEXPECTED DIRECTION AS KATIE WAS ABOUT TO LEARN TONIGHT. THIS YOUNG-ADULT LIBRARIAN COULD EXPRESS COUNTLESS WORDS OF JOY FOR HER LOVE OF HALLOWEEN–EVEN IF IT FELL ON A DREARY WEDNESDAY. BEING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WEEK WASN’T GOING TO DIMINISH HER DETERMINATION FOR MAKING THIS YEAR THE BEST HALLOWEEN EVER, ALL WITH THE HELP OF AN EXTRAORDINARY BOOK.

“Damn right,” Katie Haines confirmed as she walked down the library aisle’s of fantasy books while holding the aforementioned book. The gold lettering title, “Unbound Words,” provided a mystical sparkle that contrasted the book’s thick, black, leather cover. “Now, describe me.”

KATIE WAS AN IDEAL CANDIDATE FOR REACHING THE BOOKS ON THE TOP SHELF WITH HER SLIGHTLY ABOVE AVERAGE HEIGHT FOR A WOMAN AS SHE GRABBED SOME BOOKS BY NEIL GAIMAN. HER MOUTH WAS WIDE, WITH SLIGHTLY-PROTRUDING CANINES, AND HER EYES WERE AN UNUSUAL SHADE OF TOPAZ. HER FACE GAVE THE IMPRESSION OF A PLOTTING FAIRY WITH HER SHORT HAIRCUT AND A SPRINKLING OF FACIAL FRECKLES, MAKING HER PURPLE GLITTER FAIRY COSTUME A PERFECT MATCH.

“Not bad,” Katie complemented tonight’s narrator.

While holding the Unbound Words book, Katie opened the books she seized. A tornado of words and letters gushed out from the pages, popping out several fictional characters.

“Welcome to the Halloween Party of the Century!” Katie greeted with a dramatic flair. “We got food and drinks in the main lobby along with a DJ. There’s going to be a murder mystery game later tonight, so be sure to put your name in the hat by the punch bowl if you want to play. Have fun!”

Katie made her way to the main lobby area, randomly dancing along the way. The 19,000 square foot library was able to pack a party. Earlier in the day, the staff got in trouble with the fire department for having too many people. Patrons came all over for the library’s extravagant character photo opportunity session oblivious to the fact that the staff pulled the characters out from books.

Only the librarians knew the truth and not even their families. When they found the Unbound Wordsbook a few weeks ago, they swore never to discuss it with outsiders. The staff was able to pass off the fictional characters as cosplayers without any problems. None of the characters could leave the library or harm real people. Though, one observation the staff made that they had no explanation for was that many of the characters would act uncharacteristically, like Dracula being a nice guy.

Katie returned to the lobby area, where the rest of the library staff gathered around the snack table. At the same time, the Mad Hatter commanded the DJ booth. It was 9:30 pm, and the library was closed for the day, allowing the staff to have their private party. Katie stuffed her face with a piece of chocolate cake as the branch manager, Chuck Barkley, strolled up to her.

“I must admit, I’ve been rather impressed with how you’ve handled the unbound book,” Chuck praised. “Other than getting in trouble with the fire department for having too many people earlier today, there haven’t been any problems. Your creativity has kept everything thing in check and increased patron satisfaction.”

“Thanks, Chuck. Does that mean I’m getting a raise in the spring?”

Chuck laughed. “If the budget allows and nothing goes wrong.”

THE KAY PHRASE HAS BEEN SPOKEN.

“The what the what now?” Katie mumbled.

WHENEVER EVERYTHING IS GOING RIGHT, EVERYTHING MUST GO WRONG. IT’S A RULE OF STORYTELLING.

“The narrator has a point,” Chuck agreed.

“But this is a party. Nothing has to go wrong,” Katie pleaded.

The music scratched to a stop.

“Let’s all get mad now!” the Mad Hatter laughed as he played a record backward.

All of the fictional characters covered their ears, but their effort was futile. The demonic noise had crawled into their ears. They began to laugh uncontrollably. Then, the laughter turned into madness as they all began to release their inner-crazy by destroying their surroundings, fighting each other, making loud noises, beating their chests, and so forth.

The librarians flipped over a table and ducked down behind it.

“How do we get them to stop?” one of the librarians asked their group.

“If any of them touch the unbound book, they disappear,” another librarian, Amy, reminded everyone.

“But there’s too many of them,” Chuck remarked. “We need a way to kill them off at once.”

Katie glanced around the room. On the new arrives stand was a biography of American novelist George R. R. Martin. “How about we get a writer known for killing off characters.”

With Unbound Words in hand, Katie duck and ran, narrowly avoiding food and furniture, as she grabbed the biography. She cracked open the book, and in a swirling storm of words, George R. R. Martin came to life. While Katie wasn’t a super-fan, she noticed something was off, like it wasn’t really him, and more like a stunt-double.

“Golly gee willikers, we got ourselves a mess here,” George spoke in a high-pitched voice.

Katie slapped her forehead. “Of course, the book decides to mess his character up completely.”

“Hey, there. Words can hurt people too, you know,” George sneered, reminiscent of Robin from the 1960s live-action Batman television series. “I might be different, but I can help.”

“Then, can you kill off all these characters?” Chuck needled.

George mockingly laughed as he pulled out a tiny DOS computer the size of a smartphone from his pants pocket. “Can I kill all these characters.” He finger poked a paragraph worth of keys in a second with one hand while the other held the tiny machine. “Get a load of this.”

Dozens of white blobs erupted, taking the form of white-out white octopuses with baseball bat sized paintbrushes in each tentacle. The octopuses charged at the unruly fictional characters, brushing them out of existence. When the octopuses wiped away the last character, they turned on each other, cleaning themselves out.

“Thank you,” Katie said and then bopped the fake George on the head with the book, disintegrating him back into words.

“How are we going to clean all this up?” Amy grumbled.

Katie picked up a copy of Cinderella that had serendipitously managed to get tossed into the lobby. “That’s what Fairy Godmothers are for.”


This week’s short story was vaguely inspired by the writing prompt: “There are some fictional characters you absolutely detest. You’ve even gone and made a list of them. Now all you have to do is hire the most ruthless killer of fictional characters you know; George R. R. Martin.” As you can tell, I basically had George save the day by killing a bunch of fictional characters to keep it in line with my universe.

I’m working on a book staring Katie and the Unbound Words book, which has her deal with an enormous problem the book causes. If you missed it, I wrote about Chuck in another short story, Moral Compass. 

Thank you for your support and reading this week’s short story!

Make America Magic Free

A Question for the Writers

The writing group Janet is a part of takes a turn for the weird when two strangers interrupt with peculiar questions and challenges Janet’s curiosity to walk through a mysterious golden door.


There was no time nor day that Janet Nguyen looked forward to the most then Sunday from 2 to 4 pm–even more than her sixteenth birthday tomorrow. She exclusively reserved the weekly two-hour block for the library’s teen girl writers’ meet-up. The eight girls were eclectic in numerous aspects, which Janet loved the diverse voices, genre fans, and writing styles. Fantasy and alternative realties sparked Janet’s passion the most. Even though everyone was different, they were all united by their passion for sharing stories.

Making the group jibe smoothly together was their leader (or coach as she preferred), Brigit. Janet would find herself enthralled whenever Brigit talked about home in Egypt and Egyptian history. While as fascinating as Brigit was, about once a month, she bought in a special guest. A few months ago, their coach brought in an international travel writer to talk about her profession. Then last month she was able to bring a famous YouTube science teacher to discuss proper science in fiction. Janet was able to learn and be inspired by every guest.

Today, they weren’t expecting a special guest, but two busted into the room with energetic enthusiasm. Everyone stared at the newcomers. The first was a man in a white suit with pink outline accents and a woman in a cotton red dress–the kind one would wear to work–holding a tablet. Both had raven-black hair, with man’s short and messy and the woman’s long and free-flowing.

“Hello, everybody!” the man greeted with a booming flair. He slapped both hands on the table, looked everyone in the eye, and asked, “What does it feel like to write?”

Something about their appearance and accent made Janet think they were Norwegian. They were quite peculiar, Janet thought. Who asks a room full of authors what it feels like to write? Janet looked to her coach for her reaction. Brigit had her arms crossed with her back leaning against the wall, making Janet suspect Brigit planned for these guests. 

Janet half expected Ashley to jump up with an answer. When she didn’t, Janet looked over at her. A dreamy adoring gaze covered Ashley’s face. With no one jumping in, Janet stood up, as custom when speaking in the group. “It’s beautiful.”

The women in the red dress typed on the tablet while the man focused on Janet. He grinned. “What’s beautiful about it?”

“The impact the stories have on people,” Janet explained, firm in her conviction. “Like, how you can change the world, or simply bring joy to one person.”

The man copied Brigit’s crossed arms and posture against the wall as he stood next to the coach. He turned to her. “You got a smart group here, Brigit.”

Brigit nodded. “Thank you, Loki.”

Loki turned to the woman in the red dress. “What do you say, Raven? Do you like her?”

“Janet Nguyen appears to be a suitable test candidate,” Raven commented, looking up from her tablet at Brigit and Loki. “I’ve already placed the attachment on your door, Brigit.”

Brigit stood forward. “Excellent.” She snapped her fingers. “Janet, would you go through that door?”

The group of girls turned around. A lavish golden door with a round top and encased in a matching metal frame stood tall in the back of the room. Attached to the side by the door handle was a red box the size of a brick. The door wasn’t there earlier, and none of the girls had ever seen their coach bring it before.

Janet turned to her coach. “Where did that door come from?”

“You’re a writer,” Brigit told her. “Use that curiosity of yours and open it.”

Janet took a deep breath and walked toward the door. The whole room had their eyes glued on her, which Janet could feel them watching her like a lab rat. She gripped the glistening golden lever, pushed it down, and carefully open the door. A bright golden light washed over her.

Bridget woke up in her bed with a hazy head. The morning sun broke through her purple silk curtains, slashing across her face and adding to her disorientation.

She grabbed her black, cat-eye plastic-framed glasses from her nightstand and put them on. Her vision got worse. She took them off and could clearly see her various figurines of fairies and dragons on the black bookcase across the room. She did a double-take and put the glasses back on. Again, she couldn’t see. Everything was in focus when she wasn’t wearing them.

“That’s weird,” Janet mumbled.

She tossed off the purple blankets covering her, revealing her black jeans, dolphin t-shirt, and red sneakers. She even had her bra on, which no matter how tired she was, she would’ve taken it off, along with her shoes. Then it dawned on her. It was the same outfit she was wearing yesterday at the writer’s club.

“That was a dream, right?” she questioned.

Before she could answer, her parents burst into the room with a breakfast tray with a plate of French toast, scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and a chocolate cupcake decorated with a flaming candle. Janet smiled at the sight of her favorite foods.

“Happy Sixteenth Birthday!” her mom and dad shouted in unison.

Janet’s dad brought the tray to her. “Blow out out your candle.”

Janet blew out the candle, her breath releasing an icy wind that sprinkled snowflakes on her father’s arm. Janet slapped her hand over the mouth when she saw what she did. Her mother began to cry.

“She has magic powers,” her mother cried in Korean to her husband. “I thought she would turn 16 and not reveal any magic. Now they’re going to take my baby away.”

“Who’s going to take me away?” Janet demanded in English. “What’s going on?”

“You know what’s going to happen,” her father chastised as if she should know. “Magic is illegal. The government is going to detect your magic and arrest you.”

“What?” Janet snapped. “You can’t be serious?”

A massive bang of wood breaking erupted from downstairs. All three of them jumped from the sound of the intrusion. 

“Magic is active on the second floor!” a voice commanded from below. “Apprehend the caster!”

Boots pounded on the wooden steps. Her father sat the tray on the nightstand, ushering his wife to the side of the room, providing a clear path for the squad of army troops that stormed into the room. Janet stared, dumbfounded and anxious, at the four armed men and women as they raised their guns her. Janet’s parents embraced each other, turning their heads away from the scene. Janet’s jaw dropped in confusion as to why her parents would uncharacteristic be so willing to give her away. Why aren’t they doing anything?

The soldiers exchanged confirming glances before tasing Janet unconscious.

The harsh cold from the concrete floor woke Janet up this time. She found herself alone, behind bars, in an abandoned prison. From the lack of modern amenities, she bet the government decommissioned the place decades ago. The only light entering the cell was from the yellow, flickering fluorescent light in the hallway and the glow of the full moon behind her barred window. 

With a grasp of her surroundings, she inspected herself. She wasn’t bleeding, so that was good. Nothing felt broken either. She hadn’t been forced into a different outfit, but a stiff metal collar was now around her neck.

Janet desperately wanted to call out to confirm if she was alone or not, but she didn’t want to alert the wrong people. Part of her wanted to be alone to process how she had ice breath, why her parents betrayed her, and what was going to happen to her next. She got an answer to latter, though, when someone tapped on the window bars. She let out a tiny screech before she noticed the cute teenage boy. His green eyes twinkled with a sparkle of kindness. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized in a hushed voice. 

“Who are you?” Janet whispered back.

“I’m here to break you out.”

“How?”

With his bare hands, he ripped off the window bars like a person opening a tight jar and gently tossed them on the pavement outside. “Like so. Now come on before the patrol checks in,” he said still keeping his voice quiet. 

“How did you do that?” Janet asked astounded.

“Vampire super strength. I’ll explain more later, but we need to get you to safety.”

Janet grabbed his outreached hand. He whisked her into her arms and flew into the sky. Down below, a pair of soldiers arrived examining the damage. The vampire put a hand around her neck, crushing the collar and letting it fall onto the Arizona desert.

“They won’t be able to track you now, and you’ll be able to use your magic again,” he explained. “But don’t the moment you do use any magic, they’ll be able to track it, so don’t cast anything unless absolutely necessary.”

“Okay, I won’t,” Janet assured. “I don’t even know how anyway.”

“If the council is right, it should come naturally for you since you’re the chosen one. The one whose sixteenth birthday falls on a full moon. The one destined to overthrow the fascist anti-magic government.”

“What the fuck?” Janet cussed, confused. She wasn’t one to swear, but the transgression felt justified. “I’m what?”

“It will all make sense when you meet with the Council of Casters.”

The name hit Janet like a crashing car of familiarity. She took a hard look at her savor.

“Is your name Zadicus?”

“Why, yes,” he replied, impressed. “How did you know?”

“Because I created you! I create this whole world where magic is normal but illegal. This all happens in a story I’m writing. But how is this possible?”

Zadicus shrugged. “Perhaps the council will have the answers you seek.”

“Brigit…” Janet uttered. “Zadicus, take me to the downtown library.”

“At this hour? They’re closed. I should get you to–”

“No, take me to the library,” Janet insisted. “I have the feeling someone will be there waiting for me.”

“As you wish.”

Zadicus changed course, flying toward the city, out of the desert. Along the journey, Janet noticed all the public art in her town was gone, and anti-magic propaganda replaced the billboard advertisements. “Protect Our Children: Root Out the Casters.” “See Magic? Say Something!” “Make America Magic Free.” Janet wanted to barf.

See Magic? Say Something!

As requested, Zadicus slowly landed Janet by the downtown library. As she suspected (and secretly prayed), the golden door stood outside by the main entrance of the modern design building. Loki, Raven, and Brigit played a game of cards from a patio table beside the door.

Brigit sat her cards on the table. “Looks like we all lost. She came back much sooner than excepted.”

“Perhaps another time, her path will take a detour,” Raven chimed in as Janet marched up to the table with her fits balled up.

“How the hell did you make my book come to life?” Janet demanded.

“Science you wouldn’t understand,” Loki responded with smug superiority.

“Whatever…Just get me home.”

“Go through the door and pretend nothing happened,” Brigit explained with a seductive calmness that made Janet relax her hands. “Emphasis on the latter.”

Janet huffed in relief and opened the door. Like before, a golden light swept over her as she stepped through. Janet found herself back in the library, walking through the door as if she had been plucked out of time and space to visit another world and returned precisely where and how she had left. She turned around, looking through the doorframe back at the writers’ club.

“Is something supposed to happen?” Ashely snidely remarked.

“And that’s the power of using distraction to create intrigue,” Bridget proclaimed. “While Loki and Raven had your attention, none of you noticed the librarian wheeling in my door. You all thought it was magic. Now, I want you all to remember this lesson for your own stories. You can set up plot elements without revealing them right when they happen. Distracting your characters will distract your readers too. That’s all for this week. I hope to see you girls again next week.”

As the girls gathered their belongings, Janet closed the door, making sure not to cross through the frame. Loki and Raven left the room with the group, making Janet the last one to go with Brigit holding the door open.

As Janet left, clinging tightly to her backpack, her coach whispered, “I hope you were especially inspired, Janet.”


Extending past 2,100 words, this is my longest short story so far this year. This story was inspired by two different writing prompts. The first was, “‘Hello, everyone! What does it feel like to write?’ Everyone in the room looked at the newcomer who had just burst in. They were quite peculiar, after all, who asks a room full of authors what it feels like to write? But you were willing to humor them, so you stood up to answer the question.”

Using the first prompt, I got to the point of the golden door, but over the week, I couldn’t decide happened to Janet on the other side until I got inspired by another prompt: “In a world where magic is real but illegal, you’re being hunted down for showing magical prowess on your birthday.”

With that second bit of inspiration, I had the other side be one of Janet’s stories. As long as this story turned out, there is room to make it longer. I make a joke at the end with everyone being surprised Janet got back so fast.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this week’s short story. 

A Forgettable Retrieval

A day in the life story following a skilled thief on the Red Planet whose bloodline has been cursed/blessed to be easily forgotten. 


“Put those back!”

“Sorry, but these belong to your ex,” I explained without making eye contact as I stuffed the last book in my backpack. “Maybe don’t cheat on her next time.”

The sasquatch huffed and marched to his kitchen. Despite the apartment’s open concept, going to the kitchen was enough to put me out of sasquatch’s sight. The moment he stepped on the white granite floor, the sound of his footsteps softened–no longer in a hurry to get a knife, I presumed.

I stood up and slung the backpack on. My standing caught the sasquatch’s attention.

“Hey, how did you get in?” he asked, confused.

“You let me in to get me some water,” I reassured with a lie. The truth was I had knocked and barraged my way inside for the books. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I don’t recall letting you in,” he accused in a weak tone, questioning both himself and me.

“You should go lay down,” I continued. “Don’t worry about the water. I’ll just see myself out.”

Playing it calm and casual, I walked over to the front door. That was a mistake. I should’ve kept my eyes on him because then I would’ve been able to dodge the knife he threw at me. I put one hand over the wound the blade made on my arm while I flung open the door and rushed out. It took serious willpower not to slam the door close, but I knew it was best to leave as discreetly as possible. Makes it easier for people to forget me. At least my blood was the same color was my crimson skin—no unwanted attention from bleeding all over myself.

Though I was outside the apartment, I wasn’t truly outside. Though, it was easy to forget you were in one of the Red Planet’s underground cities with all the plants and artificial lights.

What could I say about Amber Hallows? It was my home. The whole city was fundamentally a giant building. I practically knew every path, every slide, and every blind spot of the city’s ten levels. Except for the first level, which was well-maintained with shops and attractions for tourism, the deeper one went, the newer and more beautiful the level. Currently, I was strolling around the third floor, which was an older, more rustic section with mostly homes mixed with restaurants and grocery stores. Little to none in terms of art to cheer people. 

I took a slide down to the fifth level. Level 5 was my level, right in the center of the city. Upon standing up from the slide, a giant wrapping mural of random shapes warmly greeted me. A short walk later, I was in front of the door to my place. The door automatically slid open for me.

“Greetings, Ronvo,” Ibx welcomed as I stepped inside. “Was the retrieval a success?”

Ibx was the only one who could remember me—not counting my mother, Kira, of course. The anthropomorphic mechanical was explicitly programmed to remember us. According to the story passed down onto my mother, many generations ago, one of our arrogant ancestors was cursed by a god to be easily forgettable. This curse also included fading away from photos and recordings. Instead of being doomed, our ancestors embraced the imprecation, becoming assassins and thieves throughout time. My mother decided to make a pivot for good and only take jobs like retrieving stolen items. Ibx was our liaison for clients since people would forget they hired us.

“I got the books,” I answered as I dropped the backpack on the floor, revealing my wound at the same time.

“I see you’re injured,” Ibx pulled out the medical spray from the first-aid kit on the wall. “Have a seat.”

I sat down on the barstool in front of our kitchen counter. All the dishes had been cleaned and put away. My mother instilled a sense of cleanliness in me because a clean home was easier to tell if it had been disturbed. Ibx spayed the treatment on the wound, cleaning and healing the cut with a gentle tingle. It was hard to see a doctor, for whenever they left the room to get something, they would forget that they had a patient.

“Thank you, Ibx. Is my mother here?”

“No, Kira is currently out on another assignment.”

“Figures. Where do I deliver these books?”

“The client is located on Level 7. I’ll send the coordinates to your networker.”

“Fancy. I wonder what she was doing hooking up with someone on the third level.”

“She confided in me that she was curious.”

I stood up. “If I’m going to Level 7, I bet switch into something a bit trendier.”

“I would support that motion.”

After a quick wardrobe change into a stylish suit, I took a slide down to the seventh level. White and gold was a common motif in the art and architecture of the level. I preferred the more colorful artwork on the fifth level the best, but I liked this area’s cohesiveness.

I found the client, a female sasquatch in a white sundress, waiting on a park bench under a sprawling golden leaf tree. I stopped in front of her, with the books extended out to her.

“I believe these belong to you,” I introduced.

Her face lit up. “Thank you so much! I thought I would never get my books back.” She took the books and flipped through the pages, like revisiting with an old friend. She looked up at me. “Hi, there. Are you looking for someone?”

“Oh, no. I was just curious what you were reading,” I lied.

“Some old books of mine that my ex kept because he’s a cling. I just found them on this bench.”

I smiled. “Lucky you.”

Another happy client.


This week’s short story was inspired by this writing prompt: “A vain, self-absorbed ancestor pissed off a god and was cursed to have his bloodline fall into obsurity. Where ever you go people will forget you, images that capture you will fade, and your name dies on the tip of the tongue. A curse for most but a boon for a thief or assassin.”

For this story, I went on a sci-fi route and wrote about one of the underground cities of the Red Planet, which is part of the Five Following Planets. If I were to flesh this out into a book or write another story, I would revise the backstory to include the line, “My mother did warn that on the rare chance I encountered someone who could remember me to stay because they would bring nothing but trouble.” I didn’t want to include this for the story because you might expect Ronvo to encounter such a person.

Thank you for reading!

The Herculaneum Coin

During an archaeological dig, Hyria found an unusual coin that she shared of photo of on social media. By doing so, she attracted some unwanted attention, forcing her dog to reveal he can talk.


Snuggled warmly in layers of blankets, Hyria released a happy yawn. Her mother’s friends were gracious enough to provide her with a place to sleep while working on her research project nearby. She couldn’t have asked for a more picturesque location than the countryside house they had outside Naples, Italy. Plus, they were awesome enough to let her bring Ace, her black Labrador Retriever.

Hyria couldn’t bear to be without Ace. He was her “Ace up the sleeve” and always there to protector her. As for their origin story, she found him when he came to her aid when someone tried to mug her. She looked around the tiny, cozy guest room for her precious old boy.

“He must be outside,” Hyria shrugged as she flopped back on the bed.

For the first time in ages, her plans for the day were going to be laid-back. She needed the chill day. Following her mother’s career path, she had received a grant that allowed her to join the archeological dig at Herculaneum. The ancient city was on the western base of Mount Vesuvius, which was destroyed—together with Pompeii, Torre Annunziata, and Stabiae—by the Vesuvius eruption of 79 CE.

She didn’t find much during her excavation–mostly household items–but yesterday, she found a purple coin depicting a muscular man on both sides. Although she knew she shouldn’t, she pocked the relic. In her defense, she believed it was modern due to its mint condition and intricate detail. Still, to be positive, she shared a picture on social media, asking for background information. With the grant depleted, she hoped she would discover some great local food and wine during her free time before going home.

Curious if she had gotten any replies about the coin overnight, she stretched her arm out to her cellphone on the rustic seashell white wooden bedside dresser. Without sitting up, she woke up her phone. On the notification was a comment from her mother on the coin post.

“Delete this photo and call me ASAP!” the message read. 

Before she could swipe open her phone, Ace leaped on her bed, purposely stepped on her stomach, and got in her face.

“Okay, Ace,” Hyria groaned. “What do you want, boy?”

“Sorry, I know this is out of nowhere, and I thought we had more time, but we have to go.”

“Did-did, you just talk?” she stuttered.

“Yes, and we need to get going.”

Ace bit on the blankets and pulled them off Hyria. Hyria tossed on the clothes she had already set out for the day from the night before.

“Have you always been able to talk?” she questioned as she put on her jeans.

“Yes.”

“Why, just now?”

“Your father didn’t want me too.”

“Wait,” she paused as she dropped her shirt over herself, “you mean my step-dad?”

“No, your biological father.”

“Henry? But he’s dead.”

“That’s not,” Ace started to correct but then stopped. “We need to get going.”

Hyria tied her shoelaces and stood up. “Lead the way.”

“You know that coin you kept for yourself?”

“I was going to return it,” she immediately defended.

“If you didn’t take it, I would’ve put it on your bag.”

“Oh.”

“Now grab it and keep it in your hand. You might need its power.”

Ace ran out the door. Hyria pocked her cellphone and keys and grabbed the coin, which she held onto as requested. She chased Ace down the quiet wooden steps into the living room.

“There’s a lot you’re not telling me.”

“In due time,” Ace whispered as they ran to the front door.

They were alone. Hyria assumed her host family had already left for work or the market. Everyone came and went without much communication, which was kind of annoying but also kind of refreshing compared to her mother’s constant contact. Though now, she was starting to wonder what her mother hadn’t been telling her.

Hyria opened the front door. Ace bolted toward the car parked beside the house while Hyria closed the door behind. Locking the door wasn’t a concern. After all, they were in the middle of the countryside.

She ran to the car while Ace started to bark at the sky. Confused, she looked up as the wind raced around her. Floating down on a flying motorcycle, a humanoid shark-like alien landed between her and her car. Decked in a neon blue suit and wrap-around sunglasses, Hyria felt tiny as the colossal creature stood up and marched toward her. Ace growled, signaling to Hyria this wasn’t a peaceful alien.

“Give me the coin,” the alien calmly demanded.

“Sorry, but it’s not for sale.”

“I’m not here to buy it.”

The alien lunged at Hyria. Ace tried to attack his legs, but the alien kicked him with his black boots, sending Ace flying, hitting the side at the house. Hyria screamed out in rage and punched her attacker in the gut, sending him back several meters down the hill.

“Holy shit,” Hyria cussed. “How did I do that?”

“That’s the power of the coin you possess,” Ace explained as he approached her side, uninjured. “Your father made that coin after losing a bet, but it was lost when Mount Vesuvius erupted nearly two thousand years ago.”

“Wait,” Hyria interrupted. “Who in the hell is my father?”

“Hades.”

Hyria soaked in what Ace revealed. “Like… the Greek god?”

“The very one.”

“Anything else important you want to drop on me?”

“Well, we’re out of the canned dog food.”


This week’s short story was inspired by the writing prompt: “You wake up one day to your dog sitting besides your bed. He’s suddenly speaks and says, ‘Sorry, I know this is out of nowhere and I thought we had more time but we have to go.'”

The Pacific Northwest Podcaster

A serial killer mistakenly targets a true-crime podcaster.


Whitney’s heart fluttered. Male, late 20s/early 30s with an alethic build? Check. Shaggy, blond hair? Check. Thick, black plastic sunglasses resting on a curved, wedge-shaped nose? Check. A prominent crescent scar on his right cheek? Check. She was positive the stranger jogging behind her matched the police sketch of the Noon Slayer.

Whitney kept a steady pace as she traversed the dirt trail at Stewart Memorial Park. The summer weather in Washington state never got uncomfortable for her noon jogs. The tall, western hemlocks and various evergreen trees provided ample shade with the fresh rain bringing its petrichor fragrance.

She tapped on her headphones, which weren’t playing music. They never did. They were only on her ears for the same reason a worm would be on a hook. The serial killer caught up to her. Whiney smirked. He took the bait.

As the Noon Slayer was about to grab Whitney, she spun around and tased him.

The Noon Slayer’s eyes fluttered open. Directly in front of him was a podcast microphone complete with a pop filter attached to a boom arm. White, nylon rope strapped him tight on the metal chair.

“You’re awake,” Whitney joyfully greeted. “Don’t say anything. I need to hit record real fast.” She took a seat on her RV kitchen bench behind the matching microphone she had set up for herself and pushed the record button on her audio recorder. “Hello, crime-heads. I want to start off this episode by thanking my guest. I’ve gotten in pretty good shape since I started jogging about a month ago to get you on my show.”

“Where am I?” the Noon Slayer grumbled.

Whitney pushed the red button on her pop-out kitchen table, sending him a painful electric shock. It wasn’t enough to kill or do any serious harm, but it was enough to say, “I’m the one in charge.”

“Hey, I’m the host here,” she playfully scolded. “This is my podcast, so I’ll be the one asking the questions–until the end when I let my guests ask me a question before I let them go.”

He looked around the cozy fifth-wheel travel trailer that held him captive. Everything was clean and neatly organized. His gaze focused on a massive cork bullion board the size that was as long as him, pinned with newspaper clippings of all his killings. He nodded toward the murder board. “You a fan of mine?”

“You can say I’ve been tracking you. Oh, wait. That was technically a question.”

She pushed the button, shocking him again. When he settled, she took down the murder board from the easel–revealing another board covered in clippings about a different serial killer–laid his board on the bed next to him so he could see it, and then returned to her seat.

“What do you think?” she inquired.

He reviewed the large board. In addition to the newspaper clippings, there were crime scene photos, a copy of the police sketch, and a pair of gold foil business cards with the word, “Congratulations.” 

“How did you–” he stopped, catching himself. “I mean, I’m impressed you have my calling card. Two of them.”

“Thank you, but truth be told, one is a replica I made. I managed to sneak a photo from one of my sources that’s been investigating you. The public doesn’t know about your calling card. The other is the one I pulled out from your wallet, Trent.”

Trent tried not to laugh at his carelessness. “I knew I shouldn’t have kept my wallet with me.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. In all my years of doing this podcast, I’ve learned that nobody is perfect. On the subject of mistakes, how accurate is my board about you? Are all of those yours? Am I missing anyone?”

“You’re missing my first one.”

Whitney sat up and leaned forward. “I am? Do tell.”

“It was different.” His eyes drifted up as he reflected. “I did it with my car. It was an accident–a complete accident. I wasn’t paying attention to the jogger when she ran in front of me. It was a hilly road. I thought I was going to get caught. But I didn’t.”

“Then let me guess, the thrill of not getting caught become intoxicating.”

“It did.”

“This happened around noon, just like all of the others?”

“Yes.”

Whitney nodded. “That’s what the psychologist Dr. Miller suggested when I interviewed him in episode 215. Well, Trent, you’ve answered all of my questions today. Before I let you go, as per tradition, I like to let my guests ask me a question.” 

Trent didn’t say anything. Whitney added, “Don’t worry. I won’t shock you.”

Whitney pulled out the chef knife from the cutlery drawer, walked over to Trent, and brushed the blade along rope behind his back.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She sawed the rope just long enough to give him a false sense of hope before she stabbed him in the back. “I’m the Pacific Northwest Podcaster.”


Inspired by the writing prompt: “A well known serial killer has been following you through town. He seems to be has been targeting you for a while now. But you’re not scared, in fact, you’re thrilled about it. Finally, you have a new target.”

I realized I hadn’t set any of my weekly stories in Washington state, where I grew up in my grade/middle school years. I got inspired by the writing prompt to have a serial killer stalk one of the woods there. Since it had been forever since I visited that area, the only park with a hiking trail I could think of was where my parents found a golden ticket for a radio contest. I texted my Mom for the name of the park. She asked why I was asking about it and I told her the premise of the short story. She asked me if I was going to incorporate a golden ticket into it somehow and I said I’ll see what I can do. Then she suggested it should be the killer’s calling card.

That’s the origin of this week’s short story. Thank you for reading!

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