Be careful mocking eccentric small business owners, asking them for an adventure because you might find yourself on an alien planet.
Waking up in this battleground wasteland was payback. Rafael Vásquez was sure of it. His parents were small business owners themselves, and he knew better than to ridicule others. He was better than that. He regretted making fun of that eccentric couple and their boutique selling “personalities.” He thought their business was a joke or some crazy immersive art installation. The place did look the part with its floor-to-ceiling assortment of drawers, all labeled and allegedly filled with personality traits. At the time, he told himself he was “just playing around,” but now accepted that his attitude must’ve come across as mocking when he requested they give him an adventure instead.
Rafael went to bed like usual only to wake up on his blanket and pillow in a crater filled with corpses of green lizard people in military gear. He was no expert on alien lizard biology by all accounts, but judging from the bodies’ rot, they had been dead for a long time.
After spending the first half-hour pinching himself to wake up, screaming for help, and begging to be returned home, Rafael settled to a state of acceptance. An adventure was what they must’ve given me, he thought. I’m not sure why my clothes are different and why they didn’t bother to give me my shoes.
With no answers, he wandered about the graveyard. He knew he wouldn’t get far in his socks, so he took a pair of boots from a corpse. He then pilfered a golden sword and what he interrupted as an automatic assault rifle from someone who looked important because of their uniform’s cleanliness and intricateness.
“I wouldn’t normally steal from the dead, but I’m just trying to survive, so I hope you will forgive me,” Rafael apologized as he equipped himself. “Man, I wish you could tell me where I’m at.”
The alien landscape reminded him of some photos he’d seen of Mars but mixed with New Mexico’s desert that he’d experienced with his older brother and cousins during a road trip to visit family. A few hours passed, and all was silent until three white lights whizzed past above him. They looked like drones to Rafael as they spun a circle around them, flashed gold, and proceed to fly north. With no better leads, he chased after them.
Thanks to the flat red clay valley and the casual cruising speed of the lights, they were easy for him to follow. The lights came to a stop when they arrived at a patch of land unobtrusive by bodies or nature. The lights spread out, singling for a landing spot for the spacecraft above. To Rafael, it looked like a house-size flying limo. The ship had a few significant scratches against its shiny black paint, but they only gave it a sexy rebel battle scar vibe. Along the side near the front were neon blue digital letters in an unrecognizable language until he blinked. They transformed into English to read Starbringer II.
The side doors began to slide open. Rafael pointed his rifle at them, but then he had a thought. Maybe they’re here in peace? After all, if they wanted me dead, they probably could’ve killed me from their ship. Rafael returned his gun to his holster.
The ship’s ramp extended out, letting off three people. Taking command of the center was a six-foot-tall humanoid lizard with sapphire, red skin. There was something about her that gave Rafael the impression she was a slick, badass rebel with a gentle heart. She sported black jeans and a black leather jacket with a neon blue backlight like a rebel, but then she also wore a black t-shirt with a drawing of a calm white tree with flowery branches.
To her left was a seven-foot-tall minotaur with red bull fur and muscles that could crash kegs with a glance. Numerous pockets adorned his outfit, from his brown camo cargo pants to his matching brown shirt. Then to the woman’s right was a flying metallic silver sphere the size of three basketballs with four mechanical arms surrounding it.
The lizard woman pointed her pistol up, flipping it to its side, showing she was didn’t want to fight. She spoke to Rafael.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand you,” Rafael replied.
The woman sighed. She turned to the robot and issued a request. The robot beeped, pulled out a wristband from a compartment inside itself, and strapped it around Rafael’s wrist. Rafael was hesitant but didn’t resist. Upon finishing, the white wrist band pricked his skin like a needle.
“Ouch,” Rafael commented.
“There, can you understand me now?” the woman asked with slight annoyance in her tone.
“Yes, I can understand you now. What is this thing?”
“It’s a basic networker,” she explained, dumbfounded that he didn’t know the answer. “How’d you get here, kid?”
“All I know is that I went to sleep in my bed, and I woke up in a crater filled with dead bodies on an alien planet.”
The minotaur huffed. “You expect us to believe that?”
“I swear, I have no idea where I am or how I got here.”
The robot emitted a series of beeps.
“I see,” the woman acknowledged. “What is the name of your homeworld?”
“Earth.”
“What!?” the minotaur exclaimed. The robot beeped in confirmation. The minotaur turned to the robot. “What do you mean he’s not lying?”
The woman put the backside of her hand against the minotaur in a gesture to calm him. “You’re a long, long way from home then. My name is Kára. The big lug is Sinas, and the mechanical is Norbit.”
“I’m Rafael. Could you help me get home?”
“Visiting Earth is highly restricted, but I might know someone who can smuggle you in.”
“Thank-”
“But it won’t be easy, and it sure won’t be cheap,” Kára finished. “We could use someone in our crew to do miscellaneous errands, you know, earn your way back home.”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” Rafael offered.
“Good. How about you start by handing over that sword you got. The family commissioned me to retrieve it.”
Without wavering, Rafael turned the sword over. “Here. It’s yours.”
“Thank you. I hope you’re an adventurous sort, Rafael, cause that’s what’s in store for you as part of my crew.”
This week’s short story was brought to you today by the following writing prompt: “You lay your head down to sleep, only to wake as the sole survivor of a horrific battle of some kind. Blasted earth and wreckage are all that surround you. You walk through this silent graveyard towards eerie lights in the sky.”
I thought it would be fun to callback The Little Shop of Personalities with another character having a different reaction to the shop. I was initially stumped on how to end it though. Did I want Rafael to get home or not? No, because he wanted an adventure of a lifetime so I turned his tale into his origin story for joining Starbringer II, which is from an audio drama podcast series I’m developing. Don’t forget, you can find other stories I’ve written about characters and places in the page tags.
Thank you to Bien Julian at Design Pickle for bringing this scene to life!
That’s all for this week! Be careful what you wish for now.
Upon seeing a news story about his death, Jason visits the scene of the crime for answers.
I didn’t care about being made fun of for eating cake while watching the Friday night news. Everything was more fun with cake. It was part of my end-of-the-week ritual after my shift at the hospital. What wasn’t part of my routine was dropping my plate while seeing news about myself.
“In a strange turn of events, the serial killer known as the Isolation Cleaner has changed direction with their latest victim, Jason Sizemore,” the TV news reporter announced. Two paramedics dragged my disfigured and waterlogged body out of the river in the video clip that popped on the screen. “Police say, Jason Sizemore, Caucasian, male, age 27 is the youngest victim of the serial killer who in the past has only targeted senior citizens who lived alone. Jason was found earlier today along Green River at Fort Dent Park in Tukwila. Police are asking for any information.”
“This has to be a mistake,” I muttered as I replayed the clip on my DVR. “I must be imagining things.”
But I wasn’t mistaken. The news didn’t change when I rewatched the clip. I took a deep breath and decided I needed to know more. I searched online for directions to the park–a 15-minute drive–and grabbed my jacket, leaving my cake on the apartment floor. It’s not like I had any roommates who would complain.
Thanks to the bright yellow crime screen tape blocking a section along the Green River, finding the scene was easy enough. I was surprised to find that there weren’t any officers posted there. I hoped to speak to someone, but I took advantage of my fortune and crossed the tape. There had to be some clue still around to tell me what happened—anything as I wadded into the water.
What I did find was a bright flashlight in my face.
“What are you doing here?” the voice demanded.
“I’m Jason Sizemore, and I’m the person the police said they found earlier,” I explained, trying to see who I was speaking to, but she kept the light on my eyes. “There has to be some mistake because I’m not dead.”
I tried to step forward, but she ordered me, “Stay right there.”
“I’m staying right here,” I reassured, raising my hands while using one to shield my eyes.
“I tried to go to your house, but the address was fake.”
“I’m a private person.”
“But here you are. I had to go to great lengths to find you.”
Wait. Great lengths to find me? I thought. I had to ask, “What do you mean you went to great lengths to find me?”
“I hired some performers for a short film, which was the news clip of the police finding your body. Then I visited the local news station under the pretense of a story for my podcast. I set up a backdoor into their systems to keep tabs on them for when they would air a story about the Isolation Cleaner and replace it with you.”
As I listened to her tale, I began to recognize the voice. “You…”
She cut me off. “You got pretty cocky calling into my podcast explaining the Isolation Cleaner to me, like how you got off watching the news of your accomplishments while eating cake. But, you’re not the first serial killer I’ve tracked down and ended because I’m the Pacific Northwest Podcaster.”
I moved to run, but I wasn’t fast enough for her stun gun. I face-planted into the river, with the water filling up my lungs, unable to move.
This week’s short story was inspired by the writing prompt: “Your name, age, height, weight, and race all flash across the T.V. screen. You look in horror as you see your dead body being dragged out of a river as a reporter announces that you’ve been brutally murdered by an infamous serial killer who has been on the run for years.”
For my take, I thought I would have the prompt be a trick to lure out the real serial killer by another one, with the return of the Pacific Northwest Podcaster. One idea I had was to reveal her sooner with her interviewing him, but I decided it was best to keep the twist as late as possible.
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 a plan unfolds as expected, librarian. That is a lesson you are about to learn tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Katie Haines said with an eye roll to the magical book that transmitted its voice. “Just don’t crash the party before the murder mystery game starts.”
“This young adult librarian, currently shimmering in a purple glitter fairy costume, felt a thrum of pure joy for her love of Halloween—even with the holiday falling on a dreary, rain-soaked Wednesday. The mid-week gloom wouldn’t diminish her determination. This year would be the best Halloween ever, all thanks to an extraordinary, leather-bound artifact.”
“Damn right,” Katie Haines murmured, her voice hushed with reverence. She stalked down the fantasy aisle, the book held tightly in both hands. The heavy, black leather cover felt cold, contrasting with the mystical sparkle of its gold-leaf title: Unbound Words. “Now, describe me.”
“Katie was an ideal candidate for reaching the highest shelves, possessing a height slightly above average for a woman. Her wide mouth held slightly protruding canines, giving her smile a mischievous cast, and her eyes were an unusual, bright shade of topaz. With her freckle-dusted face framed by a short, pixie haircut, she gave the impression of a plotting fairy—a look her costume matched perfectly.”
“Not bad,” Katie complimented tonight’s narrator, a slight smirk playing on her lips. She paused, grabbing a few hardbacks of classic Halloween stories.
Clutching the Unbound Words volume, Katie opened the novels she gathered. A violent, silent tornado of words and ink-black letters gushed from the pages. The spinning vortex coalesced, popping several fictional characters into the aisle, smelling faintly of old paper and fresh ink.
“Welcome to the Halloween Party of the Century!” Katie greeted them with a dramatic bow, her plastic wings wobbling. “We have food and drinks in the main lobby, courtesy of the Friends of the Library bake sale, along with a DJ. A murder mystery game happens later tonight, so be sure to put your name in the hat by the punch bowl if you wish to play. Have fun!”
As Katie made her way to the main lobby, the book’s voice spoke, its tone musing and loud enough for only her to hear. “A fine party, librarian. But a story requires conflict. You’ve been using my magic for simple parlor tricks. It’s time for a new chapter.”
“What does that mean?” Katie muttered, giving the book a nervous glance. “Don’t you dare.”
Her boots squeaked on the polished floor as she performed a random, skipping dance, trying to shake off the ominous words.
The 19,000-square-foot library thrummed with the DJ’s bass and the overlapping chatter of the dozen librarians. Earlier, the fire department reprimanded the staff for exceeding the building’s capacity. Patrons had come from all over for the library’s extravagant character photo-op session, blissfully oblivious that the staff had pulled these costumed figures directly from their source material.
Only the librarians knew the truth, a secret they guarded even from their families. When they discovered the Unbound Words book in the donations bin a few weeks ago, they swore an oath of silence. The staff passed off the fictional characters as exceptionally dedicated cosplayers, a ruse that worked without any problems. The book’s magic had two specific rules: none of the characters could leave the library, and they were incapable of harming real people.
One observation, however, left the staff baffled: many characters acted bizarrely uncharacteristically. They had witnessed Dracula politely discussing blood orange recipes and Sherlock Holmes seeming utterly baffled by a simple riddle. None of the staff had any explanations for the glitch, but the mismatched personalities only happened occasionally. When Katie had asked the book about it, its only reply was, “You call it a ‘glitch,’ I call it an edit. If a character is merely words, why not rearrange them?”
Katie reached the lobby, where the rest of the library staff gathered around a snack table groaning under the weight of pumpkin-shaped cookies and bubbling cauldron punch.
The Mad Hatter, summoned from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, commanded the DJ booth, dropping a surprisingly heavy bass line. His grin seemed wider and more fixed than usual, and Katie noticed his fingers were already tapping restlessly on the record’s reverse switch.
The lobby clock chimed 9:15 p.m. The last patron had left, the doors were locked, and the staff’s private party had begun.
Katie stuffed her face with a large piece of chocolate cake as the branch manager, Chuck Barkley, strolled up to her. He was a large man squeezed into a Worf costume from Star Trek.
“I must admit, I’ve been rather impressed with how you’ve handled the unbound book,” Chuck praised, his voice booming. “Other than the fire department’s scorn earlier, there haven’t been any problems. Your creativity has kept everything in check and massively increased patron satisfaction.”
“Thanks, Chuck. Does that mean I’m getting a raise in the spring?”
Chuck laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “Provided the budget allows and nothing goes wrong.”
“The key phrase had been spoken,” the book’s voice announced.
“The what the what now?” Katie mumbled through a mouthful of frosting.
“Whenever everything seems perfect, chaos must inevitably intervene,” the book announced. “Such is a fundamental rule of storytelling.”
“The narrator has a point,” Chuck agreed, suddenly looking nervous.
Katie whined, a high-pitched sound of frustration. “But this is a party! Nothing has to go wrong!”
As if cued by her protest, the music scratched to a deafening halt. A heavy silence fell, and only the drip of the rain against the tall windows broke it.
“Let’s all get mad now!” the Mad Hatter cackled, his voice unnaturally sharp. He grabbed a record and slammed the needle down, spinning the vinyl backward.
A sound screeched from the speakers—not music, but a high-pitched, layered whine that felt like needles crawling into their ears. A wave of psychic pressure washed over the room.
“A ‘spell,’ as you might call it,” the book’s voice announced to the room, its tone delighted. “The Hatter was so gloriously suggestible! Now, let’s see how you handle a real plot twist, librarians.”
All the fictional characters clutched their heads, their faces contorting. The demonic, reversed noise burrowed deep into their minds.
The laughter started first. A single, sharp bark from Mr. Darcy. Then a giggle from Dracula. The laughter spread. Mr. Darcy’s sharp bark became a high-pitched giggle, which in turn fractured into a painful, shrieking howl that held no humor. The sound became a chorus of shrieks, sobs, and howls.
Elizabeth Bennet, her eyes wide and vacant, walked to a bookshelf and began methodically tearing pages from a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Paddington Bear let out a guttural roar and hurled the punch bowl through a plate-glass window, sending sticky red liquid and shattered glass across the carpet.
Dracula, the “nice guy” from moments before, bared his fangs. His eyes, now burning with red madness, fixed on Ben, the trembling cataloger who had stumbled out from behind the snack table. Dracula hissed and lunged, his claws outstretched not for a book, but for Ben’s throat.
Ben screamed and threw his arms up, but a foot before the claws made contact, a shimmer of gold light—the same color as the Unbound Words’ title—flared in the air. Dracula slammed into the invisible barrier as if hitting a solid wall, recoiling with a snarl of frustrated rage.
“He… he can’t touch us!” Ben yelled, a wave of relief washing over him.
“Don’t get comfortable!” Chuck roared. The repelled Dracula, in his fury, grabbed the tall “New Arrivals” bookshelf and heaved it over. “The rule only stops direct harm!”
The massive shelf crashed down where Ben had been standing a second before. The librarians screamed again, this time with a new, sharp understanding. The characters couldn’t touch them, but the entire library was now a weapon.
Chuck grabbed Ben and Amy, diving behind the immovable circulation desk.
“How do we get them to stop?” Ben asked their group as Katie joined them.
“If any character makes contact with the unbound book, they disappear!” another librarian, Amy, reminded everyone, her voice tight with panic.
“But there’s too many of them!” Chuck remarked, peeking over the top. “We need a way to stop them all at once.”
“We can’t risk summoning another character to fight them!” Ben said. “What if the book glitches and we get a Gandalf who only casts fireballs? The risk is too high!”
Katie’s mind raced. Ben was right. A glitched Gandalf could burn the whole library down; a hero was too much of a gamble. But what about an author? Her eyes landed on the “New Arrivals” stand, where a biography of George R. R. Martin sat.
“How about we get a writer known for killing off characters?” she said.
“That might work!” Amy said, her eyes widening. “We’ve never tried summoning non-fictional characters from a biography before.”
With Unbound Words clutched to her chest, Katie bolted from behind the desk. She ducked and ran, adrenaline screaming through her veins. A flying chair, likely thrown by Frankenstein’s Monster, shattered against the wall where her head had been a second before. She narrowly avoided the rampaging Paddington, who now seemed intent on disemboweling a stuffed armchair. She grabbed the biography, the glossy cover photo of the author feeling slick beneath her trembling fingers.
She cracked open the book. In a swirling storm of typed words, George R. R. Martin came to life.
But something was deeply wrong. While Katie wasn’t a super-fan, she knew this fabrication wasn’t him. This was a bad stunt-double. He was thin, wore a bright red suspender-and-bowtie combination, and had a manic, fixed grin plastered on his face.
“Golly gee willikers, we got ourselves a real mess here!” the fake George spoke, his voice a reedy, high-pitched squeak.
Katie slapped her forehead, the impact stinging her palm. “Of course. The book glitches out now of all times. This is just perfect. At least the music’s maddening effect is over.”
“It’s not a ‘glitch,’ it’s an AUTHORIAL choice!” the book snapped, its voice laced with smug satisfaction. “Why summon the actual, boring man when a more whimsical version will do? A story should never let reality get in the way of a good solution. You’ve learned a new way to use me!”
“Hey, there! Words can hurt, you know!” the facsimile sneered, striking a pose reminiscent of Robin from the 1960s live-action Batman series. “I might be different, but my purpose is clear!”
“Then can you kill off all these characters?” Chuck yelled from behind the barricade.
“Can I kill all these characters?” the fake George mockingly laughed. He pulled a tiny DOS computer, a device the size of a smartphone, from his pants pocket. He finger-poked a paragraph’s worth of keys in a second with one hand, his grin never faltering. “Behold this digital miracle!”
Dozens of white blobs erupted from the floor, like summoning circles made of liquid paper. They pulsed, taking the shape of glistening, white-out-white dragons, each holding baseball-bat-sized paintbrushes in their slithering tentacles.
The dragons flowed toward the unruly fictional characters, not attacking with violence, but with a horrifying, absolute erasure. They charged at the snarling Dracula, who, mid-lunge at a cowering librarian, only for three broad, wet strokes of a paintbrush to meet him mid-lunge, dissolving his elegant cape, then his pale, aristocratic features, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air.
A sizzle, like water on a hot pan, filled the air as the brushes made contact, wiping the characters from existence, their screams cutting off abruptly, as though their voices themselves had been smudged out.
A frantic, giggling Pennywise, attempting to float a balloon filled with blood towards a terrified Cthulhu (who was himself shrieking at the sight of a houseplant), found his grin fading into nothingness as a dragon swiftly painted over his malevolent eyes. Further across the room, a hulking Frankenstein’s Monster, roaring and tearing apart a historical atlas, watched his stitched flesh unravel into smears of white before he could even register the threat. Even the seemingly innocuous—a poltergeist from The Haunting of Hill House that had been gleefully shattering lightbulbs—was swept away as the white-out brushes painted over the very air where its translucent form had flickered.
When the dragons wiped away the last frantic character—a shrieking Juliet Capulet, still clutching a shard of the broken punch bowl—they turned on each other, a flurry of white wings and brushes, cleaning themselves out of reality, leaving behind nothing but the stark, chaotic aftermath of the party.
Silence, profound and heavy, returned to the library.
“Thank you,” Katie said, her voice shaking.
She then promptly bopped the fake George on the head with the Unbound Words book. He dissolved, disintegrating back into a cascade of letters that vanished before they hit the floor.
Amy stood up, pushing her glasses back onto her nose as she surveyed the utter devastation. Broken glass, overturned shelves, shredded books, and a sea of punch-soaked cake littered the lobby.
“How are we going to clean all this up?” Amy grumbled, her voice flat with exhaustion.
Katie scanned the debris. A copy of Cinderella, which had serendipitously managed to get tossed into the lobby during the chaos, lay near her feet.
She picked the picture book up, a genuine, plotting-fairy smile returning to her face. “That’s what Fairy Godmothers are for.”
A moment later, a tiny, glittering woman appeared. She wore a Captain Kirk costume over her ballgown and holding a tiny, glittering phaser.
“Alright, starlight,” the glitched godmother chirped. “Set phasers to ‘clean!’”
Katie sighed. It was going to be a very long night.
This 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 fictional universe.
Love this story? I’m working on a book staring Katie and the Unbound Words book, which has her deal with an enormous problem the book causes. Also, in case you didn’t know, I wrote a short prequel story about Chuck in antoehr story, Moral Compass.
Want a printed or digital copy for your personal library? This story is included in my horror anthology, Doors Open Both Ways.
Thank you for your support and for reading my short story!
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.
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 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 my movements 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. I channeled some serious willpower not to slam the door close, but I knew if I left discreetly as possible, the curse made people forget me easier. At least my blood was the same color as my crimson skin—no unwanted attention from bleeding all over myself.
Though I was outside the apartment, I wasn’t truly outside. Though, one could forget they were in one of the Red Planet’s underground cities with all the plants and artificial lights. Still, I preferred the clean, bright underground cities to my planet’s dusty, dark surface.
What could I say about Amber Hallows? This 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 tourist attractions, 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 an intruder visited. Ibx spayed the treatment on the wound, cleaning and healing the cut with a gentle tingle. Seeing a doctor was hard, 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 area. 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 obscurity. 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 away because they would bring nothing but trouble.” I didn’t want to include this trait in the story because you might expect Ronvo to encounter such a person.
Thank you to Janine De Guzman at Design Pickle for bringing this scene to life!
