The heat was worse than usual this year. The basin we called a township was used to searing temperatures and hellish humidity. This year was a new record.
The naive among us hoped it would be too hot for them to rise this summer. The rest of us knew. We prepared. Every summer, just on the solstice, the pixie eggs hatched. Thousands of the batlike creatures swarmed out of the trees, searching for their queen. They ravaged through town, feasting on or infecting anyone in their path.
When the heat hit in earnest we began boarding up windows and doors, covering chimneys with mesh and stockpiling food. No one left their house during hatching season. Well, almost no one. There were always one or two dumb ones. Natural selection, the wife said.
This year was different though. Everybody felt it. They were almost a month late. The dumb ones grew in number, maybe they were right. Maybe it was too hot. A quiet tension grew as resolve started to ebb.
That’s what I remember most. The silence right before the tsunami of pixies descended and the screaming began.
He whipped the swatter with all his might, missing the memory fly completely. The damned candles from the witch were no protection at all. The thing had come in just on dusk and he’d been trying to squish it ever since.
He had no intention of stopping. One bite was all it took. He valued his memories. If the government issued spray and the woo woo from the weirdo at the market weren’t enough, then it was time to get physical.
The little pest was quick. He’d chased it around the entire cottage, the pair of them determined to keep going. The memory fly might have won, had it’s path not taken it into the wax of the candles. As it wriggled it’s last the smoke of the flame adopted a purple tinge.
Quickly he put out the candle, but for the life of him couldn’t remember why. As he did his usual routine closing windows and doors before bed, he wondered whose house he was in.
Garble stumbled into the next room, leaving his brothers in the cold box. He had never taken a liking to human food, but Mangle loved the sweet breads so much he would eat till he couldn’t move. He sighed at the thought of having to carry Mangle’s share.
Not that the load was very big mind you. This human must be what Hack called a minimalist. While Garble had to admit they were getting better hauls since Hack started labeling the humans, these “minimalists” were not worth the effort. Very few shines, never any pets and almost nothing to hide behind if the human wakes up.
He was putting the coasters in his bag (probably fake metal, but one never knows) when Garble’s eyes spotted the smooth black square on the coffee table. He had never seen a coffee, but Hack assured him that’s what the table was for. Excited that he would be the first to try it, he took a bite.
The square coffee wouldn’t break apart and tasted like metal. Garble shook his head at the thought that humans made whole tables for this.
“Me too!” Mangle had appeared over his shoulder. He tried to grab it out of Garbles hand.
“I want the lounge food!”
“That’s not food.” stated Hack as he joined them. Finishing off the contents of a jar of tomato paste – his favorite – he took the thing from Garble.
“How do you know?” Garble was a little put out it wasn’t coffee.
“It’s metal. Humans don’t eat metal.” Hack turned it over and back.
“Give it back! I found it first” Garble growled.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“YOU don’t even know what it is!” Garble tried to grab it. The two gremlins scuffled a moment, pulling and pushing until the thing suddenly lit up.
The pair dropped the metal not coffee and all three gremlins stared at it. Just when they were getting brave enough to approach, the light went out.
“Now you’ve broken it! And I didn’t even get a taste!” Mangle began to cry.
“Stop it. Let me work out what it is and then you may lick it!” Hack picked the shiny thing up and began touching every inch of the surface. He had seen humans do this with what they called “mobiles”. He assumed if it felt comfortable enough, it would light up again. He stroked it from end to end.
Garble had seen enough. Mangle was wailing, he himself was hungry and the only interesting thing was now Hack’s new pet.
“I’m leaving.” Garble said, or rather started to say. Hack had managed to make it light up again. THey took a better look at it. There was a series of numbers on it. Hack ran his finger down the middle of the numbers, making them disappear.
“How did you do that?” he asked.
“Many humans use that as their password.” Garble tried very hard to look like he knew what a password was.
There were lots of little squares on it now. Garble smirked. Squares within squares, humans were weird. Mangle, running out of patience, tried to grab it. In his haste he pressed on one of the boxes.
Suddenly he was in the square. He yelped and began frantically slapping it.
“Stop! You’ll break it!” shouted Hack
“I’m trapped inside! Let me out!
“No you’re not, you’re right here.” to prove it, Garble slapped Mangle. As the two started bickering, Hack took the thing in hand.
“I’m in it too.” he announced. The others peered over to find they were both in there too. Hack tried a wave, and they saw the second Hack raise the opposite hand.
“He’s not me! He’s trying to copy me!”
“Who is he, and why do they look like us?” Mangle asked, more than a little fearful.
“None who will get away with it!” said Garble sternly.
Hack put the metal down on the table and the three of them hovered over it. The imposters looked as confused as they were.
“Ok. Tell us who you are and why you’ve stolen our appearance.” Hack spoke very calmly, hoping to seem friendly. The Hack in the metal not only refused to answer, but copied what he said.
“Do you think they can hear us?” asked Garble. The gremlins asked many questions but got nothing other than silent mimicry in exchange.
Garble had had enough. He picked up a large black sphere from the bookshelf and hovered over the metal again. The fake Garble had one too.
“If you don’t start talking, I’m going to hit you.” He said it in as menacing a voice as he could muster. The fake Garble stared straight into him. His patience ran out.
Before Hack could stop him, he slammed the sphere down on the gremlins in the metal. The thing broke into pieces, the light was gone and the fakes were nowhere to be seen. The three real gremlins stared at the pieces a moment.
Heavy thuds were heard from upstairs. The humans were waking up. Garble, Mangle and Hack grabbed what they could, slung their bags over their shoulders and dove for cover. The human entered the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He winced as he stepped on a piece of glass.
“My tablet!” The human forgot all about his foot and picked up the broken thing as though it was something precious.
“Come, before he fixes the gremlin catcher!” said Hack. The three gremlins fled, vowing never to return to the home of the wizard with the gremlin trapping tablet.
It was failing to fit in, but then it usually did. He watched as the world’s most awkward woman attempted to sneak along a wall. Her stealth was only matched by her humility. Why his mother insisted on keeping her was beyond him.
“The Octopus People are oracles. She can reveal secrets when we earn her trust.” His mother had indulged in a great many fantasies over the years. However, even he was amazed to see the giant octopus crawl out of the sea and then out of its skin. It appeared to shrink as it shed its gelatinous hide, until a statuesque beauty emerged. Dark eyes and sharp features, she glanced around briefly before walking away up the beach.
His mother had moved faster than he thought possible, snatching up the skin and stuffing it into a bag. Then she shouted after the thing.
“It’s mine! You will return with me, my guest, until such time as I have learned the secrets of the sea. Then you will have your skin back.” To his further amazement, the creature nodded and followed his mother.
That was the last command it obeyed. All the creature had revealed so far was how toweringly high it thought of itself. When it did deign to speak to us, it was guaranteed to use as many insults as it possibly could while answering. It searched relentlessly for its skin. He was impressed with his mother’s cunning in choosing a hiding spot, though from her ongoing irritation she was still none the wiser on the “ocean Lore”. At least octo-lady was easy to look at.
Though a vision of loveliness, the moment she spoke all the beauty faded. Her voice sounded like a person drowning. She reacted to her two legs as though they were at fault she couldn’t climb a wall. He chuckled thinking of her last attempt. If he knew where the damn skin was he’d give it just to be rid of her.
A Petition to Stop the Destruction of the Ancestral Homeland of Merfolk
309 Words
To Whom It May Concern;
I write to you today in the hopes of addressing the proposal to mine near the Northern Shoreline. Not only will this bring no real benefit in terms of revenue to the state, but it will also be detrimental to the merfolk living in the area.
The discovery of the aquatic races of homosapien came as a shock to all. However, now armed with this knowledge we cannot allow projects with such dire impacts to go ahead.
I will highlight what we know of our aquatic brethren, along with how the proposed mining project would cause undue harm to them.
Firstly, the obvious run off of wastewater will contaminate the pristine home of the merfolk. From early observation they were not the only new species discovered, and we as yet don’t know how the wastewater will impact them. From previous ecological events we can assume the effect will not be positive.
The additional people present in the area are the second problem. The merfolk lead a very quiet life when they shoal along the coast. The additional noise pollution would, we believe, be detrimental in securing their continual communication. The merfolk have the potential to change what we know of the ocean and add to our knowledge of the world.
Lastly, any increase in the movement of supply barges and commerce vessels will create a hazardous zone, restricting the merfolk from reaching the shoreline. These activities can only be seen as a blockade from their side, giving rise to a potentially hostile reaction.
We, the undersigned, implore you not to proceed with approval for the new mine site. Please listen to and engage with the ambassador sent by their people and abandon this pursuit of profit at the expense of a nation.
Cyndi tried not to let out a scream as she stubbed her toe, again. Any stray sound would unravel the whole plan. Get in, get out, take as much as you can carry…quietly.
Cara was struggling with that last part. Every rock, every brush of slime on the walls sent her muttering under her breath. So far the pixies still seemed oblivious to their trespassing.
The cave wound downwards in a gentle slope, which Cyndi’s knees were grateful for. The darkness was absolute, but both women had trained themselves to operate without vision. Or mostly.
A tiny cough made Cyndi spin on her heel. Cara had tried her best to muffle it, but it still echoed in the vast tunnel.
“It’s the damp.” was all Cara could manage before releasing a cough that managed to reverberate off all walls. Both women froze, holding their breath and waiting for the sound of hundreds of wings beating.
Cara dropped her bag and began searching through it as quietly as she could. Cyndi kept her eye on the darkness above them, as though that would help her to hear.
“I can feel the cough coming back. There are lozenges here. I’m gonna risk a light for a sec.”
Before Cyndi could reach out and smack her friend, Cara had her torch lit, its beam radiating throughout the tunnel. They froze as the sight of hundreds of pixies, no taller than a hand came into view. Iridescent wings reflected the light on the huddled mass. Each slept upside down and intertwined with the roots that hung from above. They were like adorable dolls, just with fangs and a taste for adrenaline.
Adrenaline like what was coursing through Cyndi. She swatted at Cara, who turned off the torch. Both began to shuffle, though in opposite directions. They had come too far, or so Cara though. Cyndi was thinking of her Aunt, who had opened a nest of pixies and could no longer see the color purple. They were capable of much worse. Cyndie didn’t think the treasure horde was worth the risk. Cara had gone on ahead.
Cyndi sighed, then stubbed her toe. Hard. She tried to bite off the growl with no success. She saw the outline of Cara frantically waving at her as the glowing eyes of the pixies opened one by one. The cavern was illuminated and the women could see just how huge this colony was. Then the light descended.
The swarm encircled them, biting and spitting as they darted out of reach. Cara pulled a can from her bag and began to spray a putrid cloud around them, which set them shrieking and made them recede a short distance.
“That’s disgusting. Get the bats.”
They each held a wand with a splayed end, the gemstone center pulsed as they brought it down on the pixies. The swarm returned as they swatted. Each one they hit was rendered unconscious, but still their numbers refused to thin.
The cavern turned warm as a sudden wind came up from below. The shrieking increased and the pixies flew so fast they almost carried Cyndi away with them. Hundreds of wings clicked and the glowing eyes disappeared up the tunnel, leaving the women in the darkness again. Darkness that was getting warmer.
“Cara, I”m leaving. As should you. Now.” Cyndi turned and strode off after the pixies. Cara protested but the bobbing torchlight caught up eventually. Which was good, as Cyndi had no idea how she would have told Cara’s husband she’d been eaten by a dragon.
She sat motionless, gazing out of the window at the deepening dusk. Excitement coursed through her as she strained her porcelain eyes, scanning the horizon. Her kid had long since fallen asleep. She’d be back before she woke up.
Cracks formed along the delicate doll’s legs as the moon rose yellow and bright. She smiled at the familiar ripple of pain that cascaded down her, as the shell burst and her true self was revealed. Still no bigger than the little girl’s forearm, the doll, now made of flesh, strode over to the sleeping child and kissed her gently.
She had no trouble accepting the pull within her, so as quietly as she could, she opened the window and jumped, a tuft of soft grass breaking her fall. Up and away she ran, toward the rising orb and the dark forest. Tonight she would meet with the others. She would find a way to heal the child.
Notes: While I like the cute visuals this one gives off for me I’m not sure in which direction to take it.
It was nice. It really was everything she could have asked for. And she was bored out of her mind. Retirement was supposed to bring peace. All she had wanted throughout the last brat’s life ws to finally be released. She still wasn’t sure it was worth it.
The hollow was all hers. Her reward for centuries of diligent service. Born bound to a human, it was her job to guard one person of each generation that issued from the Original Ancestor. She had done her job faithfully, keeping the family safe from the Forest Folk’s reach.
Some generations were hard. Not all of her bonded one’s descendants were worthy of the name. Many times she thought her ward would kill themselves before begetting an heir. Other times, she found herself wishing they would do just that.
Even the good ones of late seemed to harbor a selfishness that went against everything her bonded soul stood for. The latest brat having been the worst, it really came as no surprise when the stupid man chose to cut off the possibility of children before he had any. It had still hurt her though.
She’d hung around afterwards, watching him destroy himself through indulgence. Any aid the guardian might have offered couldn’t reach him now. It was a relief when the One Eyed god called her to finally retire.
That was almost fifty years ago. She had walked every inch of the hollow, investigated its many occupants, made friends and foes, and all the while he waited.
A new soul. Soon, the One Eyed said she’d be bound again when a new soul line appeared. Her patience was wearing thin. She scanned every meteor shower, wistfully watching new souls come to earth.
She was done waiting. Approved or no, she was finding a way out of this paradise prison.
Notes: I want to somehow tie this to the Starfall short piece from last month. It would make an interesting addition to the mythos of this urban fantasy universe I’m building.
She sighed heavy enough for him to hear. Still he ignored her. She resisted the urge to hit him and settled for nudging him with her broom until he moved his feet. It was probably good she was forbidden to speak to him. She’d have been fired in moments.
She began laying the fire as the rest of his ridiculous band of underachievers began filing in. The Dark Magician’s League. Even the name felt like an attempt at a joke. Spend enough time with them and you’d realize the joke was the men themselves.
The broody super dark nerd lord reminded her daily that he kept her soul nearby. It was the only thing that kept her compliant. Four long years of fetching his every wish and learning far more than intended her to know. For example, she’d long ago stopped searching for her soul. She was simply going to take his.
Notes: I think I want to explore the Dark Magician’s League further, and definitely through this woman’s eyes.
I do hope this letter finds you in good health. In particular I ask you to steady your nerves, as wat I need to relay may disturb you.
I’ll cut straight to the chase. A portal of some variety has opened inside a cupboard in the back of the bookshop. I assure you I was as shocked as you no doubt are. I’m still not sure what to make of it and urge you to return with much haste.
I am following procedure just as you instructed. The cupboard is locked, and the blanket draped over it has been infused with an anti-curiosity charm. Still, again I urge you to hurry. It has begun humming, which is causing me no small anxiety.
Yours Sincerely,
Note: So, there is a procedure, which means this must not be an unknown thing in this universe. Who are these two people? Why do they have a procedure ready for rogue portals? What kind of bookshop is this?
C.M. Wellsmore 