What does that old woman talk about? Simon watched from the corner of his apartment building as the little ancient lady sat on the lone bench out in front of it, talking to the air. Her rambling never grew above a certain noise level, but she kept at it for hours. Besides a chilling echo here and there, the noise pollution had died in this part of the city along with most of the jobs years ago. The crumbling structure had fewer tenants these days. Simon should have moved. He would have moved. If only he actually had the spine to do so.
The Third Grave
It was a glorious morning in the town of Kirkbride. The tintinnabulation of the church bells summoned the faithful to prayer, of which I was one. Or at least I paid dutiful lip service, making the journey on the Sabbath to St. Cuthbert’s Church. I would sit at the back. My walking tweeds and leather satchel would draw stern glances from the evangelical black-suited members of the congregation who filled the front rows. Perhaps my contravention of the dress code symbolized the tepid nature of my faith.
After the service I would walk out through the back gate onto Furnscombe Moor, following the path across the heather clad moorland until it reached plateau at the base of Mount Cairndow. There at the ancient stone circle I would meet Caruthers and Dalgleish, fellow clerks at McPhee and Grimshaw solicitors. They would take a path there from the area where we lodged as neither of them attended church.
The Old Troll and the Last Wheel of Cheese
The boys and girls who lived in Skogville, a small village at the edge of the Dark Forest, were very smart. Or at least smart enough to know better than to wander into the woods on their own. Because every time they went to bed, their parents would tell them all about the world outside the village fence. They would tell them about sneaky little gnomes who lived in the mountains, stashing away piles of gold and gems.
There was once a farmer named Judas Spool, who was a lonely man with a rotten soul. This is the story of how his obsession devoured him.
Judas worked his beloved fields every day of his life. One day, while he had been busy working the land until the sun was but a shadow of a light, a fire had struck the small Spool home. And a fire was lit in the heart of Judas.
Molly, the youngest Spool daughter always loved helping her mother with supper for her daddy. However, like most evenings, her father was late that night.
Why Does Bobby Fly?
When Mrs. Donna Wills went to her baby’s room to check on her one-year-old son, she fainted at the site that greeted her; he was floating above the crib, in a standing position looking down at her gurgling and smiling. When she came to, she rushed to him, grabbed him and held him close. “I must be losing my mind. He couldn’t have been floating in the air…but he was,” she said and put her son back in his crib, he rose up, she grabbed him, and, as she did, her husband came home, and she hurried down to meet him.
“Hi, Donna,” he said and kissed her. “How’s my family?” he said and took Bobby and held him. “How’s my boy?”
Low, Low Tide
Driving down State Highway 86, Donelli saw a sign, “Speed Limit Enforced by Airplanes.” He started laughing. Only in California. He wondered if they really did that. He pictured a Cessna coming out of the air in front of him, touching down on the pavement with a light bar on its tail.
He eased back to sixty-five and kept it there.
He watched the signs. There weren't many. Lots for sale. Cheap. A billboard said there was an Indian reservation ahead, with a casino, natch. He thought about stopping in when he was done, maybe try a little blackjack. Probably not. He was supposed to be low-profile. Do the job and move on. Another time.
Cardamon and Death
Gerry, currently the only hobgoblin in the palace of Underhill, walked alone from the dining room to his quarters on the third floor over the library. The subterranean tunnels twisted through the mountain’s heart with copper and bone lanterns to light the way. Around the second turn he realized that the blasted tunnels had shifted again and he was lost. Underhill’s tendency to move and shift at the mountain’s fancy was one of the more annoying characteristics of the Fae queendom’s palace.
The Ultimate Weapon
Dr. Carl Dobson, a physicist, and engineer, and Dr. Celia Moore were brought to a secret military facility to work on a special project. When they arrived they were met by General Case, the commander of the facility. “Welcome Dr. Dobson, Dr. Moore, I’m pleased to meet you,” he said and shook their hands. After showing them around the facility, Case took them to their lab. “I’m sure you’ll find your lab exceptional,” he said and they entered the lab.
“Boy, this is some lab,” Celia said.
“It sure is,” Carl said looking around.