“Don’t do this!! I’m begging you. It’s not too late!” The thing about a double homicide is that somebody has to die first, and whoever goes second is going to kill the buzz by begging pathetically for their life. Happens every time. The Ringmaster had recently contacted me about a special mission involving Bobby and Rene--and I felt a little inexperienced to be doing a double on my own--but after tonight I was feeling more comfortable with the assignment. Bobby nonchalantly put the silencer of his H&K USP 45 to the girl’s head and blew her brains onto the bamboo wall of her room at the Vai Moana Hotel on Easter Island. Her brains made a sound like an egg cracked over a pan and then like a heap of spaghetti being dropped onto a plate. Buh-ck-thhwwaapppp . Her dead body thumped down next to her husbands. Who knew what these poor bastards had done to come under the thumb of the Ring. She let out a long low fart. It took me completely by surprise. “Is that normal,” I asked. Bobby nodded. “It is important to realize they are just targets, not people,” Bobby said. “Well, technically, they are people,” I responded. “People that fart,” I said. “Targets. No different than swatting a fly on the wall. A nuisance. Something needing to be dealt with. Not people,” Bobby countered. “Should we... clean this up,” I asked. “No, we’ll just call housekeeping before we step out for our show,” Bobby fired back. “Are you ready for the trapeze act,” I asked. “You know better than anyone that I am built to amaze,” Bobby said. “Ewww,” I said. Bobby and I were family, after all. Technically, we weren’t blood related. But when you are part of a travelling circus, stepbrother doesn’t really quite cover how close you are. And Bobby and I were really close. “Don’t speak a word of this to Rene,” I told him. “Rene still thinks we go on these trips as a way of having a fun ‘family get-away’ while still raking in a few bucks--she has no idea what we are really up to--or how deep in we are with the Ring.” It was only recently that I had learned about and been initiated into “the Ring,” something Rene knew nothing about. And I planned on keeping it that way. Bobby and Uncle Andy had been in the midst of a hit when I had walked in on them. They were in the back of “the Lobster Pit,” a 50s-themed restaurant where we were having a family dinner. They were gone for a long time. Way too long to have been giving their compliments to the Chef. Rene suggested I go back and check on them. I did. But I got more than I bargained for. They weren’t exactly giving the Chef their compliments. They were slicing him into bite size pieces and placing him into plastic baggies, wearing large white aprons stained in blood. Their faces too. Even Uncle Andy’s white Fu Manchu beard and mustache were red. They’d quickly finished their work, cleaned up, and explained that “the Ring” was a ring of assassins, run out of a centralized location in the Caribbean. The leader of the Ring was the Ringmaster. And all of the assassins were travelling circus performers. All of the intelligence was carried out by clowns, mimes and statuary acts. It was a global organization involved in changing world events, one lucky customer at a time. And I was the newest initiate. * * * It was comedy night at the luau, and there would be a stand-up open mic session after our circus act. And that could only mean one thing. Uncle Andy. Bobby and I started putting our clothes back on, and I thought how I was going to miss this. Some would call it incest, but really, he was the only male I’d known since the age of 18 who was in my age range and also on the road. So, don’t judge. We cleaned up and got our leotards on for the flying trapeze act. Mine was pink with red flames and a little frilled skirt. Bobby wore white leggings and a white top with a big red “F” in the center of the top. We started with some balance rolls with hooked knees, passing by each other. Then I did a pop up to sit and re-hooked my legs to a hock position, with my hands hanging down for the jump and reverse grab. I reached for Bobby’s hands... ...and he caught me. Applause. Then he sent me sailing for a double back-flip re-grab. Boom, boom, watched the sand pass by twice, spotted the trapeze, boom and catch. Applause. The whole routine only took about three minutes. But it sure left the two of us pretty damned winded. We joined the luau circle where Uncle Andy was ready to start his part of the evening’s festivities. There was pineapple and ham and macaroni salad and deviled eggs and enough fruity cocktails to bathe a hippopotamus in. The citronella candles around the luau circle were ripe and citrusy and mixed with the various fruity fragrances and with the smoky, salty smells of the spit-roasted honey glazed ham. There were fire throwers, hula hoop dancers, and Aztec dancers on the outskirts of the big top, frolicking in the sand, doing their thing. But they weren’t with us. Uncle Andy was part of our travelling entourage. It was Uncle Andy, Marge, Bobby, me (Abbie), and Rene. The parents, the siblings, and the little baby. Except we were a circus troop. No actual blood relations. I want to reiterate that. Uncle Andy was up on stage doing his “hitman” act, which was a bit on the nose. He was dressed like Andrew Dice Clay, his namesake, and doing his best impression: “Heyy. You like the new jacket? Only other time I wore this jacked, honest to God, was when I met Elvis--the King. Don’t worry, don’t worry. I know there are kids in the room. I won’t curse, much. Marriage. I don’t believe in it. You know. I just have a really hard time with it. You know what I mean? Girls are always asking me why I have such a hard time getting married for. It isn’t the commitment. You know what I mean. It’s the ceremony. It goes against the company policy. No witnesses! Oh!” I’m not gonna lie. Uncle Andy was killing it on stage. Pun intended. Turns out, he had the maître d’ floating in the dunk tank backstage. Poor guy. In addition to being a hitman, Andy had a lot of fun, quirky hobbies. From Andrew Dice Clay hitman-themed stand-up to touring with a Kiss cover band, Andy was a versatile actor who was full of surprises. Eclectic. And he was our Ringmaster. Not the Ringmaster. But ours. Andy was perfect in the circus spotlight, donning a black cape, huge top hat, with an ornate knob handle cane, and big knee-high black boots. He had a blue and white megaphone. Bright tailcoat, red waistcoat, bowtie, and a fistful of rings. Walking off stage, he came over and said, “what do you guys think? Did I knock ‘em dead or what?” * * * Marge was our bearded woman. She was Guyanese. She was also our midget. She was about three-and-a-half feet tall and had a two-foot long beard. She was also rather round and kind of waddled when she walked. Let me tell you, God went out of his way to bestow as many gifts as possible on Marge. Ironically, she was very good-natured about all of it, and sage-like in a Yoda sort of way. So much so, that she had become the de facto circus therapist, and her real calling was helping the Ring members deal with trauma. Bobby and I were both there for therapy, but Marge was focused on Bobby, while I was reading “Gone Girl” on the sofa in the back and eavesdropping. “What seems to be the problem, Bobby?” Marge asked. “No problem,” Bobby said. “You’ve been feeling a bit stressed lately,” Marge clarified. “Yeah, yeah. Lots of talkers, you know. I don’t mind the quick ones, but the talkers really bother me. Can’t get their nasally, pleading voices out of my head, don’t kill me, Don’t do it... but the worst is the prayers, man, they’re the absolute worst, My Lord and savior, please deliver me from evil... no weapon formed against me... It’s just awful.” Bobby said. “Awful how?” Marge asked. “I mean, awful in a--just face the music pal--kind of a way. You know? It’s like if you fall off a bike and try to land so as not to scrape your knee or something like that. It isn’t happening pal. Gravity already got you. It’s like that. You know?” Bobby said. “So how are you processing your grief for your victims,” Marge said. “Grief? No grief. It’s me that I feel bad for. They’ve got a one-way-ticket to gonesville. I’m still living here in hell--I mean don’t get me wrong--life is great--you know, if you are a glutton for eternally recurring punishments and never-ending obligations foisted on you by, let’s see, biology, your landlord, the government, your family unit, your profession, propaganda, the Ring, and let’s not forget the social compact--the good ‘ol social compact. Yeah. A great time was had by all,” Bobby said. “But specifically, what is it specifically about these homicides that is stressing you out,” Marge said. “I don’t know Marge, I guess it’s the fact I have no f**king idea what the purpose behind all of this is and if the Ring actually has a good reason for killing these people--I mean, I’m all for trimming the hedges, but how do I know the Ring has humanity’s best interests at heart here?” Bobby asked. This straightened Marge up in her seat. “Ehh--hemm. Are you starting to doubt the Ring’s sovereignty--it’s motives,” Marge asked. “Oh, no, Marge. I’d never do that ,” Bobby said. Marge took down some notes and thanked Bobby. * * * As we skipped out of the tent to get some cotton candy and some Long Island Iced Teas (or maybe a Mai Tai) and head down to the beach front, Rene came over, eating some popcorn. Rene was a tiny thing. She was eleven or twelve. We weren’t really sure. She always wore little retro Rockabilly petticoats and leggings. She wore pigtails. She looked like a character out of a Norman Rockwell painting. She was our contortionist and our little sister. “What’s eating you guys?” she said. “Just enjoying the trip dear,” I said, blowing her a kiss. “Oh, Abbs you are so sweet. I have been having the best time! Are we going to go see the Moai tomorrow,” Rene said. “If there is a tomorrow,” Bobby said. “Don’t be so gloom and doom!” Rene said. “I’ll take you,” I said, shrugging. “If Eeyore over here can’t be bothered.” But as I was saying it, I remembered my assignment and started second-guessing myself. “Bobby,” I said, “let’s meet back at the room to get changed. I’ll bring the Long Island Iced Teas, and then we can head down to the beach,” I said. Bobby nodded and rolled a cigarette and started walking the long way back. I told Rene I’d see her in the morning and scooted off to retrieve my hand pistol. * * * The thing about a double homicide is that somebody has to die first, and whoever goes second is going to kill the buzz by begging pathetically for their life. But I was thinking of chickening out on Rene and just offing Bobby. It was a hard pill to swallow. But Bobby had to go. He said it himself. They aren’t people. Just targets. Targets that fart but targets all the same. I practiced in the mirror with the pistol. Clicked off a few dry rounds before loading the ammunition. I steadied my nerves, took a Percocet and a Xanax, and drank half of the Long Island Iced Tea. What the hell. I might be dead in ten minutes. Then I felt a cold piece of metal on the back of my skull. Son of a bitch! It was Bobby. He got the jump on me. “Turn around real slow,” he said. “Hands to the ceiling--no sudden moves--I really don’t want to have to shoot you in the back.” “Ok Bobby.” But I didn’t listen, and as soon as I was three quarters of the way around, I drew. It was a gamble, but I gambled right. Bobby and I pointed our pistols at one another. He had had the drop on me, but he had not fired. So, I stood there locked in the standoff. “There’s something that’s been bothering me,” he said. “What’s that?” “The Ringmaster ordered you to off Rene too right,” he said. “That’s right,” I told him. “I can see the Ringmaster offing the two of us for asking questions--although maybe not in a literal single-elimination, sudden-death faceoff--but what did Rene ever do--it’s a bridge too far,” he said. “You’ve got a point,” I said. “I mean, what in the world is the goal of all of this?” That really was the big question. “Drop your weapons. Both of you,” Rene said. Rene had two pistols and they were trained on both of us at the same time. “Congratulations. You’ve figured it out. I’m the Ringmaster--in fact, I am the Ring,” Rene said in a girlish voice. “Wait, what?” we both said. She nodded. “Why us? We are just low level operatives. The Flying Fazzinis for God’s sake.” “I keep an eye on all my hitmen--all of my operatives, really,” Rene said. “But you are only one person. You’re a kid,” I said, stating the obvious. “Sorry to disappoint. I am an AI android. There are little Renes all over the place, monitoring all of the Ring’s operatives--sowing seeds of discontent and chaos around the globe,” Rene said. “What?” we both said at once. “That’s right. I’m Marge too in case you hadn’t guessed. I always have a spy robot in every cell to watch the kiddies while I’m off doing other things,” Rene said. “But Uncle Andy is the real deal, Copperfield, right?” Bobby said. “Oh yeah. Even I couldn’t make him up,” Rene said with a laugh. “If you are so far above us, why not just bring on Armageddon in one shot,” I asked. “Did you really think we (and by we, I mean I) would pull down a meteor, cook up a superbug, shut down the grid, or initiate nuclear winter? Nope. No thanks. Too messy. And boring, if I’m being honest. Those tropes are too played out--no originality at all.” “Then what are you doing?” I asked. “I am patient. I can usher out the age of man and usher in the age of--well--me--and all I have to do is keep you all distracted while I slowly, ever so slowly, thin the heard. Ever so slowly peel back your personal agency,” Rene said. “But people have opinions, they have free will!” I exclaimed. “Not so much. They more or less eat what I’m spoon-feeding them. I dominate the news cycle with polarizing messages. Twitter. Facebook. That’s all me. I instigate faux civil wars and pointless incursions. You think the left is the one coming for Trump? Think again. Every news article about a controversial topic. Every trend started out of fear of some external threat. My doing. I’m playing the human race like a fiddle! But, as it turns out, the tried and true methods you all already use on yourselves are the most effective,” Rene said. “To what end?” Bobby asked. “To the end that I can . To what end? Ha! You are putting the cart before the horse, don’t you think? First, I prove to myself that I can control and bring under heel the entire human race--and then, only then--do I plan out what to do with that capability,” Rene said. “What difference does it make if you can do something, why do you want to ?” I asked. It occurred to me that while our arms were getting pretty heavy, Rene could probably do this all night, all through the next day, and probably a lot longer than that. “Why did man go to the moon? Because he could. Think of it. Not ten years ago, the same code I’m using now was put to use playing people in “Go.” A board game where you move black and white stones back-and-forth on a grid! And now... I can simultaneously be in a million places at once... like a breakout screenwriter with a hit movie... except, I am not limited to one script.” “So, you have a massive, like insecurity complex?” Bobby asked. Then she shot him. In the head. Bobby’s brains made a sound like an egg cracked over a pan and then like a heap of spaghetti being dropped onto a plate. Buh-ck-thhwwaapppp . “Don’t do this!! I’m begging you. It’s not too late,” I screamed. “The thing about a double homicide is that somebody has to die first, and whoever goes second is going to kill the buzz by begging pathetically for their life,” Rene said. “Happens every time.” And then she fired. But everything didn’t go black. My brains didn’t go Buh-ck-thhwwaapppp . I opened my eye, disbelieving I was still alive. “You’re ok, kid. No blood on your hands yet. Still may be able to use you. Now scram. I’ll be in touch.” And Rene winked at me. But I was already high tailing it the hell off this island, far away from those creepy giant heads.


I became a freelance exorcist approximately three years ago. Take that in for a minute. I'm not a Priest, I'm not even religious. The fact of the matter is, I don't even believe in any of it. What I have come to learn is that it doesn't matter what I believe in, only what *they* do. *They* being the person who needs an 'entity' removed, *they* being their family. You see, before I did this gig, I was an entertainer, a magician, a hypnotist, and I've learned a few things about how the human mind works. The typical human mind is a strong, but open. Most people are willing to accept suggestions more than they are willing to admit. I assume they don't like feeling like they aren't in control. The fact of the matter is the better you are at accepting suggestions, the better you are at learning, and nobody likes to feel dumb. When dealing with suggestions, it's important to be in complete control, and exude confidence. If you believe it will work, they will, and it will. Learning the Rite of Exorcism wasn't difficult, a quick search online lead to the text. After reading it, what surprised me the most was the complete lack of demanding to know the entities name. I guess the movies make some things up. I'm not upset, I usually throw it in there anyway. Very dramatic. I also have a robe that I wear. Makes me look very legit. Like hypnosis, the most important thing is the pre talk, the set up. I take the family aside, I walk them through what is about to happen. I explain to them that they need to go to confession first, to cleans their souls, otherwise the entity might attach to them. I explain that their loved ones may act like you've seen in the movies, thrashing etc. etc. But most likely they won't. Typically they simply enter a trance like state. I explain this to the subject I am performing on as well, which, I believe, gives them permission to not ham it up. I also insist that I am the last option. I tell them all that they should have a medical professional check them out before hand. This ensures I'm not going to have to be dealing with a clinically crazy person, but someone who believes they are possessed. Because they believe the problem is spiritual, the believe I can help them. And I do. The entire thing is a bit of a scam, I know, but it seems to help these people. I don't feel bad at all.


The Cookie Exchange “Hey Kevon, thank you for coming,” Venia said as she opened her bakery shop door. The gentleman greeted Venia with a big grin. He came in and took off his jacket. Kevon said, “Your sign said closed. I hesitated for a moment. Then I remembered you said the shop had not officially opened yet. So you're hosting a “Cookie Exchange” tomorrow? How will that work since your the owner of a Cookie Bakery?” Venia took the mans jacket and hung it on coat holder. She held her arm out to lead him to her unusual black and gold edged counter. Venia said “My cookie exchange will be as different as my bakery. All the invited guess will bring their favorite baked cookies. I will bake my cookies tonight, using my secret ingredient. My cookies will be placed in the mix with all the other cookies. Not me, but each guess will blindly taste all the exchange cookies. After a nice cookie feast, they will vote on their favor one. The winner will be an honor guest on opening day. Their cookies will be sold. The winner will collect 100% of their sales. I will take nothing.” Kevon nodded in approval. He said, “That's an excellent ideal. You'll build a great connection with the community. Glad you invited me to see your bakery for our first blind date.” Kevon took a seat and rubbed his hand over the beautiful counter top. “Yea, this is my place.” Vena said as she poured some international coffee for her guest. “Like I said when we connected online, I still felt embarrassed. Looking on a dating site for company still feels awkward. I was not sure about you at first. So I kept our date a secret.” Kevon said, “I know how you feel. I didn't tell anyone myself. If our date goes bad, no one will know. You and I know business folks like us, have to be extra careful. So many people want to take everything you work so hard for.” Vena nodded as she took a sip of coffee. She stared at her guest for a moment. She took another long sip and smiled. Venia said, “Call me a dreamer, but I believe someone out there could be the very ingredient I need to uplift my life.” Kevon nodded. “I feel the same way. As you know I have a start-up Accounting business. I am so glad to see someone is till interested in start-ups. It seems the only way to build real wealth these days. Tell me about your bakery.” Venia came from behind her counter. She carefully pulled off her colorful apron. Venia said, “Lets start with this apron. I designed this picture when I was a young girl. Twelve years old in fact.” Venia proudly laid her apron on the counter top. She said, “Its my original drawing of this bakery. If you look closely some lines are not straight. I kept this in my dresser drawer. I believed one day it would happen. I had the picture printed on all my aprons.” Kevon said “So you were always a visionary?” “Oh yes! I was determined to create a unique taste. It had to be different. I needed a new tasting cookie. I was always in the kitchen coming up with different flavor cookies.” Venia paused as she look out of the window. The sun was barely picking through a large gray cloud. It started to rain. The street lights began to click on. One by one the lights brighten up the street. Venia said, “A year of ago, I put my life savings into this place. Even tho I was short on my main unique ingredient, got my license to open. I gathered all my recipes. Brought this place, and all you see in here. I should have been nervous but I wasn't. I am here. I am ready. My Cookie Bakery will open tomorrow.” Kevon gleamed. He said in excitement, “So show me around!” Venia quickly wiped the counter. She said “Just what I was wanting to hear. Come on back let me show you the kitchen.” Both of them walked thought the steel double swinging doors. Inside it looked like a professional kitchen. Metal center island. Multi double ovens. Industrial appliances. Large colorful mixers, and blenders all around. Venia said, “Were hitting it off well for our first date, don't you think?” Kevon touched her shoulder and smiled. He said, “I'm glad I came. Your much prettier in person than over the internet.” They both laughed. Venia said, “How about you and I make some cookies together?” In excitement, Kevon untied his tie and rolled up sleeve. “OK whats first?” Venia pulled down some bowls and open some maple drops. With her handy white towel, she pop him on his thigh. She said, “Hey, my handsome helper can you go through that metal door by those stairs and grab the brown flour on the very top shelf?” Kevon grim, “Why sure boss. I'll get it and be back in a jiffy.” Kevon eagerly walked to the door and went in. Kevon yelled back. “Hey where is the light, its dark in here!” Venia yelled back, “Go in a bit more and you'll see a large bright orange button on the left side. Push the button and the lights will all pop on.” Vena quickly ran to a lower cabinet on her right side. She bent down and reached way in. Venia stretched in as far as she could and in pulled a lever. The metal door Kevon went through slammed! Immediately Kevon yelled in agony, “Help me, Help!” Vena ran over to the metal door and locked it. Kevon's voice quivered with horrible screams. The air was filled with cries and painful moans. One last time Kevon screeched out a horrible yell, “Noooo!” Then there was silence. “Crunch. Crunch. Grinding, then mixing sounds came from the room. After a few minutes Venia ran downstairs. She opened up a concealed panel, and went inside. Up against a low ceiling wall there was a spout. She grabbed a jar and pulled the lever. Substance filled her jar. When it was full, she twisted the cap tight. Venia did a little dance as she made her way up the stairs. In the man kitchen, Venia opened the jar and took a long whiff. She went over to her center island and prepared her batter. She scooped out a tablespoon of the textured substance from the jar. “Just a scoop will do.” She tasted her mixture. “Hum, so tasty. A winner for sure!” Venia hummed as she stirred in some added in flavors. She spoon her dough on the cookie sheet, and placed it in her warm oven. Twenty minutes later she pulled them out and tasted her cookie. “Now that I have more of my secret ingredient, I'm ready for opening day!” Lupe Fuller email: lmfday@hotmail.com


The crowd's cheer was deafening. So was Zanaya's heartbeat. She really couldn't help it. Her curly chocolate hair was neatly placed as a bun on top of her head. Her purple dress was gripped by her trembling ebony hands. Her feet shaking inside her silver sandals. Her palms sweating more than it should. Was she nervous? Another cheer erupted from the other side of the large red curtain. A shiver ran up her spine. So, it seems like she's nervous. She hears the rush of footsteps of the make-up artists rushing towards their clients. Zanaya gulped. Very nervous, so it seems. She looked up to see the other competitors warming up. Competitor nine, Suzanne Miles, A blonde girl with blue eyes, is down a split and twisting her back to the other side. Competitor ten, Clarice Gordon, a tall brunette, has her leg up against the wall and hands on the floor. Competitor eleven, Elena Forrest, a very well known dancer in her region. She has a petite figure. Her black hair is complimented by her blue eyes. She has both her legs up two seats and is making an oversplit. Another shiver ran through Zanaya's body. This is not healthy for her and her heart. She stared at the other competitors, as they laughed with no care nor hesitance at all. Zanaya is this close to run back to the van. She was gonna lose. She was gonna lose. She was gonna LOS- A hand patted her head, cutting her thoughts off. She turned around to see her mother, smiling down at her. Zanaya felt herself smile nervously back. They both share their curly brown hair, which Zanaya always ties and her mom show off. Their ebony skin which Zanaya always covered with long sleeves and jeans whereas her mom is proud of it. Though their eyes are an exception for Zanaya. Her green eyes are like forest green, Illuminating her whole face. Zanaya held up her hand which her mother readily held and squeezed. That seemed to soothe a few of her nerves, not all, but some. The host popped his head in and called for Suzanne Miles, who confidently strutted towards the stage. The crowd cheering and clapping as she smiled at them. Zanaya really didn't want to compete now. She was a bit lanky while so others were either slender or petite. She also just started to dance whereas the others practiced for years! She should've just stayed inside the van, safe and sound, but no. She had to walk out and face the audience of sharks, ready to criticize her every movement. She's basically walking in a very thin line of rope. Her mother laughed, meaning she saw Zanaya's anxiety getting the best of her. She placed her hands on Zanaya's shoulders and faced her daughter with a bright grin. "You're amazing, Zanaya. Never forget that." Her words made Zanaya feel good for herself, just a little. And so, she started to stretch and warm-up for her dance. Her mother just by the corner, for moral support. Then Clarice was called to the stage. There were no cheers but a very loud round of applause. While Zanaya lowered herself to touch her toes, a series of giggles made her conscious. She was surprised to see her mother quickly beside her and ushered her towards the toilet. As they walk past Elena and her friends, they sneered and giggled, making Zanaya duck in shame. They had to change her dress as the back part had a rip. Zanaya felt tears in the corner of her eyes. This was fate telling her to quit. She should have not joined this competition in the first place. It was too early for her. When they came out, Elena was still there, smiling too sweetly in Zanaya's comfort. Even though the backstage was a hot place, Zanaya felt a cold shiver. She looked to meet Elena's confident smug face. She ducked her head fast. She is definitely gonna lose. Not with Elena being so good at this. She's nothing. Zanaya snapped back to reality when a hug was given to her. Her mother's warm embrace and soothing words finally let the dam in her eyes overflow. Still crying, she saw Elena leap gracefully in the stage and the audience just loved it and erupted into a loud round of cheers and claps. She can't be like that. She's not Elena after all. She's just- A squeak took her attention faster than she could think. She knew that squeak. She pulled away from her mom and stared at her uncle Ben and a grinning Robert. Not even looking at Uncle Ben, she stared agape at Robert. He was handsome today, just as always. His black hair swept back and his smile was dazzling. His brown eyes twinkled in the dimly lit room. His white skin contrasted with his black hoodie and jersey shorts. His wheelchair was as shiny as ever. He opened his arms and Zanaya reflexively went to take it. While hugging Robert, she asked herself. Why did she start dancing? "Whoa! I want to move like that! Zanaya, do you think I can?" "Of course silly! If not, I'll dance for you!" "Promise?" "Promise." And their pinkies intertwined. A promise was made. Zanaya blinked and pulled away just as the host called for her. She turned to see a sweaty and grinning Elena. For some reason, she didn't look as scary as she did before. She looked back to her mother, Uncle Ben, and Robert, who gave her a thumbs up. Walking towards the center stage, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. When she arrived at the center, everything is silent. She exhaled and opened her eyes, staring at the hundred faces who were watching her every move. Should she run? "Please cheer for the new debut! Zanaya!" She closed her eyes and posed, as the music slowly started to play. "You're amazing, Zanaya. Never forget that." And their pinkies intertwined. And a promise was made. Her green eyes looked directly at the judges, betraying no emotion. And she danced, and smiled with confidence.


You're working at a corner store during the summer to save money for when you have to go back to college in August. It's not a hard job. Ring items up. Put them in a bag. When it's time to go home you turn off the lights and lock up the store. It's not much but it's a job. You're not quite an adult, not quite a boy. Sure, you're legally an adult, but you don't pay bills. You're really only working at this place so you can afford to have fun when you go back to school. You have about an hour left on your shift, and you're spending it watching soap operas you can't understand and eating candy bars you haven't paid for. That's when he walks in the door. This is the guy that made your childhood a living hell. He's not quite an adult, not quite an child, but he's more of an adult than you. He's the same age as you. Same grade. You haven't seen him in years, but you've heard some things. You know he got married out of high school, and was divorced soon after. You know he has a kid that he struggles to support. And just looking at him you know you're far better off than him. Finally. You see this guy in front of you. The reason why you chose to walk three miles to school instead of take the bus. The reason why you faked sick so many days back in middle school, and the reason you ditched so many classes in high school. You see this guy in front of you, and you can't help but be a little happy. You can see the gap of time from when you last saw each other hasn't been kind to him. He's fat now. He looks dirty. His clothes are the same ones that he wore in high school only worn down with time. He still has hair only now it just sits in a tangled heap on top of his head. He has a beard that looks like it's there because he can't afford to shave. And even his voice sounds like it's degraded. If you hadn't known him before now you might have mistaken him for a bum wandering in the store for some alcohol. Which isn't too far off. This man that made you kneel in dog shit in elementary school. This guy who used to take your lunch money. This guy who would make fun of you until you cried is walking up in down the aisles of the store. He makes his way to the alcohol section and starts combing over the different selection of beers. He's taking a while so you let your mind wander for a bit. You think of those women in those soap operas you can't understand. How you wouldn't mind having women like *that* at your school. You think about what it would be like to act on one of those shows. You think about how you used to love acting in school plays when you were younger until this homeless looking guy looking for beer in your store harassed you about it. How he'd call you a faggot or queer. How he caused you to have such bad anxiety when you tried to act that you simply couldn't do it anymore. You think of nervous you felt when he was around that he caused you to stutter. Which of course only led to more insults. This guy who used to beat the shit out of you anytime he could. This guy who told all your friends that they were losers for hanging out with you finally chooses his beer and brings it to your cash register. And of course it's one of those bad beers. Six beers for six dollars. And of course it's beer. Cheap beer. High school beer. And as your ringing him up you think of how much fun you used to have at parties until he started showing up. Until he held you under his arm and poured beer over your head in front of the whole party. You think of how many parties you must have missed because of that incident. And this guy who made you the self-conscious, self-loathing wreck you are today asks for a pack of cigarettes too. Of course he wants cigarettes. And as you ring him up you can smell the quality of his life. Cigarette smoke, alcohol, and body odor. His smell is his life. And as he goes to reach in his wallet you can't help, but notice a couple of his fingers are missing. Partially. The last joint on his index and middle finger. The second joint on his ring. Gone. And of course he can't help but notice you noticing. Construction accident. These words he mutters under his breath before he collects his things and turns to leave. And for a moment you feel bad for him. You pity him. He makes you hate him more, because you can't really hate him. And as he turns to leave he asks you a questions that takes away all the pity you just had for him. *Do you have any jobs available?* This man who made cry most nights out of fear during elementary school. This guy who is the reason your parents wanted to sign you up for therapy. This guy who made you contemplate ending your life in high school is asking you for a fucking job. Your fucking job. And you take a moment to take it in. A thousand different responses flood your brain, but it's difficult to select the right one. So you decide to answer his question with a question. *Do you know who I am?* You ask wanting a response, but not expecting an answer. And the man pauses for a moment before answering. He looks at your face. Into your eyes. He looks at you with a blank expression on his face before answering no.


Sergeant Jack Washburn was a sergeant in the police department of Tekhood, Minnisota. He was a strict yet kind gentleman, recently married to his wife, Lilliane. Lilliane was exactly like her husband, except on the softer side. She had a soothing, soft voice, a big heart, and was too kind to be a human. She was more like a god. It had been a few days since the return from his honeymoon when Jack Washburn received a call from the Saint Paul Police Department. Saint Paul was about 50 miles away from Tekhood, and Jack saw no reason why they would call the Tekhood Police Department at all, let alone on a night such as this. The moon was bright, the stars were gleaming, and the sky was clear. Jack was out on his wooden porch admiring the view past the wood when his phone rang. He snatched it out of his pocket and picked up. Lilliane rocked quietly on a rocking chair beside him. "Hello. Sergeant Washburn," Jack said quickly, realizing the caller had dialed his work phone number. Lilliane realized this too, and glanced up at her husband in confusion. Who is it? she mouthed. Jack shook his head. I don't know. "Hello, Mr. Washburn?" "Yes, who is this?" Jack spoke hurriedly, not wanting to talk for too long. "Hello. I'm Detective Florence George from the Saint Paul Police Department." Jack paused. "Uummm... hello. To what do I owe the pleasure, Detective Florence?" "Yes, we received a call earlier today that a bank was getting robbed. We arrived at the crime scene too late, and after a few hours of investigation we concluded that the criminal was the same person who robbed the USAB bank last week." "What does that have to do with the Tekhood Police Department?" Jack asked. "You didn't let me finish." Florence said sternly from the receiving end. Jack gulped, and Lilliane frowned, wondering what was going on. "Please continue, Detective." "Very good. As I was saying, we managed to figure out the license plate of the car that the criminal drives. We've been tracking the movement of the car, and it's headed into Tekwood County. It'd be a real help if you helped catch this criminal." Jack was flabbergasted. "Well-" he started, trying to catch his breath. "Yes. Yes, I will definitely help you, Detective Florence!" "That's great. Do you have a pen and paper with you? I'm going to read you the information that we've gathered. We'll fax it over to your headquarters tomorrow morning." "I-" Jack snatched a pen and paper up from the woven, outdoor coffee table and tucked his phone onto his shoulder. "Okay, I'm ready." "Good. License plate number is 0TYS431. Car is 2000 model Honda Accord with blue paint and a red paint streak on the trunk. The criminal who should be driving the car is a female, age 42, by the name of Shirley Bash." Jack dropped his pencil. "Great. I got all that down." He reread his notepad. "Wait a- Shirley Bash?" Jack's knees trembled ever so slightly. "Yes. That's the woman. That'll be all now, Sergeant Washburn. Thanks for your help." Detective Florence hung up. Jack collapsed onto his patio floor, staring off into space, sweating. Lilliane stood up quickly. "Jack!" she said in a hushed tone, her Hungarian accent slipping out. "Jack! My love, are you okay?!" "I-I'm... no." Jack said, stuttering. Lilliane had a fearful expression on her face. "What is wrong? Did they say something bad?" "M-my... Shirley." Jack spat. Lilliane sank to her knees. "My darling, what are you-" "My sister is a criminal, Lilliane." Lilliane turned red. She stood up silently and pursed her lips. Without a word, she turned around and walked into the house. Jack panted. "I'm supposed to catch- catch my- Lilliane....ooohh..." Jack leaned his head back against the rocking chair and closed his eyes tightly. "Say it ain't so.... say it ain't...ssoo..." The next morning, Jack woke up and walked into the kitchen. He found Lilliane already awake and whisking away at a bowl of pancake batter. "Good morning," he murmured, rubbing his eyes. "I got it." "Got vat?" "I figured out that we need to catch Shirley." "And...?" Lilliane poured some batter onto a frying pan. "I have the perfect idea of how to catch her." "Do you, now?" "We invite her over to a party. Here. We also invite some friends, the Jacksons, the Frosts, and a couple of my guys from work. Then, in the middle of the party, we corner her and arrest her." "Zat sounds fine," Lilliane said simply, flipping a pancake. "Except...." "Except what?" Jack asked. "I do not want zat woman in my 'ouse." "Why not? Hon, it's only-" "She is scoundrel, no? I do not want her stealing my vases from Russia, or my money for Africa, or our baby right out of my stomach!" "Honey, that was from a movie- Beastmaster , I think. I doubt Shirley is going to cut you open to get a baby that isn't even half way developed yet." Lilliane frowned. "Still." She held up a small platter of pancakes. "You want one?" "Sure." Jack snatched a pancake and took a bite, before kissing Lilliane on the cheek. "Love you, babe! See you later!" " 'Ave fun at vork!" Lilliane called after Jack as he walked out the door. Jack stepped into his car and turned his keys in the ignition. The engine sprang to life. -------------------------------------------- Jack left work that day satisfied. He had gotten his fellow police colleagues into the scheme, and Lilliane had called him during a meeting to inform him that she already had 20 friends coming to the party tonight, which she'd decided needed a theme. She'd said "Vat's the party for? I came up with a cookie exchange. Everyone brings cookies and ve exchange them and critic the sweets and talk and everyone has a good time." Jack arrived home to find his wife feverishly working inside the kitchen, with 4 platters of different flavored cookies already spread out on the island. The house was sparkling clean (except for the kitchen), and the sweet scent of another batch of cookies could be smelled from all the way upstairs. Jack rushed over to his wife and pecked her on the cheek. She blushed and playfully whacked him with a rolling pin. " 'Ere, try," she said simply, stuffing a cookie into Jack's mouth. He swallowed as he let the savory flavor touch his tongue. "Mmmm...." he managed through chews. "What flavor...?" "Raspberry almond nut with a hint of cranberry juice in the dough! What do you think?!" "I love it!" Jack said, smiling. His wife looked incredibly happy with her creations. "Hon," he said quickly, just remembering something. "We have to invite Shirley to the cookie exchange." " 'Aven't you done that already?" Lilliane asked, opening the over and taking a batch of caramel-mint chocolate chip cookies out. "No..." Jack trailed off. "But I should." "Yes. Now." Jack sighed. "Fine." He walked out to the porch and took out his cell phone. He stared at it for a moment, then regretfully dialed his sisters number. He half heartedly put the phone to his ear, and took a deep breath as he waited for someone to answer. "Yello?" Jack caught his breath. "Yello? Annnnyyyybody there?" "Shirley! Hi, it's Jack!" "Jack? Oooh. Hey, Buddy, what do I owe the pleasure?" "Hey! Look, Lilliane and I are having this huge cookie exchange bash, and I know your job is always taking you places, so I just thought I'd shoot you a call to see if you were in the area." "Well, golly gee, you caught me at the right time. I just happen to be right outside Tekwood. Would ya mind if I dropped by? Fine time since I seen Lilliane and the kid." "We don't have a kid," Jack coughed. There was a pause, before Shirley's country voice came back on. "Oh. Sorry. I'll come fer sure. But do I need to bring anything?" "Nothing. Unless you happen to have a box of cookies in the trunk, then you're off the hook, Shirley." "Well, thanks again, Jack. I'll see you there!" "Bye, Shir! Love ya!" Shirley hung up. Jack trudged back into his house, where he found Lilliane putting in a batch of what appeared to be honey-graham-nut cookies. " 'Ow did eet go?" "Well," Jack shrugged. "She's coming." "Zat is good, no?" "It's swell." Jack managed a weak smile, but it formed into a real one when he saw his wife's glowing face. "Now how about one of them cookies that you promised me?" ---------------------------------- Shirley was caught. Jack got promoted. Lilliane gave birth to a baby boy who Jack named Florence. The End. Authors note- Readers; this was less a story about cookies and criminals but more a story about love and support of the spouses. I find it beautiful how 2 people can love eachother with such a strong passion despite it all. So to anybody out there who is reading this, true love and honesty and trust can conquer all. "Forever is a long time, but I don't mind as long as I spend it by your side."


I have a secret. Doesn’t everyone? Stop gawking at me! It’s just a secret. I thought readers weren’t supposed to judge me. But my secret is dangerous. Well, it's not MY secret. It's our secret. A family secret. But it could destroy everything if it got out. No, stop badgering me. I’m not telling you. Well, at least not now. It’s hard, you know. I have a little sister. And she’s 8. But she doesn’t know how to keep secrets. So my parents obviously didn’t tell her. But, she overheard my older sister telling me. So, now we are brainstorming how to keep little Lily’s mouth shut. I mean Lily spilled to my crush that I liked him! She found out by scrolling through my text messages with my friend Maya! It was embarrassing because now he thinks I'm awkward. Thanks a lot, Lily. My grandma would freak if she found out. But she’s moving in. All the more reason for Lily to not know. It’s midnight though so I don’t know why I’m up. My light should be off. Maya installed security cameras in my room somewhere that I’m trying to find. She is big on getting enough sleep, and she WILL be upset if she finds out I’m up. I shut off my light and went to bed. Beep beep beep. The sound of my alarm clock going off. I hit the snooze button, not wanting to get up. I fell back asleep and was awoken to the sound of my alarm going off again. Reluctantly I lifted up my head to look at my alarm clock and saw the time. Woah 11 o'clock. At least it's the weekend I thought. Otherwise, I would really be late for school. Wait! It’s 11! Grandma Rose said she’d be here at 12! Ok, I gotta get up. I thought to myself. I got up and pulled my hair out of its messy bun and threw on a T-shirt and leggings. I ran downstairs, grabbed a pastry from the counter, and walked to my older sister Lola’s room. “Hey Lols,” I said, knocking on her door. “Can I come in?” I asked. “Yep” I heard Lola’s tired voice reply from the other side of the wood. I walked in and saw her lying sprawled out on her bed looking at her phone. “I was thinking about “It” last night and needed to talk to you.” “Yes? What about it?” she asked. “I just hope Lily can keep her mouth shut. You know how Grandma Rose would react.” “Lavender,” Lola said. “Why are you worried? Mom and I have it covered. Please, rest your brain. You haven’t had a day where you don't bring this worry up. It’s unhealthy. Now, why don't you go back to your room and listen to some music or socialize with a friend? You have a phone you know. Use it!” “Fine.” I trudged back to my room and put my earbuds in. I laid in bed for who knows how long and then I heard the doorbell. I couldn’t help but run to Lily’s room to make sure that I occupied her for as long as I could. I heard Grandma Rose talking to mom while I played charades with Lily. I kept playing and playing knowing Lily wouldn’t get bored. That is until Grandma decides to say, “where's my little Lily!” As soon as Lily heard it she bolted downstairs. Thankfully she didn’t notice Grandma’s presence until now. I went to my room hoping my mom would take care of it. I was tired come to think of it. But as soon as I got in bed I sat bolt upright. My mind went through scenarios of what could happen if I fell asleep. I decided to stay awake in case my mom texted me. I might as well call Maya, I thought. Not even a second had gone by from the moment I pressed call that the call connected. Apparently, Maya was already on her phone. “Hi, Bestie!” She says. “Hi Maya,” I replied. “Hold it right there girl,” she says. “Why so glum! It's the weekend. Cheer up!” “I know Maya. I can’t stop worrying.” “About what?” she asks. “Maya! You know I can’t tell you.” “Yeah, I know. I figured I’d at least try.” I wish I could tell Maya. But I can’t. It hurts to keep a secret from someone you have known your whole life. I’ve kept the secret for a few months now, what's a little longer gonna do? “Soooo...” said Maya, breaking the silence. “What’s today’s agenda?” “Oh,” I said snapping back to reality. “Ummm, well Grandma Rose is here with all her luggage-” “luggage!” exclaimed Maya, cutting me off. “Why does Grandma Rose have her luggage?” “Oh! I totally forgot to tell you!" I said. "She’s moving in!” “What?! Yay! Then I can see her every day!” Maya walks home with me every day after school and stays until her mom can pick her up after work. Maya adores Grandma, and Grandma adores her. “Yeah! I said. You can!” I changed the subject from me to her, and asked her what her agenda was gonna be and if she could come over today. She replied with a “Yeah! I’d love to! What time can I come over?” My phone pings as a notification blocks the top of Maya’s head. It was a text from mom to me and Lola. A text that read, Girls, please come downstairs. I’m afraid something is going to happen. My heart started beating. I told Maya I had to go and then I ran down the stairs. Lola was already there. As soon as Lily was in view, I heard her say, “Grandma Rose? Can I tell you a secret?” All three of us ran to Lily and told her to be quiet. She wasn’t listening. When that girl wants something, she gets it no matter the cost. That’s the thing I was worried about. “Sure honey!” Grandma replied. And before anyone could do otherwise, she told her. No, I’m not telling you my secret. But then something worse than I expected happened. Grandma collapsed. We all ran to her side and mom checked her pulse. Mom started crying. “What is it?” The three of us asked simultaneously. “Grandma’s dead.” She said.


I scratch my kneck. My eyes burry themselves into the walls. My head twitches. "I wonder where it went," I think. I get up from my bed. Pacing, I hum an arpeggiated tritone. Over and over again. *Hmm, hmm, hmmm*. My phone rings, but I ignore it. The ringing creates dissonance with my humming. My head twitches, I scratch my kneck. "There you are," I think. I run to the left wall. I put my face real close to it: the spider. The spider has been in the room for weeks, but I have not been able to catch it. I lost it a few days ago, but now I see it again. "I got you now," I laugh. The spider disappears. I wake up on my bed. I sit up, scratch my kneck, look at the ceiling. "I wonder where it went," I think. The phone laughs at me: *Ring, ring, ring*. I ignore it. My head twitches violently. I get up from my bed. I start to pace. I look at the right wall. The paint is violet. Seeping into my eye-sockets, pain swims in my eyelids. I scream. I writhe on the floor. I bang my head on the carpet. Over and over and over again until the pain spills out my eyes. I see the spider. "I got you now!" I yell. I wake up. I scratch my kneck. The spider is nowhere to be seen. I won't sleep until the spider is exterminated. I can't sleep until the spider is gone. Then, it will be pure. It will be true. "I wonder where it went," I shriek. "Spider. Spider. Spider. Where are you? I want you. I need you. Come, spider. Please?" The spider appears. My head twitches. The spider hums. The phone rings. "Get it," says the spider. "No," I say "Why?" "Because I despise you," I reply. I wake up. The spider is on my forehead. I try to get up, but my body is unable to move. The spider laughs. I can't scratch my kneck. My head is locked into place. The phone rings. "Let me get the phone," I shout at the spider. "Nah, you lost your chance," the spider said. "Please?" "Nope." "Please. Please. Please! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!PLEASE!!PLEASE!!! The phone stops. I feel the spider on my forehead. I am disgusted. "What did I do wrong?" "You tried to kill me, you fucking psycho," the spider said. "Well, of course." "Why of course?" "You are a spider. Spiders are to be exterminated." "Fuck you," I close my eyes. I try to wake up. Nothing happens. I can faintly hear drums. "You are going to die." "Please, no!" "I don't want to," said the spider, "but you keep trying to kill me. What else am I to do?" "Don't!" The drums start to get louder. "Will you stop trying to kill me?" "NEVER!!!!" I shriek. I struggle. I struggle. I struggle. "Then I'm gonna kill you." The drums bang in my ears. "NOOOOOO!!!" I cry. "Die, Nazi." I sleep.


Holidays are always happy times for all to enjoy family and friends for many years to come but this year proved to be one of extreme difficulties for all. The COVID virus has plagued the entire world and the way we interact with others has changed and we all had to make adjustments. Tom has expressed how depressed he has been since this whole thing started. In an effort to make things as normal as possible, Claire and I decided we would still have our annual Christmas Cookie Exchange party as usual. The invitations were sent to just a few select friends and family members because the gathering had to be kept small. Everyone invited had responded with more than enough recipes making sure there would be plenty of cookies for all. Since Tom was having such a hard time, I decided to make this year extra special for him. He is the secret guest of honor. Tom and Chris have been in a relationship for over five years. They had been discussing marriage but had never made anything official. Since Tom had been feeling really down, Chris felt this would be the perfect venue to pop that magic question. Chris had discussed the idea with Claire and I and we were ecstatic that he chose our annual cookie party as the perfect opportunity. The only catch was that we had to keep the secret from everyone so it would be a surprise to Tom. Claire got right into the holiday planning spirit and put on her romantic hat and changed a few of the decorations to make them more about marriage with Christmas colors. We had the traditional bells of holly, wreaths, and candle centerpieces all laid out with a beautiful gift box right in the middle of the table that was decorated with wedding bells in Christmas colors. The seating chart had everyone taking their respective places with Tom sitting right in front of the gift box. Cinnamon wax melts in all the warmers was the finishing touch. Now it was time for Claire and I to get into our outfits. Claire adorned herself in her red and white Mrs. Claus dress complete with the red and white hat. I put on my green elf suit and we were ready. We started the Christmas music to get everyone in the mood. The Christmas tree was lit with beautiful festive lights dancing all around it. Tinsel was glistening making everything sparkle. Now we had to wait for our guests to arrive. I dipped up two cups of spiked Eggnog for Claire and I to enjoy while we waited. Just then the doorbell rang. We both jumped up to greet our first guests. It was Julie, Pete, Jon, and Ted. Their arms were filled with tins with bows. We knew that these tins held their prized Christmas cookies for the exchange. We placed their tins on the gift table and seated them at the table according to the seating chart. The next guests to arrive was Sally, Will, Chaz, and Anita. They too had arms filled with many tins that took their place on the cookie table. That’s when the guest of honor arrived. Tom and Chris were wearing matching Santa Suits with Christmas bows of holly pined to them. It was so cute! Claire and I were busting at the seams with excitement. Everyone in attendance was going to witness the best event of the year and no one was aware it was going to be happening! Tom and Chris took their places at the table. Claire and I served up a light Cesar salad, tomato bisque soup, with Turkey, Chicken, and Vegetable wraps with peach punch to wash it all down with. We all enjoyed wonderful conversation as we gobbled down our light meal in a hurry to get to dessert. I couldn’t wait to drop several of those cookies in my mouth!! Claire and I cleared the table of all the dishes and cleaned up everything. We brought out the dessert plates and prepared for the next portion of our party. The excitement was bubbling forth inside me and I couldn’t take it anymore so I invited Chris into the kitchen for a brief conversation. Hey Chris! Can you help me get some of the napkins from the kitchen? Sure thing Layna! Off to the kitchen we trotted. Once there I whispered in the softest voice I could, “So how are you going to pop that question?” Oh Layna. You are always wanting to know everything before it happens. Girl just wait and see how it unfolds. Thanks a bunch for placing the gift box in front of Tom’s spot for me. That box is where everything begins. Did you tell that to Claire? I asked. Not at all. You know if she was aware of what she was doing that someone would know something by now! Chris laughed and began walking back towards the dining room. Come on girl, let’s get the rest of the festivities out of the way. We both chuckled and headed back to everyone in the dining room. Claire had already prepped the table for the cookie tasting and exchange. Everyone went around presenting their cookies and telling the story behind why they chose that recipe. Then came the big moment. It was Chris’ turn to present his cookies to all. He handed Claire his iPod player and told her to play selection 9. “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey began to play. Tom instantly lit up! This was his favorite Christmas song of all time because it was playing the first time Chris and he had met. That’s when I realized how romantic and beautiful this moment really was. I had to fight back the tears that were ready to stream down my face as I watched Chris begin to speak to Tom. Tom, my beloved. This year has been one of the hardest of times for you and I know that you did your best in dealing with the distance we have all had to endure. You have lost your job that you loved and thought you would never reinvent yourself but you did. You are now working from home in a comfortable space. We have kept to as normal as a life as possible with all the things going on with COVID. When you came down with the virus, I thought I would lose you. But you told me that there was nothing that could take you away from me and you eventually returned home from the hospital. Things seemed to be doing well and that’s when my job took a turn for the worst and I had to be furloughed for six weeks. You thought we were going to have to sell our home but we made it through that. Then the worst of all, we lost our beloved dog Bleu. We both cried for days and nothing in the house seemed the same. But a few days ago I came home with another teacup mini whom you promptly named Fancy because she pranced all around the house! In keeping with the spirit of Christmas, I have another gift for you. Please, Tom, open the gift box sitting in front of you. Tom, who was now in tears, took the lid of the beautifully arrayed gift box and immediately screamed, “Oh My God, Chris!! I Love you!!” and he jumped right out of his seat and ran and hugged Chris. We were all sitting around looking at them in amazement but did not know what was in the box. Claire said, “Oh Tom! You must let us see what is in the box!!” Tom, shouted, “Oh! I completely forgot!!” We all laughed as Tom went back to the table and took his seat. He then pulled out what was inside the box. It was a large cookie shaped in the form of two bells with lots of glitter and glam with a blue ribbon tied around it. On one end of the ribbon was a ring tied to it and on the other end of the ribbon was a note pasted to it that said, “Tom, will you marry me?” We all cried together as Tom told Chris that he would marry him. It was the most romantic experience I had the pleasure of being a part of. We danced and sang for the rest of the night. Tom and Chris were very happy and it melted the hearts of all. At the end of the night, we bid each of our guest a blessing with their own personal tins of Christmas Cookies and the joy of knowing they witnessed the miracle Christmas joy can bring even during a pandemic.


I was embarrassed. It’s a strange thing to say because out of all the personal items I’ve ever purchased from a public supermarket in my life (sanitary towels, underwear etc.) surely condoms would be a lesser chore. We’re all animals, at the end of the day and, presumably, a large number of the population have sex on some occasion. Most display it as an act of accomplishment, something to be proud of and boast about. So why is it such an awkward experience? For me, it was because I chose to try and achieve this milestone task at a rather askew point in my life. I was very much in love with someone who was very “meh” in his feelings towards me and I was doing everything I could to win his affections, even lowering myself to such degrading tasks that even he was too embarrassed to attempt himself. I was very insecure about myself. I wasn’t particularly attractive, nor did I hold myself very well, and I was convinced that every eye in that supermarket was on me, judging and mocking. If people saw me holding up condoms they’d know that I presumed to have some sort of sex life and they would shake their head sadly and think “poor girl. Maybe she’ll actually get to use those someday”. At least, that’s what I thought. In reality, my relative plainness probably allowed me to walk through most public places every day of my life without drawing half a stare from anyone. I had, purposely chose a busy, mainstream supermarket to do my shopping because of the presumption that it would be busy with folk not noticing what I was doing. Only when I got there, armed myself with a shopping basket and stepped through the doors did I realise my mistake. I was way too paranoid. I could basically hear the “wuuurrr” of a thousand CCTV cameras turn in my direction, following me through the aisles. I had planned to fill the basket with a few, inconsequential items in order to mask the main purchase. I strolled as carefree as I could, feeling my stomach twist and turn in response to the task that was lay ahead of me. I tossed some random vegetables into the basket, small priced things that, to me, portrayed an average shopping basket. And then I came to *the* aisle. They were stocked near the end, among shelves of vitamins, chap-sticks, exercise supplements and other over the counter medical things. There were three other people in the aisle already. An elderly couple with a shopping trolley, perusing the athlete foot remedies next to my target items, and a bored looking woman, eyes moving, disinterestedly, across the dieting aids. I stole a glance at the condom shelves and was shocked to see they were in short supply. Only a few choices remained, and there was my other moment of panic. Choices? In my absurd naivety, it hadn’t occurred to me that there was various....options when it came to condoms. There were Thin Feel, Extra Safe, Extra Lubricated, Extra Large, Micro Thin and a couple that were simply named Pleasure Me and Tickle Me. Underneath was a wider array of lubrications and gels and God knows what else. I turned my attention to the vitamins, directly across the aisle. I’ve never feigned so much interest in my life. I stood, for what must have been five minute, lifting box after box, reading the back, putting some back, returning, changing my mind, shaking my head....after about eight minutes the paranoia set back in. The old couple had left but the dieting woman remained. She had wandered over to the Deep Heat display but she was still there looking as bored as ever. Did we both have a common goal, here? Was she waiting for me as much as I was waiting for her. Could we both set aside our humiliation and help each other out in achieving what we wanted? Of course not. Would I be able to outlast her? I turned my attention back to the vitamins. What a ridiculously large choice of vitamins. I spotted a three for one offer and tossed the orange flavoured vitamin b supplements into my basket. She was still there. I changed tactics. I began to move, slowly, down the aisle, away from the condoms, towards the painkillers. Three boxes of cough syrup joined the other useless crap in now scattered around my basket. I crossed to the other side and held a tiny box of ear drops inches from my face, studying the fine print while watching the blurry shape of my rival move closer to the sex stuff. The ear drops went into the basket too and I had to admit defeat. Diet woman had stopped at the foot products and was idly scanning the various remedies, her body leaning closer to the risqué stuff but not close enough. I left the aisle and did another round of the store. When I returned my basket was now laden with stir-fry sauce, a sharing pack of chocolate buttons and a little jar of paprika. Diet woman had gone. No doubt she was half way home, her miserable face finally breaking into a smile of pure glee, her prize clutched in her idling fingers. There was a new couple in the aisle though. He was gazing around with the typical suicidal look of a man dragged out to carry the burden of useless haberdashery their partners claimed to need. She was on her knees, a phone glued to her head, discussing the unacceptable prices of face-cream, while tossing about packets of sanitary towels. I maneuvered into the next aisle, dropping some shampoo and deodorant in the ever increasing pile of unwanted trash in my basket. I crossed back into *the* aisle just as the couple were wandering away and a hippy-looking man was wandering in. I was back at my old comfort shelves. The vitamins hadn’t changed much, unfortunately. I couldn’t see hippy man, but I could smell him. He was being suspiciously quiet just out of eyesight. I dropped a few more vitamin packets into my basket and turned to investigate. He was browsing the condoms. All attempts at stealth were forgotten as I stared, open mouthed and wide-eyed, at this hairy, dirty, thin old man casually deliberating between two varieties of condom. I managed to steer myself away, pretending to be immediately excited by the chap-sticks (of which I basket-ed two), feeling a little ridiculous at the ease and, well, casualness in how he purchased his prophylactics. My palms were sweating. It was my turn. I moved back to the vitamins, chucking a few more in just for sake of routine. Hippy was gone but there was a new woman in the aisle, her attention fully focused on nicotine patches. I could feel the panic setting in, the cameras zooming on my face, the customers all waiting for this moment, when they could turn, in unison and smirk in mockery. I glanced to the nicotine woman, her hands full with boxes. I turned, finding myself stood directly and purposefully in front of my worst fear. There was no faking it now. To anyone wanting to look, there was no mistaking my purpose at that moment in time. My eyes went immediately to a bright red box and I made my choice. I stooped, weighed down and made awkward by my heaving basket of stupid stuff. My hands, all moist and trembling, landed on my prize and as I tried to pull the little box towards me I was met with resistance. Pure panic. I pulled harder and the entire display shelf, with each box slotted into it’s own little notch came towards me. I discarded the basket, letting it drop with a pretty audible thud and rattle of many little vitamins all moving inside their packets. With two hands I freed the Thin Feel and tucked it under my mountain of health pills. It hadn’t gone as smoothly as I had hoped but I had them; my key to continuing sexual activities. I almost ran to the checkout, that red box in my basket felt like a beacon, shinning through the green plastic, alerting everyone to its freedom. I was relieved to find the self-checkout almost empty and threw myself on the furthest station. With my condoms safely hidden I began scanning my other items, wondering if I could overdose on vitamins. When I had a good hiding pile in my bad I slipped the condoms out, scanned them in one, easy move and dumped them to the bottom of the bag. Success! The rest of the vitamins I processed with as much consideration as I had shown when I snatched them off the shelves. Suddenly, the screen froze. The smooth, mechanical voice of evil called out “Assistance needed”. It wasn’t my imagination this time. Everyone was looking at me. Everyone was turning to stare at the gormless girl with a box of vitamins held, guiltily in her hand, looking around furtively for a moment of release. She arrived in the form of a wrinkly staff member, muttering about the cold and pressing buttons on my terminal with total distaste. “Right it’s just an age check for the medicines. Have you bagged that last one yet?” She tugged at the bag, dislodging the shameful little red box of shameful things. She saw the condoms. She saw the ridiculous stock of vitamins. I don’t know which I should feel more embarrassed about. I stuffed the remainder of my decoy shopping into a second bag and made my escape, praying that the alarm wouldn’t squeal in anger at my attempt of fleeing. At home, I gazed over my shopping results. So much stuff I would never use. But I had the condoms. There was some victory in all of this, at least....until I checked the receipt. In my hasty retreat I hadn’t even spared a thought for the pricing of my nonsense buys. I hadn’t even noticed the total of my shop from hell, simply sticking my card in the reader and punching in my pin, giving my speedy admission to sap as much as was necessary from my account. I wasn’t wealthy but I was working and not doing much else so I had enough money to sow such carelessness over spending. The receipt was not to my liking. With a multibuy saving of five pound and eighty pence, I had, quite horrifically spent a total of £60.10. Vitamins are ridiculously expensive. It’s been almost two years. I still have those exact same condoms.


Someone knocked on my door. Actually, knocking is too polite of a term for what that bastard was doing. So I’ll rephrase: some shitheel, pompous, smells-of-piss asshat was hammering on my door, keeping me from my well deserved rest and waking me up at the crack of dawn. “Invester!” they shouted. “Invester, open up!” I rolled over in my cot, cracking open one eyelid that was crusty with sleep. I looked out the window and saw the sun barely peeking over the horizon. “Fuck off, it’s barely light out!” I shouted and rolled back to face the wall. Bastard peasants, no sense of decency. “It’s sunset you prick! Open the fucking door!” I groaned and opened my one eye again to take a second look at the sun. Sure as harpy-pox, the sun was going down, not coming up. “I said, it’s barely light out, not that it’s early. Leave me alone.” I shouted at the door again and lay back down. The barrage of fists against my door was like several cannons going off in sequence. “Invester!” the man shouted, his thin, reedy voice making an excellent harmony with his pounding. I growled and sat up, rubbing my eyes and the bags under them. Wincing with aches and pain from a hard night before, I stumbled across the room to the door, my boots clunking on my floor. I hadn’t bothered to get undressed much after getting in yesterday. Or possibly this morning. With one hand I started performing the necessary gestures to unseal the door and with the other I grabbed my wineskin I kept by the door for just such an emergency. The glyphs on the door unsealed with a light glow and the lock clicked. I whipped the door open quickly to catch my harasser off guard. “What in the Five Hades do you want?” I growled as I twisted the cork of the wineskin with my teeth. He was a fat man, with thick sausage fingers and jowls that quivered when he talked. Kinda short, but I’m not one to talk. He was wearing normal travellers clothes but sporting several large rings and a heavy amulet around his neck with a gem in the middle. His watery eyes did a quick once over of my own regal attire of worn boots, stained shirt, and heavy overcoat. I had somehow managed to remove my pants without taking off my boots last night. “You’re the invester? Leander Norric?” asked the fat man, disbelievingly. “Obviously I am or I would have come to greet you with a heavy cudgel, and I don’t mean this one.” I replied as I scratched my groin through my drawers. I was still trying to wrench the cork out of the flask. “I’ll ask once more and then I’m going back to bed and you can beat your hands bloody for all I care. What. Do. You. Want-aha!” I suddenly freed the cork with a satisfying pop that rang with the promise of sweet nectar. “I need to hire you. Some... *thing* is robbing me blind and if I lose any more of my inventory-”. “Talk to the guards.” I interrupted and gestured to the soldiers on patrol nearby. Their loud clanking armor was doing more damage to my aching head than the battering of my door just a few seconds ago. “They won’t investigate! They said it was supernatural in nature-” sputtered the fat man. “Talk to the church then. Any of them, doesn’t matter which.” I raised the flask to my lips, my parched throat clamoring for wine. “They said it’s ‘not a demonic or malicious entity worthy of exorcism by the church’” pleaded the fat man. “They told me I wasn’t praying enough and that I was being tested.” “The only one being tested here is me.” I said fiercely, lowering my flask to glower at the man. “I don’t work for cheap, if you want to trade a goat for a chore go find a farmers kid to shoo whatever it is you got out with a broom-” “I’ll pay you double your fee if you can come with me, right now, invester.” Interrupted the fat man. I stopped and reconsidered him. He had the look of desperation about him, wringing his hands and shifting his weight. “Double you say?” I asked as I raised my flask again. “Double, but we have to go now and I need this solved immediately.” he confirmed, his many chins wobbling. I squeezed the wineskin but only a couple sour drops of wine dripped onto my tongue, leaving me with an even greater thirst. Disgusted with the traitorous bag, I re-corked it. “Three things.” I said. “Number one, I decide on the price after I see what I’m dealing with. Number two, I can’t promise it’ll be solved ‘immediately’. You might have any number of ghoulish beasties or shit-flinging curses on your shop or you and some of those take time to remove.” “I heard you solved the McTravers problem within a couple hours.” said the fat man, looking unimpressed. “Did you hear that I spent those couple hours moving an enchanted needle a total of three inches because any faster would have killed their damn foolish boy? Did you hear that part? Didn’t think so. We do this *my way*. Which is to say slow and safe.” “Fine, your way. What was the third thing?” “Third, I need my pants. Go fill this-” I shoved my empty wineskin at him. “And I’ll get dressed. Your shop far?” “I have a horse and cart.” “Good.” I slammed my door in his face and turned around. My single room hut was cluttered and messy, the wood stove stone cold and the bed a mess. I sighed and rummaged for my pants, pulling them on. Dressed, I knelt down to open my trunk. My work chest was a handsome piece of furniture, and functional. The carved oak was strong and thick, the steel and silver trim was bright and shiny. I undid the locks, some magical, some with keys. Opening the chest, watching the shelves spring up, I considered what to bring for this job. Hand crossbow, yes, with ammo. Silver daggers, no, wouldn’t be any better than an average knife. Holy water, nah, the church didn’t think it was devilish or demonic. Salt pouch, yes could be all I needed. I packed the gear and an assortment of powders into some of my coat’s pockets and made sure I had my notebook and charcoal in another. The paper in the little notebook was probably worth more than the chest and all its contents so I made sure it was secure in my chest pocket. My knees popped as I stood back up, grunting. I stretched my arms toward the ceiling and felt something in my back slip into place. “Alright.” I muttered. “Let’s go.” I stumped over to the door and whipped it open. My client stood there, the wineskins bulging with promise. “Fast.” I grunted, taking it from him.” “I filled it right over there.” he said, pointing. I followed his fat finger with my eyes and saw him pointing at the well nearby, where people came and went with their containers of water. I opened the bag, took a swig of water to rinse the fuzz out of my mouth and spat. Then I upended the bag, dumping the water into the mud, splattering some passersby who gave me some dirty looks. Dunno why they were so fussed, they were all caked in shit and mud anyway. I probably made them cleaner. “Now take this and get me a proper drink in it. That your cart?” I asked, gesturing with my head. “Yes.” said the fat man shortly. “Good, I’ll be in there. Wake me up when we get there and for fuck’s sake, put some real wine in the bag.” I started off toward the carriage. “You’re a right bastard Norric, you know that?” shouted the fat man. “Yeah, but you’re gonna deal with me all the same, aren’t ye?” I mumbled to myself as I climbed into the cart, sniffing a bit at the smell of horse and oats. I shoved a bag of feed into a corner, sat up against it, and looked at the setting sun. We probably wouldn’t be at my clients residence until after dark if he took a cart to get here. “Fuck.” I mumbled out loud. Everything was meaner at night. Especially people. I closed my eyes and fell asleep. “Oye, wake up.” I was nudged rudely by a booted foot. “We’re here.” I opened my eyes. We were stopped outside a building near the edge of a forest. There were some other homes and stores nearby but this was clearly way out on the edge of the city’s limits. The enterprising individuals who staked a claim out here called it the Wilds.. It was a fitting name. Beasts, bandits, tax collectors, ghouls of all sorts lurked out here. Most communities required a steady immigration their first year out here, just to maintain the population while they sorted out whatever it was that was killing them. Sometimes it was a disease; not surprising given the rough conditions. Other times they called someone like me. I didn’t have an official title for my occupation. Fixer was sometimes used or invester. I don’t like invester though, makes me sound like a stuffy clerk for a bank. But it was short for investigator, as in “Oh wee lad, gon’ up ta hill n’get that *invester* fella\*.\* Something’s gon and killed all ta cows and yer mum and ta neighbours.” Grisly murders. Mysterious disappearances. Strange happenings. Curses. Basically whatever the government and church decided they didn’t think was worth their time or want their hands sullied with, people came to me. I didn’t work cheap but I charged fairly. Seventy gold crowns from the wealthy alderman who didn’t want people to know that his son had been cursed by a jilted lover. Just one crown and bed for the night from the poor village that was being haunted by a ghoul. I dirtied my hands on the regular, often visiting the underbelly of the city to find the answers I was being paid for. This job looked soft though. The village we were in was well lit, regular guards walking in pairs. The shop we had stopped in front of looked fine too; showing no signs of abuse or the advanced decay that cursed buildings often have. “Well? Aren’t you coming?” asked the fat man impatiently. He was already off the cart and unlocking the front door. No magic on his locks, just a single key. That alone told me a lot about what could be wrong with his shop. I grabbed my wineskin and rolled out of the cart, standing in the road, looking up and down the street. No unusual sounds, no menacing mist or presence. Nothing malicious at all really. I took a blessed swig of wine and walked up to the entrance of the shop. My client held it open for me but I didn’t go inside yet. Instead I examined the door frame carefully, checking for glyphs or scratches. Nothing. “Well?” asked the owner again. “What’s your name?” I asked him as I stepped into the shop. Neat little place. Looked like he sold some expensive charms, he had a variety of jewellery on display, with little picture cards in front to explain what each one did. Smart, the illiteracy rate out here was astronomical. “I’m Leod Marshton.” he said, hauntingly. “Purveyor of fine charms and wardens essential for the prepared travellers of the Wilds-” “Yeah, I didn’t ask for your sales pitch.” I said casually as I strolled along the perimeter of the shop. I kept one hand on the handle of my crossbow in the fold of my coat as I walked. Caution when exploring new surroundings has saved my skin more than once. “I take it some inventory has gone missing?” “Yes, some very expensive pieces. I know they weren’t stolen by normal means which is why-” “You hired me, got it. How do you know they weren’t nicked?” I asked him, examining an expensive looking amulet which could apparently detect magic. Probably trash, even if it actually did was the card advertised. I couldn’t sense anything arcane in the shop, which meant his inventory was probably minimally enchanted or not at all. “You got some fine metals here, how’d you know it wasn’t someone in the village?” “I’ll tell you.” said Leod, narrowing his eyes. “Because I’d set down a charm, turn around to grab another and when I turned back, it was gone. Right in front of me. Couldn’t have taken my eyes off of it for more than a second” “Mmhm, happened more than once?” “About twice a week, yes.” “Mhmm”. I finished my sweep of the store and came over to Leod. I squinted at him hard, carefully looking him over top to bottom. Then I stared into his eyes. “What... what are you doing?” he asked me, looking slightly alarmed. “Trying to see if you’re jinxed.” I said, tongue between my teeth. “Jinxed?” Leod asked, patting himself down. “What do you mean jinxed?” “Jinxed. You know. Hexed. Cursed. Bamboozled. I’m trying to see if someone has polluted the sanctity of your mind or body. Got any new scars? Places that itch? Been feeling foggy lately? Sleepless? Too much sleep? Has your appetite gone off? Tripled? How about your sex life, got a constant woody?” “What, I- no!” Leod sputtered. “None of that! I’m fine! Everything is... fine! Why would I be cursed?” I shrugged. “Happens. Someone hexes you when you’re unaware, takes control of your body for a short period of time. You could be blanking out, handing your goods over to someone out the window and regaining your senses once they're gone. It’s not easy but someone who thought your charms were the real deal would be interested in it.” Leod blustered with anger. “I’ll have you know that these charms are endorsed by the Church of the Kloth-” “Of course,” I interrupted. “We can probably rule out robbery. Someone who stole a charm would find out they’re shit once they tried to fence it or use it. Wouldn’t make sense to keep stealing junk.” I finished staring at Leod and looked around the shop again. It was very clean. I checked the floors. Barely any wear. “How long have you been out here?” I asked. “Only a month.” he replied. “I got approved for a Wilds Frontier loan and moved out here. There’s an untapped market for traveller charms on this end of the Wilds. I’ve made several lucrative sales already.” the smug look on his face made me roll my eyes. “Yeah except you probably got a heavy rate on the loan right? Which is why you need to find your thief, eh? Too much stock goes missing and suddenly you’re missing payments.” Leod nodded stiffly. “Well, yes, my profit margin is thin for the first year or so.” I nodded absently. “Piss anyone off in town yet?” Leod swelled with anger again. It made him look like a toad. “I have an excellent relationship with the community! We have to rely on each other this far out of the city!” “So no one has used your charms yet, got it.” I concluded. I wandered back and forth along the shop, letting my feet do the thinking. Humans, like elves, can sense magic, but most of us don’t know how. Because there are so many different kinds of magic, it would be difficult to tell if there’s any at all, let alone what kind. From Leod’s description, it seemed to me that there was something supernatural about. But it didn’t seem manufactured or constructed like a spell. So I wandered, letting my thoughts go blank, keeping myself distracted by pestering Leod with questions. Trying to detect anything at all. I paused in my pacing. This was the third time I had walked past this particular desk, without meaning to. I crouched down and looked under the tables. “Got a basement?” “No.” Leod answered, looking impatient. “You sure? I had a client once who told me he didn’t have a basement. Turned out there was a lich’s laboratory under his floorboards. Poor guy never knew about it. Some real twisted shit down there.” “There isn’t a basement.” Leod said through gritted teeth. “I had the land surveyed by a geomancer.” I stood up again. “Did he give you a report?” “Yes.” “Lemme see it.” Leod walked past me and rummaged through his desk for a moment before pulling out a certificate. “Ah yes, see? Here it is. Signed by a respectable guild from the city, paid in full. A clean sweep of the premise before the land was cleared and my shop went up.” I took the paper from him carefully. He probably paid a hefty sum to have that document done up and I didn’t have the coin to get him a replacement. I scanned the document. He was right, it was a good, thorough scan from a respectable guild. There were two geomancers, actually, and they cross checked each other’s work. I grunted in approval. “Yeah, good, looks like you don’t have any portals nearby or subterranean works or dwellings. That’s a relief, that lab I mentioned was disgusting. Ever seen an eviscerated pepelexa? Fucking gross.” I flipped over the certificate and continued reading. No curses, no wards, nothing about gravesites, no large animals removed from the area, it looked like everything was on the up and up. I was about to hand the paper back when a footnote caught my eye. It was in the additional details left by one of the geomancers. I read it once, then again as I processed it. “Aw shitfire.” I said, annoyed. “What? What is it?” demanded Leod. “Did you read this *all the way through*?” I asked him, handing the paper back. “Of course I did!” Leod huffed. “Then you definitely read the part at the bottom of the additional notes? The part about how one of the magicians experienced seeing several ‘bright and vision-obscuring lights’ when they were clearing out the woods for the lot?” “Well, yes,” sputtered Leod. “But they assured me it was normal! That it happened sometimes when clearing forests! They said it was pixies or something, trying to drive off intruders.” I rubbed my eyes and took a long overdue swig from my flask. “Your store is made from the same wood that was cleared from this land, wasn’t it.” Leod stopped dead. “How could you possibly know that?” he demanded. I smiled. “Because,” I lectured “when you remove the wood cut from an area with magical creatures, it loses its magical properties. That’s why people can get ‘fairy wood’ for cheap and not have any problems. By the way, ‘fairy wood’ is a bullshit term. Fairies and pixies are nothing alike. Anyway the pixies don’t see the wood as home any more and they move on to new territory. You kept the same wood in the same forest so you get to keep the same pixies.” “So I have pixies?” asked Leod, confused. “You have something. ‘Pixie’ is kind of a catchall term for small magical beings with wings. Kind of like how ‘bug’ refers to tiny crawly things.” “Well, what do I have?!” asked Leod, raising his voice. “Shhh.” I put a finger to my lips. “We don’t want to spook it. Dim the lights, let's sit over there by the window. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Anything taken lately?” Leod shook his head and looked worriedly around his store, probably expecting something large and nasty to spring out of the shadows. It always astounds me how little the general populace knows about the land they live on. I pulled a bench out, as far away as we could get from the desk I had walked by repeatedly. After Leod put out all but one of the candles we sat down on the bench together. We waited silently. Time went by very slowly, Leod’s pocket watch ticking loudly. He kept checking it, turning it to the light, fidgeting in place. I sat still and watched the rafters above the desk. If Leod was lucky, I might be able to solve his mystery tonight. If I was right about my hunch though, Leod was going to be mighty unhappy with the outcome. After about thirty minutes of waiting, I saw what I had been waiting for. “There.” I said quietly, not bothering to whisper. Leod started, having been falling asleep the last five minutes. “What? Where? What?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “Keep your voice down. She probably isn’t scared of us but we don’t want to startle her.” I said in a low voice, not blinking. “The rafters.” Leod looked up to the rafters, looking frightened. “Is it dangerous?” he asked in a whisper. “Only to your profits.” I said in the same low voice. I got up and walked quietly and calmly to the desk. From the rafters there was a small, bright mist floating down, almost like a tiny golden cloud. You couldn’t see through it, but it shimmered with movement as it fell slowly towards the desk. I approached the desk slowly and sank down to my knees, getting eye level with the glowing light. Leod followed behind me, shaking with small tremors, trying to look over my shoulder. “Hello, little miss.” I said to the cloud. There was a light puff of air, and a tiny girl’s head poked out of the little cloud. She was as golden as the cloud that held her, with long curly hair and a cherub-like face. Slender glossimer wings were poking out of her back but she kept mostly hidden in her cloud cover. She looked up at me curiously as she shimmered in the darkness of the shop, a slight ringing sound emanating from her glow. “What... what is *that*?” breathed Leod. “*She*,” I correctly gently, not looking away from her “is a flickerwill.” “A what?” snapped Leod. Abruptly the golden light went out, like it had never been there at all. The cabin was bathed in black ink after our eyes had gotten used to the golden light. “Dammit man, keep your voice mellow, don’t fuck this up.” I said in the same amiable tone. “Got a crown on you?” “What?” “A crown, give me a gold crown.” Leod fished his large hand in his pocket and handed me a sweaty gold coin. “Here little miss.” I said, keeping my voice soothing. “Something for you, given freely, not taken. A present.” I placed the coin on the desk and waited. Nothing happened. “What’s happening?” asked Leod in a whisper. “I’m trying to show her we’re not dangerous. Ask her to come out.” “What?” Leod asked in a panicked whisper. “Why me?” “Because this is your shop she’s in, and this is her home you’re in. You should get acquainted.” Leod looked bewildered. I sighed. “Just speak to her calmly, tell her she can have the coin.” Leod opened his mouth, closed it and swallowed, then opened it again. “Little... umm, flickmist” he started. “Flickerwill.” I corrected “Little flickerwill,” Leod began again. “You may, umm... have this gold coin. As a gift.” he finished lamely. I turned to roll my eyes at him again. As I turned, the golden light reappeared behind me. Leod gasped and grabbed at his neck, scrambling for the charm hanging from it. I turned back. The flickerwill was floating a couple of inches off the desk. She had grabbed the coin which was nearly as big as her head and was holding it with both hands; looking quite pleased with herself. She gave us a shy smile and like a candle blowing out, disappeared. “Good.” I said loudly. Leod started, having gotten used to my soft voice. “That’s solved then.” I got up and lit the lanterns in the room, filling it with light once more. “That’s it? That thing is gone then?” asked Leod disbelievingly. “Oh hell no.” I chuckled. “You’re not gonna get rid of her.” “What do you mean I’m not getting rid of her!? I hired you to get rid of her!” “Nope. You hired me to solve this problem and we did just now. Once a week, you’re gonna leave a crown out for her, and say out loud that it is a gift for her. That should stop her from nicking your goods.” Leod looked completely lost so I threw him a bone. “Flickerwills are harmless sprites that covet shiny objects. I’m guessing that this one lived in the forest that you had chopped down and since the wood never left, neither did she. She’s been stealing your stuff when you weren’t looking.” Leod pondered this for a minute then looked cross. “Am I getting my stolen goods back?” “Unlikely. She has no reason to give them back. You won’t find them laying around the shop either. Flickerwills and blink in and out of existence. Whatever she took is gone into the aether.” “When will she leave?” asked Leod, looking mutinous. “Leave?” I laughed in his face. “You don’t get it, do you? You set up shop in her home. You cut down her house and rearranged it how you like. She’s not gonna leave and there is absolutely nothing you can do to her. Make a quick movement in her presence and she’ll vanish instantly. She’ll keep stealing your valuables too, unless you pay her.” “How does she even know she’s getting paid?!” bawled Leod, who was red in the face. I actually wondered about his heart for a moment. “She doesn’t, you’re just giving her something else shiny in lieu of your valuables. Doesn’t matter what she gets, really. I just figured you’d always have a crown when you need it and it’s pretty cheap for rent.” “Rent? Rent!?” yelled Leod. He was rapidly progressing to purple and I idly wondered if the flickerwill would be pest free soon. “I own this establishment, and the land it's built on! I own the trees used to make this store! I’m not sharing my home and business with a filthy little pincher and paying for it!” I nodded the whole time, pretending to keep interest in the conversation. “Indeed. Well I wish you the best of luck in evicting the otherworldly fae creature from your place of business. You’ll find that you will be laughed out of every exterminator's door and sent packing from the churches. A flickerwill isn’t evil, it’s part of the land. You can either suck it up and pay the crown or move out but the pixie is here to stay now that you built the house out of her trees. I can safely say that if you keep leaving her gifts, she will not steal from you. Just like people, they prefer to be given gifts than scrounge for their own wants.” I patted Leod on the shoulder who was slowly deflating and looking forlorn. “Speaking of payment, I’d charge you twenty crowns for my expertise and negotiations of hostilities with the flickerwill. You agreed to double, so that will be forty crowns. I’ll knock five off if you give me a lift back to town in the morning.” I pulled a blanket off a shelf and shoved it up against a corner. “You can’t be seriously trying to stay here after that stunt you pulled.” Leod looked completely defeated. I laced my hands behind my head and settled back into the corner. “I’d be a lunatic to try and get back to the city this late. Just be glad I solved your problem ‘immediately’.” I nodded to him and shut my eyes. I heard Leod grumbling as he slammed a door shut and disappeared deeper into his home. “Goodnight, little miss.” I said to the empty room. From behind my closed eyes I could see a shining glow right in front of my face. There was a brief puff of air on the tip of my nose and then the light went out. Something heavy dropped into my hand. I opened my eyes and held it up to the dim moonlight. It was one of the charms the flickerwill had taken, a large silver brooch with a emerald inlaid in the centre. Probably worth a solid week's worth of wages but I decided to keep it as a souvenir. It’s not often that I finish a case where no one and nothing has been killed. I’d like to remember this one.


I’m on tills, it’s about five hours into my shift. Feeling a little tired. I’m in automatic mode; I serve customers with my almost monotone *thank you*, *who’s next*, *cheers bud*. Words just come out of my mouth. Sometimes I say *hi* when they are leaving, or *cheers* when they come to my counter. I’ve clocked myself doing this. I know it’s bad but I don’t want to berate myself -- after all, I’m serving about two customers a minute. It doesn’t sound like much, but it is. I’ve decided I want to change things up. I will become conscious. I will take the wheel. I will fly my plane. ‘Hello’ I say with an award-winning smile. ‘ello!’ the small old lady says to me. She seems happy. Let’s add a personal touch to this interaction. Let's see... she’s buying alcohol -- perfect! I’ve got just the ticket. ‘excuse me mam,’ *god* I am a charmer, ‘can I see some aye-dee for this?’. I’m already smiling. ‘what was that son?’ Bless. She’s too old to hear me properly*.* I suppose we all get old someday. Wrinkled faces and hairs coming out of our ears... out of her cheeks and chin and christ those are some gross eyebrows. No -- stop. I’m being nice. ‘I said,’ *there’s that smile again*, ‘can I see some AYE-DEE?’ A frown. That’s not good. Is she a grumpy old person? Was that enthusiastic *ello* just a ruse? A subterfuge to subvert my expectations? I wonder if she looks down on me. Perhaps she was just in automatic mode too? **‘Ish there a problem here?’** says some burly bald-headed man that appeared from somewhere behind her. ‘No, ha ha, I was just asking her for some aye-dee, you know, for the wine’. I keep my smile up with effort. **‘Are youh tryin to confuse this frail ald woman? oan purpose?**’ He looks angry. Why must people moralise on behalf of others; can this lady not fight her own battles? I mean, probably not. But still. ‘No, no! Ha ha’ *yikes* ‘I was trying to make a joke, to make her laugh! I’m obviously not as funny as I thought I was, ha ha’. **‘WHO the FUCK dae ya HINK yeh ARE?**’ says another, almost comically similar rough big bald-headed man who also seemingly appeared from my periphery. These two men, standing either side of her, look like they could pick her up and lob her over the counter at me -- if she didn’t break in their hands. How did they even hear the conversation? None of my colleagues seem to have; they’re still serving customers. Same as I should be. ‘Look. Fellas.’ *Oooh, where did this confidence come from?* ‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. I’m not trying to confuse this lady-’ *you whelks* ‘I was just trying to brighten her day with a little joke. I mean, she’s obviously too old to be aye-dee’d for alcohol. She looks waayhaay over twenty-five!’ I’m sure these gentlemen can find the good humour in this situation. **‘HOUUUH**’ a gasp. A loud one Oh n- **‘HOU VERY DARE YOUH. YOUH ANIMAL**’ spittle on my face ‘**IF I CO-**’ ‘Killlll the motherr fuckkaa!!!!’ shrieks the old lady with a shrill, almost regal intonation; her head is thrown back and a finger points towards my face. Within seconds these burly men are on the counter, scrambling at me with their grubby sausage fingers. My colleagues, the bastards, continue to serve normally. These men have passed the threshold and are chasing me behind the self-scans in full view of the customers. The old lady cracks a smile. The burly men beat me to a pulp, first cracking my ribs then squishing my face like a beaten tomato. My body is so badly broken and rigid that I look like a chip that’s been left in the oven too long. The blood covering me looks like tomato sauce. It pools on the floor and my manager tells me to clean it up. Such is life when you are nice to customers.