Tag Archives: short story

The Man in the Cupboard, pt. 13

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In the last episode Mike finally made it to Ben the bluebird’s nest, narrowly avoiding being eaten by whatever lurked in the ivy.  Now, he must see if he can make sense of the crazy bird’s ramblings.

To read the previous episode, click here!

To start at the beginning of the story, click here!

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The dark shadow cast by the bird’s wings descended over the nest where Mike sat perched and trembling.  His held fast to the sticks that made up the nest, his knuckles white with the strain.  Being at the top of the tree was almost enough to unnerve him completely.  Looking down, when he dared, all he could see were branches and leaves, the ground had vanished.

“Why look, I candy I’ve got, all wrapped up nicely.  Is it a chocolate or a mint?” Ben said in a sing song voice while hopping back and forth, making the nest bounce and Mike’s stomach turn even more. “We best unwrap it and find out.”

If Mike could have worked up the courage to let go of the nest for a moment, he would have rapped the bird on the beak with his cane. “You will do nothing of the sort!

“The candy talks!” The bird laughed and cocked his head so far he was nearly upside down as he leaned in to get a better look. His black beady eyes sparkled with glee. “I’ve never had a talking candy before. Let’s get the wrapper off.” He nipped at Mike with his beak. “I do hope it’s got nuts.”

That was enough for Mike, he gripped the nest with one hand and swung the cane with the other. “Benjamin Bluejay I am not candy!” he hollered as it came down on the intruding beak with a crack.

The bird jumped to the other side of the nest, rubbing at his beak with the edge of his dusty blue wing. “That wasn’t very nice. No, no no…” He paced and twitched his wings, glancing back at Mike as if trying to figure him out.

“Listen crazy bird, I need to talk to you. You know everything about the park, what do you know of the she tinkers?”

Ben froze and fixed Mike in his stare, eyes narrowed. Then he began singing to himself, bobbing his head to the rhythm of the words.

Betwixt the pines a willow stands

Where the Valkyries rule the land.

With pointed spear and battle cry

They say that they will never die.

 

Mike leaned forward, the words meant something to the bird they had to be some sort of riddle. “Are the Valkyries the she tinkers? Are you trying to tell me where they are?”

The bird screeched and gave a curt nod. “Smart candy, now I can eat you?”

“Oh no, never, I’m not food.” Mike scooted back as the bird came closer, clicking his tongue inside its beak. “If it’s food you want I know where you can get some delicious biscuits and tarts.”

The bird stopped and stood up tall. “I like tarts, are there raspberry ones?”

“Certainly, and blueberry too.  I’m sure she will make whatever you like if you are polite.” Mike fished out one of the biscuits he had forgotten about from his pockets and tossed it forward. “Here, try this.”

Ben whistled and snatched up the biscuit. “Yes, I like. Where, tell me!”

Mike cringed at the thought of what he was about to suggest but it was the only way he could think of to get down from this tree and over the willow tree mentioned in the song.  “I’ll tell you, but first you have to do something for me.”

“What does the candy want?”

“Carry me to the willow tree where the she tinkers are, then I’ll tell you where you can get your tarts.” Mike cringed. Suggesting to be flown over the park to yet another tree? He must be losing his mind.

“More biscuit?”

Mike felt his other pocket, the second biscuit was still there. “When we get there.”

The bird gave a happy whistle and without waiting a moment grabbed Mike by the shoulders and lifted him from the nest.

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Man in the Cupboard, pt. 12

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In the previous episode, Mike had reached the end of the hedge trail and parted ways with the two field mice Jacob and Tilly.  Now he faces climbing the mighty crab apple tree to find a crazy bluejay.

To read the previous episode, click here!

To start at the beginning, click here!

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The words of Jacob’s warning echoed through Mike’s head as he made his way through the dense ivy that tangled around his feet, tripping him every other step.  Each brush of the undergrowth against his legs brought a new thrill of panic that some creature might be reaching out to grab him.  The faster he tried to move, the more tangled his feet became and the more times he fell.

When he finally reached the gnarled trunk of the tree all he wanted was a place to sit for a moment catch his breath.  That, and perhaps a hot cup of tea to steady his nerves.  He scanned the ivy for signs of life, nothing moved in the still air. He leaned against the rough bark and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm him.  Surely a few moments wouldn’t do any harm.

Just as Mike was starting to feel ready to attempt the climb something shot around his ankles, yanked him off his feet, and began dragging him under the ivy.  He twisted and flailed for his cane resting against the trunk and managed to knock it into his hands before going under the dark canopy of leaves. With a deft swing of the cane he sent a crackle of magic into the shadows.  Whatever was pulling him screeched and the binding at his feet loosened.

He didn’t stop to see what it was, the second he was free he ran for the tree and climbed as fast as he could until he reached the branches. That’s what Jacob had told him to do in the first place, he cursed at himself for not listening.  When he reached the first branch it was all he could do to pull himself on top of it before collapsing, breathless.  The height made his head swim and the thought of looking down made his stomach turn.

In the branches overhead he heard a series of chitters and squeaks bouncing about.

“What’s this here?” he heard one ask from somewhere above and to the left.

“Dunno, looks like a tall rat without a tail and wearing clothes,” answered another voice off to the right.

“Why’d ya think ol’ Cluny let him go?” asked the first voice.”I thought he’d be dinner for sure.”

A large grey squirrel leaped down on Mike’s branch, making it bounce.  Mike scrambled to grip the branch tighter, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don’t shake the branch.” He asked through clenched teeth.

“Wha’ you mean like this?” The grey squirrel jumped up and down a few times and Mike held on even tighter.  Even so he imagined he felt his grip slipping and him plummeting back down to the ivy and into the jaws of that thing that lived there. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Stop it Wetta, you’re scaring him.” A second squirrel joined the first on the branch and the shaking thankfully stopped. Mike dared to look up to see his rescuer and saw a different grey squirrel, this one smaller with flecks of black peppered through his fur.  “Name’s Tucker friend, what’s yours?” he asked extending a paw.

Mike shook his head, he couldn’t imagine letting go, not yet. “Name’s Mike.”

“Well Mike, whatcha doing in our tree? You’re not a nut snatcher, are ya?” Tucker sat with his legs dangling next to Mike being careful not to jar him.  Wetta climbed over to another branch for a better view all the while muttering to himself about crazy rats.

“No, not interesting in nuts.” Mike managed to sit up and swallow down the dryness in his throat, but scooted close to where the branch met the trunk.

“Well then, why ya here?”

“I need to get to Benjamin, I have some questions for him.”

Tucker looked up to the top of the tree. “That’s a mighty hard climb for a land dweller like you. Do you want a lift?”

Mike risked a look up towards the top of the tree, if he had to do it on his own it would take the rest of the day.  That is, if he worked up the courage to let go of the branch.  “Would you do that?”

“Sure, It’d be fun.”

Wetta growled deep in his throat like he didn’t like the idea. “Tucker, what are you doing?”

“Being helpful, one day you should try it.”

“One day you are going to get yourself into trouble,” he said with a sneer and then bounded away.

“Stupid oaf,” Tucker said under his breath before turning back to Mike and extending a paw. “Alright, all you have to do is hang on tight and keep your head down. I’ll do the rest.”

Mike clung to Tucker’s paw and climbed on the squirrel’s back.  His thick fur made it easy to get a solid grip.

 

Without another word they were flying through the branches reaching higher and higher inside the great crab apple tree. Before Mike could think to be terrified they had reached the top and the blue jay’s nest.

Tucker stopped at the edge of the nest and let Mike climb off. “Listen, be careful around the old bird.  He’s a fine chap but he can be unpredictable at times.”

Mike’s legs shook as he climbed to the edge of the nest, this was higher than he had ever been before and he definitely didn’t like it.  “I will, thank you for the lift, I honestly can say I couldn’t do it without you.”

Overhead they heard a whistle of birdsong. “That’d be Ben, I’d best be heading down now, the two of us don’t get along. Good luck. Goodbye.”

Before Mike could say good-bye the squirrel had already turned and began his trip back down.  There was a great rush of wind as Ben landed in his nest.

The bird clucked and cocked his head. “What’s this? Has someone left me a present?”

To be continued…

***

 To read the next episode, click here!

The Man in the Cupboard, pt. 9

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It’s Fiction Friday and we’re back with another episode of the Man in the Cupboard. Enjoy!

To read the previous episode, click here!

To start at the beginning, click here!

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Mike crouched down and squeezed his way through the narrow earthen tunnel that led to Auntie Marie’s burrow.  Tilly and Jacob had already hurried through ahead of him, eager to tell Auntie of their visitor.  Smells of roasted parsnip and nuts drifted up the tunnel reminding Mike that he had missed lunch in all the excitement of the day.

The tunnel opened into a warm cozy burrow that was thankfully large enough for Mike to stand in, if just barely.  Tilly and Jacob had hung their belongings on pegs in the wall and now stood at a long low basin washing away the dirt from their paws and snouts.  Auntie Marie stood over a large pot wielding a wooden spoon as long as her arm. Strands of silver flecked the fur at the tips of her ears and tail.  When she saw him she stuck the spoon in her ruffled apron and rushed toward the door.

“Why isn’t this a treat!  It’s been ages since I’ve had a proper visitor.  If only I’d known earlier I would have made something special.  I make a wonderful seed tartlet with the most delicious crab apple sauce you could imagine.  But look at me gabbing away!  Go hang up your things and get washed up, supper will be ready in no time.”

She bustled back to her pot as quickly as she had come leaving Mike with his mouth hanging open.  He had meant to introduce himself properly, and thank her for her hospitality but instead only managed a mumbled, “Yes, of course m’am.”

“Look at you. Has Auntie got your tongue?” Tilly chided as she walked by, the fur of her head still damp from washing. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we can get her to stop talking long enough for you to have a chance to have your say.”

“She’s something else, isn’t she?”

“That’s one way of saying it.  Make sure you tell her how much you enjoy her cooking and she’ll like you forever.”

“That I will lass, thanks for the advice.”

Jacob had already sat at the tidy table and was helping himself to one of the petite biscuits from a walnut shell serving bowl.  Auntie, as expected, was talking in a non stop stream as she tended to her pot, tossing in a pinch of this and that as she went.  Mike joined him and was happy to find the biscuits still warm and fragrant.  Tilly joined Auntie in the kitchen and prepared the tea, ladling a deep red liquid from the crock next to the fire into four earthenware mugs.

Auntie gave her latest creation a taste and declared that supper was indeed ready, and none too soon, between Mike and Jacob somehow all of the biscuits had disappeared. With steaming bowls set in front of each of them, they set in to eat.

For the first time since they entered Auntie stopped talking.

“Dear Auntie, it is very gracious for you to have me in your lovely home.  Thank you.  Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Mike Finnegan.”

“He’s a Tinker, Auntie.  He’s come searching for other tinkers here in the park.” Tilly added, not giving Auntie a chance to start in again.

“Tinker you say? I haven’t heard of tinkers being in the park for ages.  But then again, I only talk with the other animals who live around here.  Perhaps there still are a few on the other side of the park, which reminds me, I spoke to Roger this morning.  You remember Roger, the meadowlark? Always such a nice chap, he brings me nuts and berries from all over the park.  He told me that that he heard that there was another storm on the way and I’d better make sure that all of the burrow was well protected against leaks.  Perhaps you could check over the burrow before you head home, Jacob.  A nice fit mouse like you would be able to get it done in a minute.”

Jacob made as if to answer but Auntie didn’t stop for a moment.

“Now that that is decided, you must tell me where you are from Mr. Mike. You sound like you come from the Northlands, is that it?”

“Well not exactly -”

She cut him off with a wave of her paw. “No, now that I listen closer I’m thinking perhaps not.”

This exchange went on for the rest of the night, Auntie talking at her guests and no one getting a word in edge wise.  Mike was more than grateful when it was time to head to bed, his head throbbed and he had learned nothing that would help him in his quest.

To be continued…

***

To read the next episode, click here!

The Man in the Cupboard, pt. 7

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Let’s get back to the story of tiny tinker Mike Finnegan!  In the last installment, Mike had left Kimberly’s home to find a she tinker of his own to love.  Let’s see what happens next!

To read the previous installment, click here!

To start at the beginning, click here!

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Within the safety of the dense boxwood hedge the field mouse bounced down from branch to branch until she stood face to face with Mike.  She wore a red checkered scarf around her neck and carried a handbag fashioned from woven grass.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” she asked in a squeaky high voice.

Mike leaned on his cane. “I wouldn’t say new, but it has been awhile.” He cocked his head towards Big Tom who had resumed lounging on the sidewalk. “I don’t remember there ever being cats here.”

“You must have been gone a long time then. The cats came when my great grand dad was a boy.  Since then us smaller creatures have had to be very careful, especially out on the paths.” She shrugged her scarf tighter around her shoulders. “You’re very lucky, I thought Big Tom had you for sure.”  She reached out a tiny paw. “I’m Tilly Fieldmouse.”

Mike took the paw between two fingers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. They call me Mike, Mike Finnegan.”

“Well Mike Finnegan, it’s good I found you before any other cat did.  In this place it’s good to have a friend.”

“You’re absolutely right m’dear.” He tapped his cane on the ground. “If it weren’t for this I’d be his lunch for sure.”

Tilly jumped to the ground and sniffed at the cane, whiskers vibrating in the air. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what exactly are you?”

“Careful little miss, once mustn’t touch a tinker’s cane. There’s no telling what might happen.”

Tilly jumped back and wrung her tail between her paws. “I’m sorry, I’ve never met a tinker before.

Mike sat down on moss covered rock and set his pack against his leg.  He drew out a pipe and stuck it between his teeth.  Holding the pipe was a comfort and made thinking easier. He took a deep pull and held the smoke in his mouth a while before puffing it out. “Never? Are you quite sure?”

She blushed and lowered her eyes. “I’d think I’d remember meeting a tinker.”

He took another pull on the pipe. “My dear Tilly, I’ve come to the park to seek out a she tinker, so you see there must be one here somewhere.  Have you visited the rose gardens or the arbors along the pathway?”

“Well, no.  We field mice tend to stick to our part of the park.  It isn’t safe to venture out into the unknown.”  She twisted her tail again.

“No need to be troubled. Is there anyone you know that has visited the rose gardens? I’d like to speak to them.”

Tilly’s ear perked up and a smile spread across her face. “Why yes, you will want to speak to Benjamin, he’s a bluejay. He knows everything about the park, I’m sure he will be able to help you.”

“That’s terrific, where can I find him?”

“He lives in the top of the old crab apple tree at the end of the hedge, it’s not far.” I’ll show you the way.

To be continued…

Read the next episode here.

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Like Mike and his adventures? Let me know in the comments!

Friday Fiction – The Man in the Cupboard Pt. 6

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After a long break we are visiting Mike Finnegan once more in this, the next installment of the Man in the Cupboard series.

To start at the beginning, click here!

To go to the previous chapter, click here!

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It had been ages since Mike had ventured out on his own, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel the crisp breeze at his back and the warm sun on his face.  The tree-lined avenue seemed to welcome him as he walked down its shaded paths.

He turned once more to look at the yellow house down the lane.  This wasn’t goodbye, he would return as soon as he found himself a woman to share his life with.  However, leaving pained him.  Kimberly and little Thomas had managed to find a place in his heart, a place that he didn’t know existed before.

“I’ll be back soon my dears, take care.,” he said as he spun his cane, casting a spell over the house. With him gone there wouldn’t be anyone to keep away undesirables such as rats or those detestable leprechauns.  The spell would keep them away, at least for a while.  No spell could last forever.

With his face to the sun he set off down the lane.  If he remembered correctly there was a lovely park with vast gardens filled with fragrant flowers, arbors heavy with wisteria, and wandering paths, not too far away.  He was sure to find a she tinker or two there, they almost always chose gardens over houses.

At the rise in the next hill the park came into view.  The garden beds were alive with different hues of reds and yellows from the fall roses.  The ancient maples stretched toward the sky, the edges of their leaves beginning to change from brilliant green to gold and red. Tucked among the flowers and trees, couples sat together on the park benches exchanging quiet words and smiles.

Soon, he would have someone of his own to share quiet words and smiles with as well. The thought warmed his heart and he set off down the hill.

At the main gate a tawny cat lounged on the sidewalk, eyes half closed, tail flicking.  He stood and stretched as Mike approached.

“What do you want here, Tinker?” The cat sneered.

“None of your business, now let me pass.”

The cat stepped closer, showing his needle sharp teeth. “Oh, but it is my business.  I’m Big Tom and you see, this is my park, I say who goes in and who doesn’t.”

“Very funny Tom.  Now if you will step aside I have things that I need to attend to.”

“That’s Big Tom and no, I don’t think so.  Not until I’m through with you.”

Mike tapped his cane in front of him, his patience was wearing thin. “What is it you want then?”

“Lunch.”

Just then Big Tom leapt into the air, his claws extended and ready to pounce upon Mike. He jumped back swinging his cane, dodging the blow only by an inch. The cat hissed in anger, and turned to strike again.  Mike wasn’t going to let him have the pleasure.  With a quick stroke he drew a spell with his cane and sent it flying at Big Tom’s face.  The spell struck with an puff of glittery smoke. Tom shook his head, pawing at his nose, then sat hard on the pathway as the spell took effect.

Mike didn’t wait to see if the spell worked or not, he had never cast a confusion spell on an animal as large as a cat before, he wasn’t sure if it would even work. He ran as fast as his little legs would carry him into the dense leaves of a nearby boxwood  hedge.  Even if it did work he didn’t want to anywhere nearby when the cat remembered what had happened.

Inside the hedge he leaned against one of the branches, and gulped to catch his breath. Something inside the hedge rustled overhead.

“You’d best be more careful Tinker, the park can be a dangerous place,” squeaked a tiny voice.

There above him, crouched on a higher branch, was a field mouse no bigger than a half-dollar coin.

To be continued…

***

To read the next part, click here!

Back to Business

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The month of November seemed to fly by faster than normal, there was way too much going on and not nearly enough time for any of it.  We celebrated Thanksgiving and three birthdays.  Then there was the decorating and the cooking and the other dozens of things needed to prepare for the holidays.

As for NaNoWriMo, my rebel project hit a wall at the 15,000 word mark when I realized that I had a major plotting issue.  I call it my rebel project because instead of writing a new piece of fiction I chose to put the polish on the book I’ve been fighting to finish.

The problem goes something like this – everything was fine with the story, but it needed something to give it a little oomph.  To do this, I combined the roles of a more minor character with a main character.  This made so much sense in the planning phase and I was really excited at the different possibilities it offered.  Now I can have a love triangle along with all the action and adventure.

However, as I began my revisions and started changing that character to fit both roles I had a terrible realization.  I need him to be a part of a mini quest with another character but I had neglected to figure out how he gets involved with that character in the first place. They are not an obvious pair, and for the life of me I have yet to find a great way to get them to work together.

So, I shelved my revisions until I could find a way to fix this problem it out and started a crochet project instead.  This is avoidance behavior at its finest.  Now that I’ve taken a break and let the problem stew for a while I think I’ve found a way to fix it.  I’ll need to write it out and see if it will work.

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My new pair of slippers, I love the flowers!

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A cozy tam for the colder weather

On a happy note, I did manage to finish and package up a short science fiction story for submission to a few magazines. I’m crossing my fingers that all goes well, this is my first time submitting to a professional market that isn’t a contest.  If all goes well, I plan on doing more short stories for magazines. ‘

For the month of December I plan to pick up the manuscript once again, fix the plotting problem and continue revisions.  I would still love to finish this round by the end of the year, but it looks like it might take a bit longer.

Friday Fiction – The Man in the Cupboard Pt. 5

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It’s time to see what wee Mike has been up to in this week’s installment of “The Man in the Cupboard.” Enjoy!

To start at the beginning, click here!

To go to part 4, click here!

fiction friday bannerEven after eighty years, Mike still loved the old Colonial style house, drafts and all. It had personality. He remembered the day he came to the neighborhood, fresh out of tinkering school and eager to find his home. Of all the homes on the street, this one spoke to him, Its bright yellow paint beamed like sunshine among the solemn brown, brick, and gray of the other homes on the tree-lined avenue. A rose garden bloomed in the front yard under the sitting room windows, inviting sprites and pixies in the warm months, snow fairies in the cold. Even then the house required lots of work, remembering made him tired.

He sunk into his favorite armchair, the one he had crafted from matchboxes and Popsicle sticks, padded with folded pieces of discarded felt, and covered with a scarlet silken handkerchief. Alongside the chair, on top of a table made from a thread spool; he kept his favorite thimble mug, the one with the flying birds etched across its sides. His collection of postage stamps hung on display along one wall. On the opposite wall hung an antique pocket watch that sparkled with its gold case and mother of pearl face. Mike had gifted it to himself to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of working at the house.

As he reclined in the chair he listened to the quiet mumble of noise coming from the family below. The kids had all been snuggled into their beds. Kimberly had turned on one of her favorite dramas and had curled up on the couch alongside her hubby with a mug of hot chocolate. Most nights Mike usually would watch as well, he had a comfy spot on top of the glass paneled curio cabinet with an excellent view, but tonight he felt more like sitting and thinking.

Watching Kimberly and Thomas had kindled a spark within him, and itch that needed scratching. At one hundred and two, and still an eligible bachelor, perhaps it was time to seek out his own companion. After all this time being alone it would be a welcome change to have another tinker around. He craved someone to care for and to care for him as well. He smiled thinking of having someone to wake up next to in the morning. The house could use another tinker, caring for it by himself had become harder as it grew older and more things had started to break.

Resolved, he slapped the arm of the chair, releasing a cloud of dust into the air. He knew what he must do. It was time to seek out his mate, he could wait no longer. Leaving the house to find her pained him, he didn’t want to leave Kimberly without an explanation. At the same time, he worried that she wouldn’t give permission to bring another woman in the house. In the end he decided it would be better to leave without telling her and come back as soon as he could. Perhaps she wouldn’t notice.

As the sun rose that next morning Mike waved a farewell to the house and to Kimberly who would be waking any minute.  Dew clung like tiny diamonds to the blush colored roses lining the walkway.  With cane in hand and a small pack on his back, he walked toward his greatest adventure yet.

 

To continue the story, click here!

Waiting for Perspective

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I am now two weeks into a self imposed six week break away from my manuscript and random scenes and characters are still wandering through my head.  Taking a break between drafts is important because it helps me regain needed perspective and distance. While writing I get too close to the story and can no longer see what’s on the page as compared to what’s in my head.  The best way to overcome this is time away.

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Image source: Wikimedia Commons

Taking a break doesn’t come without a downside. The other night one of my characters brought up a plot error, an action that didn’t make sense for the character in question. I wanted him to be wrong and ignore the problem but he wouldn’t let me alone. I didn’t pull out the manuscript, I know that’s what he wanted, so over the course of the day I mentally worked over the problem until something clicked. If I didn’t, I know he wouldn’t let me sleep.

Even with random characters haunting my steps, being away from the book has been a welcome change. I’ve finally had the time to work on some of my smaller projects and see progress there. The one short story I’ve been editing is only a few pages from turning itself into a novella if I’m not careful. My goal is to have it finished and submitted to a few markets for publication before I return to work on the book. 

For the next four weeks I’m looking forward to continuing work on my short stories and taking a bit of a break before diving back into the gritty process of refining and editing the manuscript. After this draft it will be ready for beta readers! As much as if terrifies me, I’m looking forward to getting some real world feedback.

Fiction Friday: The Man in the Cupboard pt. 4

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Well ol’ Mike Finnegen is back at it again in this installment of the Man in the Cupboard series, hope you like it!

To start at the beginning of the series, click here.

To go to part three, click here.

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The plastic spoon bounced across the tile floor, scattering drops of milk and soggy cereal along the way.  Baby Thomas belly laughed as Kimberly, once again, retrieved the spoon and gave it back with a sigh.  She knew he was hungry, he had been climbing her legs and pushing her around the kitchen for the past twenty minutes, all while screaming and shrieking.  He sounded for all the world like a distressed guinea pig.

“Come on buddy, this isn’t a game.  Eat a few bites.” She waved a different spoon under his nose. “Please?”

With a squeal of laughter he lobbed his spoon across the kitchen once again.  Kimberly picked it up again and this time tossed it into the sink. “No more games buddy, it’s time to eat.”

Thomas let out a wail and stretched out his pudgy fingers towards the sink as far as his high chair would allow.  Clearly breakfast wasn’t going to happen, at least not right now.

Kimberly pulled the angry baby out of his chair and hauled him over to the sink to wipe him down. He grabbed at anything his stubby arms could reach, wildly flailing in all directions. After a few swipes of the washrag she set him down. He sped off as fast as his wobbly legs could carry him.

“He’s a fiesty one isn’t he?” asked a quiet voice above the sink.

Kimberly found Mike lounging on the windowsill, soaking in the morning sun. “Of the three he’s always been a bit of a free spirit.  I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.” She picked up the washrag from the sink, rinsed it out, and began the process of wiping down the kitchen.

“He’d make a right nice pup, much better than a wee lad if your askin’ me.” The tiny tinker swung his cane in the direction Thomas had run off.  “I could do it fer ya, it’s not a bother.”

“You’ll not be changing Thomas into a puppy,” she said with a sigh, “at least not today.  I still love him, even when it’s tough.”  She turned towards him, one hand on a hip. “You can’t really turn people into animals can you?”

Mike blushed. “Well no, not really.  But I know of one who can. It’s a nasty business that is. Not worth it if you ask me.”

“And why’s that?”

“Involves black magic.” He went to spit but stopped when he saw Kimberly’s glare. “It’s not natural, no one should get mixed up in it.  Those who do…” He shuddered. “We’ll let’s just say nothing good comes of it.”

Something crashed to the floor in the next room where Thomas played.  Kimberly tossed the washrag into the sink. “I guess I’d better go check on him, he’s been too quiet, means he’s up to no good.”

In the next room Thomas was gleefully unloading the shelves.  Behind him, scattered all over the floor, was the big box of blocks.

“Well at least he didn’t hurt himself.” Kimberly said as she sat and started collecting the blocks, she wiggled one in the air.  “Hey, Thomas, wanna play blocks?”

Thomas turned and looked at the block only to turn back and pull down another stack of books.  He wore such a look of concentration, like this was his job and how dare she interrupt him.

“Thomas! You stop that, you naughty baby.” She snatched him away from the shelf and stuck him in her lap where he squirmed to get free. “Oh no you don’t.” She laughed and tickled his tummy.

Mike appeared in a poof of smoke on one of the higher shelves, out of the baby’s reach. Thomas stopped his wiggling and stared at the tiny man, wide eyed, mouth open.

“I thought you said none of them could see you.”

“Didn’t think they could, I know the older ones can’t for sure.  This wee one, however, well he’s as bald as an egg.  Guess there’s ginger in there after all.” He gave a half laugh. “Relax, it’s not like its a bad thing.”

Kimberly ran her hand over Thomas’z fuzz covered head. He twisted his neck to look at her and fell over in her lap. “What do we do now?”

“Nothin’. There’s nothin’ wrong.  Lots of kids have imaginary friends growin’ up.  His will just be a bit more real than others.”

“Won’t that cause problems down the road?”

“I suppose. But we don’t have much choice do we?” He shrugged. “It’s not like we can stop him from seeing me.  And I can’t be always hiding from him either. I say we start him young.”

Kimberly looked up at the little tinker sitting on the edge of the shelf and smiled. “I suppose it’s better than having him turned into a puppy. For now.”

“Most definitely.”

___

For the next part, click here!

 

Fiction Friday: Izis of Velchi

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At last I’m going to share part of a fantasy story with you.  This tale was meant to be a short story but as with most fantasy pieces I set out to create, it has grown during the course of the writing and now is begging to be part of something much bigger.  I like it enough that it might become part of the novel trilogy I’m writing.  Enjoy!

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The fickle breeze of Autumn carried the scent of brittle leaves and the promise of early snow.  It teased the deep hood of Lianea’s cloak and spun her earth colored hair into ribbons as she walked the ancient pathway.  Here, folded deep within the Velchin wood, she sought a cure for the illness plaguing her village and her dear brother Liandro.

As she drew closer to the glade the sky grew darker, the air pressed up against her, stealing her breath.  She clutched the handle of the short dagger she wore at her waist, knowing it would do her no good but reassuring all the same. With each step the dark press of air grew more eager, more oppressive. The village elder had warned her that there would be forces that would try to stop her from crossing into the glade, that she must not give them heed.

She forced her way through the stone archway and as she passed the darkness lifted. Inside the small glade stood an alter and statue of Izis, goddess of knowledge of the past and future, one hand cupped before her, the other over her heart.  The green veined marble had been worn by the wind and weather, moss grew along the folds of her long robe..  Lianea felt the statues eyes upon her as soon as she had entered.

As prescribed by the elder, Lianea lit the tallow candle and cupped her hand around it as she set it into the small hole in the low alter.  The flame seemed too weak in the failing light, too fragile for such a task.  The townspeople had said the same about her when she demanded to leave and seek help.

On either side of the candle she set the four required items, a blue feather, the blood of a dying man, a silver coin, and a rose crystal from the mines of Turah.  This last she admired in the flickering candle light, never having imagined that a place filled with such sorrow would contain a wealth of something so beautiful.  There in Turah her guide had met his untimely end when he stumbled and fell from one of the high ledges in the mine. She set the crystal next to the vial filled with his blood.

Dusky twilight filtered through the branches as the moon made its journey across the blanketed sky.  Lianea recited the first incantation as she poured the dark contents of the vial into the hands of Izis. As she did, a cold mist trickled into the glade.  While reciting the second incantation she dipped the feather in the blood and then used it to draw the broken circle slashed with five lines, a symbol of submission and humility.  The mist gathered around the statue, boiling and churning at Lianea’s feet.

With the third and final incantation she held the silver coin to the flame until it stung her fingertips and then pressed it into her outstretched wrist.  She clenched her teeth, holding back a gasp of pain as the coin burned a circle into her skin.  Izis required a token of suffering.  As she spoke, the mist drew itself up around the statue, covering it like a shroud. It pulled the flame from the candle into itself until it began to glow with its own ghostly light.

Lianea’s heart raced, screaming at her to flee the clearing as the once statue came to life before her.  She willed her feet to stay firm, she could not fail, not after coming so far. Liandro needed her to be strong. She placed the rose crystal in the palm of her hand and the other hand over her heart, the last offering.

A voice whispered through the trees. “Too long have I waited for an offering from the children of this world, too long.” The voice trailed off, but the presence of the spirit of Izis remained strong, studying Lianea. “You have suffered much child, I feel it within you. Speak your request. If it is within my power, I will grant it.”

Lianea drew in a breath, she was the last hope for Liandro and all those of her village who had fallen ill. If she failed, the sickness would claim them all, herself included.  “Oh Great One, the people of my village are dying of a sickness.  The elders have never seen it’s like. I petitioned them to leave and seek help.”

The mist rose up around Lianea, brushing her face. The gesture reminded her of times when her mother would stroke her cheek to sooth her. As the mist touched her a flood of images from the last few weeks filled her mind.  People crying, clutching wives, fathers, and children in their arms before returning them to the earth.  So many. Dark bruises covering arms, legs, and faces. People moaning, consumed by fever. Her own brother, pale and listless on his cot.

Lianea sagged to her knees, overwhelmed.  The mist withdrew.

“There is hope little one. I will grant you knowledge of those who can help.  You must seek them out.”

The mist rose towards Lianea’s face once more and she flinched as it brushed her skin. This time images of people she had never met and towns she had never visited filled her mind, teaching her and filling her with a peace she hadn’t known since before the sickness began. She knew what she had to do.

…to be continued…