The Confabulator Cafe

Author: ajaquays

  • Princess Sparklemittens

    “Breaking announcement from the White House!” The emergency broadcaster’s voice crackled over the radio. “The First Daughter has lost her kitten. Everyone is to stop what they are doing and look for Princess Sparklemittens. She is a grey, short-hair tabby cat. She was last seen wearing a pink collar with a purple bell.” The broadcaster repeated the message several times before the line went dead.

    Karen, a middle-aged woman in a one-piece skirted bathing suit clapped her hands, signaling all of the children that it was time to come out of the water. “Jenny, you take the little ones back to the house. Keep them entertained while the rest of us search for Princess Sparklemittens.”

    “Yes, Auntie,” Jenny said. She gathered a baby on each hip and then had the toddlers form a single file line as Karen began to organize search crews.

    * * *

    The President paced the oval office. “I should be out there, searching for Princess Sparklemittens. What are we going to tell Sophia when she wakes up from her nap if she hasn’t been found?”

    The Vice President clasped the President on the shoulder. “We’ll find the damn cat, Sir. You have more important things to be worrying about right now.”

    “But you know what happened the last two times Princess Sparklemittens was lost. We nearly didn’t find her in time.”

    “That is why this time, we’ve engaged the entire county in Operation Tantrum. Somebody will turn up the cat. We’ve never let you down before, have we?”

    The President massaged the bridge of his nose. “No, you’re right.” He pressed the intercom button on his desk phone. “When Princess Sparklemittens is found, I expect to be notified immediately—no matter which foreign dignitary I am currently meeting with.” (more…)

  • Bubblegum and Mud

    My porch lights were off. A sure sign that I wasn’t handing out candy. That I wasn’t participating in the candy shop propaganda sponsored by parents who were too cheap to buy treats for their own kids. Though with the prices of costumes these days, they could have skipped the costume and bought the candy themselves.

    But apparently, the car in my drive partnered with the dining room light shining through the blinds was enough of a sign to signify that someone was home. The upbeat trill of the doorbell sat at jarring odds with my mood. “I don’t have candy,” I yelled. The doorbell sounded again and my teacup clattered as I slammed it down onto the saucer. It was more whiskey than tea.

    By the time I made it to the door, they’d rung the bell twice more. I flipped the deadbolt as it sounded off yet again. “What do you want?” The words began as a snarl and faltered, dying on my lips. “You.”

    He didn’t say anything, simply stared at me from beneath his hood. His bony fingers wrapped around a scythe. (more…)

  • Wednesday’s Child

    Prompt: It was Wednesday, the day of kindness.

    The sun dipped low on the horizon and with its descent, Savina could feel the tension settling into her shoulders. In the reddening sky, the smiles on everyone she passed felt sinister. A reminder that the truce of today would not continue through the night. She resisted the urge to clutch her knapsack to her body. She forced herself to keep walking with her head held high.

    Once she left the crowded market, her steps quickened. She had to make it to her hideout before the night settled around her. The path through the woods was treacherous in the dark, full of roots that came alive in the night to snag ankles and cracks that opened in the ground to swallow feet. She could not afford to have an injury when the sun rose.

    In the morning the villagers turned into a band of pitchfork-brandishing and torch carrying monsters.

    The day of kindness. What a misnomer.

    It was the day that the villagers let the outcasts come into town.

    They fed them.

    They bathed them.

    They cared for their injuries.

    If they were sick, they gave them medicine.

    After all, where was the fun in hunting prey that was too weak to put up a fight? (more…)

  • The Touch of Her Hand

    The air conditioning slapped Alyssa across the face as she darted into the store. She managed to step out of view of the glass door before her pursuers rounded the corner. Through the thin walls she could hear their calls of confusion.

    Typically she avoided hiding in stores. It was too easy to become trapped as most often the second exit was guarded by a menacing “employees only” sign. But she was tired of running and she’d gained enough of a lead on them to risk it. She kept her gaze downcast and her hands stuffed in her pockets as she shuffled over to the display of floppy brimmed hats.

    She dropped a hat and the largest pair of sunglasses she could find on the counter. She grunted softly in acknowledgment to the clerk but didn’t make eye contact and was careful not to brush against him when she passed over her debit card. Unfortunately the weather was too hot for her to get away with wearing gloves. It was so much easier to avoid activating her curse in the winter.

    Her phone buzzed, a notification from her bank about the recent transaction. Her fifth purchase of the sort that month. If anyone was paying attention to her purchase history, they’d think had a problem. She waved off the offer of a bag and pulled out a tiny pair of scissors from her purse, cutting away the tags. (more…)

  • Frozen Reflection

    The windowpane was cold against her nose. Her breaths puffed against the glass and the condensation caught and froze. Outside the snow piled deeper and deeper with each passing moment. She drew a finger through the newly formed frost. Please. She mouthed the word as she spelled it out.

    She pressed her forehead to the pane and her hands on either side of the word. For a moment all she felt was the chill of the glass and then slowly she felt the soft touch of icy fingers brushing tentatively against hers. She pushed through the glass and clasped hands with her reflection.

    And then her reflection was upon her. A tangle of frozen limbs as they toppled over.

    “You’re so cold.” (more…)

  • The Whispers Within

    When she said “I love you” I knew she was just saying it to make me feel better. She didn’t know how to respond to me. She knew I liked her—loved her—and she thought it would simplify things to say she reciprocated. Her words were a kindness not fully meant. And every day I resented her more for not having the balls to tell me how she hated me to my face. I didn’t need her to hang around me out of pity. I didn’t need her empty encouragement. She didn’t actually mean it.

    No one could.

    I wasn’t worthy of her love. I wasn’t worthy of anyone’s love.

    Every night I stared at the bottle of sleeping pills in my bedside table. And every night I ignored the whispering voice that told me things would be so much better if I never woke up.

    I didn’t know what would be worse, to come back as a ghost and find that nobody missed me. Or to find that they still kept up the facade of pretending to care.

    So every night I closed the door to my nightstand and told the pills that I was stronger than them. (more…)

  • My Half Hour Child

    There it was again, the ghostly tug at my skirt. Every day at precisely half past five, it was there. I could set my watch by it—and I had before after a power outage.

    “There’s a glass of milk on the counter along with a PBJ and a banana.”

    The pressure relieved on my skirt and a few minutes later I heard the heavy scrape of the chair and the clatter of dishes. The sandwich raised and lowered without any bites disappearing. The milk sloshed over the edge of the glass, spilling onto the chair and dripping down to the floor each time my ghostly child tipped it back for a drink. (more…)

  • Luck and Whiskey

    “Rub the tip for good luck,” Granny said, gesturing to the squat statue perched on the stone table by the front entrance.

    “I know, Granny,” I reached out and rubbed my hand over the well polished tip as I had ever since my first visit to her house back when my father had to lift me by the armpits so that I could reach.

    She watched me with a critical eye, finally stepping aside to let me into the house after she determined I had rubbed off enough luck. “Tea or whiskey?”

    “Whiskey,” I said immediately, “one rock.” I was twelve the first time she asked and had hesitantly responded with tea. I only made that mistake once. (more…)

  • Shop Girl

    The bell above the door chimed as it opened, letting in a scorch of heat. It hung open for several long minutes and Phoebe considered yelling “in or out” before a robed figure entered. He made a beeline to the clearance rack where last season’s robes hung in a tidy row.

    He held up one robe against his frame, shook his head and shoved it haphazardly back onto the rack. Phoebe slumped against the wall behind the register counter. He was going to be one of those customers. She watched with increasing despair as he pulled robe after robe off the rack until finally he held three options bunched in a sweaty palm and approached her.

    “The fitting room?”

    She gestured to a neon green sign that pulsated over a curtained off room to her right that clearly announced the presence of the fitting room. “No more than four garments at a time,” the words came out long and sullen. “It’s the rules.” (more…)

  • Picture Perfect

    Meet us at the place where the wheat grows at the hour closest to the sun if you ever want to see her again.

    Matilda massaged the bridge of her nose, her eyes squeezed shut. Sure enough, when she opened them again, the text was still there. She tapped a message on the screen.

    I’m sorry, who is this? (more…)