Author: slundberg

  • Autumn’s Fall

    Flutter shivered as the cold north wind blew a handful of red leaves past her and whipped them out of sight. The Heart Tree had already lost so many of its leaves. It couldn’t have many left. Would she reach it before the last one fell?

    The gonging of a bell, deep and resonate, announced another leaf had gone. She quickened her pace, curling her useless wings around her to ward off the chill. She had to get to the red oak at the center of the city.

    The corn stalks that circled the city, dead and barren from the early frost, were bent at awkward angles from the wind. She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or if a figure stood among them, watching her. She glanced nervously over her shoulder and jumped as stalks cracked behind her.

    She broke into a run, dry laughter—or was it only the wind?—at her heels.

    Once she was past the city wall, she put her hands on her knees and panted, trying to catch her breath. Not that she was safe. Far from it. Everything in this city would try to stop her on her quest. (more…)

  • The Fruit Cake Invasion

    “What possessed you to input a request for fruit cake to begin with?” the repair man asked.

    I shrugged. “Nostalgia.” I leaned to the side as the food replicator shot out another rock-hard fruit cake. I grimaced as glass shattered. I’d thought I had moved everything to safety. Apparently not.

    “I’ve never seen anything like this. You say it’s spewed out nearly a thousand of these suckers?” The man scratched his ass as he dodged the next projectile.

    I sighed and surveyed the various Old-Earth Christmas relics, now nearly buried in piles of fruit cake: an aluminum cone that I thought was supposed to be a tree, a tube that said Tootsie Roll that had a slit in the plastic of one end, two tiny crinkled pieces of silver material, and an over-sized sock with the name “Gertie” glued to the cuff in silver glitter, as well as several glass ornaments in bright greens, reds, and silvers, all in various stages of crushed, chipped, and broken.

    I’d also found two Bing Crosby albums, a faded red hat edged with gnarly brown fuzz that might have been white once, a creepy elf-like creature that was missing both eyes, and a hard lump of something that might have been food once, wrapped in plastic with a label that said Grandma’s Home Made Fruit Cake. (more…)

  • The Prince and the Poltergeist

    “Why is it so hard to find an honest-to-goodness exorcist these days?” Humphrey grumbled as Sir Bartholomew, the castle’s persistent poltergeist, upended his bowl of cereal. Humphrey’s dislodged spoon dripped milk onto the counter.

    “The last several that have come through have either completely failed to notice any supernatural activity or have run screaming when Barty actually does something.”

    His mother munched on a piece of toast and nodded as she turned the page of the newspaper. “Frauds, all of them,” she agreed.

    Barty whooshed her newspaper off the table and she sighed. “He knows well enough to hide when we hire exorcists.”

    Barty cackled has he flew down the hall, and Humphrey put his head in his hands. “I’m about to give up. Sell the castle. Find a nice little cottage somewhere. Give up my title. What am I supposed to be a prince of, anyway?”

    His mother patted him on the shoulder. “There, there. Sir Bart has been a legacy in this castle for years. It wouldn’t quite be the same if he were truly gone.” She went from consoling to glaring. “Besides, you may end up living in a little cottage somewhere before long anyway, so enjoy it while you can. It’s only a matter of time before our village-sized kingdom gets sucked up like all the rest.”

    Humphrey groaned and kept his head in his hands. (more…)

  • Midnight’s Mission

    I finally found the exit, but Stacy wouldn’t fit through.

    “We’ll back track, find another way,” I told her encouragingly.

    She shook her head, disheveled curls bouncing as her head swayed. “No, you know there’s no other way out. We’ve been looking for days.” She slumped against the wall across from the opening I was peeking through. “You have to go on without me.”

    “I can’t do that.” I blinked to hold off tears. “There’s so few of us left.” I glanced behind me where Ricky and Anabell stood, shifting from food to foot, glancing about uncertainly, and blinking in the harsh sunlight.

    She sighed heavily. “I guess I can try again.” She moved up to the opening, put her head out, and took a deep breath of fresh air. “The sun feels good,” she said, closing her eyes to enjoy the warmth.

    I glanced above us and immediately regretted it. We’d been trapped in the Underground City for almost a week after the cave-in. Every tunnel we had found that may have been a way out had ended up blocked or destroyed or only had small, high windows leading to the daylight. Blink, our little firefly friend, had made a quick escape through the first one of those we found. He had promised to look for other ways out, but had yet to return.

    I chose to believe some misfortune had befallen him—perhaps he had gotten lost or was still looking for an exit for us—rather than believe he had abandoned us. (more…)

  • The Lonely Ghost Meets the Hungry Ghost

    Holidays were the ghost’s favorite times. The dining room was vacant and quiet throughout most of the year, with occasional visits when the silver was polished or something needed temporary storage. But during the holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas especially, the humans visited the ghost in her lonely room.

    She had been there as long as she could remember. She didn’t even remember how she had died, or why she was tied to the dining room of all places. But there she was anchored, doomed to stay within the perimeter for all time.

    Other ghosts flitted through from time to time. Just blips for only a moment, usually. Some stayed longer, but could never stay forever. Those who were doomed to wander must always wander, just as she must always stay in the dining room. (more…)

  • The Heart of Stone Monsters

    Leia’s heart seized as the lovely yellow flower was crushed beneath her brother’s stone foot. He marched on as if nothing had happened. In truth, he probably hadn’t even noticed or felt a thing. She shouldn’t have felt a thing, either; golems weren’t known for their feelings, physical or emotional. Either way, her heart broke at the destruction of such a simply beauty.

    Her heart. It was a problem. As far as she could tell, her entire clan was a group of stone-hearted monsters, their hearts as hard as their stone bodies. She alone showed any remorse at the destruction they wrought or joy at the things they built. They were slaves, only animated by the will of their creator, but Leia couldn’t help but feel that she was different. Had she been made differently? Had their creator been distracted when she had come into being?

    (more…)

  • The Boy with the Golden Eyes

    When I first met Flick, it didn’t occur to me that he was a strange creature. He had a pair of jet black wings sprouting from his back, beautiful golden eyes, and a mouth that never smiled. All I saw was a sad little boy who needed my help. His wing had been injured and his shining eyes had a haunted look that always stayed with me. I was only seven then, and I had spent two lonely months out in the middle of nowhere, desperate for a friend.

    I gathered supplies and helped him doctor his wing while I told him about my boring summer vacation in the country. In return, he solemnly told me of beautiful places beyond the clouds that he was afraid he’d never see again.

    By the end of that day, we were laughing together as we ate freshly baked cookies and drank cold milk. That night, I dragged sleeping bags and pillows to my treehouse to make him comfortable. I told my parents I was making a fort and wanted to camp outside. They were relieved I was out of their hair, so they let me. Flick and I ate our midnight snack, bundled up in the sleeping bags, and fell asleep snuggled together under the stars.

    (more…)

  • The First Step

    This short story takes place in the world I created for my 2012 Nanowrimo novel, There’s No Place Like Hell. The novel is still unfinished, but this short story uses the main character, Kit, and would take place between the first and second book of this series. I do hope to write Kit’s books someday, but there’s a bigger plot involved that hasn’t completely revealed itself to me yet. I have other projects to finish up before Kit gets her turn, but when the Confabulator Cafe was assigned the “three steps to world peace” prompt, Kit raised her rifle and told me this story needed to be about her. How could I refuse?

    Once upon a time, there were three steps to world peace. In the end, only the first one mattered.

    Kit checked her weapon for the hundredth time. The damn thing was still jammed, of course. She still carried it for show, although it was useless as far as a projectile weapon. But it was a rifle, so it was useful as a blunt force weapon if nothing else. And it kept her from looking helpless.

    She snorted. Nobody would ever mistake her as helpless. Not with the mercenary reputation she had built for herself.

    (more…)

  • Mischief After Midnight

    They had always told her not to use the shortcut after dark. But she was running late—practice had run long, and her parents had told her under no uncertain terms she was to be home in time for them to leave for a very important dinner meeting with her father’s boss.

    So she ran as fast as she could, and when the overgrown community garden came into view, she cast a nervous look over her shoulder and the sun that had vanished behind the skyline.

    It was either cut through the garden and make it home in time, or go a mile out of her way to the end of the block and risk being late.

    So she cut through.

    (more…)

  • My SAD Valentine

    Valentine’s Day is the absolute best and worse for people like me.

    I work for a singing telegram agency. I won’t tell you which one. Are you kidding me? After telling you this story, I would most definitely get fired if they knew.

    So, for the last several years, in addition to singing telegrams, I’ve also been a member of the sad group of people who call Valentine’s Day for what it really is: Singles Awareness Day. Is anyone else aware of the irony that the acronym for that actually spells out the word SAD?

    Yeah.

    (more…)