The Confabulator Cafe

Category: Confabulation

  • Intergalactic Clown Thief

    I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. Well, maybe more than one, if I was being completely honest with myself. I never should have agreed to the parameters of the heist job in the first place. Dress up as a clown, they said. It’ll be an easy score, they said. Well, they can kiss my ass. I hate clowns, for one. Dressing up as one was hell. The face paint felt like shower grout and the wig itched worse than lice.

    All that aside, being dressed up as a clown put a giant target on my back for every little kid within a thousand miles. Do kids have clown sonar, or something? Two even followed me to the bathroom when I went to shuck my disguise and crawl through the vents to get to the heavily guarded room with all the jewels.

    “I hid a bag of candy back at the party. Look for something red, and you’ll find it.” That made them leave me alone, thankfully. And no, I didn’t feel bad, lying to kids. Not when I was about to rob the damn place.

    Ok. Maybe I felt a little bad. I decided to buy them a whole candy store once I robbed the place blind and fenced all the goods. (more…)

  • The Time of Boxes

    Hirald had to knock on the door. It was a big door, wooden, with a brass knocker high above his head and one cement step up to it. He’d never knocked on the door before, not in his whole life. He didn’t know anyone else who ever had, either. It was strictly forbidden for box gnomes.

    The cardboard boxes were piled on the curb behind him for the picking, some with bits of colorful wrapping still attached. It was the time for the Feast of Boxes. The heavy layer of snow would destroy them before the trash truck did, but for now they made Hirald a happy gnome. He was less happy to be standing in front of the door, though. The door scared him. He gathered his courage and knocked, far below the door knocker which he couldn’t hope to reach. The door required a short wait before a woman opened it.

    “Who is it?” a voice called from down the hallway of the house. It was a deep, gruff voice that Hirald didn’t like.

    “A gnome,” the woman called back.

    “Garden or box gnome?”

    “Box.”

    “Ugh. Get rid of it,” the voice demanded.

    The boxes were still there behind him. He could drop the thing and run, probably make it back to the curb before he took a kick to the head. His heart hammered as he unclenched his fist, holding up the shiny he’d found.

    The woman bent her knees and put her hands on her thighs to look down at him. She didn’t kick him at all.

    “I- I found this. In the trash,” he explained.

    The shiny flickered in the light and cast sparkles across her face. Hirald risked a smile, mirroring the small grin on her face.

    “I thought I’d lost it for good,” she said, taking the diamond ring from his hand. Her soft fingertips brushed his calloused palm and he almost jerked his hand back in surprise.

    He let out a breath as the weight of it lifted from his hand.

    “I thought box gnomes stole everything they could from the trash?” she asked, checking the ring over.

    He wanted to run for the boxes. He didn’t like being exposed like this. But it seemed rude not to answer when she hadn’t done anything to him yet. “Only trash. This wasn’t trash,” he said.

    The sound of heavy shoes made him look up and he saw the man coming down the hallway. He was a big man and he looked angry. “I told you to get rid of it,” he said, pushing up his sleeves to do the job for her.

    Hirald’s view was blocked when the woman stood between the gnome and the man. “You won’t touch him,” she said. As Hirald watched she straightened up to be two inches taller. “And you won’t touch me either.”

    She clenched the ring in her fist and lifted her chin, daring him to hit her. Hirald stepped back off the step. He wished he could pull her back with him, but he was just a little gnome.

    “I’m leaving you, Rick,” she said.

    “I told you already, if you go you won’t take anything from this house. How are you going to live without my money?”

    She stepped out onto the stoop with Hirald and he scrambled to make room for her. The man followed as she tried to slam the door on him.

    “Don’t you dare,” he said. But she was halfway to the street already.

    He saw Hirald on the sidewalk. The boxes were too far and he didn’t dare step into the grass of the garden gnomes’ realm.

    “What the fuck are you doing here, you little trash gnome?” the man said, giving Hirald a swift kick.

    His breath came out in a swift ‘umph’ as Hirald sprawled in the grass, big feet stuck up in the air.

    “Get away from him,” the woman shouted out. Hirald gasped for breath as she pushed her husband away from his little gnome body.

    She pulled Hirald up off the ground, away from any garden gnomes who might be lurking. He managed to get a breath in to stop his lungs from panicking.

    “It looks like we should both find a new place to sleep tonight,” she said as she brushed his clothes off.

    He’d never been picked up like this before. He kicked his feet, wanting to be on the ground but not entirely uncomfortable in her arms, either.

    “Do you know what this is?” she asked Hirald, still holding the ring in her fist.

    He nodded. It was an engagement ring. Every silly gnome knew that much about human customs.

    “This is our freedom. I was afraid I’d lost it when I threw it in the trash. But I can sell this and live for a year if I’m careful.”

    Hirald looked to his boxes one last time. The feast was waiting. He hoped there would be plenty of boxes wherever this woman was going as he followed her down the sidewalk.

  • Leaving the Nest

    Every nerve tingled down her spine, sending her tail swishing back and forth in uncontrollable excitement. This was the day she’d spent the past months preparing for.

    “She’s carrying a mirrored decorative pot. It’s enormous and looks incredibly fragile, I’m amazed it’s survived so far.” Her father’s human relayed the details of the girl climbing up the side of the mountain. He’d first spied her at the base of the mountain a few days earlier and had been reporting back on her painstakingly slow progression up the mountain.

    The mirrored pot was one of Iris’s favorite pieces she’d collected for her treasure garden. When she started cultivating her treasure garden years ago, her father warned her away from anything that would be difficult to carry, but when she’d first set eyes on that pot, she knew that it was destined to be hers. It would be devastating if her human shattered or lost it, almost as bad as if it stayed in the garden forever. It was fitting that it would be the first piece of her hoard.

    This was her first human. This object would be the first piece that she would use to start her own hoard… or if she failed, the human would be the first piece of her hoard. (more…)

  • Prison of the Mind

    I remember being set free dozens of times. I’ve run, limped, and crawled out of this cell every day for weeks. Sometimes alone and sometimes leading others to safety. In victory and defeat. None of it is real.

    I’m in a recovery room, surrounded by doctors, by family and friends. All of them ask questions. They ask questions about me, but mostly they ask questions about what I know. About what the aliens wanted from me so desperately. They ask what the aliens asked and I refuse to answer. It’s a trap, of course. If I ignore the people long enough my captors will get bored and prep the next scenario.

    Their hallucinations are getting better, less nonsensical. Once, I could tell reality from fiction by the gaps in time. When I couldn’t remember leaving my cell, or walking into the room, when I couldn’t remember how I’d escaped or been set free, then I could jar my mind out of the illusion. Then I could remember not to give anything away. But this scenario, this is a good one, a happy one, and I don’t wish to endure it any longer.

    I look for the seams in this reality. (more…)

  • To Catch the Christmas Spirit

    Two days before Christmas, Vittoria embarked upon an excursion to the provincial village of Overbee. She was to meet her dearest friends there for a holiday retreat. It was just the thing they all needed: escape from big city life and away from the gossip that hounded them. Time to let Vittoria’s scandal blow over, Nicolette’s movie flop to be forgotten, and Sybil to forgive her mother’s most recent callousness.

    Yes, a quiet holiday was exactly what they needed.

    Nicolette had invited them to join her in Overbee—she shot a film there over the summer and fell in love with the picturesque setting, as well as one of the rich locals, whom she was visiting. Sybil had arrived before Vittoria, securing their rooms at a renowned inn at the town’s market district, since there was no room for them at Nicolette’s lover’s estate.

    Sybil’s last correspondence had caused Vittoria some concern, however.

    “Take the ferry to the village from Comstock. I will meet you at the dock. Do try to get there before sundown, though. There have been rumors of unsavory things happening after dark, and the dock is away from town enough that it would be best to make our way in the light.”

    Vittoria had allowed plenty of time for her journey, but after a series of unfortunate encounters, she was behind schedule and missed the mid-day ferry across.

    “Double damn,” she muttered as she watched the ferry disappear into the fog. With a heavy sigh, she paid the man at the ticket booth to lock up her belongings before she went to do some last-minute Christmas shopping in Comstock proper.

    By the time she returned to the ferry’s dock, the sun had set, and a deep chill had permeated the air. She was the only passenger for the last trip over.

    “The ferry knows its business. It won’t cast off again until you and all of your parcels have disembarked,” the ferry master said as he reinforced the magical command to take her across. “You have someone to meet you? Help with your luggage?” He nodded to her bags.

    “Yes. A friend.” Perhaps she should have packed more lightly.

    “You are set to go. Return trip, first of the New Year, correct?”

    Vittoria nodded.

    “Happy holidays, then.” And with a wave of his hand, the ferry slid away from the dock and into the sluggish river. (more…)

  • 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…)

  • The Woman who Slipped Below

    “Help!” they cried, running toward my tower chair, stumbling over little sand dunes on their way. An older man and woman, and a middle aged man.

    “She’s drowning!”

    I stand and scan the lake where they are pointing. The surface is glassy. Unperturbed. I grab my red rescue tube and slide down the ladder. I run toward the three.

    “Where?” I shout.

    “Just there!” they say, they all point to the same place in the lake.

    “I don’t see anyone!”

    “She’s flailing, man!” Says the older woman in the tankini. I scan the lake and the beach again. The half-dozen other beach goers are looking at me.

    “Go!” she says. (more…)

  • The Night Chats

    The night chats were announced with a key and a location. No words were ever exchanged. No maps were ever printed. There’s no painted sign hanging over the door or bunting strung to draw attention. There was just a new place in the shadows where one did not exist before.

    Lani entered at the arranged time, through a doorway at the back of the day market. The air still smelled of spices and dyes and dung in the fading light. The aroma of trade.

    The pushers met her first on the other side of the door, while her eyes and her skin adjusted to the cool air.

    “Hey. Hey you. You wanna sleep?”
    “Hey, wanna dream?”
    “Nightmares! Quality nightmares here!”

    She brushed past them with their somni-pills and their potions. Their oily promises left a residue on her skin. (more…)

  • Lunar Trials (A Witch’s Daughter #1)

    When I went to unlock my front door one day, I noticed a glowing key on my key ring that hadn’t been there before. I had to pee and my phone was ringing, so I ignored it at first, then forgot about it.

    When I remembered the next day, I checked my key ring, ready to contemplate what it was for. But it wasn’t there.

    “Wacky imagination,” I muttered to myself.

    But I hadn’t imagined it, because a month later—on the day of the next full moon, to be exact—it was back.

    “Hello, key. Nice to see you again.” I held it up and examined it. “What do you go to?”

    The key, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer.

    My natural inclination was to procrastinate. Why do today what you can put off for tomorrow? And as I wasn’t presented with any unfamiliar doors with magical locks, it seemed easiest to not bother with it.

    But knowing it would be gone the next day added an intriguing layer of immediacy. I was curious. I was in possession of a key that would disappear the next day.

    So I wandered around with, my hand outstretched, as I made my way through my daily routine.

    There were no unusual doors in my apartment, on my walk to the bus stop, and certainly not on the bus. I ended up putting the key back in my pocket after several strange looks and a startled flinch from the bus driver.

    The bus arrived at the college campus where I worked and got off on my usual stop. I pulled the key back out and squinted at it. It didn’t appear to be any brighter or pulling me any specific direction.

    “Seriously, key. What am I supposed to do with you?” (more…)

  • Hope Chest

    The key hadn’t been on Georgia’s ring yesterday, but she found it there now. She held it up to be sure she recognized it—the antique brass key to her cedar hope chest. Lost for years. But how did it get on her ring?

    She narrowed her eyes, suspecting the orderlies. The staff at Pine Acres Independent Living were helpful, tidy, and efficient. They seemed to organize while Georgia wasn’t looking. Like the Brownies of folklore. Though they were sometimes so quick about it that her crossword books got re-shelved before she’d finished all the puzzles.

    No matter. Having the key back was a gift, even if an orderly had entered without knocking. She stood, mindfully as the occupational therapist had instructed, to reopen the box of whatever wedding gifts remained unused after 57 years.

    She opened the narrow linen closet door and lifted her heirloom quilt from the chest’s lid. She brushed about six years’ worth of dust from it—six years since she and Benjamin had moved in here together. Four years by herself. But they key had been gone long before they’d come to Pine Acres. She fitted it into the lock and turned. The antique mechanism clicked and Georgia lifted the lid. (more…)