The Confabulator Cafe

Tag: short story

  • Black Magic

    I took another drink of whiskey, letting it warm my stomach and dull my magic. Losing control now would be disastrous. Now, when I was so close to the semi-finals. The Miss Galaxy title was everything that I had left. That and the cash prize it promised.

    I waited off-stage while a lovely Deltan attempted to play the lyre. She must have been nervous because her extra tentacle kept tripping her up. I would be on stage soon, singing that stupid song. I mean, it was by far my strongest song. The only talent I had these days, now that I’d found a way to dull my magic.

    The Deltan must have reached the end of her performance because the crowd cheered. I could never tell with alien music. I watched in horror as she glided off the stage. The crowd was waiting for me and it made my stomach churn. I took one last drink to soothe it. Why did I ever think it would be a good idea for a witch to go on stage singing about old black magic? I must have been drunk when I filled out that form. That song gave entirely the wrong idea about witchcraft.

    “And now for a real treat, ladies, gentlemen, and other folk,” the announcer said. I braced myself. “All the way from Earth, we have a real talent here. This is the first time a human has made it this far in our contest. Please, everyone here at Janis Spaceport, give a big cheer for Eliska!” (more…)

  • The Cursed Word

    The man lay in his path, screaming. Raymond had been hearing him for the last quarter of a klick or so. There were no words in the scream. Just the sounds of a man’s agony.

    Raymond walked down a narrow path. There were no breaks here, no narrow alleyways where he could move to a different stack. Shelves stretched on as far as he could see, boxing him into a confrontation with the screaming man that he didn’t want.

    The books in this part of the Library were old. Older than any Raymond had come across before. They were crumbling tomes on crumbling wooden shelves, each volume chained into position. The florescent lights overhead cast stark shadows across his path.

    Now that he could see him, the man was about Raymond’s age with the same pasty skin of everyone who was trapped in the Library. He clutched one of the Medieval tomes to his chest as tiny pale worms inched across his clothing. Raymond hadn’t seen anything like them in all of his years of overseas deployments and rotten food.

    He leaned over the man, keeping himself at arm’s length. People were scarce in the Library. Supplies scarcer. And intel. He was surrounded by information but never knew what was happening. He’d come into the Library with no idea of what to expect, but it wasn’t this. (more…)

  • The Last Christmas Tree

    Needle grew up like most trees. He started as a seed from a pine cone. He was raised in a greenhouse until he was big enough to survive outdoors, where he was planted in the ground.

    As Needle grew, he heard rustling amongst the other trees, who had been planted in neat rows alongside him, that they lived on what was called a Christmas Tree Farm. Silver, Needle’s sister at the end of the row, tried to point to a sign one windy day, where she swore there was neat lettering that said so.

    Needle didn’t know what a tree farm was, but he was happy. He got plenty of water, and humans came by and made sure to keep all of them pruned and healthy.

    Trees have no concept of time. Time is a human construct. All Needle knew was that he lived for a time in what humans might call contentedness.

    But as the weather turned from hot to cool, there was the horrifying sound of machinery and the wailing of trees in the distance. Rumor flew on the wind, and all the trees near Needle held their collective breath.

    But the danger seemed to pass, and life returned to normal. Snow, rain, pollination, and heat. Needle continued to be content, except for every now and then when the sound of horror came around again.

    The rest of the time, the trees didn’t think about it.

    Until the day they had no choice. (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…)

  • It’s Snow Problem

    Karen woke up with dreams of home spinning around in her brain. A planet, a city she hadn’t seen in two years now. They bothered her as she sat in an alien marketplace, watching the hustle and bustle of the day. It was 80-degrees Fahrenheit in the area and she’d pulled out her t-shirt collection.

    Her friends Yarley and Lolali sat beside her. Lolali picked at a mat in her fur while Yarley tapped her fins on the low table.

    “Don’t you have snow here?” Karen asked. “I know we’ve had wind and rain. But I never see snow.”

    “Snow?” Yarley asked.

    “Who would want it?” Lolali asked, dropping a bit of fur on the ground. “The climate control is very good here. Rain helps the plants and the atmosphere. But snow? That’s just a nuisance to everyone.”

    “I like snow,” Karen said. She was a great lover of all things that others found a nuisance. She felt she had to speak up for it. “Besides, it’s traditional at Christmas. At least on my part of the planet back home it’s traditional.”

    “It’ll never happen here,” Lolali said.

    “Why not?” Karen asked.

    “Because your people don’t have the political clout to convince someone to reprogram the climate control system just for you. Your snow holidays happen at the same time as another race’s monsoon days, and still another’s dry days.”

    “Besides, snow is awful,” Yarley added. “How can your people like to be cold? Is it the fur?”

    “Well I have to do something,” Karen said. “I need Christmas-ish things around.” (more…)

  • Betwixt Hearts

    The woman may have come into Wendy’s tent trying to look common, but she had wealth written all over her. Even dressed down in dark trousers and a blouse, Wendy could see that about her. Her clothes fit too well. Her hair was too clean.

    “Do I have something you need?” Wendy asked as the woman sat at the opposite end of the rug cover the dirt inside the tent.

    “I reckon you do.”

    “And you are?”

    “Elizabeth Wagner.”

    Ah, Wendy had heard the name Wagner around the town, in the weeks she’d been doing her work on the outskirts and nearby farms. It seemed that Daddy Wagner owned about half the town, and wasn’t all too well loved. She hadn’t heard anything about a family, but rich men usually had a few daughters to barter.

    “Well, Miss Wagner, what brings you to me under the cover of night?” (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…)

  • Collections Hell

    To: mathew.logan@soulnet.org
    From: collections@hellnet.org

    Dear Matthew Logan,

    I am writing to inform you that your grace period of 15 years, as previously agreed upon by both parties, is coming to a close. On September 30, 2016 your fee of the energy from one human soul, hereafter known as your immortal soul, will be due. On or before this date, your immortal soul will be ripped from your body and transferred to the underworld for eternal storage. Please make whatever arrangements you feel are appropriate and schedule a visit with one of our many repossesion agents at your earliest convenience.

    Appointments for immortal soul collection do fill up fast during this time of year, due to the many contracts signed during the early autumn months. In order to ensure a convenient time to surrender your immortal soul, we do recommend that you make an appointment as soon as possible. The process is fast and we try our best to make it as painless as possible.

    If you have any questions or concerns, please contact your case-demon directly at: ralachi.collections@hellnet.org

    Ralachi
    Fifth Level of Hell
    Collections Department

    #

    To: collections@hellnet.org
    From: mathew.logan@soulnet.org

    How on Earth did you get this email? I did not and never have signed any kind of contract for my immortal soul. If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.

    Mathew Logan (more…)

  • Factory Fur Nightmares

    The dew of the early morning soaked the chenille corpse beside her. Polyester stuffing drifted down the alley in the wind. Izzie squatted and considered the remnants. It was a clean kill. She’d cut the belly open from stem to neck and severed the head from the teddy bear, just to be sure. She didn’t want the poor bastard waking up still alive. She wasn’t that kind of monster.

    Moonset wouldn’t come along for another ten minutes. She was patient. She could wait.

    She ran her knife along the plastic charms on her bracelet, making them swing. It was a cheap thing she’d bought on a whim from one of those kitschy places made for teens in the mall. She was way too old to be in there without a child accompanying her, but she couldn’t pass it up. Three little teddy bears dangled from it: two brown and one pink. Three down. She hunted a fourth now. (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…)