Grandmother’s Gift by guest author Paty Jager

Our final guest author is the talented western and mystery author, Paty Jager, with her gifted short story. Enjoy!

***

Catch a dream and hold it in your heart.

***

 Shandra Higheagle stirred her cup of tea and reread the letter written in her grandmother’s scrawling penmanship requesting Shandra attend the drum ceremony after her funeral. Shandra knew nothing of the drum ceremony her grandmother requested she attend. For that matter she knew little of her grandmother other than she was a Nez Perce elder, grieved her son as much as Shandra grieved her deceased father, and Ella, Grandmother, had touched Shandra in a way she didn’t understand as a teenager twenty years ago.

Memories of that summer emerged as Shandra thought of her grandmother.

Shandra had been angry with her mother and stepfather. They’d chosen to take a month long summer vacation and leave her home with the housekeeper and ranch hands.

Shandra had other ideas.

After her parents left, Shandra asked for a ride to Missoula from a ranch hand. There she boarded a bus to take her to Brewster, Washington. From there she’d hitchhike to the Colville Indian Reservation where her grandmother and aunt lived. With forty dollars in her pocket and a backpack carrying her music, art supplies, and two pair of clothes, she’d stepped out of the bus at the station in Brewster.

A woman with a gray braid tucked into a beaded bun wrap, weathered skin, and wearing moccasins, jeans, a white blouse, and silver earrings and necklace walked up to Shandra.

“Welcome, Shandra. I am your grandmother.” The woman extended her hand and smiled.

“How do you know who I am and that I was arriving?” Shandra knew by the woman’s features she was her grandmother. She only had one photo of her father and his family. Over the years she’d spent countless hours staring at the photo and then herself in the mirror, trying to learn more about her side of the family that her mother and stepfather refused to acknowledge.

Grandmother, or Ella as her grandmother told her was the word for grandmother in Nez Perce, smiled and said softly. “When a bird returns to the nest, the mama bird knows.” She motioned. “Come we must return by dinner time.”

Shandra fell in step beside her grandmother, taking furtive side-long glances at her. She walked straight and tall with an assurance Shandra remembered in her father.

“Really. How did you know I was here?  I didn’t tell anyone I was coming to see you.” Shandra thought hard. She’d told no one and had caught a ride to Missoula after telling the housekeeper she was spending the night with a friend.

“But you dreamed. Your dreams go into the air and anyone who knows how to look can find them.” Ella stopped at the driver side of an old, faded green pickup. 

Shandra stared at her grandmother. “You didn’t know I was coming from my dreams. I don’t dream.” The comment was partially true. She didn’t know if it was because she’d had a dream about losing her father before he died or because she didn’t sleep soundly enough, but she rarely had dreams.

Ella slid in behind the steering wheel and motioned for Shandra to climb in. “You do not have to be asleep to dream. Many dream of their futures as they walk down the street or sit outside staring at the stars.” The vehicle revved, and they shot away from the curb.

Shandra clutched the door handle as Ella punched the pickup into the traffic. Luckily, they soon turned off the busy road, traveling over gravel roads. The pickup rattled and clanged making conversation hard. Shandra didn’t feel like yelling to be heard. She pulled out her CD player and stared at the scenery. They drove through country covered with sagebrush and juniper. The two plants her stepfather hated most. He paid good money to make sure not a sagebrush or juniper grew on his Montana cattle ranch.

They traveled for two hours over gravel roads, passing through woods and finally other than an occasional building, she spied what looked like a town.

“That’s the Trading Post store and gas station.” Ella pointed to a long building with gas pumps in front of it. “Over there is the agency buildings. That grassy area on the left is where we hold powwows once a year.”

 Shandra had known coming to the reservation would be different from what she was used to, at the moment fear had started to override the anger she’d used to get her this far. She instinctively knew her grandmother wouldn’t hurt her or let anyone hurt her, but that didn’t stop the swelling of unease that she shouldn’t have come.

They entered what appeared to be a small town. Ella waved to several people. The men had braids, the women wore long skirts. Little kids ran around the dirt and weed yards.

“This is Nespelem. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather are buried here,” Ella said.

“What about my great-grandmother? Isn’t she buried here?” Not that she wanted to know, but she didn’t like how Ella only referred to the men. In her short thirteen years, Shandra had yet to run into a male who warranted special treatment.

“Your great-grandmother is buried alongside your great-grandfather. She would be pleased you have come to visit.” Ella swung off the main road through town and guided the pickup down a bumpy gravel road.  “Your Aunt Josephine is excited to see you. The last time we saw you, you were very small.”

The pickup veered down a road. After fifteen minutes of bumping slowly over ruts through the pine trees Shandra saw a large barn with corrals and a small two story farmhouse.

“This is the ranch where your grandfather and father spoke to horses. They trained many and we still breed good stock today.” Ella stopped the pickup beside the house. Three large dogs came bounding around the side of the house. Ella talked to them in a language Shandra didn’t know and all three dogs stopped and sat, waiting.

“What did you say?” Shandra patted each dog on the head as she and Ella walked by.

“I told them to show respect. If you show an animal respect, they will give it to you in return. Same with people.” Ella opened the back door of the house.

 Wonderful smells circled Shandra’s head. On the trip she’d only purchased junk food and water. It was another way to rebel against being left at home. At least that was her way of thinking.

A younger version of Ella stood in the middle of the kitchen. Her face glowed with good humor and steam from cooking. “Welcome! I’m your Aunt Jo.” She wrapped her arms around Shandra and hugged. Her stomach was round and hard. Her aunt was pregnant.

Shandra stood still, her arms at her sides. She didn’t know this woman. They might be family, but it was a family Shandra knew nothing about. She didn’t even hug the family she knew.

“Shandra is hungry and tired,” Ella said, motioning for her to sit at the table.

Shandra looped her backpack over the back of a chair and sat. Aunt Jo set bowls and platters of food on the table. Shandra noticed the table was set for four.

Within minutes, stomping at the back door ushered in a tall, broad-shouldered man. He had dark braids hanging down the front of his chest, a big smile, and friendly dark brown eyes.  

“This is my husband, Martin Elwood.” Aunt Jo’s eyes shone like stars as she looked at her husband.  “Martin, this is our niece, Shandra.”

Her uncle held out his hand. “Welcome. What brings you out for a visit?”

Shandra shook his hand and stared at her grandmother. Never one for lies or tales she said, “Mother and Adam left for a month, and I didn’t want to stay at home with the housekeeper.”

Ella smiled. “I’m glad you came to visit.”

Shandra had expected questions and reprimands for heading out on her own. Instead they started passing the food and talking about their day and the horses that were yet to foal.

After dinner, Ella led Shandra upstairs to a room at the end of the hall. “This was your father’s room. It will now be yours whenever you visit.” She opened the door and Shandra slowly walked into the room. Belt buckles, photos of her father holding up a trophy, and two pairs of silver spurs shined on the small bookcase beside the bed. “It is time you discover your father again.” Ella turned to leave.

“Wait.” Shandra’s heart raced in her chest. She didn’t want to sleep in her father’s room. “Can’t I have another room?” she asked.

Ella peered into her eyes. “Your father’s story never finished. You are part of that story. There is no other room you can sleep in.”

Shandra wasn’t sure what her grandmother was telling her, but she wasn’t as scared about staying in the room. “Okay.”

Crossing the room, Ella stopped at the head of the bed and tapped a circle with what looked like a spider web in the middle. A feather hung down from the circle. “This will catch the dreams and only allow the good dreams to slip down the feather and into your head. Sweet dreams.”

Ella grasped Shandra’s hand as she passed and muttered words in what Shandra now realized were Nez Perce.

Shandra spent the next hour reading all the inscriptions on her father’s things. Her eyelids lowered, and she could no longer stay wake. Leaving the bedside light on, she slipped between the covers and immediately fell asleep.

  Dreams of her father floated through her head. He held her on a horse, played with her, and teased. She was small, but she understood his love for her and his joy to show her everything around her.

Knocking woke her.

“Time to wake. There’s work to do.” Ella’s voice carried into the room and soft footsteps moved down the hall.

Shandra stretched and felt rested. Her dreams remained fresh in her mind. All the faint memories of her father were bright and reminded Shandra he’d loved her.

Downstairs she ate breakfast of eggs and toast. Uncle Martin headed out to do the chores. Aunt Jo cleaned up the dishes, and Ella motioned for Shandra to follow her outside.

Her grandmother walked slowly toward the barn. “We raise good horses. Many people come to us for trained horses.”

“Who trains them? Uncle Martin?” Shandra said.

“We all work with the horses. It makes them more accepting of who buys them. You will help us while you’re here. I feel you are like your father. A horse talker.” Ella opened the barn door. There were stalls on one side of the barn. A couple of heads poked over the stall gates. “These fillies are expecting their first foals. Martin is keeping an eye on them.” Grandmother petted each on their noses.

Shandra reached out, allowing them to sniff her, then pet their soft noses. “Will they have their foals while I’m here?” She’d never witnessed a foal being born, only calves.

“I believe Fancy, this one—” Ella stopped at the last stall “—is ready.”

The mare stared at Shandra. Her big, brown eyes peered into hers. There was a slight dullness to the mare’s eyes. “She’s in pain,” Shandra said.

Ella smiled, nodded. “You are to stay with Fancy today and help her.”

Shandra stared at her grandmother. “I don’t know anything about a horse having a baby.” Her hands shook thinking about what could go wrong.

“Stay with her. Ease her stress. Martin and I will check in on the two of you often. If she begins birthing, come get me or your uncle.” Ella motioned to the gate. “You can go in. Fancy is gentle and only wishes company.”

Shandra unlatched the gate and walked in. Fancy was a bay appaloosa with a well-defined white blanket and large black spots on her rump.

“Fancy, I see you’re in pain.” Shandra stroked the horse’s neck and whispered the story of how she came to be in the stall. She spent several hours talking to, petting, and brushing the horse. The longer she remained with the horse, she understood the animal’s actions. When the mare hurt she needed reassurance.

Fancy lay down and curled her neck, looking at her tail.

“I’ll get Ella.” Shandra climbed the stall gate and ran to the house.

“Ella! Ella! Come she’s in pain and the foal is coming.” Shandra found Grandmother sitting in a small room beading a round circle.

She calmly set her needle and the circle down, then put a lid on the tray of beads.

“Come! She’s in pain!” Shandra wanted to get back to Fancy.

“I’m coming. Always put things away. You do not know when you may get back to it.” Grandmother stood and headed to the door. Shandra wanted to run back to the barn, but Grandmother stopped at the kitchen. She filled a bucket with warm water.

“Carry this.”

Shandra grabbed the handle of the bucket and headed to the barn. At the stall, she looked back. Grandmother was strolling along with a leather bag that looked like a shoulder purse in her hands.

“What is that? Are you going to town for a vet?” Shandra asked, unlatching the gate.

“No. This satchel has medicine to ease her pain and help with the birth.” Grandmother stepped into the stall. She said more words Shandra didn’t understand while sprinkling herbs and powders into the bucket of water.

“Make her stand to drink this.” Grandmother walked to the gate and stood.

Shandra looked down at the horse and then at Ella. “She is more comfortable on the ground.”

Ella nodded. “But she needs to drink the water. Get her up.”

Placing her hands on the animal to get her attention, Shandra felt the animal tremble. “She’s scared.”

“She trusts you. Get her up and make her drink.”

Shandra curled her fingers around the halter on the animal. “Come on, Fancy. You need to drink the water. It will help.” Gently, she pulled on the halter. “Come on. You’ll feel better.” The horse stared into her eyes then stood. Her legs shook, but she put her muzzle in the bucket and drank the water.

Shandra stared at Grandmother. “She trusted me!”

“When you care about someone they will trust you.”

A loud bark and whimpers drew Shandra from the memory. Sheba wanted in. Crossing the room to let her large, furry sidekick into the house, Shandra smiled. Grandmother’s gift that summer had taught her if you respect you will be respected. She touched the round, beaded barrette in her hair. “Thank you, Ella for teaching me respect and to dream.”  

***

This story sets up how after her death, Shandra’s grandmother comes to her in dreams and helps her solve mysteries in the Shandra Higheagle Mystery Series.

Author bio. Award-winning author Paty Jager and her husband raise alfalfa hay in rural eastern Oregon. She not only writes the western lifestyle, she lives it. All Paty’s work has Western or Native American elements in them along with hints of humor and engaging characters. Her penchant for research takes her on side trips that eventually turn into yet another story.

You can learn more about Paty at

her blog; Writing into the Sunset 

her website; http://www.patyjager.net 

Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/pages/Paty-Jager/132536633482029

Newsletter: Paty’s Prattle: http://eepurl.com/1CFgX

Paty’s Posse: https://www.facebook.com/groups/402519373168442/?ref=bookmarks

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1005334.Paty_Jager 

twitter  @patyjag. 

Hanna’s Gift by guest author Misha Gerrick

Based on a story that was told to me as true. An English officer in the Anglo-Boer War is on a mission of mercy in time for Christmas.

*** 

In all my life, I had never felt this inadequate. I followed the hard-packed pathway between fluttering canvas tents by rote. Even now, when the full moon only served to deepen the shadows cast by thousands of tents.

This camp was a stain on the dry winter surroundings. A shadowy blot of sin and death no amount of moonlight could soften.

A woman wept nearby. Another mother who’d lost a child. Definitely not the only one I’d be hearing on the way to my destination. I clenched my jaw and kept walking, hoping to look resolute enough for any officers spotting me to assume I was supposed to be here.

Today would be the day my family back in London would be hunting for a tree, now all the rage thanks to Prince Albert. My little sister would be making decorations and thinking of me, her dear brother missing her and wishing he was anywhere but this god-forsaken piece of earth on the tip of Africa.

I had been seduced into coming by a sense of adventure and the dream of patriotism. Of claiming land that we were destined to belong to us. It should have been easy. Our glorious empire never saw a sunset because we knew how to get what we wanted, and were willing to fight for what we had deemed to be ours.

We should have been satisfied with what we’d had. But then, the Dutch farmers who had decided to risk their lives move into the interior to escape our rule… They found gold.

Gold that we needed.

Gold that we were going to have even if it came to war.

Easy enough. And yet, the war had gone wrong. So wrong that it was deemed necessary to burn farms and pack non-combatting citizens into this camp and others like it. To turn it into a war of attrition we were sure to win.

But the damage… The damage…

I glanced around me, trying to make my gaze penetrate the tomblike shadows. Another woman wailed and I shivered. So much misery. And there was nothing I could do about it.

All I had was a canteen filled with curds. It wasn’t even sweetened.

I hunched my shoulders forward as I turned to the left, following the footpath to the tent that was my destination. Inside was a little girl. Hanna was her name. The first time I saw her, I was writing names into the record book.

Like a butcher records lambs to the slaughter. I nearly cried out when I looked up and found her before me. She looked so much like my sister. The same flaxen hair. The same expressive blue eyes.

Seeing there shook me. It woke me to what we were doing. We’d burned her house down to force her to come here and live in tents. At the start, that was the worst I thought we’d subject them to. But then the diseases came and the rations dwindled.

And now Hanna was going to die. Maybe it would be the measles ravaging her, or maybe the steady onset of starvation. And all I had to help… A stupid canteen filled with stupid, unsweetened curds.

I stopped in front of her tent. A timidness gripped me. What was I doing? I had no right to intrude on this family’s despair. I was part of the cause.

Yet my feet remained rooted where I stood. I couldn’t leave. Not without giving this ridiculously small thing. It was all I had to give, and I wanted to give it to Hanna.

The lump in my throat grew with every step forward I took. Maybe I wouldn’t give the canteen to them personally. Maybe I should simply leave it before the tent’s entrance and not look back. Yes, yes I could do that.

But someone lit a lamp inside, barely diluting the shadows. Then she stood right where I’d planned to place the canteen, peering at me. She probably couldn’t make out who I was. Only that she hated me.

When I’d written her name in the records, she was a strong, sturdy woman with pride in her posture. Now, only the stiff back remained. Her hair had been shorn to protect against lice, but she stood with a queen’s dignity. She’d break before she bent to our will, but I could see the cracks, the grooves around her mouth.

“What?” she demanded.

Now or never. I took a few steps forward and held up the canteen. “I…” My throat ached from the effort, but I cleared it and tried again. “I heard you have a sick little girl.”

She took the canteen and opened the contents, sniffing it.

“I know it’s not much.” I held my tongue, bracing to the impact, in case she decided to throw the canteen at me.

Instead, she carefully twisted the cap on once more.

And burst into tears.

She flew into my arms, hugging me tight, the canteen’s hard edges biting into my shoulder as she embraced me. “Dankie,” she said. “Dankie.”

Thank you.

It was nothing. Curds without a thing to sweeten it, but one would think I had brought her God’s own treasures for Christmas. Tears stinging my ears, I backed away from her so she could return to her daughter.

Into the shadows I went, furtively making it to my own tent, hoping she wouldn’t recognize me in the morning.

It was a stupid, stupid gift, after all.

***

Author Bio:

Misha Gerrick has been creating stories long before she could write and is currently going after her dream of making a living as a writer.

If you’d like to see how that’s going, you can visit her on her blog, where she also discusses all things related to writing and publishing.

Or, if you’d just like to know what she’s reading and get updates on what she’ll be publishing next (Sorry, no newsletter just yet.):

You can follow her Tumblr

You can follow her on Twitter: @MGerrick1

And you can circle her on Google Plus: +MGerrick

House of Horrors by guest author Kelly Hashway

Not all carnivals are evil, but when they are, seeing really is believing—and a whole lot worse.

***

Source

            The sun dropped below the horizon, leaving the carnival bathed in the eerie glow of

neon lights. Josh tugged on Stephanie’s hand, pulling her toward the World of Wonders exhibit. He grinned at the pictures of the unbelievable wonders promised inside.

            “I can’t wait to see how they pull that one off,” Josh said, pointing to the Cyclops.

            Stephanie tugged on his bicep. “None of this is real. It’s just a waste of money.”

            “Oh, it’s real all right,” said a low voice from inside the ticket booth.

            Stephanie jerked her head to the right and met the stare of a greasy-looking man with dark hair and a beard that came to a point about six inches below his chin.

            Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Sure it is.”

            “A disbeliever,” the man said. He tapped his finger on the booth as he looked Stephanie up and down. He leaned forward, pressing his nose against the thin glass and speaking through the circular opening. “Perhaps this isn’t the right exhibit for you…yet.”

            “Try never,” Stephanie said, tugging on Josh’s arm again. “Can we please go?”

            Josh smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious.”

            Stephanie nodded her head slightly to her left. “He gives me the creeps.”

            Josh laughed. “He works the ticket booth for the freak show. He’s got to play the part and get people spooked enough to enter the exhibit, right?”

            Stephanie shrugged and glanced at the man again. She jumped when she saw he was staring back at her. His lips curved in the most sinister smile she could imagine. “Yeah, well he’s a little too good at his job.” She turned away. Over Josh’s shoulder, she saw the sign for the House of Mirrors. “Let’s go there instead.”

            He followed her gaze. “You probably just want to check your reflection in all the mirrors.”

            Stephanie playfully lifted one shoulder. “Maybe.” She   took Josh’s hand and pulled him across the parking lot. They walked through the archway at the entrance to the House of Mirrors and heard a cheerful voice over the loudspeaker.

“Step inside and see yourself in a way you’ve never imagined.”

            “Is this a maze or just a lot of crazy mirrors?” Josh asked as he took his wallet from his back pocket.

            “Both actually,” the man in the ticket booth said.

            Stephanie squeezed Josh’s arm at the sound of the man’s voice. It sounded exactly like… No way could it be the same creepy guy from the freak show.

            Stephanie peered through the dirty glass. The booth was dimly lit, but she could make out the shadow of a pointed beard. Her nails dug into Josh’s arm as she squeezed him tighter. “It’s you,” Stephanie said. “Did you follow us?”

            He laughed again. “You must be thinking of my twin brother. He runs the booth at the World of Wonders exhibit.”

Stephanie turned away, trying to shirk the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

            “Enjoy,” the man said, pressing a button that unlatched the door.

            Stephanie practically ran through it, wanting to put as much distance between her and the ticket guy as possible. The door slammed shut behind them, making Stephanie jump.

            “Why are you so jumpy?” Josh asked.

            “You didn’t find that guy the littlest bit—?” She shuddered. “I can’t even describe it.”

            Josh smiled. “Look around. You’re surrounded by mirrors. This is like heaven for you.”

            Stephanie turned in a full circle, watching her reflections twirl with her. “You’re right. And I could use a touch-up on my lip gloss.”

            Josh walked over to a mirror that made him look pregnant. “Hey, check this out. I think I’m going into labor.” He turned sideways and rubbed his belly.

            Stephanie walked over to see. “Yeah, you definitely look like you’re going to pop.”

            “You try it.” Josh pulled her in front of the mirror.

            “No thank you.” She waved him off, without even looking at her reflection, and continued through the maze.

            A voice came over the intercom and Stephanie had no doubt whose voice it was. The ticket seller’s. “In every mirror find a different way to play. But be careful not to lose yourself along the way. Because we’ve saved the very best mirrors for the end. And your opinion of the exhibit just might bend.”

            “Well, that’s—”

            “Creepy,” Stephanie finished.

            “I was going to say cryptic, but I think it means they save the really cool mirrors for the end of the maze. I wonder what they’ll make us look like.”

            Stephanie didn’t really care. Coming here had been her idea, but now she just wanted to leave. “Maybe we should turn around and get our money back. This doesn’t seem like a good idea after all.”

            “No way. I want to see those mirrors at the end of the maze. Maybe I’ll look like I grew boobs or something.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes, but Josh took her hand and pulled her through the maze. After a few turns, Stephanie stopped. The hair on her arms was standing on end. “I really think we should go back.”

            Josh turned all around, looking for the open space indicating where the path was leading them. “That’s weird. I guess this is a dead end.”

“Good, then let’s head back.”

            The lights went out, leaving them in darkness. Stephanie screamed and hugged Josh.

            “What happened?” she asked.

            “I don’t know. Power outage, maybe.”

                        A low humming sound, like a bunch of buzzing bees, filled the air. After a few more seconds, dim yellow lights came on from above.

            “Must be a backup generator,” Josh said.

            “Let’s find the exit,” Stephanie said, the terror on her face reflected in the mirrors all around her.

            Josh turned around, trying to retrace their steps. “Isn’t this the way we came?”

            “I think so.” Stephanie gawked at the row of mirrors blocking their path. “How can that be?”

            “I guess we got turned around somehow when the lights went out.”

            “But we didn’t move.” Stephanie swallowed hard. Something was wrong with this maze. Something was wrong with this whole place.

            “Well, there’s no use standing here.” Josh took her hand and headed back the way they’d just come.

            “We know this path is a dead end. We were just—” Stephanie couldn’t finish. The path wasn’t blocked anymore. One of the mirrors was gone. “No.” She stabbed her finger at the empty spot. “There was a mirror there.”

            Josh let go of her and ran his hand along the sides of the mirrors. “They must move. You know, change so that people going through the maze more than once don’t know which way to go.”

            Stephanie wasn’t convinced. “Why would a fair attraction go through all that trouble? How many people actually go through the House of Mirrors more than once?”

            Josh shrugged. “Beats me, but at least we aren’t stuck here anymore.”

            Stephanie couldn’t argue with that, but she couldn’t help getting goose bumps as she walked through the opening and followed the path. After about twenty feet, the maze turned to the right, and there weren’t any more mirrors. “Where are we?”

            “Looks like a maintenance entrance or something. The power outage must have made the sliding mirrors go all screwy. This passageway probably opened by mistake.”

                        They followed a long narrow hallway to another door. Stephanie sighed. “Oh thank God! I’m never stepping foot in another House of Mirrors. In fact, I may not look into another mirror for a long time.”

            “Oh, come on. This is you we’re talking about. You’ll be adjusting your lip gloss in the car on the way home.”

            Stephanie playfully smacked his arm. “Just open the door.”

            Josh turned the knob and found himself looking into another room. “Huh?”

            A crackling sound came from a speaker above the door. “Things look different in the dark, and monsters come out to play. But if you find yourself once more, you might be back on your way.”

            Stephanie bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

            “I thought that thing was off,” Josh said. “Do you think the lights shutting off are part of the exhibit?”

            “I think that guy is seriously deranged. He knows we’re trapped in here. He’s probably watching our every move.”

            Josh looked around for hidden cameras. He waved his arms above his head and yelled, “Hey, we’re a little lost. Some help would be nice.”

            “He’s not going to help us. He’s trying to scare us, and he’s doing a really good job.”

            Josh stopped waving his arms and grabbed Stephanie by the shoulders. “You need to calm down. I bet that’s a prerecorded message that plays on a loop.”

            Stephanie took a deep breath. Josh was probably right. She was overreacting. She hated being lost, and her fear was getting the best of her. “Okay, let’s keep moving.”

            They stepped into the room, which was empty except for a group of sheet-covered objects in the middle.

Josh grabbed one end of a sheet and lifted it. “It’s just a normal mirror. Nothing funny about it.” He raised the sheet on the one next to it. “This one’s normal, too.”     He turned around and pulled the sheet off another mirror. This one was different. “Now we’re talking. A goofy mirror.” He uncovered the last one. “This one, too. Nice.” He positioned himself in front of the second mirror. “Hey, try that one.”

            Stephanie moaned. “Then can we please leave?”

            “Sure.”

            Stephanie stood in front of the other mirror. Her reflection was ridiculously tall and skinny. Without even realizing it, she laughed.

            Josh glanced at her reflection. “We need to fatten you up. Better get you some ice cream with all the toppings.”

            Stephanie smiled and looked at Josh’s reflection. He looked like a short round blob. “Whoa! No ice cream for you!”

            As they laughed, Stephanie couldn’t help feeling silly for getting so scared. This was kind of fun after all.

            “I’ve got to get one of these for my living roo—” Josh’s face twisted in pain.

            “What’s wrong?” Stephanie reached for him, but she felt like her arms were being stretched and pulled right out of their sockets. Her eyes flew to the mirror again as she felt her body being pulled in two directions at once. She screamed as her muscles tore, shredding into paper-thin strips. She struggled to stay on her feet, and if something wasn't pulling her upward, she was sure she would’ve toppled over. Her skin stretched, leaving long purplish-brown lines running up and down her limbs. She tried to talk, but all she could manage were screams. The pain was unbearable. She felt herself rising higher in the air and wondered why the mirror seemed to be getting smaller.

            Finally the pain died down. She forced herself to look away from the mirror. Her legs were wobbly, and she had to reach her arms straight out to keep her balance. When she finally managed to turn around, she found herself facing the mirror behind her. The regular mirror. Only, her reflection was exactly the same as it had been in the distorted mirror. Her body was stretched and bone thin.

            Her head whipped to the side, searching for Josh. Her eyes dropped to the blob on the ground next to her. Josh’s body was short and fat. His face was lopsided from the waves of rolled skin and blubber. He was nothing more than a blob, exactly how he’d looked in the mirror.

            And then everything went black.

#

            Stephanie was vaguely aware of the cool cement floor on her back. She knew she’d fainted. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on the room. The almost shapeless form next to her wasn’t moving. Josh. That was Josh. She remembered everything. Somehow the mirrors had changed them. She and Josh had changed so they resembled the images reflected back at them.

            A door slammed, and the glow of a streetlight filtered into the room. Stephanie saw a figure in the doorway, but the light was to its back and she couldn’t make out who it was. She waited there, not knowing if she should call out for help. But the figure turned slightly, and she was able to make out the shape of a pointed beard. The man from the ticket booth! But which booth?

            He stepped into the room, and suddenly the doorway was filled with another figure—identical to the first. Stephanie struggled to sit up. Her head pounded from the fall, and her muscles ached from being stretched well past their limits. Still, she did her best to scoot away from the two men. She nudged Josh’s shapeless body with her foot, but he didn’t budge.

            “Easy there,” the first twin said. “You’re liable to get your foot stuck in all that blubber.” He laughed as he and his twin dragged Josh out of the room.

            “Where are you taking him?” Stephanie yelled. “What have you done to us?”

            The door slammed shut behind them. Stephanie awkwardly pulled herself to her feet, using the mirror to help her. Every part of her body was in pain, and she could feel warm blood tricking down the back of her head. She tried to walk, but her long legs were completely foreign to her. She stumbled and fell forward, crying out in pain.

            The door opened again, and the twins stepped inside. “It’s going to take some time getting used to those new legs,” the first twin said.

            His brother laughed. “Oh, she’ll have plenty of time to get used to them. Plenty of time indeed.”

            “You did this to me!” Stephanie said, her voice laced with hatred.

            The men walked over to her, grabbing her under her arms. She didn’t want to go with them, but she didn’t have the strength to fight back. They dragged her out the door and into the night. The fair was deserted. Not a person in sight as they pulled her across the street. In a moment of horror, she realized where they were taking her. The World of Wonders.

            “Stop! Please, stop!” She tried to fight them, but it was no use. She didn’t have control over her body. Stephanie gasped when they dragged her past cage after cage of creatures that could only have been created the same way her new form had been. Each person—thing—was more hideous than the one before. “You used your mirrors to make these people for your exhibit!”

            They threw Stephanie into an empty cage and slammed the door shut. The freak show attendant smiled and said, “Are you a believer now?”

***

This story is most like Kelly Hashway’s Touch of Death series.

Kelly Hashway fully admits to being one of the most accident-prone people on the planet, but that didn’t stop her from jumping out of an airplane at ten thousand feet one Halloween. Maybe it was growing up reading R.L. Stine’s Fear Street books that instilled a love of all things scary and a desire to live in a world filled with supernatural creatures, but she spends her days writing speculative fiction for young adults, middle graders, and young children. Kelly’s also a sucker for first love, which is why she writes YA and NA romance under the pen name Ashelyn Drake. When she’s not writing, Kelly works as an editor and also as Mom, which she believes is a job title that deserves to be capitalized. She is represented by Sarah Negovetich of Corvisiero Literary Agency. For more information about her works, visit her website: www.kellyhashway.com.

HAPPILY EVER AFTER by Madeline Mora-Summonte

This month our guest author is a pinch hitter. She stepped in rather last minute and delivered this awesome tale. We're lucky to have her and her talent visiting LQR. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome Madeline Mora-Summonte.

Delia doesn't remember a lot of things, but she'd remember stealing a baby. Wouldn't she?

***

Delia doesn't remember stealing the baby.

She stops walking, stares into her rusty shopping cart. The baby girl, swathed in a clean pink blanket, sleeps among the lumpy garbage bags stuffed with Delia's life. Delia leans over, sniffs. She can't always trust her eyes – she sometimes sees things that aren't there. Her nose twitches. The smell of innocence - baby shampoo, apple juice, cookie crumbs – punches through Delia's own stink, knocks down any doubt still standing.

Delia whirls around, panic scratching the inside of her throat with familiar fingers. No, no, no. Not the police. They'll lock her up. Not the doctors. They'll put her away. Again.

But the area around Delia, the edge of town, is deserted. She pushes the cart down an alley, breath rattling the fragile birdcage of her chest. She leans against the wall. The baby watches with serious eyes. Delia rubs her aching forehead. She doesn't remember taking this baby. But she doesn't remember a lot of things. She frowns. The baby's brow furrows in response.

"Don't worry, princess. Here . . . " Delia rummages through a bag, puts the storybook on the baby's belly. The baby gurgles, ruffles the book's swollen pages, gnaws on a corner of the stained cover.

"I can't read it to you, little one. I never did learn so good." Delia knows only from the pictures that it's a book of fairy tales, of princesses and dragons and knights who save the day.

She used to wish someone would save her from the voices inside her head, and the ones outside that called her names, that demanded she do nasty things. She used to wish someone would save her from dark corners and probing fingers, from blood and bruises. But she learned early that fairy tales don't come true for people like her.

Delia shuts her eyes, hard, tight, searching her memory for where she found this baby, for picking her up, for putting her in the cart. But Delia can't find anything anywhere. She gasps, opens her eyes. What if . . . what if she didn't steal this baby? What if . . . what if someone gave her to Delia? To protect. To save.

Delia studies the baby, who looks healthy, clean, well taken care of. But so did Delia. Once upon a time.

Rage fills Delia's heart with the heat of a dragon's fire. She will save this baby, save her from a life like Delia's. She will not let this baby girl down.

Delia pushes her cart, her life, behind the dumpster then scoops the baby into her arms. They have to go. Now. The baby hugs the storybook and gives Delia a big gummy smile as if she agrees, as if she knows Delia is her destiny.

Delia leaves town, taking back lanes and worn paths. She whispers to the baby, to herself, "You are a beautiful princess, and I am your guardian ogre, and we are running, running, running from the dragon . . . "

Delia walks until her knees almost buckle. She sings and tells stories until her throat scrapes. She bounces the baby in shaky arms, muscles turning to rubber. An unfamiliar deserted road winds and twists under her, ahead of her. Heat rises from its cracked, scaly surface.

Off in the woods, an old-fashioned school bell clangs. Delia stumbles, stops. Her mind sweats, her thoughts swim in salty confusion. She looks down at the baby. Is Delia supposed to take her to school?

"You want to go to school, little princess? You can learn to read, read that book to me." Delia brushes the baby's cheeks with gentle fingers.

The baby wriggles in Delia's arms, smiles.

Delia steps among the trees, into their cool, damp embrace. The baby gives a joyful screech. Delia laughs. The bell cheerfully beckons them, but Delia's not sure which way to go. She turns slowly, stops, squints. A path. She thinks.

They burst into a clearing.

Artist: Abby McClean

Two burnt, crumbling walls still stand. Charred beams stretch across the sky. Shattered window glass, milky with age, stares up from the ground like eyes filmed with cataracts. A gaping hole yawns from the floor, edged with the jagged teeth of broken boards.

The bell, shiny and sturdy, slows, quiets as the boy riding the rope lets go, landing with a soft thud. Children turn and face Delia as one.

Shock sends Delia to her knees. The storybook falls to the dirt. Delia can only take in pieces – scalded skin, blistered faces, boiled skulls, tufts of hair, withered limbs. She blinks hard, rapidly. Is she seeing things again? She sniffs, gags on the stench of rotting, decayed flesh. Her bowels let loose. The baby whimpers.

The boy who was ringing the bell hobbles forward. He grins through crisped skin. His one eye gleams with excitement.

"He told us you were coming." The boy's voice rasps.

Delia shakes her head, terror seizing her speech.

"The dragon." The boy points to the hole inside the school. Black and blue smoke plumes lazily, a languorous forked tongue tastes the air. "The dragon said the ogre would bring a princess to play with us."

The other children circle around, their skin crinkling. The baby wails, the sound piercing Delia's ear, her heart.

"But I . . . I saved her."

The boy holds out his arms.

"I…I'm her guardian ogre."

A horrible, horned reptilian head rises from the bowels of the burned school, as a remembered truth rises inside of Delia.

Fairy tales don't come true for people like her.

***

Madeline Mora-Summonte is a reader and a writer, a beach-comber and a tortoise-owner. She is the author of the flash fiction collections, The People We Used to Be and Garden of Lost Souls. 

The Best Day by S. Usher Evans

This month's guest author, S. Usher Evans, shares a touching story with us. Grab a tissue. Hug your dog. 

"A dog has the best day of his life."

***

I had the best day ever today.

I awoke between my mom and my dad as I had since I was a puppy. I crawled in-between them and lay my head on my mom's chest. She scratched my ears and told me I was a good boy. Dad asked if I needed to go outside, and I wagged my tail. I followed him outside where I peed on my favorite bush. Dad asked if I wanted to get the ball—I always want to get the ball!—and he threw it and I brought it back to him as many times as I could.

I smelled breakfast and Dad took me back inside. Mom was in the kitchen, my favorite place, at the place that made the good smells. My bowl was empty, and I sat by it, hoping Mom would see that I was hungry, too. My eyes widened and my tail thumped wildly when she brought a plate of yummy yellow food and red strips to the floor.

"Good boy, Bernie," she said, and I attacked the plate. It tasted so good—the yellow food was hot and delicious and the red strips salty and crunchy. I finished my plate in a matter of seconds, and Mom laughed and gave me more.

My stomach was so full of good things I laid down and smiled. Mom said, "I love you, Bernie" and I kissed her face. She tasted a bit salty, so I made sure I cleaned her up. She smiled and laughed, and I had done my job. She rubbed my belly and my ears and I was happy.

Dad announced we were going for a walk and I sprung to my feet. Dad got my leash and tried to put it on, but I was so excited that I nearly knocked him over. He hooked the leash to my collar and I flew to the door, the long strip flowing behind me. I waited impatiently for Mom and Dad to join me—they are always so slow—and when they were ready, we left the house to the smelly-ful world outside.

It wasn't hot, but my tongue hung out of my mouth in excitement. I was on a walk, and walks meant new smells and new things to pee on. I marked every tree that smelled like something else.That's my job, you know, to show where I have been. Mom and Dad were patient and stopped every time I did. They smiled down at me and told me I was a good boy.

When we arrived at the park, Dad took off my leash and let me run. My favorite place was the pond. I could splash in the water and chase the flying things all day. One of them was large and snapped at me, so I ran back to Mom and Dad who laughed so hard they cried.

I met two new friends—Zoe and Pepper. They wrestled and tumbled in the cool grass and let me chase them. I was tired from running, and I could not keep up. Mom and Dad came to get me and told me it was time to go home. I wagged my tail—I loved going home, especially when Mom and Dad were there with me.

When we got home, I took several gulps of water and lay on the couch. Mom sat next to me and rubbed my ears and my belly, calling me her "sweet baby boy." I made sure to give her lots of kisses, she sounded sad and it was my job to cheer her up. I climbed on top of her and gave her all the smooches I could give, until she was red-faced with laughter.

Dad made chicken for dinner, and I was allowed to have my very own piece! I gobbled it up as quickly as my breakfast, and asked for more. Dad gave me his food and told me I was a "good boy." I had never been so lucky to have chicken and potatoes, but I didn't care for the green stuff. Mom gave me a cold peanut butter chewy after, and I licked and gnawed at it to my heart's desire. My tail thumped happily on the ground, and Mom and Dad laughed until they cried.

I smelled a new person at the door. She came in with a bag and a sad face, and Mom started crying. They spoke words I didn't understand, but I heard my name. Mom and Dad came over and sat down next to me. Mom was crying, and I lay my head on her lap, licking her hand. Dad rubbed my ears, and I saw he was crying too.

"I love you, Bernie," Mom said, kissing my forehead.

"You're a good boy, Bernie," Dad said, rubbing my belly.

"I love you, too," I said through my eyes. "Thank you for the best day ever."

***

If you want more feels-inducing work, check out S. Usher Evans' stand alone fantasy story, Empath.

Author Bio

S. Usher Evans is an author, blogger, and witty banter aficionado. Born in Pensacola, Florida, she left the sleepy town behind for the fast-paced world of Washington, D.C.. There, she somehow landed jobs with BBC, Discovery Channel, and National Geographic Television before finally settling into a "real job" as an IT consultant. After a quarter life crisis at age 27, she decided consulting was for the birds and rekindled a childhood passion for writing novels. She sold everything she owned and moved back to Pensacola, where she currently resides with her two dogs, Zoe and Mr. Biscuit.

Evans is the author of the Razia series and Empath, both published by Sun's Golden Ray Publishing. 

The Fall by M. Pax

We are excited to welcome science fiction author, M. Pax to LQR this month. She has graciously shared her exciting interpretation of this month's freedom theme. Please help us show our appreciation by sharing the link to her story with your friends and family!

Imprisoned by a mysterious alien enforcer, humanity’s last hope must battle for the right to a future.

***

If Galloway didn’t let me go soon, humanity would be lost, and the galaxy’s sentries would crown a less-deserving victor. My breaths chafed, my pulse labored, and my eyelids throbbed. The days passed by too long.

All the enhanced traits my ancestors had endowed me with slipped away. To conserve what energy remained, I knelt unmoving in a puddle of light leaking in from the top of the east wall, watching the sliver dance on my wrists. Silver on silver.

The mulcer next door paced, growling. I could smell its foul drool, hear it splashing to the ground. The beast wanted to kill me. Time would beat it to the task. My vigor bled with every heartbeat into the unyielding alloy beneath me.

The alien technology, or whatever Galloway was, chose that moment to answer my plea. The wall in front of me evaporated. I didn’t have to be told to run toward the portal— the transport to the planet.

I had to fight the mulcer for a future. Its huge jaws snapped at me. Striped and scaly, its enormous head consisted mainly of teeth and eyes. Two bulbous pus-like irises sank every time the mulcer opened its mouth. Its breath reeked like burnt leaves dipped in tar left to molder in a steamy swamp then set on fire.

We raced for the portal to claim the rights to the planet. Not willing to let my unborn heirs down, I dug in, tapping into every souped-up trait that could help me triumph—speed, endurance, increased lung capacity and blood flow, tenacity, and valor.

The beast inched ahead of me, gliding along on the slime trail it shed. Thinking only of what failure meant—never another chance—I sprinted toward the orange glowing sphere, eking two steps in front of the mulcer. At that point, I leaped. Arms straight out, body reaching, I dove into the portal.

In a nanosecond, I materialized on humanity’s new world. Unfortunately the mulcer did, too. It pounced, jaws straining for my throat. Swinging a foot, I kicked it in the teeth then jumped for a tree branch. I kept hold, pulling up my legs, staying out of the mucler’s reach. It grunted, bounding to the trunk, clumsily making its way up.

Its slow progress gifted a reprieve and allowed me to survey what would be Earth Three. The ground rolled in burps and swells. Lizardish beetles sang, furry eely beasts with wings squawked, and some squid-like creature scurried under the brush. We rocked together, riding a moss ocean that spanned the horizon in an unbroken prairie, a treasure trove upon which my progeny would thrive.

My people had come to the stars to start over and had succeeded once. We’d do so again. We were so much better than the mulcers, the outcast army of an extinct race. They only knew how to hunt and kill.

My enemy scrambled out on the branch, teetering. I kicked at its pus eye. It roared, showering me with malodor and slime. Its hold slipped, but before it fell, it sprang, wrapping its ropey fingers around my neck, squeezing. Gravity added a wallop to our fight, and with a thud we landed, the mucler on top. I dug at its eyelids, biting, spitting. I punched and tore at it’s flesh.

From the sky a chime gonged, gaining in volume until it struck a tone that rendered me motionless. The mulcer, too. We froze in the throes of mutual murder.

Fuzzy tickles plucked at my brain, intruding, shoving their way into my thoughts. My mind received a scrubbing, at least it felt that way. Once I was thoroughly violated, an arc appeared above the mulcer’s slobbering maw, pulsating, flickers sparking through its foamy pink mist.

Two hammering heartbeats passed, and it spoke. “I told Galloway to get rid of you by bringing you to me.” The arc paused, scalding everything between my temples. “Round two of the contest begins. Think why you deserve this world. Winner gets it.”

No way would the mulcer win. Humanity had risen from a better foundation than genocide. Hope thumped, giving me strength, and I recalled all I knew, singing the praises of my illustrious forefathers. Humanity creates civilizations, is highly intelligent, and can think beyond itself. We’ll make the most of this beautiful planet.

I couldn’t hear what the mulcer thought, but seconds later it screamed and jerked as if electrocuted by a billion volts. The puddle that remained of it oozed into the hiccupping land.

My heart rate slowed, and I grinned, preparing to set free the genetic sequences suspended in a sac in my abdomen. The genetic material would use me to sprout and begin mankind anew. Thank you for choosing me.

“Humanity didn’t win. The rolling ground beneath you did. It’s called an Arith.”

I couldn’t form a single thought, at least none I understood.

“A race’s right to survive is not absolute. Humans were ruled for extinction an epoch ago when Earth Two fell. They had their second chance and blew it.”

But…

“Despite the outcome, you’re allowed to stay.”

Me? As the last human? What an honor.

“You’re not human. Your willingness to sacrifice yourself for others earns you a place here if you let me erase your faulty programming and dump the subpar genetic material you carry.”

I couldn’t bear the thought of imprisonment on Galloway again. The arc heard me and shoved my thoughts aside until I lay empty. I drank in all that the Arith was and watched it and the planet mature. Without protest, the mossy thing gave its heart and vitality to the advancement of new life. Nothing could be nobler, no being could ever have higher purpose.

A slender purple creature hatched reminiscent of a salamander with a long neck and limbs. It’s song vibrated my biomechanics into smiles. I asked the Arith to mold me in its image, surrendering my silver body and electronic nodes. Now I could live and die. I had free will, and I had evolved.

***

M. Pax is author of the space adventure series The Backworlds, the urban fantasy series The Rifters, plus other novels and short stories. Fantasy, science fiction, and the weird beckons to her, and she blames Oregon, a source of endless inspiration. She docents at Pine Mountain Observatory in the summers as a star guide, has a cat with a crush on Mr. Spock, and is slightly obsessed with Jane Austen. mpaxauthor.com