She almost looked over her shoulder—but no, why; there was bound to be nothing. Not a thing. And why would there be? This was her home. There was nothing to fear here. Heck, her dogs were peacefully asleep in the living room.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling. The closeness. The claustrophobia. And right before she turned her head to affirm her silly little notions, the paper called to her. An eerie, listless whisper. She picked up her pencil—uncomfortable if only for the fact that she wasn’t sure it was entirely her choice. But nothing could stop her. She was a conduit for this idea, whatever it was. And the creature behind her wasn’t going to let her forgot that.
‘There will be things that you miss,’ he said, bent over me like a vulture. I sipped his sap, an elixir for life in exchange for a small death.
‘The sun. Lord Father, the sunlight. Pools of heaven suddenly become little lands of burning hell. But that’s ok. The things you miss are made less by the things you gain. Tell me, have you ever tasted the blood orange of a rust moon? You will, little darling. You will and you’ll want to bathe in it.’
The Sun Child appeared in January.
Bright, sunny, cold. The coldest January anyone could remember.
His beaming bold body was a beacon even at night. And we knew he was sentient…a creature full of feelings caught between the stars. This we only knew from the crying: a soft sob that could be heard from Alabama to Amsterdam. That aside, the Sun Child did not move. He only sat in fetal position, waiting for some celestial mother to scoop him up and hold him.
When the cries became so frequent and loud that sleep deprivation fell on the whole world, scientists decided it was time to say hello. So they sent off an astronaut to greet the being. And, just like that, the Sun Child quit his complaints. All it took was a unfortunate snack.
Chantelle was the fastest sweeper this side of the river. Her broom—perfectly in sync with her delicate little steps—moved like a machine, a rhythm every other witch could only dream of.
So of course fall was her favorite time of year. It was a challenge, it was nature’s dance with her. She’d sweep one time and be set for the season. And then she’d be free—free to take to the wild and rambunctious skies. Sure her sweeping was preternatural, but her flying was a whole other story.
She’d go down in history as the most elegant rider to ever streak across a moon-soaked sky.
Has your grandma, who may or may not be a Baba Yaga, ever given you a couple of seeds and mentioned something about not planting them under the pale light of a Strawberry Moon, but you do it anyway because the seeds are little round gold things that could definitely be the seeds of some sort of money tree that may or may not exist if you know the right fae, so you plant them and wait and water (but only with wine) and make sure they see the sun’s golden face so photosynthesis is full on until one day there’s a definite sprout and before you know it two sprouts and then a bunch of leaves appear so then you realize that maybe these aren’t money plants and then you may or may not neglect them until one day you hear GURGLING FROM THE DIRT and you discover you may now be the mother or father or par of two VERY LOUD plant babies so you rush to feed them because you can’t just let them die and then one of them just spits out a coin as a little thank you so you quit your job to take care of these tiny money plant babies? No? Just me? Weird.
The Rokurokubi sat in the garden, her body in a rigid slumber. She usually made sure to sleep only in a secured room…her lily-white head locked up and unable to cause any trouble. But that was not the case on this humid, comfortable evening. The air felt like a gentle blanket, the perfect temperature for lulling any creature asleep. And as she slouched on the dock, surrounded by a peaceful symphony of humming insects and gentle breeze, her neck did as it always does: it grew.
It was well known what she was, and the others didn’t mind. No one knows what she did, why she earned such a curse, and no one asked. Anyone who stumbled in the garden tonight may have a fright, but they knew her otherwise as she was: a kind, quiet woman who made a mistake. We all make mistakes.
‘Eye Candy is my nickname and don’t you forget it!’
It was a common phrase she loved to shout. And no one would keep it under wraps. What was once thought of as a curse was, in all reality, the best thing that ever happened to her. Crypt-astic. She was the talk of every party: a big, beautiful swirling eye, always found by the candy dish. She was eerie-sistable. The pick of the pumpkin patch.
Sure, the curse seemed disproportionate for stealing. But payback’s a witch. And she was caught goblin down all of the wizard’s candy. So, she embraced her new fa-boo-lous. She was bone to be wild. A real Hallow-een queen.
It was that time of the month and he was fully prepared. It was the Wolf Moon, most appropriately, and the first moon he felt like…well, like a proper wolf-man. Plus, making the decision to drive into the deepest part of the Appalachian Mountains was most assuredly a good one. He’d be in wonderful company—a bevy of creatures that only shyly peak their heads out when no one’s looking. And to be frank…no one wants to look most of the time. At least humans didn’t.
The transformation came and went. His wolf form stretched as he found a home in his new skin. With a gentle inhale, he was off. Running wild in the dark wood. Finding a clear patch where moonlight kissed his hairy face. This wasn’t so bad after all. Yeah, he was getting used to it.
Perhaps it looks like I have been laying on this cliff for many years. But I can assure you, it’s only been a week. Maybe less.
Even from my upside-down, dead-as-a-door knob point of view, she haunts me. Spun gold hair on a turquoise surface. A glimpse of deep sea treasure in her eyes. A creature made to captivate.
The lagoon is her home: paradise and perfection. What man wouldn’t want to stay forever? Yes, it’s true, I am but bone. Bleached bone. But I can still feel her. The comfort of her sharp teeth. A watery demise warmed by her small, deft hands. I am fortunate to live what life essence I have left, here. With her.
The Invitation was precise. It had to be. This was the event of the year. The pen-ultimate ritual. Finally, the Spring goddess would be awoken. So of course, everything mattered. The Invitation had an FAQ, and she made sure to read every detail. She was a water worshipper, so the robes would be made of a blue satin. Her hair would be under a wig they all wore…a beautiful auborn color, warm and familiar. The color, not the wig itself. The wig was itchy. She read and read and read the mini-manual. By the night of the big event, she could recite the entire document by memory. She was going to impress the Spring goddess. She was gonna be the best cultist. The number one devotee. The queen of the fan club. After all, flowers need water to grow.
Auntie Alice’s garden was special, no doubt about it. Like the rest of her house…slightly mysterious, colorful, and with a hint of doom. This newer portion of the garden was certainly no let-down. What I thought was a new clutch of coneflower, turned out to be much more interesting on closer inspection.
As I wove my way around bladderwort and black elephant ears, bat flowers, doll’s eyes, and even one giant, stinking corpse flower, I spotted thirteen orange and pink hues. I walked closer to them when I heard it…a faint chattering noise from one of the coneflower’s head.
”Don’t get too close, babydoll. The Dead-chinacea bite!” Aunt Alice warned.
Heidi was never fully accepted, being a half demon psy-portal. It was quite hard. True, she did have at least one human feature, but that one human feature expressed itself several times over. Not to mention the swirling black void of some uninhabited world that constantly made up the rest of her body.
So it was easy to see how she stuck out like a sore thumb. Which was such a shame, according to the few that did get to know her. Heidi’s wit was rich with jokes from parallel universes, and her kindness…well, unmatched. But she learned the cruelness of the world and became withdrawn, quiet. Until one day. Jessica Tarrintino from troop 46 was determined to recruit for her Girls Scouts Group. And she thought Heidi would be a perfect fit.
This is a true story.
When I was in college, I lived in a little apartment a mile from campus. It was lovely: subterranean in the front, but a wide wooded area with a creek running through the back. Mountain apartments are often like this.
Lovely as it was, it was also poorly maintained and had many holes. And when a rain storm passed through, flooding the creek…lots of little legs made their way into my apartment, in my room, on my bed.
And that’s why I dislike millipedes. Especially hundreds of them in my home.
Imagine this: the cool new hair stylist wants you to try the latest hair color. And if she caught you right, if you were in a more adventurous mood, you may have been more open to it. But in that moment you wanted the usual.
The customer is always right, right? Well, not in this case. The stylist is pushy. Insistent. You miss Deberah, and something about this new person feels weird. But you eventually give in, if only to get through this appointment.
And now the hair is done and you look like a hot sea witch. And it’s incredible. You pay the stylist, leave a small tip (what? she was pushy!), and leave.
That night you wake up. Your hair has grown, it’s green-blue tints holding your body still. And then you start choking. The hair wiggles its way down your throat. Soon you won’t be able to breath. And the last thing you hear is simple: ‘Tip better.’
When they found her in the pumpkin patch, they were in awe. Have you ever seen such a beautiful pumpkin queen? A smile that can light a thousand Halloween lights. A sweet sip of pumpkin spice latte. Heck, her light wasn’t from a little tea light. Nope, she grew with her own lamp. Made her own glow, better than any spooky ghost ever could.
She was a rare beauty. Which was fortunate, because she desperately loved to sing and dance. So naturally, she made her way up to New York. She had dreams! Ambitions! And when she stepped her foot on Broadway, she found herself the star of the show. No one was surprise!
Mrs. Frankenstein’s annual Halloween ball is said to be the premiere party for all of our favorite ghouls and guys. Everyone comes for a good time…Chantelle the witch, Heidi and her scout troop…heck, even Ms. Plumpkin—famous as she is—stops by for a glass of girlblood.
Every year Mrs. Frankenstein hires a photography booth for friends to take pictures in. One slips out from the envelope, which you hold curiously. See, last time you checked, you were human. But somehow, some way, you got an invite to the most exclusive boo ball this side of our multi-verse.
And that’d be awsome except one crucial thing: only monsters are allowed.
You hold the little photograph of this curious woman in your hands. She winks and giggles like she knows something you don't. Of course it's a haunted photograph.
G. mothicus is a rare one indeed. Casually called the Goth Moth, these winged wonders have the ability to predict their observer’s death. No date. No time. Just a rorschach test that moves and shakes as the moth nears you.
It is the worst feeling: waking up in the middle of the night, having to pee, and looking down a long, dark hallway.
Facing the unknown, in such a familiar setting. And you have to go because, well, yoou have to go but…your head snaps, peers deeper into the sentimental void. Are those a set of eyes? Gold and glowing? But why…and how?
You shake yourself, grab the light beside your bed, and light it up. The candle flickers, creating ever-changing shadows. When you blink again, the gold eyes are gone. Surely you’re still asleep!
You stand up straighter. This is YOUR house. YOU refuse to be afriad in your house. And you REALLY have to pp. With a new bravado, you take the first step outside of your bedroom. And promptly run the rest of the way to the bathroom. You’re also not taking any chances.
Twig’s favorite thing to do—aside from shaking through the wind, was standing. Very tall and very still. They were quite good at it, and they had a nice view of Leafy, and Maple, and beautiful Birch. So it was quite easy, actually.
Maple sized up little Twig one day. Looked down on them and simply said, “Look up.”
”Up?” Twig said.
”Up.” said Maple.
”What…is up?” He stood stock still, wondering if looking up would change his posture. Before he could wonder further, Maple slowly shifted her limbs, as if pulling from the ground. Her eyes swept over him, before they left the forest floor and bent over, twisted, til her whole face sat flush against the sun. “Up.” she said.
They rumbled a little agreeance, and for the first time, wiggled in their stance, twisting and turning until they saw a thing they had only felt before. A wide expanse, with nothing but blue for miles. It was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen. And just like that, they had a new favorite activity.
We found the old TV in the back of a pawn shop. Had to be at least 40 years old..heck, maybe 50 now. Col-o-Vision. None of us heard of the brand before, but it was a very cool piece of Americana. So we got it. Took it home, fixed it up.
The first time we turned on the TV, it took a second for everything to line up. There was color but barely. As we flipped through channels, a chill ran down my spine. You see, most of the image had cleared up. God in sync. The only the that hadn’t were the numerous TV personalities. Instead of the normal, beautiful actor soliloqueying another normal, beautiful actor, both appeared as static skeletons, each an illusion of creepy snow shaped in bone. It was on every person—the evenig news anchor, the singer, even the kids on the kids channel.
We returned the TV the next day.
It doesn’t have a name, although every sailor knows about it. It doesn’t need a name.
They say it lures its prey with a human form. They say it has 5 tongues, and each tip of the tongue ends in an irresistable head.
They say and they say and they say. But they don’t know. No one knows. No one has survived it.
Cats dream and this cat is having a nightmare. It sits serenly, surrounded by flames that lick the thick air. It sits and thinks, ‘What have I done to deserve this? O, I have even allowed belly rubs!’
The poor thing doesn’t mind the fire that rages around him. No. It’s the silver bowl that sits before him. The bowl that should be full to the brim with it’s favorite kibble.
And here this poor, sad kitten sits, crying at the mercilessness of it. Sure, there was plenty of food left in the bowl. But ONE BITE. The peasants beneath her hadn’t bothered to fill his bowl to the brim, and now…how would he survive without that one...delicious...bite?!
Naturally, when a fortune ball is placed before you, you must gaze into your future. So you do. And you laugh. This thing is clearly a rip off, or a cheap magic trick!
You are 30 years old now and can recognize a joke when you see it. A house? With a lawn and a garden? HAH! You are a millenial. Home ownership is but a sad fantasy that grows more out of reach by the day. But it is the dream, isn’t it? A place to call your own. The ball spares no detail: cute arched doors, a flower bed. That could be real. Yeah. Just one more side hustle, and you could do that.
