Category: Fantasy

Mia’s Date With an Angel Part 1

Is it time?

You will know when it is time.

I’m scared.

You are made out of my love. You have nothing to fear.

Ok, here I go.

**Wednesday night**

Mia sat on the small balcony of her apartment that overlooked the communal pool. She held a pill bottle in one hand. The pill bottle looked too small to hurt her but the pills inside would do just fine. Sleeping pills for insomnia that she had stopped taking because they worked too well and knocked her out well into the next day. In her other hand, a bottle of cheap gas station wine. Pills and booze. How cliché, she thought.

She took a swig from the wine bottle to bolster her nerves. Ok, it’s now or never. She popped open the pill bottle and spilled the blue and white capsules into her hand. She popped them into her mouth glancing up at the sky as her head tipped back. A streak of light caught her eye. A falling star. I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight. She watched the light waiting for it to fade but it only got brighter and brighter. A flash of light streaked straight down hitting the pool and sending a fountain of water into the air.

“What?!” Mia said. Partially dissolved pills flew out of her mouth. She spat the rest out and wiped her mouth and chin. Below her a body floated face down in the pool, a white gown billowing around it in the water.

Mia grabbed the railing on the balcony and swung both legs over. She paused to consider the drop. Glancing over her shoulder she saw the still body in the water. She stepped off the balcony edge letting her arms take her weight and dangling for a second before dropping. A deck chair caught most of her impact but bounced her on to the cement. She hit with a thud and a light smack to the back of her head.

She rolled over and scrambled to the pool. Without any more thought, she jumped into the water. The cold shocked her but didn’t slow her as she pushed through toward the floating body. She grabbed it and pulled it to the side of the pool. After getting out she reached down and heaved the body out of the water with a strength she didn’t know she had.

Mia rolled the body over. It was a woman, dressed in a white dress that would have been very billowy if it wasn’t wet and plastered to her body. She also had large fake wings strapped to her back. The woman wasn’t breathing. Mia knelt beside her, grabbed her wrist and felt for a pulse. Nothing. She struggled to remember the proper form for CPR. Compressions. She thought she was supposed to start with compressions. How many? Was it five or fifteen? And what about breaths? No time to overthink.

She placed one hand on the woman’s chest, placed her other hand over the first, locked her elbows; the woman’s eyes opened before she could press down. The woman smiled but still didn’t take a breath. Mia smiled back, unable to look away, as a wave of love spread through her.

“Um, hi,” Mia said. She backed off the woman and sat down next to her, still staring. Mia felt something under her move tugged by the woman as she started to sit up. She leaned to one side and one of the woman’s cosplay wings slid free. The wing stretched out and up, extending over her head before folding behind her back.

“So, those aren’t a costume are they?” Mia said. Her body began shivering from the cold night and wet clothes.

The angel, because what else could she be, cooed and sang notes to a song Mia could almost place.

“I don’t –” Mia felt the world tilt sideways and rolled to her side. The angel knelt beside her and sang more notes. Everything was going to be ok, she thought. It’s ok. A hand brushed her hair from her face. She saw the angel looking concerned. Then everything began to fade out but instead of darkness, Mia saw white light and heard flapping wings.

To be Continued

Ghostly Defense

The world watched live on tv as alien ships hovered over every major city on earth. I never thought I would live to see our hopes and fears about extraterrestrial life play out on CNN. To be accurate I hadn’t lived to see it.

I had died in my sleep years before but it wasn’t peaceful. My killer stabbed me twenty-three times but the first three would have been enough. The violence, my pain, my fear, my suffering bound my spirit to earth. At least I think that’s how it happened. Maybe I’m just a remnant, a torn scrap of a soul. Existence is weird after you die.

Time is moves differently. Sometimes days blurred by; other times a night lasted forever. Then there is moving around. I could effortlessly pass through all walls, ceilings, and floors. Except I couldn’t leave my home. The outside walls were simply impenetrable to me. And worst of all, I had no body. I mean, I was a ghost so of course I didn’t have a body but I also didn’t have, like, a ghost body I could see or feel. I learned to “walk” like I had feet and “grab” things like I had hands. After a while, I fully grounded myself and settled down to quietly haunt my house.

When I was alive, I didn’t care who might live in my house after I was gone. I hadn’t expected to be around to care. Turns out I did care. I drove out several new owners for various reasons. My methods were classic haunting. I opened cabinet doors. I stomped in the hallways at night. I rattled doorknobs. I moved small items. Once I managed to break a window. It was never earth-shattering scary but if done randomly and often enough, anyone will give in. If I had to “live” with these people, then I needed to like them.

Finally, a nice lesbian couple, Lou and Betty, moved in after buying at a discount because of my haunting. They burned incense and left small food offerings, neither of which I could truly enjoy but the gesture was nice. Better than the previous owners who tried to have me exorcised. I stopped being a problem ghost and “lived” in peace with them. They didn’t know my name but knew I had been a woman so they called me Jane.

Years passed. Betty went back to school, meanwhile, Lou wrote a book but never finished the sequel. They had two kids, Diane and then Henry a couple of years later, and a parade of cats most of who mostly ignored me. The main exception was Miss. Whiskers, an older rescue, who hissed near constantly at my presence. After a couple of years, she only hissed when I entered a room.

Through it all they never forgot me. The incense burning and food offerings dwindled and stopped but I didn’t mind. They were nice people and often tried to include me in discussions. “Do you think Jane would like to watch a comedy or action movie tonight?” Most times I didn’t answer. It felt voyeuristic to be an unseen and unheard presence except by knocking on a wall. I did occasionally put on a mild show when their skeptical friends would visit.

When they brought Diane home for the first time, Lou stopped just inside the front door and introduced me to her. I gently held her hand and she tried to squeeze back. At night, I watched over her and as she started to crawl and walk I guarded her steps. Henry was much the same. I fretted all day when Diane began preschool causing the wind chimes hung in the living room to sound randomly. Betty thought it was funny that I seemed more active when the kids were out of the house. I couldn’t guide them away from sharp corners or steady them when they tripped when they were out of the house.

In my death, I had found a family. Then they appeared. Silent massive hovering alien ships. I watched the news from behind the couch as Lou, Betty, and the kids huddled together. We hoped they came in peace but when the pods began to drop that hope died. Alien controlled machines began terrorizing cities around the world.

Nearby, I heard and felt an explosion rumble through the house. They were coming and there was nothing I could do to protect my family. I became erratic; pacing through the walls, flying from floor to floor, causing doors to bang open and closed. I only stopped, when I heard Betty yelling, “Jane stop it! You’re scaring the children!” I froze in the kitchen. From outside I could hear more explosions and people yelling. Then the front of the house tore open. One of the alien machines stood staring in through the hole it had made. It raised what I could only guess was a weapon and took aim.

Time slowed as I launched myself at the machine not caring that I could do nothing. As I approached, I felt heat coming from the machine. It grew in intensity until I felt like I was burning but I continued toward it. I grabbed at the weapon and electricity lit up every nerve in my non-existent body The weapon sagged and the machine staggered back with twitchy uneven movements. I followed it out on to the lawn and reached into the body of the machine. Again electricity surged painfully through me but what was that going to do, kill me? I pressed forward to the hottest part of the machine. A horrible screeching sound came from inside the alien machine and then it collapsed to the ground.

My amazement at my apparent victory was cut short by Diane yelling, “Are you a superhero?!” I turned to see all four of my adopted family staring at me.

“You can see me?” I asked. I glanced down seeing my body for the first time in years.

“Yeah, we can see you. Who are you?” Lou asked.

“I’m … I’m Jane the ghost,” I said opting for the name they would know.

“You’re our ghost!” Diane shouted. She broke into a run towards me and passed right through me. I reached back, grabbed the back of her shirt, and pulled her back inside the house. A hand passed through me followed by a squeak from Betty.

“You really are a ghost,” she said. “What did you do to it?”

“I don’t know. I just touched it.” I heard a crash, nearby. I stepped out on the lawn to get a better look. Another machine was tearing into a house down the street. I was outside; no longer trapped in the house. My adopted family stood behind me.

“Are you going to fight it?” Henry asked.

“Yeah.” I turned around. The front of the house was torn open. “Listen the house might collapse so go someplace safe. I’m going to … take care of this.”

“Are you coming back?” Lou asked.

“Of course. You’re my family. I love y’all. I’m going to keep you safe.” I turned around and started running toward the second alien machine before I could find out if ghosts could cry.

The second machine went down as easily, except for the nonexistent burning nerve endings, as the first. Over the next few days, other empowered ghosts began to appear around the world but ghosts are rarer than most people think. There weren’t enough of us to decisively change the tide of the invasion at first. After we lured a few alien machines on to some Civil War battlefields, we started to have the numbers. The Ghost War had just begun.

The Imprisoned God

Shackles encircled his wrists and neck. Mundane steel and concrete bound her in place. A god gains strength and power from believers and worship. In this foreign land, he had neither. In the dark, under the blinding sun, through heatwave and blizzard, through drought and flood, they languished alone.

The god’s keepers, tormentors, examiners were mortals with no god of their own and no desire to worship the one they had captured, taken, stolen. To a non-believer, a god is an oddity, a relic, a specimen. They poked and prodded the god with their devises and implements. Samples and measurements were taken. Notes and charts were made. Hypothesis and theories were created.

After a time, they had learned what they could or lost interest. They could not release the god, so they buried her. Cool damp earth was poured down on the god. It crushed, embraced, supported the god. Finally, he allowed themselves to rest. Under the earth, she slept; discarded, hidden, forgotten for now.

Counting Stairs

… One Two Three …
When I walk up or down a set of stairs, I count them.
I don’t count my steps while walking.

… Four Five Six …

There is safety and comfort in counting stairs.
I’m afraid to miss a step, stumble, and fall.

… Seven Eight Nine …

There are nineteen stairs going up to my apartment.
Eighteen really but I count the landing as the last stair.

… Ten Eleven Twelve …

I find it satisfying to count the correct amount.
Sometimes I get distracted and miscount.

… Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen …

I might count seventeen or nine or eleven stairs.

… Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen …

I’ve never counted more than nineteen because
it’s much harder to over count stairs.

… Nineteen Twenty Twenty-one …

Wait, how many stairs did I just count?
How much farther is it?

… Twenty-two Twenty-three Twenty-four …

…

… Twenty-five …

Card Tricks

It was late, well after midnight, when I started doing magic tricks. Our host, Jane, had cornered me when I went in search of a drink. She had even produced a deck of cards when I protested that I didn’t have any props. For an hour I revealed “Magic’s Greatest Secrets”, sleight of hand tricks and misdirection, to a captivated audience. After that, I got bored.

“These tricks are just illusions. Anyone with enough patience can learn these.” I paused locking eyes with everyone in the kitchen in turn. “Would you like to see some real magic?” A couple people chuckled. One woman enthusiastically said, “Yes!” The rest mumbled assent. I thought fast and came up with something that would wow them.

“Ok. Does anyone have duct tape?” The host found a roll in the kitchen junk drawer. I spread the deck on the counter. “Someone pick a card any card.” Maria picked a card, three of clubs, and handed it to me. I held it flat against my fingers so half the card extended past my fingertips. “Now I need someone to tape the card to my hand. Use as much tape as you want. Just leave my fingertips and the end of the card uncovered.”

Marcus pulled a length of tape free from the roll with a rip. He wrapped the tape around my fingers three times before wrapping twice around my palm and wrist.

“Anyone got a light?” Linda produced a lighter. I flicked it on and ran the flame over the edge of the card. It blackened and caught fire. A thin wisp of smoke rose toward the ceiling. “Fire. One of the primal forces of nature that we have tamed. It keeps us warm and dry. It cooks our food. It lights the dark nights. But it still can burn us. Unchecked it sweeps across the land destroying everything in its path.” While I had been speaking the flame had traveled down the card and was threatening my fingertips. I could feel the heat building up in them. A shrill beeping exploded overhead. One guy yelled, a few others ducked and half crouched, everyone covered their ears.

“Pay attention. Ignore that noise,” I yelled waving at the smoke detector. I raised my free hand over the burning card fingers splayed apart. I let my mind loose observing the fire, the smoke, the card, bits of ash in the air. I held them all in my mind and reversed entropy. My audience, if they were attentive enough might have seen the flame become unnaturally still for a couple of seconds. And then it began to move again but it wasn’t burning the card anymore. Instead, it flowed up the card, the blackened paper reforming in its wake. The flame reached the top of the card growing smaller and smaller until only the corner remained darkened. It died and the card was left untouched by fire. I released my grip on reality and allowed entropy to resume its natural flow.

Everyone stared at the card. They said nothing.

“Hey, can someone turn off the smoke detector before the neighbors call the police or something,” I said. Maria climbed up on a kitchen bar stool, while Marcus steadied her, and pushed the reset button. The rest kept staring at me as I picked at the duct tape ineffectively. I realized they were waiting for me to reveal the trick, instead, I asked, “Can I get a little help?” and hold up my taped hand.

Linda grabbed my hand and started tearing and peeling the duct tape off my hand. The card went with the tape after she pulled it all off. She peeled the card off of the tape and looked at it.

“How did you do that?” Fred asked.

“Magic,” I said. My hand was sticky from the tape.

“What’s the trick?” Marcus asked. “Did you have a second card in your palm or up your sleeve?”

“No. There was no trick. It was magic.” The lemon fresh dish-soap on the sink was getting some of the tape residue off but not all of it.

“The card was stuck to the tape. She couldn’t have switched cards,” Linda said.

“Maybe she used the fire alarm as a distraction?” George suggested.

“I was watching the whole time. She never touched the card after she lit it on fire,” Ben said. I dried my hands with a paper towel and tossed it in the trash.

“Look there’s no trick or illusion. I burnt the card and then I bent reality so it would unburn. I’ve been honest with you all night, right? Showing you how every trick worked, right? I asked if you wanted to see real magic, right? I showed you real magic and now you call me a liar.”

“No it’s just magic isn’t real. You told us that earlier.”

“I showed you tricks. I said they weren’t magic but I never said magic wasn’t real.”

The Making of a Villian

I was a hero. Kids looked up to me. Girls swooned over me; boys wanted to be me. I was the shining example of truth, justice, and the American way. Golly shucks I just wanted to make a difference in the world.

Being a hero was easy at first. Muggers ran when I was nearby. Bank robbers would give up at the sound of my voice. Even The Masterminds, the city’s greatest threats, were no match for me. Reporters joked that soon I’d be out of a job if I kept up.

The city changed before that could happen. It started with the muggers. They started cutting or shooting their victims instead of just roughing them up. Park sidewalks were stained with blood. They knew I couldn’t leave the victims to chase after them. Then the bank robbers got into the act. They used to give just up when they saw me. Bullets bounced off me harmlessly, what else could they do? Then one shot a hostage and said more would follow if I didn’t get out of there. Soon they were all doing it. What choice did I have? What choice, I ask you?

The Masterminds, seeing that I could be cowed by a mere bank robber with a gun, become bold. No longer did they simply hold the city hostage with the threat of attacking until I could find their underground lair or floating fortress. They launched waves of attack robots against the citizens. Again what choice did I have? I couldn’t just leave the people to fend for themselves, could I? I had to protect them but the more I fought the more damage was caused to the city. The more people got hurt.

Four days of constant fighting, until The Masterminds ran out of robots. Only then could I find and face them and when I did, they laughed at me. “How long until we break out of prison again?” they taunted me. “Next time we’ll have five times as many robots,” they boasted. What choice did I have? I looked out at the still smoking city. Could I call myself a hero if I let this happen again? I took matters into my own hands that day. To hell with a justice system that would let such threats to the common good continue.

They laughed until I smashed the first one’s skull flat, then they just screamed.

After that, I stepped up to the challenge of bringing order to the city. I was strong but strength alone wasn’t an effective threat, so I bought a gun. Again they laughed at me. They didn’t think I would shoot them. What choice did I have? I put down a few bank robbers and they stopped laughing. A few dead muggers and park was safe again. Empty but safe.

Using the Masterminds’ flying fortress I monitored the city. Watching for trouble wasn’t enough. They had to know I was watching, so I announced a curfew. They scoffed saying one man couldn’t enforce a citywide curfew alone. I showed them. When the time came for the streets to clear and they were still out and about. What choice did I have? I enforced my curfew. A hundred people the first night. Twenty-five the second. Five the third. One hundred and fifty-three in a protest rally the next and then none after that.

I was no longer the hero they looked up to. I was a vigilante, a murderer, a villain but I made the streets safe. Tell me, what choice did I have?

Emotion Dealer

I followed the old overgrown road into the dark forest. It had once been a semi-important trade route saving merchants several days of travel. Nowadays only the most desperate would even think of traveling this way. I hoped to change that.

At midday, I stopped and spread a blanket on the road. I sat at on end with my case in front of me. After a while, I began to hear something crashing through the underbrush beside the road.

“I wish to talk with you,” I called out. The forest became deathly silent. “I have something that you will be interested in. From the thick underbrush, a large black formless mass pushed out unto the road and rolled to my blanket. Five eyes, that I could see, surfaced and regarded me. I popped open my case and brought out a bottle. I removed the bottle’s stopper and pressed my thumb over the opening to prevent the pink and red streaked contents from drifting out.

“Here take a whiff of this,” I said offering the bottle to the creature across from me.

“What?” it rasped from an orifice. It extended a black tendril to the bottle’s mouth.

“It’s exactly what you need.” I slipped my thumb off and a thread of pink snaked out. The end of the creature’s tendril opened into a tube and began sniffing at the escaping pink. Half the creature’s eyes opened wide while the rest closed in what I took to be ecstasy.

“This? Where? More!” it said taking a few more deep drafts from the bottle. Its oily black skin glimmered with pink swills.

“Genuine human emotion in a bottle. This one is love but I have happiness, sadness, grief, joy, guilt, the whole range of human experience.” I pulled the bottle away and replaced the stopper. The bottled emotion settled filling three-quarters of the bottle now. “That was about five silvers worth. You can have more if you’re willing to pay.”

“Why pay? I take!” The creature’s rasping voice became a roar as its mass began to lift on trunk legs extending underneath it. Two thick tendrils grew from its sides; their ends divided and divided and divided to form grasping appendages. I sat still as they surrounded me. The creature’s central mass split open revealing a tooth lined interior. The tendrils tightened around me but as they made contact a white light flared up around me. The creature gargled in pain. It pulled back and collapsed back into a formless black blob.

“This is a fairly strong protection charm,” I said touching my necklace. “I was worried it wouldn’t be strong enough to fully repeal you but it seems feeding only on animals has weakened you. You know you’re extraordinary, don’t you? Most emotion leaches rarely grow larger than a foot in diameter. You’re five or six times bigger than that. Which is why you’re starving for human prey. This forest has never been completely safe to travel through but with the proper safeguards, it was passable. This road was once a vital trade route. Then you showed up. A monster that couldn’t be defended against.” I laughed. “Your success as a monster has really bitten you in the ass, if you had an ass, hasn’t? Sure you had all you could eat emotionally and physically but then people stopped traveling through this forest and you started starving.”

The creature moaned and gargled incomprehensible gibberish while stretching and twisting its mass.

“I know you have all the silver and gold from your victims. So, you can pay for the bottled emotions I’m offering or you can keep starving.”

It pulled its body tight into a ball even swallowing its eyes and teeth. After a minute, a mouth formed, “How much?”

“That’s the spirit. Twenty silver coins per bottle or four bottles for a gold coin. Also, you don’t attack people passing through the forest anymore.”

“No,” it gargled slumping back into a shapeless mass.

“Yes. As long as I’m providing you with bottled emotion you don’t need to attack people. The village needs this trade route opened up again. If you don’t take my offer no one will ever walk through this forest again. It will be marked as forbidden and dangerous for the rest of time. Do we have a deal?”

The creature flowed up and then down into itself, eyes and teeth swirling about. “Deal,” it rasped, “How many bottles?”

“I have ten with me.” Two gold and forty silver fell out of the black mass unto the blanket. I opened my case and pulled out the bottles. A portion of the creature oozed out covering the bottles and retracted. “Remember our deal. No attacking people.”

“No attack,” it repeated as the black of its skin gained a yellow sheen. It began rolling away from the blanket and reentered the dense underbrush beside the road.

“Don’t open them all at once,” I called out after it, “I’ll be back in a week for another sale.” I sat for another minute before closing my case and packing my blanket. It would be nearly nightfall by the time I reached the village but the forest was now a little safer than it had been this morning.

Gazebo – A Francine Non-Adventure

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I waited in Kowalski’s patrol car for an hour while more police showed up to “take charge” of the scene. Then Kowalski took me back to the station where I waited another two hours at my desk for Detective Karter. He came in, glanced at me and hurried past into an office. Ten minutes later he came out and approached me.

He opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off. “Detective Karter, can I get pictures of the circle? I recognized some of the symbols but I’d like to try to find the rest.”

“Ms. Espinosa, your help has been invaluable but we no longer require it.” He sounded apologetic.

“What does that mean?”

He sighed heavily. “It has been made clear to me that no one outside the police force is to be working on this case.”

“You’re shutting me out?”

“I pulled a lot of strings to bring you on in the first place. It was a desperation move on a case that had dead-ended. Now that there are new leads and evidence–”

“That I found.”

He held his hands up. “I know. If it was up to me, you’d already have those photos but it’s not up to me.”

“Now what?” I asked.

“I need you to leave. If you have any more insights, you have my number but I can’t share any more details of the case with you.”

I had wanted to study the circle to know exactly what we were dealing with but my hand was being forced. “Detective Karter, you have to destroy or damage the circle.”

“I can’t destroy evidence,” he said.

“If the killer manages to finish their spell–“

“Nothing is going to happen because magic doesn’t exist.” I watched his face shift from apologetic to suspicious. “How did you find the circle again?” He was close to accusing me of being involved with the killer and I didn’t really blame him. I was spouting off about magic and spells.

I took a calming breath and said, “I looked at the files and found a pattern in where the victims lived. Officer Kowalski and I went to one of the victim’s home and I tripped over the loose rug. That’s all.”

He stared at me before gesturing toward the front. “Thank you, Ms. Espinosa, but we will take it from here.”

***

Later that evening I sat thumbing through a magic reference book. The book was just a book, not a magical book. Those I had burned and buried. I was looking for more info on magic circles. There was a surprisingly lot of magic systems that used circles for various rituals. They had differing structures but it was easy to find several that used the cardinal directions in setup for the main ritual or spell. The killer had to have a place for the final part of their spell and it had to be in the center of the victim’s homes.

Using the map app on my phone I pinned the victims’ homes and eyeballed the center point to be near the duck pond in Creekside Park. I gathered some supplies from around my apartment in one of those reusable grocery bags and headed to the park. Twenty minutes later I was wandering through the park toward the approximate center of the four ritual circles. A quick walk around the pond didn’t turn anything up. I checked the map again.

My location looked to be dead center. I zoomed in until the pond’s bean shape filled the screen. A smaller circle popped into view inside the pond. The gazebo. Except as I looked across the pond I didn’t see it. The duck pond gazebo had been closed for repairs after a big storm last year but I couldn’t remember hearing about it being demolished. The bridge to the gazebo remained with a heavy chain across its opening. I stepped over it and started walking across.

A few boards creaked and wobbled but otherwise, the bridge felt solid. At the end was just water. I stared at the end of the bridge for a couple of minutes. The last board was only half as wide and the railing didn’t end in a post instead just hanging in space. I steeled myself and stepped forward off the end of the bridge. My vision blurred and static filled my ears. Then I was inside the gazebo. Magic. That seemed to confirm whether or not the circles would work.

Outside, under the full moon and light from nearby street lights, I hadn’t had much trouble seeing but in the shade of the gazebo’s roof, I found myself in the dark. I pulled a flashlight out of my bag and swept it across the floor. The circle I had found in the apartment had been four to five feet across. The one carved into the gazebo’s floor was at least twice as wide and as jammed packed with sigils, glyphs, runes, and words written in languages I didn’t know. The was no blood traced over the carvings.

The killer hadn’t finished their ritual. Ok, now I just needed to find a place to hide nearby so I – Wait, wait, no. What was I thinking?! I’m not going to play into the plot. I’m not.

I swung the beam of my flashlight behind me, checking for the killer. No one was there. Right, the killer is on track to kill tomorrow so I have most of a day to do something but first things first. I pulled out a box of salt from my bag and popped out the spout. I started at the door and poured a line of salt around the inside of the gazebo. Salt was good protection against a general number of evil things. It probably wouldn’t keep the killer out but it might disrupt the magics they were using. Blood magic tended to be evil.

Once the salt circle was done, I carefully stepped over it back onto the bridge. The gazebo remained visible. Either my stepping through it or the salt had broken the spell hiding it. Hopefully, it wouldn’t scare off the killer when they returned. I left the park and headed home.

I didn’t think Detective Karter would listen to me so I called Kowalski.

“Hello is this Officer Kowalski?”

“Yo, Kowalski here.”

“I … You answer the phone with yo?”

“Who is this?”

“Sorry, it’s Francine Espinosa. The consultant.”

“Oh hey, what can I do for you? I heard you had been taken off the case?”

“Yes but I think I have a lead for you. The center point of the four victim’s homes is in Creekside Park. I think you should check out the gazebo in the duck pond.”

“Have you been out there?”

“No. I just looked at a map. If the killer thinks they’re doing magic then it makes sense that they’ll want to finish their ritual.”

“I’ll pass this along to Detective Karter.”

“Don’t tell him I told you. Tell him you thought of it.”

“Ah… sure.”

“Thank you. Bye.”

“See ya.”

A few days later I read about an attempted murder in Creekside Park. The papers reported that there were occult connections but a lot of the details were being withheld by the police. Kowalski called to tell me my tip had been good. They found the circle, staked it out and grabbed the killer when he showed up dragging a homeless man to the gazebo. It’s unclear if he will be officially connected to the first four murders.

Not a completely satisfying conclusion but better than trying to fight some magic powered killer in the park. The ghost in the park across the street has started calling my name again. I’m thinking of walking over for a chat.

Author’s Note: So, this is the end of the story started in “The Alibi” which was meant to be a one off story.

“The Non-Adventures of Francine” was conceived as a series of very short stories about Francine avoiding story plots. The first three stories followed this format. It was while writing “The Scrapbook” that I had the idea of continuing the story from “The Alibi” the previous story.

I’m currently thinking of using “The Non-Adventures of Francine” as the title story of my next e-book.

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The Haunted Air

The Whitmore Hotel was built in 1894, designed by Stephen Newton, and named after its owner Mary Whitmore. For many years it was an unremarkable hotel that appealed to middle-class tourists and businessmen. In the mid-1960’s, rumors that the hotel was haunted began to increase. For the next twenty years, the owners and staff disputed these stories and complaints as overactive imaginations or lies. However as guest numbers began to dwindle in the 1980’s, due to newer ghost free hotels opening, a new policy was enacted to drum up new business. Tours of the haunted floors were created along with an ad campaign to entice those interested in the supernatural to visit. This new direction paid off and the hotel was soon booked solid for months.

People flocked to see the spirits. There was Mary on the seventh floor who wandered the halls. John on the fourth floor unlocked and locked doors with his keys. On the sixth floor, Sarah stayed in her room crying just loud enough to be heard in neighboring rooms. A simple knock would quiet her for the night but those brave enough to stay the night in her room could hear her whispering about her life. Edward rode the freight elevator, announcing the floors it stopped at. The poltergeist on the tenth floor never had a name. It tossed items around at night but music could calm it.

They were strong spirits with ghostly bodies that faded in and out, except for the poltergeist. For a while, they bolstered the hotel’s popularity. People came to see and photograph Mary. They came to ride the freight elevator. They came to listen to Sarah. They even came to dodge ashtrays thrown by the poltergeist. But slowly the novelty wore off. Everyone who wanted to stay there for the ghosts had already done so or knew someone who had. Eventually, the hotel closed.

For five years, it stood unoccupied except by the ghosts and homeless until it burned down. The exact cause of the fire was never discovered. There were rumors of arson to collect insurance money but nothing was proven. Firefighters were called to the scene but in the end, the hotel was a total loss. It collapsed in on itself after only three hours. It is theorized the poltergeist may have become agitated during the fire and created a wind funnel effect that fanned the flames. No one was killed, five firefighters were injured.

The night after and every night since the Whitmore collapsed, Mary and John could be seen in the air “walking” through the now non-existent hallways. Sarah was also visible and audible in her “room” from the ground. Edward would not be seen again for several months until the freight elevator was uncovered in the basement while clearing the debris. After it was removed, he took up station where it once stood on the first floor. The poltergeist remained, ten stories above ground, unconsolable and constantly lashing out. Gusts of wind can be observed in the empty lot even on still nights.

There are currently no plans to build there.

The Scene – A Francine Non-Adventure

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We went to the last victim’s apartment. The apartment manager let us in. The door was clean of any signs or police tape.

“Have you been inside since … the police came by?” I asked the manager.

“Uh, I let Rob’s sister in and gave her a key so she could get his stuff out,” he said.

I looked at Kowalski. “Shouldn’t the apartment be locked down while the investigation is ongoing?”

“Why? It’s not a crime scene. The officers who checked it out didn’t see anything out of place. So what are looking for?”

“I don’t know. The killer chose the victim based on where he lived. There must be something special about the apartment or maybe the building. The killer could have drawn his square anywhere but he chose this place.”

“What if it’s random?” Kowalski asked.

“Then we have no chance at predicting where he will kill next and I’ve wasted the last week of my life on a pointless task,” I said.

“A lot of police work is pointless tasks.”

“That’s not how things work around me.”

“What makes you special?”

“Nothing.” I was a girl detective as a teen and now I’m a character trying to avoid plot hooks. I turned away from him and started walking around the apartment looking at the walls and shelves for a clue. Rob had been the man found in my apartment. Pictures of him with family and friends dotted the walls.

In the living room, I examined his DVD collection. Action, horror, and martial arts movies dominated but I noticed a shelf near the floor with romantic comedies. Nothing jumped out at me as strange or out of place. I turned to walk into the kitchen and stumbled as my foot caught on something. The carpet had a loose flap in the middle of the room. I crouched down, pulled the carpet up and felt a chill run up my spine. The third act twist had just shown up.

Kowalski leaned over the sofa and asked me, “What did you find?” I yanked the carpet up and to the side, exposing the floor. Underneath the rug was a series of circles, one inside the next. Between the circles, symbols, glyphs, runes, sigils, and other things I couldn’t identify were carved into the wood. A dark brown substance was smeared, tracing every line, on all of them. Kowalski stared at it all with mixed horror and puzzlement playing across his face. I probably didn’t have to tell him the brown smears were most likely blood either the victim’s or the killer’s or both. “What is this?” he asked.

“It’s a magic circle meant to draw energies from the victim and give power to the killer.”

“And how do you know that?” he asked. His eyes narrowed and his posture shifted.

“I took a few classes on myths, magic, and religions. This rune represents power. This symbol means power and this one is life. It’s all jumbled up from like five different systems. The killer probably just copied it out of a book.” Kowalski relaxed as I rambled about the circle. I had actually learned most of what I knew when magic beings started appearing around me. Several days of hard studying at the public library had given me enough knowledge to mostly avoid getting involved with anything supernatural up til now.

This jumbled as it was might still work. The normal rules didn’t apply around me. I had seen portals to other worlds, wizard duels in alleyways, magic rings(I knew they were magic because they glowed), and ghosts in numerous locations. I had even seen a circle like this but simpler and made of stones. That one I had disarmed by kicking the stones and running away. This one, one of four, might be harder to dispel. I reached to touch one of the symbols.

“Stop! Don’t touch that,” Kowalski shouted. “This is a crime scene now. We need to get out and call CSI to come examine the floor.” He grabbed my arm and gently guided me out of the apartment.

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