Alien Spores
Can you help me? I’ve been trying to rid this city of alien spores. I thought I’d eliminated them all, but now I see they’re back again. I must have missed a few, and they replicate so quickly! It seems no matter how many I destroy, I always find a few more the following days; they’re extraordinarily resilient. I’ve been asking others to give me a hand, stressing the threat posed by alien spores, but no one I talk to seems to think that the spores pose as big a threat as I do. But they are a real threat! If the spores get inside your nose, they go up in your brain, and then they completely warp your priorities, make you forget who you are as well as your everyday life, make you see things that aren’t really there.
Dragon Chasers
You’ve heard of storm chasers, right? The folks who rush after hurricanes, tornadoes? Well, there are also dragon chasers, and I should know, because I am one.
I’ve been chasing after dragons for seventeen years. During that time, I’ve seen several drakes, wyverns, winged serpents, wurms, and elder wurms, as well as orcs, trolls, goblins, hobgoblins, fairies, elves, dwarves—you name it. But I’ve never seen a dragon. I’m starting to think they don’t exist.
The Ancient, Evil Mummy
Somebody went digging in the desert, I wonder what for. I think they were archaeologists, though why they do what they do confounds me. Anyway, they found and disturbed some tomb, and triggered some ancient evil curse, and awakened some ancient, evil mummy. And then that mummy was on the rampage. It strode downtown, scattering dust and sand and bandage fragments all over, and made everybody frightened. But mostly it wanted something to drink, as well as some pommes frites with curry mayonnaise on the side, as well as a piece of the lucrative archaeology action.
Another Mummy
Somebody else went digging in the desert, I don’t know who or what for, and they awakened another mummy.
Actually, that’s not fair. That’s not exactly how it happened. The deserts were spreading. Desertification was happening on the surface of the Earth. And with the deserts came the mummies. They traveled underground in their sarcophagal labyrinths. They were liable to pop up anywhere, anytime. And in addition to that, a lot of species of plants and animals went extinct, and people had trouble finding water, but that had nothing to do with the mummies.
The Mythical Creature that Lives in the Woods
The people around these parts, they say that the woods on the edge of town are home to a mythical creature, except they don’t say “mythical”; they just say “creature”. But me, I think the creature’s not real, which is why I added that adjective. In other words, I don’t believe the people of this town. Of course they’re the ones who live here, so they might know what they’re talking about, whereas I’m just a visitor, passing through—but on the other hand, the people around these parts are pretty stupid. For one thing, they all believe in a mythical creature that lives in the woods.
Maggots Were All over Me
Maggots were all over me, all around. They covered my arms and my legs. They wriggled through my hair and all of my clothes. They crawled inside my nose and under my eyelids. They even lived inside my stomach, writhing about. Naturally I wanted to get them off me. I went to a doctor to inquire how I could be cured. She didn’t seem too worried about my condition; she acted rather nonchalant. She told me that I’d die without the maggots, that I needed them to survive. She told me that I existed in a symbiotic relationship with the maggots, no matter how putrid a thought that might be. Also, she told me that I shouldn’t cal them “maggots”. The proper name for them is “bacteria”.
Carnivorous Squirrels
A friend and I were arguing about whether squirrels are carnivorous. She said that they were, while I maintained they weren’t. “A squirrel once bit me,” she insisted. “Sure,” I replied. “I’m not denying that squirrels bite people, from time to time. I’m saying instead that they aren’t in the habit of eating flesh.” “Let’s look it up,” she said, “at the Wikipedia.” I scoffed. “That site’s such crap. Anyone can write anything there.”
Which is true. The Wikipedia’s like a story, in that regard—you can make it whatever you want it to be. For instance, in real life, squirrels really are carnivorous. But in my story, they are not, so my friend is wrong, and I am right.
How Can You Compete with a Pterodactyl?
How can you compete with a pterodactyl? They can do anything humans can do, or could, if they hadn’t gone extinct. Just think about it. Pterodactyls could fly as well as glide. They ate ten times their body weight each day in animal flesh. What’s more they could rip apart and crush anything with their claws. They could do simple sums, and they hunted in packs by means of complex whistles and shrieks. You’d be no match for them, let me tell you, so it’s a good thing that they’re all gone. Or mostly all gone; perhaps a few pterodactyls still exist? They may have been secretly resurrected by the mad scientist here in town. Let’s go take a look in his spooky old house up on the hill!
The One Time I Ate a Ghost
I didn’t mean to. It was at breakfast time, early morning. I was sitting in a diner, reading the headlines on my iPhone. The waitress brought me an egg sandwich, a poached egg with bacon and cheese between two halves of English muffin. I didn’t look carefully at it. I picked it up and took a bite. As I was chewing, I thought I saw movement. My first thought was, “Oh no, there’s a bug.” But I still finished chewing, and swallowed. Our primitive instincts are strong, and I was hungry. Then perception caught up with my mouth. I put down the sandwich and looked. I lifted the muffin and there it was, sprawled out between the bacon and egg: one half of a small ghost, with a big bite missing from it. The poor thing was no longer moving. Some fluid was oozing out of the wound, a translucent fluid that went and mingled with the egg yolk.
I had mixed feelings after that. I didn’t mention it to the waitress though maybe I should have. I left a twenty, got up and left. I think I was stunned. I worried I’d die, come down with some ghostly ailment, like cancer. But nothing happened, not even a bad case of the runs. It’s been a year now, and I feel fine.
Except I regret not eating the other half of the sandwich. That thing was tasty. I’ve returned to the diner since, and ordered it again, but sadly have never been served one with a ghost. Ghosts must know how savory they are, and keep out of sight.
What Isn’t Haunted?
Everything comes from someplace else. Everything had a former life. The steak on your table came from a cow. The wood in your table came from a tree. The metal fillings in your teeth came from rocks pried up out of the ground, and that long before that were whizzing around up in outer space. And even the stuff that makes you up—your flesh and muscles with their carbon chains, your oxygen and your abandon—came from a star, or from several stars, that grew sad and gave up living and exploded. And all of these things from time to time recall their former lives, if only in passing, and long for them, if only in passing. It’s natural. Things were better then. Things are always better earlier on. Someday the future will look back on this very instant. It will remember you and me and the story we shared, remember it fondly.
Paperback Book
8" x 5.25"
168 Pages
$12.95
Now Available