---

Sharon’s note: I am not a fan of the reluctant hero. I want a hero that is totally down for these shenanigans, and is ready to go out and slay some dragons. Or, you know, ride it like a real hero. Warning: Author’s birthday wish every year is to run away with Doctor Who.

---

There was a different clown at the booth. His makeup was less scary, more rounded lines and primary colors, but there was a quite smugness to him that made Jim uneasy. More unnerving was the fact that his only comment on the cleaver was ‘good luck’. 

“Where are we going?” Everything about the carnival seemed a little more sinister in the dark. Or maybe it was his imagination and the fact he knew evil magic was afoot.

Wendy looked around, biting her lip, then lit up. “Oh, I remember! Let’s stop by the photo booth.”

“That guy seemed a little off to you too?” Jim nodded sagely.

“What? No, not really. I just want to get our pictures before things go sideways. I won’t remember after the battle.” Jim’s shoulders dropped, and she patted his back. “It’s okay. You’re just having jitters. Relax. Pay attention, but don’t get over excited. Getting too amped up is how you get friends impaled on forklifts.”

He frowned. “That’s really specific. Did that happed?”

Wendy shrugged. “I hope not, but probably.” 

The woman at the photo booth kept licking her lips and watching the clock. “We’re about to close. Hurry up and get your picture.” 

Jim looked at the time. “It’s only eight thirty. The sign says you close at nine.”

“Yeah, well, we’re closing early today, so hurry up.” The woman was hugging herself tightly, eyes darting around the crowd. 

Wendy spoke while she dug through the pile of photos. “You know that there’s something going on here. When you close the booth, get far away. Things are going to get crazy, so take anyone you care about with you. Aha!”

With a flourish, Wendy pulled the picture out of a stack and held it out proudly to Jim. He looked at the photographic evidence that she’d kissed him, even just on the cheek, and couldn’t do anything but blush. She stuffed the picture in her pocket and grabbed his arm, tucking it against her side. 

“Hey.” She poked his shoulder. “Where were we earlier where we smelled something wrong?”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “You mean the haunted house?”

“Yeah. I bet that’s a good place to start.” She pulled him along. He glanced back to see the woman at the booth leaving things where they were and running away.

“Well, she got the hell out of here.” Jim touched the cleaver hanging from his belt. “She’ll at least be safe.”

“I’m really proud of you.” Wendy hugged his arm. “You are being so brave, and finding out about magic didn’t even shake you.”

Jim dipped his head and grinned. “The whole magic and thing is just kind of cool. I’m even a little jazzed about battling real evil.”

Wendy patted his arm. “I’ll make sure I save someone for you. Me, I’m hoping to get this over with quick so we can get another funnel cake, then maybe I can go back to your place and sleep.” 

“Do, um, do you want to stay the night?” Jim was quickly calculating how he could manage it. His dad got home at two, but he always went straight to bed, so if she slept in Jim’s room, and he got her out in the morning before his dad woke up. . .

“Probably not. I don’t sleep for long.” She flicked her bell so it jingled.

“Insomnia?” He asked, sympathetically. His dad had experienced really bad insomnia ever since his mom died.

“Kind of.” Her eyes narrowed, and she sniffed the air. Her voice changed, and her sweet smile turned predatory. It made her even prettier. “Fresh blood. Seems like the fun is starting. Come on. We don’t want to miss it.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories

---

Sharon’s note: People can learn a lot from animals. I’ve met several disabled dogs, ones that were blind or deaf or had three legs, and they don’t seem to care. They learn how to deal, then get on with their lives. It’s not as easy for humans, and my theory is it’s because we’re badly trained. The hardest thing to deal with when you’re disabled is the mental hurdles you throw at yourself. There’s this weird feeling of shame, like the fact that you’re hurt is your fault. I don’t know where it comes from, the urge to think that it’s a failing, but somewhere we all pick it up. We should be more like dogs, and instead of blaming ourselves, get on with things. Warning: Author knows just how much harder that is than it sounds.

---

I splashed water on my face. It wouldn’t hide the red eyes and slightly raw nose, but it washed away the tears. If I didn’t leave the bathroom soon, the nurses would come looking for me, so I opened the door to find Sean next to my bed in his wheelchair, flicking through channels on the TV.

“This is why I don’t have cable anymore. There’s never anything on.” He threw the remote on the little table next to my bed with a clatter that made me wince.

“Not that you’d have the time to watch it even if you did.” I hobbled forward, the left wheel of my walker creaking. 

“Hey, you’re out of the chair.” Sean beamed at me, swiping a hand through his steel-gray hair. Even being parapalegic, my mentor was one of the lucky ones. A lot of hunters didn’t live long enough to get older. Days like this, it didn’t feel like I was going to.

“Yeah, I just can’t get off of this thing yet.” I tapped the handle as I maneuvered around so I could get into bed. The tiny knob on the side of the wheel caught the edge of the bathroom door, jolting my entire body. I closed my eyes and swallowed down a curse. 

“Bad day, huh?” Sean’s voice was soft, understanding. It made me want to hit him.

“No, I’m not dead. It’s supposed to be a good day.” God, I hated how bitter I sounded. I dropped onto the bed and grabbed my legs to help them up. “Sorry. It’s just that I’ve been here for months. I work my physical therapy every day, but things are going so slow.”

“How’s the pain?” 

“You know me, the pain doesn’t really bother me, it’s just . . .” I tucked the blanket back over my legs and took a couple of deep breaths. I would not cry again. “Is this it, Sean? Is this as good as it gets now? I keep losing little bits and pieces, and I fight like hell to get them back but . . . I’m tired. No matter how much I sleep I’m still so tired. Even if I have energy physically, I feel like I’m fighting with myself just to get up in the mornings, because I need a break from being tired.”

He moved his wheelchair expertly so that he faced me. If I had done that I would have hit the walls. “You know what you’re feeling is normal, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” I crossed my arms, like holding them against my stomach could suppress the sick feeling.

“And you’re talking to the shrink, right?” He put a hand on my ankle over the blanket.

I shrugged. “I don’t like this one. She’s talking about expectation management, but I’m not ready to accept that this is normal now. Not yet, anyway.”

“I’ll make sure they get you someone else. We don’t want you kicked out because you punched a member of staff.” He grinned, and it was contagious.

“You mean like you did?” The story of Sean punching a nurse while hallucinating from a witch’s spell was one that got passed around every year at the Hearth Christmas party.

“I didn’t get kicked out over that. Everyone knew I wasn’t in my right mind and no one held a grudge.” His mouth twisted as he tried to keep a straight face. “I even sent the nurse flowers.”

“Yeah, I think he appreciated that less than the punch.” I giggled.

Sean took a deep breath, and assumed a more serious expression. “Look, I did come to check on you, but I also need a favor.”

My nose wrinkled. “Not a lot I can do in here, but sure. What do you need?”

“Rumor says that the Frankenstiens have one of their special agents in here for one of their special surgeries.” He looked as unhappy as I felt. The group called themselves the Ambrosia Institute, but everyone knew them as the Frankenstiens. Their group trademark was grafting parts of the creatures they hunted into their bodies to make themselves stronger. In theory I didn’t have a problem with using the corpses of dead prey, even Hearth had its own labs for research purposes. My problem was that the Frankenstiens were sometimes more excited about getting a new part than they were worried about the guilt of the creature they hunted.

“They do all their mods in house. What are they doing here?” I snarled the words.

“I don’t know, but rumor also says there’s a rare VIP creature in the hospital right now. The Frankenstiens have broken the truce in places like this before in order to get a new body to play with.” 

Sean was right to be worried. The hospital was one of the few truly neutral places where anyone could come to heal. If Hunters broke the truce, it might not matter that it was only one group that did it. There would be a war, and war always caused collateral.

“Okay, I’m your eyes. If I even get a hint that they’re up to something, you’ll know.” It felt good to have a job, even if it was just recon.

Sean patted my leg. “That’s my girl. Now, do you want lunch? I was going to send out for burgers.”

I smiled. “Please. They keep trying to make me eat healthy, and if I’m going to be on a stake out, I need junk food.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories

---

Sharon’s Note: I don’t like most reveals of the supernatural. So many times it’s done clumsily to put in some cheap tension. The reveal of the magic should be powerful and dramatic, but don’t do it at the cost of your characters. Don’t make them stupid just to create conflict. There are better ways. Warning: Lack of a character doing something poorly, when he knows how to do it right.

---

Kennedy park was little more than a dirt parking lot and a picnic table in the middle of the woods. Sam was already there, spreading a traditional checkered cloth over a patch of ground by the trees. 

“Too cool to use the table?” I sauntered over and he gave me a sheepish grin.

“The table is so rickety it’ll break if anything bigger than a squirrel sat on it. Besides, this is more . . .” He gestured around us in general, seemingly at a loss for words. 

The woods were beautiful. The leaves on the trees and scrub were so vibrantly green that they almost glowed. The grassy scent of acres of forest dominated every other smell. I didn’t know why it would be a better experience from the ground than a table, but I would take his word that it was. “Authentic?”

“Yeah.” He ran to his car and brought back an honest-to-god wicker basket. “I, uh, brought a lot of food. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving.” I dropped down on the blanket and patted the place next to me. He handed me down the basket and the sudden weight was startling. He must have packed it full. 

Sam sat next to me and began to rapidly unpack the food. His movements were sharp and nervous. What did he have to tell me that was making him so jittery? I put a hand over his while he was pulling out a bottle of wine and he nearly jumped. “How about you tell me whatever is eating at you.”

His shoulders slumped. “I was hoping to have a nice lunch first, you know, in case things go wrong, which is stupid. God, I’ve talked people through this exact situation a dozen times. I know how to do this.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Now you have me super curious.”

“Yeah, I know. I need to tell you, no dancing around the issue.” He took a deep breath and straightened up. “I’m a werewolf.”

“O-okay.” I stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

“No, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m serious. Hold tight, I came prepared for a demonstration.” He hopped to his feet in a fluid motion and backed a dozen feet towards the woods. He started shucking clothes and I was starting to feel very uncomfortable, but he stopped at a pair of swim trunks. “I’m going to shift forms into a wolf. It sounds horrible, but it’s fine. I will be in complete control of my faculties, and you will be completely safe. If at any point you get scared and want to run, I completely understand. The way to your car is unobstructed, and I won’t chase you. Just remember, please, that you’re safe.”

I was frozen. Was he joking? Crazy? Right, and my whole definition of what was real was about to shift? I was intrigued, nervous- CRACK!

The sound of bones and joints cracking was wet, thunderous and sickening. His face stretched out and fur tore from his skin like a wave. I couldn’t watch the change in his body, it made my stomach churn, so I watched his eyes. Their deep brown lightened to a rich amber, but he kept my gaze, even though he trembled with the change. It took about a full minute, then the biggest wolf I’d ever seen. His shoulders were even with my heart, and his massive head hung low while he whined. Was it still Sam?

The wolf laid down, then rolled over to show his belly. It was only then that I noticed the swim trunks were still on. Sort of. The pull string had broken and the material hung awkwardly on canine haunches. The massively fluffy tail was trapped with one of his legs. It was so ridiculous, that I laughed, even through my awe.

He rolled back to his stomach and his tongue rolled out in a dog-like grin. I stood slowly, and he dropped his head back to his feet. His tail would have wagged, but it kept jerking against the shorts.

“Still you, Sam?” I kept my voice calm and soft.

He gave a short melodic howl, and I let out a breath. “Okay. I accept the whole werewolf thing. Can you change back? I have a whole boatload of questions.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories

---

Sharon’s Note: I started this note like five times. There’s a few things I could think of to talk about, but I’m not really feeling serious topics today. You know what? Let’s go with this; Do something nice for yourself today. Even if all you do is take a quick look in the mirror and tell yourself that you look great. In fact, do that no matter what else you do. Be kind to yourself. Warning: Author is going to go watch some cartoons and drink some hot chocolate. It doesn’t have to be a bad day if you don’t let it.

---

The morgue was all the more eerie for being unremarkable. My light bounced off of the white tile wall and ceiling. The walls were the same, but the two long walls were a grid of dull metal drawers. Opposite of where we came in were two doors, old and wooden.

“How long has it been since this place has been used? It still has a little bit of a chemical smell.” I wrinkled my nose. It was faint, but irritatingly persistent. 

Kathy shrugged. “I don’t know. Earnie might. Come one, even if he won’t show himself, his room is the most comfortable place to wait.”

“Won’t he mind me hanging out in his room?” As we walked across the tile, only my footsteps echoed, and it was a jaring reminder that I was hanging out with a ghost. “So, you want me to just hole up here until morning?”

“Until just before morning. I’ll take you close enough to the main hall to find the way out on your own. We can’t appear during the day, and we’re limited in what we can do, but some of us would still have the ability to confuse you and get you lost. They’d do it, too. The assholes.” She put her hand on the doorknob and looked back at me with a sad grin. “McBride was a monster, and some of the others here . . . they were just as bad.”

I frowned. “Nothing in my research ever showed that criminals were housed here.”

“Never officially.” A male voice said behind me, and I spun. The man who stood in front of the exit wasn’t a monster. He was tall, and hunched, and he was really, really hairy, but he was just human. A nearly seven foot tall wild man in a lab coat.

“And here I thought I was going to have to beg for you to make an appearance. Maggie, this is Ernie, Ernie, this is Maggie.”

“Nice to meet you.” I waved, unsure how you’re supposed to greet a century old ghost. 

He inclined his head, but addressed Kathy. “Why did you bring her here?”

“Because your father’s going to be looking for her and this was the only really safe place I know.” She put her hands on her hips. “Are you really going to say that she can’t stay here?”

Ernie growled like an angry dog. The glare he shot made me take a step back. “You can hide here.”

I blinked, surprised at the answer.  “Well, thanks. Would you mind answering some questions?”

He grunted and waved his hand. The door behind me slammed open and I squeaked. He stalked past me into the room. Kathy patted my shoulder. How had I not noticed last time that there was no warmth to her hand. “Don’t worry. He’s really a pussycat. And that was probably a yes.”

She followed Ernie into the darkness, and I swallowed hard. I was in a haunted asylum, hiding in the morgue, hoping a local urban legend would keep me safe from one of the most sadistic psychos in recent history. If I wasn’t seeing it, I wouldn’t believe it. No one else was going to. 

I had to know more.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories

---

Sharon’s note: We’ve all done stupid things for love. We’ve all done even stupider things because it seemed like a really cool idea at the time. Warning: Author would probably go to fight an evil carnival with little provocation.

---

The sun was setting, so Wendy told Jim they should head back to the circus. She was back in her normal clothes, except for her shirt, because the old piece of material hadn’t survived the trip through the dryer. Jim had offered her one of his, because she’d complained that wearing just the vest chafed. He’d nearly had a heart attack when she’d started unlacing herself right in front of him. She’d chuckled at him as he refused to face away from the wall until she told him she was dressed.

He still didn’t understand the fuss about leaving her shoes at his house. They were worn old tennis shoes, but she’d refused to wear them because she didn’t want to get them dirty.

The ferris wheel seemed so much taller in silhouette against the orange sky. Something about it was off, and made Jim’s stomach churn. He clutched her hand firmly, making her glance back. “Are you sure we can handle whatever it is in there?”

“Don’t worry, I have this.” She grinned, but her eyes unfocused and a frown krept across her face. 

“Is anything wrong?” Jim hesitated, then touched her shoulder. 

“No. I just realized that you might should have this.” She patted his hand and he jumped back as she raised a rusted old cleaver between them.

“Crap, where did you pull that from?” It was a fairly large knife with a thick, broad blade. It did have a bit of leather wrapped around the handle that could be used to tie it on to something, but he should have seen it.

She shrugged. “Pulled it out of Nowhere.” She said the word like it was a proper place. “I don’t really understand it myself, I just remembered how to do it because I wanted to make sure you could defend yourself. You know, in case something happens and- and I can’t make it there in time.”

Jim watched as something like pain, or maybe fear ghosted across her face. He gave his best reassuring smile. “Hey, you’re like a magical badass. It’ll be fine. It better be. I wouldn’t know how to use this thing against a dead chicken, much less an evil clown.”

“Just swing it.” She pushed it into his hand with a playful smile. “It knows what to do after that.”

Jim hefted the cleaver. “Is it alive?”

“No. Yes? I’m not sure.” She shrugged again and started walking towards the carnival again. “We’ve been together a long time, and even metal eventually picks up things. Now, come on. We want to get there before the fun starts.”

Jim tied the cleaver to his belt as he followed her. Part of him thought this was a bad idea, but that part was overshadowed by the fact that an amazing, magical girl had asked him to go put down a magical evil carnival. If he let this opportunity pass by, he had a feeling he would always regret it.

“So,” he joged a little to catch up with her. “What’s the plan?”

She tossed her head so her bell jingled. It was the first time Jim had heard it make a noise. “I never make battle plans. Halfway in something unpredictable happens and you have to throw it out anyway. Besides, it’s more fun this way.”

“I’m probably crazy for doing this,” Jim said, but he was grinning with nervous anticipation. 

Wendy grabbed his hand again as they approached the ticket booth. “Probably, but you’re in good company.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories

---

Sharon’s note: Stories are such a part of the human identity that sometimes, all you need is a line or a hint, and you know exactly what the person is talking about. These days these parts of stories are called tropes, and they get trashed for being predictable. Yes, if they are used badly, they are cliché and can make a story boring, but a trope well done is a foundation to build a world. The real world is built on tropes, because we use them to define our reality. They are the lens through which we view the world. If you want to understand another culture, another person, learn the tropes they see the world through. The contest with the devil is a favorite trope of mine. Warning: This probably says something about the author’s personality, but she choses not to think about it.

---

An empty theater was a disturbing place, no song to break the silence, no lights to separate seats and stage. It was a pierced together corpse waiting for a lightning strike to bring it to life. This particular theater was where Elenore’s road to hell started, and where she was praying it it would end. Clutching the red silk shoes in her hands so hard they shook as she called into the darkness.

“Hey. Hey! Scratch! Come out here you bastard! I know you can hear me. Come out, or I swear to God I will burn these shoes.” She screamed, and it echoed through the rafters.

“You can burn them if you want to. It will do you about as much good as it did last time.” The man Elenore knew as Jack Scratch strolled out of the shadows. As usual, he was wearing an expensive suit and his hands were buried in his pockets while he gave her a pitying look. “What are you hoping to accomplish here? You don’t think stealing the shoes is actually going to save Alicia, do you?”

Elenore looked down at the slippers. They looked so innocuous. When Scratch had presented them to her the first time, she thought they’d been her ticket to success. Once she’d found out what they cost, she’d thrown them away and rejected the deal. Her life was ruined and people were dead, but she escaped. Now, her life-long rival had started the same journey and all she could think about was saving the jealous idiot from the same fate. To save everyone from themselves and those stupid shoes.

“No, but I was pretty sure it would at least get your attention.” She tossed the shoes at his feet and he watched them tumble across the stage with a raised eyebrow. 

“Alright, I’m paying attention. What could you possibly want from me?”

She grinned and it was fierce. “I want to make a bet.”

Scratch broke into a surprised laugh until he saw that Elenore’s expression didn’t change. He stared at her in utter bafflement. “Wait, you’re serious?”

She put her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “Dead serious. One more contest, winner takes all. If you win, I put the shoes back on, and I dance for you, whatever the cost. If I win, you destroy the shoes forever.”

“You know you can just walk away from this. No harm, no fowl. No one knows and no one cares.” He tilted his head to one side and gave her the same disarming smile that had lured her into taking the shoes in the first place. “Alicia is not your problem.”

“Maybe not, but you are.” Elenore stalked forward to stare him down face to face. “I will not rest while you are still doing this to other dancers.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then smiled, closed his eyes and shook his head. “You know, I never would have guessed.”

“Guessed what?” Elenore took half a step back. Who knew what new trick he was up to.

Scratch sighed and opened his eyes. “That you were one of those humans.”

She took another step back. “So what does that mean?”

“It means you won.” He shrugged and moved to walk past her. “Do whatever you want with the shoes. They’re just shoes now. Feel free to burn them, if it will make you feel better.”

For just a second all Elenore could do was stand there and blink as she watched him walk across the stage and down the short set of stairs on its side. She violently shook her head and jogged to catch up with him. “What? I’m supposed to believe that you gave up just like that?”

He stopped at the front row and turned back to look at her. “It’s more complicated than that, but yes, I give up. Alicia is back to her normal, horrible self and you’ll never see me again. You beat the devil. Enjoy the win.”

“This is another trick.” She scampered down the stairs to stand between him and the exit. It probably wouldn’t actually stop him from leaving, but she needed to show him she was serious. “No matter what you’re planning, I’ll stop you.”

Scratch sighed and dropped into one of the seats. “And that’s why I’m giving up this particular gambit. It’s simple cost/benefit. For reasons I can’t say, I’m not allowed to kill you. I could indirectly set something up to get you out of the way, but you’ve proven yourself surprisingly resourceful. You’ll find me if I do this particular setup again, so it’s time to retire it. It’s fine, this happens from time to time. I had to give up the fiddle game for the same reason.”

“I’ll find you no matter what you’re doing. I won’t let you hurt anyone else like you hurt me.” She glared at him, but he just laughed.

“I’m sure you’ll try, but it will be a lot harder if you don’t know what to look for. You won’t know the game and you won’t know the circles I’m moving in. You’ll look for a few years, and slowly, over time, you’ll start to rebuild your life and forget why this mattered so much to you.” He looked Elenore over speculatively, then inclined his head. “Or I could be wrong. You could be one of those extremely rare humans who somehow always find a way. If that’s the case, we’ll do this dance again. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for that a little. Having an adversary could be fun.”

Elenore’s stomach clenched but she kept her head high. “I swear I will find you and put an end to whatever hell you are putting people through.”

He chuckled and rose to his feet before sweeping into a deep bow. “Madam, I truly hope so.”

He disappeared in a wisp of smoke and Elenore closed her eyes. A shudder ran up her spine. She climbed back up on the stage. She would burn the shoes just to be safe, then she was going to get a good night’s sleep. In the morning she was going to start researching and keeping an eye out for people who suddenly climbed to the top of their field, because she couldn’t let it go.

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories

---

Sharon’s note: My husband and I have been married 15 years, so I feel like I have a little clout to talk about relationships. It gets toted around a lot that communication is the key to a working partnership, and it is, but there are two other elements that are needed to make things work, and those are trust and prioritization. You need to trust that the other person is being honest with you and is not trying to hurt you, so that if they goof up, you know it’s not intentional. You also need to set your partner above some of your other drive, including that little voice inside you that wants to take offense at every little thing and put them on an opposing side. Any problem, you have to be on the same side of. If you can’t trust that person, or they can’t trust you, then I’m not sure what the point is. Warning: This is just the author’s advice. It applies to you, or it doesn’t. Take it for what it’s worth.

---

I was snuggled up on the couch with my leftover box in my lap, throwing bits of fajita meet to Baskerville. Sam had sent me a text after leaving me at the table for a half hour saying that one of his clients was in crisis, and that he was so sorry, but would have to give me a rain check. I’d gotten dinner to go and came back home, since I wasn’t fond of eating out alone. It was about eleven o’clock at night, and I was just considering going to bed.

My cell phone wrang, and Sam’s name flashed across the screen. I bit my lip while I thought. I was put out by him running off in the middle of our date, but I wasn’t mad. It seemed like someone really needed him, but with his job, that probably happened a lot. Maybe this just wouldn’t work. But I really liked him. He was sweet, and good looking, and funny. Sam was also one of nature’s caretakers, which was both a problem and a draw. Still unsure how I felt, I answered the phone.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Jen. I just wanted to apologize again for ruining our date. Al was in a really bad spot, and I couldn’t just leave him.” Sam sounded as miserable as a whimpering puppy. 

“It’s okay.” I sighed, and it was. Shit happened, and I didn’t know this was a constant thing. “How is he?”

“Better.” He sighed. “His wife had a miscarriage yesterday. It was the third one. I wish he would have called me.”

“Oh, damn.” Now I felt bad for being annoyed. I wanted to ask if there was anything I could do, but I didn’t know Al or his wife. It would have been weird. A thought hit me. “Should you be telling me about what’s going on with your client?”

“Al’s not officially a client, and I wanted you to know that I wouldn’t have left our date for something that wasn’t important.” He swallowed so hard I could hear it over the phone. “I was wondering if you would give me another chance?”

I threw another piece of meat to Baskerville while I thought. This wasn’t a regular thing, so maybe it was worth a try. “Sure. When and where?”

He let out a breath. “Tomorrow at Kennedy Park? Around one? I’ll bring the food.”

A picnic. That could be fun. “Sounds good. Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself and,” he hesitated for a moment, “and I figure we can talk about what we want out of a relationship. I . . . I want to be up front about things.”

I supposed second/third date was a good time to talk about that. He sounded nervous about it, but so was I. What if we didn’t want the same things? There were a lot of ‘what if’s’ that could spell the end of things before they began, but that was the best time to end things. Disappointment was better than hurt.

“I’m looking forward to it.” I wasn’t, but there was no need to tell him that.

“Awesome. See you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” After I hung up I looked down at Baskerville, who was wagging his tail in anticipation of more treats. “Are you going to wish me luck? No? You lazy hound.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories

---

Sharon’s Note: So, I used to work in an abandoned pacemaker factory. We were trying to turn it into office space. It was a creepy as it sounds. A lot of the atmosphere for this story came from those buildings, but one thing I decided to leave out was the spiders. Now I like spiders, but this was a lot of them. Soooo many spiders. Warning: There was no point to this note other than to let the author share a shudder moment.

---

Of course the elevator didn’t work. We trudged down the narrow cement steps with me hugging the wall because there was no railing. I risked one glance over the side, and saw only darkness in the square of empty space that was the center of the stairwell because I didn’t want to risk my light. Kathy wasn’t bothered in the slightest, and even glanced back occasionally to laugh at me. It didn’t seem that far down, although I lost count of how many times we went around. 

There were two doors at the bottom. One said ‘MO GUE’, the metal ‘R’ was laying on the floor, and the other proclaimed that it was elevator shaft access, and there was no admittance. It had a new latch and padlock on it, just like the closet next to McBride’s office. This one at least made sense. It was probably a death trap in there, and I didn’t think I was imagining the scrambling of rats coming faintly through the door. The air almost burned my lungs as my breath steamed.

“No wonder they kept the bodies down here. It’s freezing. You wouldn’t even need air conditioning.” I blew a column of steam into the air as I tucked my empty hand under my armpit. God, what I wouldn’t do for a jacket. I wasn’t dressed for this.

“Welcome to construction made before electricity. It all came down to planning.” Kathy’s breath wasn’t steaming at all. 

Pieces slammed into place. Didn’t need a flashlight. Knew the place so well. No breath. Didn’t live here. But . . . She had touched me? Words escaped my mouth through the panic. “Are you a ghost?”

She raised an eyebrow, then looked at the plumes of steam I was rapidly expelling and sighed. “Right. The breath thing. I didn’t think of that. Yeah, I’m a ghost, but don’t run, okay? I’m not trying to hurt you. Just the opposite in fact.”

My back hit the wall and I squeaked. I hadn’t realized I was backing away from her. “What? What do you want with me then? Why did you bring me down to the morgue?”

Kathy rubbed her forehead. Could the dead have headaches? “Because it’s the safest place in the hospital. Most of the staff and the real crazies never come down here. McBride avoided this place even when he was alive because of his son.”

“Why are you helping me?” My eyes kept searching for some sign of death, but she looked so normal.

She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Because I don’t want you to end up like me. I was telling the truth when I said I first came here on a dare. My mom worked in the new building when it was open, so I stole her key. The idea was that I was supposed to steal McBride’s name plate for proof. Well, the good doctor didn’t take very kindly to that, and . . . I’ve been here ever since.”

My heart twisted at the pain in her voice. “What did he do to you?”

Kathy shook herself  and put her arms back down at her side. “He killed me. Beyond that, it’s a little personal.”

“Sorry, but how long have you been here?” I was split between fear and fascination. This was a real ghost.

“It was ‘ninety-five when I came in here. You do the math.” She turned to open the door to the morgue. “Come on, we need to get you inside. I don’t think McBride saw you leave his office, but I know he was lurking. He’s going to see your stuff and know someone is here.”

I might as well follow her. Kathy was a ghost, and I didn’t know anything about her, but if she was real, then McBride was almost definitely real, and he was a certified monster. I pushed away from the wall, then hesitated. “What about McBride’s son? Is he haunting down here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Technically, yes, but besides being cripplingly shy, Ernie is a sweetheart. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, except his father, but that is completely understandable.”

My head tilted to one side. “Really? His name is Ernie?”

“What were you expecting? Igor?” Kathy laughed. “If you want to get technical, his name is Ernest Farmer, which if you ask me, is a horrible name for a kid. Come on, if you’re nice, I’ll try to coax him out where you can see him, and you can ask for his life story. It’s fascinating.”

Getting to interview the bastard son of Kirk McBride was too much bait. I followed her into the morgue.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories

---

Sharon’s Note: I’ve never liked scenes where the existence of magic is revealed, and the human character flips the heck out, complete with screaming and crying fit, followed by running away from the supernatural, even if they’ve been friends until this point. I’m not saying the person should be stoic, but if the person breaks if their world view shifts, that person if not completely okay, and that need to be acknowledged somewhere else in the story. Warning: Author has been hoping her whole life for someone to tell her that magic is real.

---

Wendy perched on the corner of the kitchen table as Jim searched through the fridge. 

“So, what do you want to eat?” 

She kicked her bare feet slowly back and forth so that her toes dragged against the old linoleum. “Nothing too heavy. I’m probably going to have to fight later. Barfing on a bad guy can be a good distraction, but it’s not really effective.”

Jim’s hand hesitated over a carton of eggs. He was coming to accept that her whole thing about monsters wasn’t a joke. It was possible she was crazy, even she admitted that she wasn’t normal, but after the funhouse. . . He closed the refrigerator door and turned to face her. “Can you show me something so I know you aren’t crazy?”

Her eyes flicked up from her feet and her eyebrows raised in surprise. “I don’t know that I’m not mad. There’s quite a bit of evidence to say that I am, but if you want to see some magic, I might be able to do that. Um, let me think. Do you have a candle? It has to have been used.”

“Um, yeah. One sec.” Jim searched through the drawer next to the fridge and found what he was looking for. There was a flashlight for power outages, but also a small supply of tea candles. There was one that was only about half burned, so he grabbed it and dropped it into her open palm. “So what now? Are you going to make fire?”

“Make? No. I’m just going, um, remind it how to burn? Return it to entropy? No, not entropy. That’s not the right word. Just watch.” She raised the candle to her lips and blew like she was putting it out. Flame flickered to life and the scent of burning filled the air, more than could be accounted for by a single small candle. Heat washed across the kitchen, then faded. Wendy grinned at him. “Ta da!”

“Well, um, shit.” He stared at the merrily dancing flame. Just that might have been a trick, even if he had no idea how she could have done it, but not the rest of it. Not the subtle feeling of strangeness in his gut, like a kinder version of what he’d experienced in the fun house when he’d smelled the rot. “Magic’s real.”

“Are you okay?” She hesitated, then touched his elbow, other hand still cupping the little candle. The more he stared at it, the more he thought the fire was a little off. The color was wrong. Too dark. “You aren’t afraid of me or anything stupid like that, are you?”

“No.” He shook off his shock to smile at her. “This makes you incredibly badass, the whole existence of magic is just really freaking major.”

“Thank goodness!” She jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Jim’s arms were pinned to his side and he could feel the heat of the candle at his back. 

“Um, don’t set me on fire, please. That would suck.”

“Oh, sorry.” Wendy pulled back and pinched the flame out. “I’m just really glad you aren’t being weird.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Jim smiled shyly. “You can hug me any time.”

“Okay, I will.” She grinned, and hugged him again, this time leaving his arms free so that he could hug her back. She felt very . . .soft in his arms, and her hair smelled like his shampoo.

“Not that I want to stop, but, um, do you want scrambled eggs before we go fight an evil carnival? It’s one of the few things I know how to make.”

Wendy giggled. “I think I remember loving eggs.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories

---

Sharon’s note: So enters the villain of Wes’s musical. This was intended to be wholly his project, but . . . well, I had an idea. Out of nowhere. I don’t normally even write poetry, but I woke up one day and wrote a song. It’s not fantastic, and the stage directions are probably worse, but hey, I did it. Warning: Author almost always loves the villains more than the heroes in any musical.

---

[The lights come up on a man lying on the floor. It’s an empty room with a wooden floor and empty walls. He’s bleeding heavily from a wound in his chest, and his blood is spreading beneath him and bubbling from his mouth. A woman walks in, dressed for an evening out. He reaches for her, eyes desperate, but she merely shakes her head and smiles sadly. She carefully sits near his head on a un-bloodied bit of floor]

It’s time that I left you.
It’s not you, it's me.
I’m sorry, 
that was mean.
But I’m finally free.

I need you to know that
this isn’t your fault
I hurt you
lied to you
Now to rub in the salt

This was never about you
This was always the plan
I think part of you always knew
You could have been any man

This all started long ago
Long before you were born
a wrong that
was done me
A hurt that I mourn

It wasn’t your money
I needed an in
You liked me
And trusted me
And that was your sin

This was never about you
You were always a fool
I think part of you always knew
You were only a tool

I don’t mean to blame you
You were good enough to me
It’s over now
I should go
I’ve someone to see

I have one thing to leave you
Just one thing that’s true
If I could
love anyone,
It would have been you

[The woman stands up and brushes off her clothes. The man, still unnamed, gurgles helplessly and twitches a hand after her as she leaves the room. She doesn’t look back. We follow her outside the door as she closes it behind her. She leans back against the door, face contorted in pain. She touches a locket that hangs around her neck, and looks like she’s about to take it off. In a jerky motion she hides the locket in her shirt and runs away.]

Click Here To Read More of Our Stories