Hugh J. O'Donnell

Well before dawn, he rolled out of bed and dressed in his crisp, clean white uniform. The shirt had bright brass buttons, and the hat with its stiff black brim was iconic. He smiled at himself in the rearview mirror as he started up his truck.
His first stop was the distributor, where he made small talk with the foreman as the back was loaded with the day’s deliveries.
As the sun rose, he made his rounds, leaving a bottle on every writer’s doorstep.
The Idea Man enjoyed his work, even if none of his clients ever gave him credit.

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The throne is a collaboration of the great civilizations. The stone for the base was chosen and carved by master craftsdwarves. The most elite of the Elvish woodsingers formed the back, and the seat was woven by the greatest hillfolk weavers living. The gnomes assembled and enchanted it. The elder peoples all working in harmony for the common good.
All the Humans needed to provide was someone to sit on it: me. I sit in my flowing white dress and look out at the sea of expectant faces.
Not feeling any different, I close my eyes and deliver the prophecy.

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The forest was sentient, and most people avoided it. Not because it was dangerous or violent, but because it was eccentric. Unfortunately, I had an urgent errand in the town on the other side and had no choice but to pass through it.
I walked as quickly and quietly as I could through the dark woods, taking care not to tread on a flower or snap a single branch. But my efforts to avoid the forest’s attention were in vain.
“Hey,” a flowering vine whispered in my ear. “How’s it going?” I sighed, preparing myself for a long, dull conversation.

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The cat allowed his human to seat him on the little throne and drape him with garlands of wildflowers. He shook them off, but she distracted him with a plate of chicken livers, so he let her continue, then curled up and fell asleep.
The witch completed her preparations for the spell, taking away the remaining food and checking the candles. She felt a little sad as she began chanting. He’d been a sweet cat. But what she needed was a familiar. She summoned in the spirit.
The cat awoke to the strange sensation of being someone else.

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One day Naoko was walking through the woods and came across a crane caught in a trap. She freed the bird, and it seemed to bow in thanks before flying away.
That night, a beautiful woman appeared at her door, saying she was her wife. She let the woman in, and they were happy for many years. One day, Naoko spied her wife weaving when she thought she was alone. She’d been the crane all along!
The crane wept, saying that now she had to leave forever.
Naoko only laughed and hugged her wife before changing back into a fox.

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The ghost appears on the rocks outside the harbor, where the sea is rough and treacherous. She is a luminous woman in white, shrouded like the dead.
The spirit is a sensation in the paranormal community. Every year, ghost hunters pile into boats by the hundreds, sailing heedlessly into the dangerous waters to try and catch a glimpse of her.
When she made her bargain with death, the ghost meant to fashion herself into a warning. She wanted to stand on the breakwater like a lighthouse.
But the tourists cannot hear her over the surf and the roar of engines.

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