Hugh J. O'Donnell

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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The knight rode through an unfamiliar forest and stopped for the night in the ruins of a grand palace.
That night, he dreamed of ghosts holding revels among the crumbling stone, their elegant dances heedless of the trees that grew between the stones of the courtyard. He let the apparition of a courtly lady lead him away from the festivities, and she moved a flagstone to reveal a cache of hidden treasure.
“So that the world does not forget us,” she said, pressing an ancient gold coin into his gauntleted hand.
He was still holding it when he woke up.

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When the surface became uninhabitable, a group of enterprising survivors built a city underground. They used great pumps and filters to find air and water, and dug deep into the earth.
Over time, they prospered, building even wider and deeper tunnels. Their leaders boasted that they carried the torch of civilization.
Centuries later, the day finally came when they could safely return to the surface. The city held a grand celebration as they broke the seal, and the great dome that covered the city was opened.
But only a few brave souls were willing to venture up into the unknown.

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We found him in a bare little room hidden in the back of the old manor. He sat on the dusty wooden floor, bound by ropes that glowed with sinister magic.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said as he took in our motley crew of heroes.
“Don’t be afraid, I replied. “We’ll get you out of here.”
“No, you don’t understand,” he began, and then the world tilted suddenly as a doorway to somewhere else opened up beneath us and pulled us through.
As we fell, I realized the magic ropes were not a prisoner’s restraints but a safety harness.

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