Sometimes it feels like she practices a new drill every day. Fire drills, earthquake drills, active shooter drills; she can tell you what each alarm means and how to respond. When the rest of her class feels panic, she gets a twinge of excitement. It’s her favorite part of the day. Her teacher explained the concept of ‘Chekhov’s Gun,’ but she already understands. The world is full of potential energy. The gun placed on the mantlepiece will someday be fired. The emergency is always waiting, in the future. And when the alarm rings, she will rise to meet her destiny.
The weather changed fast on the mountain, especially after sunset. He’d been hiking alone, in defiance of the pleas of his hosts. He was an experienced outdoorsman and wanted some privacy. The change in the weather caught him by surprise. He was blinded by the squalling snow and howling wind. When he stumbled across the cabin, it felt like a miracle. He banged on the door, hoping to find a warm fireside. The opening door let out a blast of gelid air. The smiling face with too many sharp teeth greeted him. Only then did he truly understand their warnings.
They laid siege to the city and attempted to starve them into submission. But from the start the invaders were beset by problems. Their own supply lines were disrupted. There were accidents and even rumors the camp was haunted. As the days wore on, morale among the troops continued to drop while the resolve of the enemy just became stronger. The commander ordered a thorough search of the area and the found the hidden tunnels the enemy was using to bring in supplies and cause havoc. But it was already too late. They broke the siege and went home, defeated.
The Unicorn is well known in the forest. She can be seen from a distance, guiding lost travelers to safe paths or seeking out hidden dangers. She is a blessing that radiates warmth and light to all. But the Unicorn never gets close. Legends say she is shy. They say she will only approach a virgin girl. Nobody asked the Unicorn. Unicorns are old creatures with long memories. She knows the flame that lights the way can burn you. She remembers the lsat time. So she keeps her distance, and guides the forest with love, hoping that love will spread.
When the snow fell for days, we did not think much of it. It was winter in the Far North. We bundled ourselves up and used the winter doors of our houses when the snow buried the ground floor. But as the months past, the seasons refused to turn. The Sun lay hidden behind impenetrable clouds, if it rose at all. The elders called it ‘Fimbulwinter’ and despaired the ending of the world. When the food in our cellars ran out we ate ice. We changed ourselves in defiance of the endless winter, and survived. And we became something else.
The prophet lounged on a cushioned divan in his audience chamber, practically a throne. The villagers gave him the hall when he’d arrived and predicted a disaster. It was only his quick prognostication that spared the village from the worst of the damage. A curtain at the far end of the room twitched, and he nodded almost imperceptibly to the figure hidden behind it. The villagers loved their new prophet, but found him dour, only predicting calamities. Good fortune was crowd pleasing, but tricky. Doom was easier; especially if you had a team to make sure your predictions came true.
The party found the book at the very back of the tomb, next to the sarcophagus itself. It was chained to a lectern, as though waiting for a reader in the dark. After checking it over, the thief brushed dust from the leather binding and opened to a page. It was filled with tight handwriting in a language they couldn’t decipher. As they were puzzling over the tome, the lich rose from his coffin and coughed politely. “Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night and just have to write an idea down before you forget it?”
He’d spent his whole life being hunted. His friends at school thought he was paranoid, but he’d seen it: A huge face, filling the world, with a mouth of sharp teeth and glowing yellow eyes. I turned and saw it watching him even now. Panicked, he darted into a little cave and ducked behind a log. The face would get tired eventually. It always did. He wondered why it never came closer. Why was it always watching and never moving in for the kill, toying with him? On the other side of the glass, the cat watched the fish swim.
He had a taste for the underground. He kept paintings from outsider artists and had shelves of books from authors never featured on the best-seller list. He wore t-shirts of bands you’ve never heard of purchased from tables in the foyers of clubs you’ve never been to. He loved the intimacy of the obscure. And he didn’t have mere fandoms, but friendships with the artists and writers whose work he admired. But as his friends struggled, he began to wonder if he could do more for them. He started a blog to try and bring his hidden gems to light.
The snowman opened his button eyes as the enchantment fell upon him from the top of his hat to his sculpted feet. As he came to life, he knew that whatever strange force animated him, these children were wielding it by accident. He was also certain that they had no knowledge of the dangerous powers that would steal that magic for themselves. The snowman tightened his grip on the the broom in his mitten-hand. The spell provided him perhaps a few days of false life if the weather held. In that time, he vowed that the children would be protected.
Hugh J. O'Donnell 