A swarm of bats circled the castle, shrieking into the night. The lord of the manor watched them from a high window and was pleased with their work. The villagers were terrified of the creatures, and took to crossing themselves or locking themselves in at night, the superstitious fools. A few had even taken to hunting them, but the Count had put a stop to that. Despite the public outcry, the reintroduction program was already a huge success. The bats had already reduced the invasive mosquito population by fifty precent without pesticides. How wonderful his children of the night were.
It was a bad winter, even for Northern Ontario. Jean hadn’t seen anyone in weeks, and he was running out of food. Jean heard scratching on his door. When he opened his door, he found a freshly killed squirrel and no sign of anybody. Winter wore on, and the gifts kept coming. It was always just enough, and he never saw so much as a footprint. Then, the visits stopped. When Jean next heard the scratching, he found a still-bleeding human hand waiting in the snow. You’ll eat anything if you’re hungry enough. You’ll befriend anyone if you’re lonely enough.
The gardener planted his garden at the very edge of a tall cliff, so that he could sit among the flowers and enjoy the view of the valley. In spring, his plants would flower and rain petals on the town below. In summer, fallen fruit rolled downhill like stones. In autumn, the leaves fell, and he watched them tumble the great distance to the valley floor below. He considered the castoffs from his garden gifts to those below him, although he never asked their opinion. One winter, he slipped on a patch of ice and fell over the edge himself.
The monster was in the closet. I listened to it and considered what to do. Since I was a child, I’ve seen monsters everywhere: Lurking in dark corners and hiding under beds. My parents said I had an overactive imagination, but they became worried when the behavior persisted as I grew up. It took a long time, but I learned to cope with my special sight. I handed the monster a tissue. He dried three eyes with it. “The people who love you may not always understand,” I said. “But there is joy and community in living your authentic self.”
As an immortal vampire, I spent countless centuries working to protect myself against my weaknesses. Everyone knows about the famous ones. Sunlight, holy symbols, and stakes to the heart are all a part of the public consciousness. But each vampire has another, secret weakness. It is a part of the magic. You can’t gain great supernatural power without giving something up in return. Mine was defenestration, and I worked hard to keep myself free from the threat without revealing it. But one evening, thanks to a wet floor and a careless passerby, all my careful planning went out the window.
When we found a Lost and Found Box in the dungeon, one of the archers reached in and pulled out a faded blue-gray sweater. “You should put that back,” I said. “Why?” she asked. “Your paladin senses offended?” “That’s a Jumpermorph,” I said. “It’s like a mimic. It disguises itself as clothes and exudes an aura of coziness. It feels so soft and comfortable that you have to try it on. And then it’s already over.” She snorted and threw it into her bag. The next morning all we found in her sleeping bag was a pile of empty clothes.
The Starship Fugacious was lauded as a triumphant success and condemned as space travel’s most catastrophic failure. The brainchild of a Martian trillionaire, the ship’s maiden voyage was only a few hundred thousand miles, but it would make the trip at nearly the speed of light. He wanted to use time dilation to achieve immortality. Heedless of the warnings of his engineers, the trillionaire loaded up the ship and pushed the button. According to observers, the ship was vaporized as soon as the engines started, but no wreckage was recovered. His adherents claim he’ll return at the end of history.
The Beast was coming, and today he would kill it. He heard the creature’s fearsome roar and felt the rumble of its approach. But he was not afraid. In his youth he’d ran from it and its monstrous appetites. but he had learned to stalk it from the shadows. He finally found a weakness. He crouched to strike from behind as the monster passed. At the last moment, he leapt from behind and grabbed for the Beast’s long tail. I looked up from vacuuming when the machine suddenly stopped. The cat had pulled the cord out of the wall again.
Each day Eugene found a little more hair in the shower drain. He’d expected it. His grandfather had been as bald as an egg. But he thought he had more time. He did everything he could to the hair loss. He tried scientific treatments, then quack treatments, and finally expensive hairpieces that didn’t fool anyone. When the Devil came with an offer, Eugene signed on the dotted line. He sold his soul for a thick, luxurious head of hair with no regrets. But there were a pair of cowlicks on either side of his head that he could never tame.
It was a slow day in the library. Since the passengers had tablets which pulled their digital selections directly from the archives, they were mostly slow days. The Librarian sighed. With all the numinous entertainments available on the ship, who would want to come down here for a moldy old paperback, anyway? She looked out at the stars. There was at least one important duty ahead of her. Someday, she would appoint a successor. If the ship’s engines held, they would be the one to share the lost knowledge of Earth when the generation ship landed. Until then, she waited.
Hugh J. O'Donnell 