In this thriller/horror short story the Snake War Museum is just one of many, an opportunity for Claire to confront history. It’s just her, the collection, and the audio guide… at least until the she hears her own name in the headphones…
If a museum does its job well, its physical location in the world is inconsequential. The best place for the George Washington museum might be his birthplace, Westmoreland County, Virginia, but the best museum would be the one that had his actual shoes, his actual buttons, his actual tools, his actual quills and inks, wherever they were, even if the collection was accidentally shipped to, say, Ulverstone, Tasmania. Continue reading
Author’s Note: This is the last in a trilogy of novellas about fairies living in the modern day, piloting magical transforming machines, shaped like animals or limbs, that allow them to act on the human scale.
These stories follow the same characters as their magics come into conflict with modern problems like CEO politicians, cryptocurrency, and self-driving cars. If you’re interested I recommend starting with the first one: Snakewaist. The second can be found here: Snakewaist: Demon of Gougecoin. I hope you enjoy them.
There’s an Opening
So that was how we defeated the deadly demon of Gougecoin! And with that I guess it’s time to wrap up this post. For the fairies who skipped right to the end to see what we wanted, here’s the notes for the test: Chaxium and Ladyspiller Beezgalore are the feisty frontier pilots of the ferrier Snakewaist! We’re on the roam, helping fairies far and wide with any threats out of the ordinary. Continue reading
Author’s Note: This story was written live on stream with the audience voting to determine the path of the story. The underlined phrases in the choice of three were the winning pathways. Stop by twitch.tv/blainearcade if you’d ever like to participate in our interactive fiction.
Death Hammer Justice Spear Majesty Mace
There were more than five hundred graves to sort through, and any one of them might have been the resting place of the death hammer of the hideous commander Baross Varnivore. He might not have always been an evil man, there were tales that his violent behavior and strange last name didn’t come along until he picked up the habit of eating varnish in his adolescence. The facts were that, when he died, he left a collapsing empire that had dominated two continents. Continue reading
Prompt: In a world where every mind inhabits two bodies, one during the day and other during the night, we follow a young girl as she tries to deal with the death of her other self.
She couldn’t see; it was too dark. That was never supposed to happen. Things only ever got dim, only ever got orange or purple as the sun set. The sun always went down but she never saw the moment it vanished. That was the moment of transition. That was the time when she put away her day eyes and broke out her night ones, like peoples of old switching spectacles. Continue reading
Prompt: A man in a cabin is about to receive a visitor, but he is somehow transformed into the cabin just before the visitor’s arrival.
Absolutely nothing was ready yet and Christopher’s guest drew closer every moment. His pace was slow, but stopping would be the absolute worst thing he could do, as there would likely be no starting again. Christopher just needed to work harder. The smell drew his visitor in; there were a few things he could do to spice it up some more. Continue reading
Author’s Note: This story was written live on stream with the audience bidding tokens (earned while watching) to determine the path of the story. The underlined phrases in the choice of three were the winning pathways. Stop by twitch.tv/blainearcade if you’d ever like to participate in our interactive fiction.
Seedy POV Spoiled Rotten POV Sky Writer POV
It was the autumn. My sixteenth birthday approached rapidly on the horizon. As the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in all of the town of Tinstar, my party was to be quite the event. Not only would it certainly get written up in the local paper’s society and culture section, but my birthday, as it did every year, fell upon the night prior to Halloween. Continue reading
Prompt: A man walks up to a shop girl and hands her a slip of waxed paper. It has the word ‘impermanence’ written on it.
The shop would close soon, evidenced most notably not by the switched-off lights, the calm music, or the closed sign itself, but by Buttercup’s yawning. She was a champion at it by now, after three years working the register at her mother’s shop. She could yawn like a hippo, loud enough to drive the last lingering scent-hounds out of the store.
The reason for calling them scent-hounds, as well as the excuse for her yawning, was in the nature of the shop itself. They sold candles. Oils. Incense. Extracts. Dried things in bundles from every continent that could grow sprigs or branches. They had all the positive smells in the world, but about seventy-three percent of them were relaxing. Every shift was a battle against fatigue, especially with the humming of the folk music in the background all day. Continue reading
Six little pairs of shoes hovered a foot off the old wooden floor of the schoolhouse. The seventh pair belonged to an adult and shuddered up and down where the others were deathly still. Four button noses were pressed against the peeling paint, flakes falling faster than ever thanks to their giggling. One of the girls tapped on the wood and waited for a response.
Clop clop clop, the wall responded, exactly like the hoof stamps of a pony. Their giggles answered it back. The girl tapped on the wall twice more. Clop clop. Continue reading
The reception area of the cloud cognition research facility was designed to evoke positive feelings much more than the rest of the building. The couches were burgundy, the front desk was paneled in light shining wood, and the receptionist wore a pale purple sweater.
She wore the smile she was hired for when an eleven year old girl came in through the automatic doors. She walked up to the desk and placed her elbows on it, but instead of asking any questions she merely looked around. The receptionist wondered what was going on in that little blond head, but didn’t care enough to actually guess. Continue reading