"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
Kyle walked up the stairs to the second floor of the new Public Library. He was a little out of breath and realized he wasn’t a kid on the High School track team like he’d been ten years before.
He wandered around the bookcases, picking out the little things that he remembered from the older library building that was now being used for storage. A couple of framed posters for the Grade School Summer Reading Club; a little wooden box full of pencils that used to be for call slips for things from the downstairs storage area; ceramic busts of two ancient writers that had been stuck high on shelves staring across each other in the old Reading Room, now in a glass case and the big, plastic globe in the doorway to the Reference and Genealogy Area with it’s white spot where generations of kids had rubbed where Kansas was.
Kyle sighed. He hadn’t been anything but anxious since he had visited the Fortune Teller and she’d warned him about the End Of the World. He walked up to the third floor, went past the bookcases and the tables where patrons plugged-in their laptops to do homework or play video games and sat down in his favorite spot; the big couch by the big window with its view of the city skyline and the river.
Kyle let his gaze roam over the rows of bookcases that were just close to being a maze. Over the top of one of them he saw what looked like the tip of a red plume bobbing back and forth. Kyle realized that was part of what the Fortune Teller had warned him about; a literal sign that the time was drawing near.
Then the thirty-something man in the red stocking cap (which almost matched his red hair) and wearing sweats stepped from behind the stacks, saw Kyle and stared.
He walked over to where Kyle was sitting.
“That shirt and those green shoes,” the stranger said. “I know who you are. The…”
Kyle interrupted him.
“The Fortune Teller told you. And you’re Fritz.”
“Yeah,” Fritz said. “And you’re Kyle.”
Kyle nodded. Then said; “Hey, you want to sit down here? You get a great view.”
“Sure,” Fritz said with a half-smile. “I guess we don’t have a lot of time left.”
They sat down there on the couch and stared out the window. Fritz edged his hand over to Kyle’s and Kyle grabbed it and smiled. The Fortune Teller had told them they would be “playing for the same team.”
The two of them sat and watched the sky become dusk then night. They realized there was no better way to spend Earth’s last day.
And, of course it wasn’t the end of the world.
But it was a beginning.
Because fortune tellers are sneaky.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Title is from Fritz Leiber’s story “I’m Looking For Jeff.” How could I resist? —-jeff
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The draws for the October 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were A Monster Story set in a Cake Shop involving a Rubber Duck. Here’s the story, but can you spot the real monster? —-jeff
The last time I’d been in the shop it had been different.
Even the sign over the door reading Shrewsbury’s Cake Shop had been one of those bright neon things that looked so retro. Now, there was an old wooden sign hanging from a pole over the door. Glossy, painted and worn. Nonetheless, I went in.
Even though it was midnight and the store was closed and dark the door was unlocked.
The Girl was standing there, tall and slender and ageless in front of the glass counter laden with cakes. I knew something had lured me in here. She’s the lure, I thought. She eyed me hungrily in the dim light from the outside street lamp.
“Good dawning to thee, friend,” she said. She knew my vulnerability to the Bard.
“The bird of dawning singeth all night long,” I replied.
“Very nice, Conried,” she said, her tongue slithering against her mouth. “Your team won the previous battle, hence this store is as it is not as it was.”
“Yes,” I said, wishing I had not changed with it. My immaculate jacket and suit had become a ragged coat. My stubbly beard smelled of spilled whiskey. I’d had a house. Now I didn’t even have a car. “But the winning will not be changed,” I said.
“All things change,” the Girl said. “In fact they change always.” She raised a hand and pulled something from the darkness. The yellowish item in her hand squeaked and looked almost funny, as if the rubber duck longed for its bathtub. But I knew better. There was an air of cold menace about it.
She tossed it in the air as she hissed “Dolggna! Nyarlothotep! Danikoth! In the name of the Snakes I your Lady summon your darkness!”
Someone else would have expected the rubber duck to sprout wings, instead it fell to the floor as I knew it would. Sitting in the long rectangle of blue light from the front window, it’s shadow began to spread like spilled ink on water, cloudy tendrils with sharp points. The light began to flicker and I caught a glimpse of the cakes in the glass cases shivering expectantly.
I raised my arms and intoned “By the No-When! In the name of the Swordsmen! By the soaring Dragonet, I who walk the Living City summon thee in the name of the Spiders!”
There was a rush of wind from around and under the coat I was wearing. Shadows of a different sort swirled out from my own shadow and around the shadows produced by the duck thing. The pointed shadows around it rippled and became a huge shadowy claw accompanied by a piercing call that sounded like a prolonged squeak that was from the toy that was no longer a toy. In turn, my shadowy defenders dived and battered the claw thing letting out a hissing like a thousand angry cats ready for bloody battle.
Beyond them the Girl swelled, mouth open in a huge black “0,”becoming somehow taller than the small room could hold but still standing there in the shop and not touching the low ceiling.
The conflicting shadows swirled around each other, becoming at once a Mobius strip and a closing bloom of a dark flower. And from that bloom was a burst of negative light and an echo of an indescribable sound. The light engulfed the Girl (who had never been a girl) and shadows and girl vanished leaving not even a trace of the other creature which had certainly not really been a rubber duck.
The cake shop was silent. Nothing seemed to have changed. But the light had changed, I realized. The blue light of the lamp from outside was now a mellow yellow. I glanced down at myself. I was attired in a professorial set of tweeds. I smiled.
I stepped outside. The sign on the shop was now painted on the wood above the door. It read in simple flowing cursive: “Konditorei.”
“German for Cake Shop,” I mused aloud. I looked up.
There, in the cloudy sky a Zeppelin slowly edged through the night, carrying passengers towards the station on Telegraph Hill.
I smiled again and wandered toward my car, wondering what brand it was this time.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: An homage to one of my very favorite authors who also liked Shakespeare and cats and Lovecraft. Don’t know how he felt about rubber ducks! —-jeff
First, here’s the prompts for the October 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge. Then my usual long-winded explanation:
A Monster Story
Involving A Rubber Duck
Set at A Cake Shop
Now, on to the details.
Hi! I’m Mike Mayak, I also write as Jeff Baker and I’m the current moderator for the monthly Flash Fiction Draw Challenge, which was started by ‘Nathan Burgoine a few years ago and carried on by Cait Gordon and Jeffrey Ricker. It’s a monthly writing challenge mainly for stress-free fun that anyone can play.
Here’s how it works: the first Monday of every month I draw three cards; a heart, a diamond and a club. These correspond to a list naming a genre, a setting and an object that must appear in the story. Participants write up a flash fiction story, 1,000 words or less, post it to their website and link it here in the comments. I’ll post the results (including, hopefully, one of my own!) My schedule is a little wonky this week so I’m posting it all a day early.
As I’m no good making videos I did the drawing offstage. So, the results were the Eight of Hearts (a Monster Story), the Twelve of Diamonds (A Cake Shop) and the Two of Clubs (A Rubber Duck.) So we will write a Monster Story, set in a Cake Shop, involving A Rubber Duck.
We’ll have the results here in this same space around Monday October 14, 2024.
So, get to writing and I’ll post the results next week! And I’m putting the 2024 Flash Draw sheet at the end of this message, again! (* indicates those have been used.)
Thanks for playing, and I’ll see you in about week!
And have fun!
——mike
Flash Draw Sheet for 2024 (“*” indicates prompt has been used.)
“How can you tell?” Kurt said. “It’s a highway in the Mojave Desert. It all looks the same.”
“Naah! Look over there!” Charlie said pointing over the steering wheel. “It’s the old shed. The one with the roof missing!”
He pulled the car over to the side of the road and the two of them sat in the air conditioning.
“The car broke down right about here,” Kurt said.
“Right about this time of year.” Charlie said. “It was hot.” He glanced at the dashboard thermometer. “Even hotter today.”
“And we had been fighting.” Kurt said. “I threatened to move out when we got back home.”
“And then it became if we got back home.”
“Yeah.” Kurt said. “No cellphone service.”
“We either would sit in the hot car and wait or risk walking.” Charlie said. “And we pulled out these.”
He reached behind the seat where he’d stashed the cooler and pulled out two plastic bottles of water.
“Oh yeah.” Kurt said grinning. “The stash.”
“Glad I had a case of bottled water in the trunk of the old car!” Charlie said.
“We got out of the car and started walking up the road,” Kurt said. “And I apologized. I said I didn’t know what we’d been fighting about, and that I didn’t want to leave you ever.”
“And I just got down on one knee, short pants, hot pavement and said if we make it out of here let’s make it official out in California. Let’s not wait.”
“And I about busted down crying and we hugged and kissed and toasted it with the bottles of water.” Kurt said.
“And I said we each ought to have an extra bottle of water with us and so we walked back to the car.” Charlie said.
“And that’s when we saw the bus coming down the highway.” Kurt said.
“Yeah,” Charlie laughed. “From the Flagstaff Jewish Student’s Association!”
“They’d been at a basketball tournament in Needles,” Kurt laughed. “We flagged them down and they gave us a lift!”
“That was what? Five years ago?” Charlie said.
“Happiest years of my life.” Kurt said.
They sat in the air conditioned car, kissed, toasted each other silently with the bottled water, and sat sipping the water.
“So,” Kurt said. “You wanna go out and re-enact our proposal?”
“Hell no! It’s 105 degrees out there! I’m not even turning off this car!” Charlie said. “We can do that when we get to the motel in L. A. How many more miles to needles anyway?”
He glanced at his smartphone and scrolled.
“Hey!” Charlie said. “Guess what? NOW we have cellphone service out here!”
The two of them laughed as they drove on to Needles.
For the last three years I have been a happy participant in the Rainbow Snippets group where every week we posted six lines from a work of ours, a work-in-progress or published or a recommendation of someone else’s work with at least one LGBT character. The group was moderated by Paula Wyant. I was taking a break from doing that (I was running out of stories) when I heard the news that Paula had died last weekend. I had already planned this bit from my friend J. Scott Coatsworth’s new book which was released last week. So I’m posting it here with thanks to Paula for all the fun and making Rainbow Snippets a welcoming site which became a little community for all of us. I’ll just post it as I wrote it a few days ago.—-jeff
Okay, I’m back, (for this week anyway!) My friend J. Scott Coatsworth’s new book “The Death Bringer” is out! https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com/book/the-death-bringer/ The fourth book in his Tharassas Cycle (which was supposed to be a trilogy, but it grew!) Let’s jump right in, shall we?
He’d been someone else. Before.
Who was I? Memories of a face—dark hair, intense eyes that nevertheless twinkled at him. Raven.
It came flooding back to him. His mother. His life in Gullton. Training to be a guard and meeting Raven for the first time. My name is Aik.
He reached for the mask that covered his face. It was suffocating. Something was stuck in his throat, and he coughed hard, trying to force it out, whipping around and causing the liquid around him to flash red in alarm.
Okay. Here’s more…
Calm yourself. The voice was as thick and heavy as an ix hide, and just as soft and warm.
Aik pushed back. What are you doing to me? I don’t want this! Let me out! He thrashed about, trying to force his way through the suffocating liquid. The metal crept up his shoulder. If it covered all of him, he would be lost.
Calm yourself! It was more insistent this time.
Still more…
Aik stiffened as an enforced lethargy settled over him. He lost control of his limbs, falling still in his floating prison. The voice pressed against his mind. You’re safe. Be calm, my little one.
He closed his eyes and thought of Raven, trying to stay fixed on that face. I can’t let myself forget again.
Then the world around him dissolved, and he was swept up in a torrent of memories that weren’t his own.
Whet your appetite? Good! I’ll go all fanboy and say that I’m crazy about anything Scott writes! (And I’ve met him; he’s an awfully nice guy!)
And with that I will once more say thanks to Paula and express my sympathies to her family, friends and readers —-jeff
The French Quarter Just Off Douglas, or A Streetcar Named Rock Island
by Jeff Baker
The girl in the print dress stepped out the door, past the hanging plants, walked up to the metal railing, put her hand to her forehead and exclaimed: “Oh, what are we going to do? There’s a hurricane on the way, it’s almost Mardi Gras and I can’t make up my mind between…”
The kid behind the super-8 camera on the tripod sighed.
“Becky, what are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m improvising, Bryant, remember?” Becky said.
“Yeah, but stick to the story,” Bryant said. “Besides, it’s not Mardi Gras and there’s no hurricane in the script.”
“There’s hardly any script either,” Johnny grumbled standing behind Bryant watching the whole thing.
“Never mind that, you just remember what you’re supposed to do.” Bryant took a deep breath trying not to be too exasperated. He’d written the script for their film class after seeing the spot in downtown Wichita that he thought could pass for New Orleans. He’d never been to New Orleans but he’d seen pictures. Anyway, they wouldn’t be up for the Academy Award for 1977. Hopefully, they’d just get an “A” on the project.
“Okay, let’s start up again.” Bryant said. “Marco, this is your big scene.”
“I still don’t have my lines,” Marco said.
“There really aren’t any. We don’t have sound, remember?” Bryant said. “Just remember the story, okay? You’re the Creole guy she’s really in love with, not her stuffy boyfriend she has to marry for…”
“That’s another thing; I’m not Creole, I’m Mexican…” Marco said.
“The guy who played Charlie Chan wasn’t Chinese either.” Bryant said. “You’re an actor, it’s the magic of the movies. I know, this is not exactly Tennessee Williams but this project is due in three weeks and there’s developing and editing…”
“Okay,” Marco said, getting into position by the stairs at the outside of the old warehouse they were using to film.
“All ready…Action!” Bryant said.
It actually looked good. Marco walked up to Becky and pleaded with her to run off with him, while she professed her love to him but her need to marry her rich fiance, played by Johnny. In reality, Marco and Becky couldn’t stand each other.
Behind the camera, Bryant waved with one hand. “Okay, Johnny. This is your scene. “Get up there and break that up.” That would lead to the climactic final fight where one of them would get shot. Bryant hadn’t decided which one yet.
Bryant was standing at the other side of the street so he could get the scene by the doorway in the scene. It looked perfect. Johnny walked up to Marco and Becky and got between them, looking angry.
There was a rumble as a tall truck passed between the camera and the actors behind the railing.
Bryant thought for a moment about yelling “Cut” like a director he’d seen on a TV show once.
Johnny shrugged as Marco called out: “I’m going to the movies. And I’m going to get a glass menagerie.”
Bryant smiled. At least somebody else had read Tennessee Williams.
—end—
Author’s Note: Two of the streets in the downtown Delano District of Wichita (where I took the picture and set the story) are Rock Island and Douglas.
Wrote the usual flash fiction stories and did a QSF column when a subject for it came up.
Plotted out a couple of stories and started writing them up. (handwriting in notebook.)
Wrote a flash fiction Christmas story (well, more Winter Solstice story) that I’ll be posting in December. Been planning it since last year.
Realized I hadn’t been working on the full-length stuff so I worked on “Love’s Not Time’s Fool” and made definite progress. Should have it finished if I work at it regularly. (I’m just about to post this and I went through the story and wrote down a few notes about what I need to tweak.)
Also realized I haven’t been submitting much, so I went through markets a day or so ago and sent one story off and I have another ready to go when the market opens.
Got the first rejection in a while; that’s progress too!
For my Poe Project I just read “Four Beasts In One.” A look back at 3830 B.C. in Antioch and a parade that does not go as planned. This was in the humor and satire section of my collected Poe and it must have been funnier back in the 1840s.
I started to read “The Assignation,” but realized that I had already read it a few months ago and hadn’t marked it on my list. And I added “Three Sundays In A Week”to the list and read it. Very short, basically a humorous trifle. The gimmick is similar to the (later) “Around the World In 80 Days” by Jules Verne. Oh and the (legal) romance between a fifteen and twenty year old mirrors Poe’s own.
Here’s the list of the first stories on my Poe Project, marking off the ones I’ve read.
The Island of the Fay
Lionizing
“Thou Art the Man” —read!
The Imp of the Perverse—read!
Four Beasts in One—read!
King Pest—read!
Von Kempelen and His Discovery—read!
The Assignation—read!
Three Sundays In A Week—read!
Read Charles Beaumont’s “The Last Caper,” a spoof of Mickey Spillane and Ray Bradbury. Played for laughs. (Trust him; he knows what he’s doing!)
Read two of Robert E. Howard’s Conan stories. The God In the Bowl” (which plays a little like a police procedural, at least at first!) and “The Tower Of the Elephant.” The latter recommended as one of his best stories. Lord, could Howard write. And both stories have horrific elements that top even Lovecraft!
Read “The Bleak Shore” by Fritz Leiber. Most of it done as very poetic descriptions.
Read Sterling Lainier’s “The Kings Of the Sea,” one of his Brigadier Ffellowes stories. Sort of a creepy Commander McBragg tale.
Read “The Demon Pope” by Richard Garnett. An 1888 story by an author I wasn’t familiar with. A Goodreads reviewer compared him to Terry Pratchett.
Note: “Tower Of the Elephant,” and the Garnett, Lainier and Leiber selections are all in the excellent anthology “The Oxford Book Of Fantasy Stories,” which I’ve had for years but hadn’t read all of. Stories selected by Tom Shipley.
Read “Guy Walks Into A Bar” by Simon Rich” in the August 19, 2024 New Yorker Magazine.
Very funny, very short and LGBT to boot!
Finished ‘Nathan Burgoine’s novel “Triad Blood,” first in a trilogy (I’d already read the third book “Triad Magic.”) Started reading the second book; “Triad Soul.”
Started reading Johnny Williams’ “Fairy Tales My Grandma Told Me.”
Beta read an unpublished story by J. Scott Coatsworth, featuring one of the characters who appears in his ongoing serial “Down The River.” Called “Miz Fortune.” Oh, and I’ve been reading “Down the River!” Very well done. Coatsworth understands grief and portrays it very well here.
Been reading Kaje Harper’s weekly stories and E. H. Timm’s monthly tale she sends to the Flash Fiction Draw Challenge (Thanks, E. H.!)
Celebrated Labor Day by reading from an anthology I took with me on a long-ago campout: “It Came From the Drive-In.” Read;
“Talkin’ Trailer Trash,” by Edward Bryant
“Jungle J. D.” by Steve Rasnic Tem.
Got “Glitter + Ashes,” a new LGBT post-apocalyptic hopepunk anthology and read:
“Wrath Of A Queer God” by Anthony Moll
“Didn’t My Lord Deliver Daniel?” by Christopher Caldwell. (Magic with Biblical imagery.)
“The Descent Of their Last End” by Izzy Wasserstein.
This made me look up my own post-apocalyptic LGBT story; tweak it and send it off.
“Hey, Luke, throw me the ball,” Jorge said as they walked across the field, glad that late August had cooled down. Practice in 90 degree heat was no fun. But they were glad that they had bottled water again.
Grabbing the ball, Jorge ran back to throw a pass as one of the other players grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. They were all laughing as they rolled on the grass.
“Hey,” DeShawn said as they picked themselves up. “Why are we doing this, anyway? I mean it’s not like there are other teams to play right now.”
“Normal stuff,” Jorge said. “At least that’s what Coach said. We do this, we help things get back to normal.”
“Yeah, but we’re a college team, but I’m only taking one class,” DeShawn said. “I heard about colleges doing that with their players before it all went down but this is ridiculous.”
The other players laughed.
“Yeah, but I heard they’re getting some of the old faculty back,” Danny said. “Maybe even new ones. They’re going to start being a real school again. Probably.”
“Maybe they’d hire somebody who showed up off the street,” Luke said. “That’s how I got on the team.”
“Well, we have water and food now,” Jorge said. “This place was lucky. Small town like this didn’t get hit.”
“Did they ever figure out who…” DeShawn started to ask.
“Not a lot of news on that,” Luke said. “When there’s any news.”
“Like Coach says,” Danny said. “We’re doing this for future generations. Keeping civilization going.”
“Hey,” came the loud voice they all knew so well.
“Speaking of Coach,” DeShawn said.
“You guys aren’t supposed to be standing around! This is practice! Laps! Everybody! Now!”
As the players ran around the track, Jorge called over to DeShawn; “Yeah, someday we’ll tell are grand kids we rebuilt civilization one lap at a time.”
The others laughed as they ran.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: As this is set in the world of my (unpublished) story “The Simple Life,” I used my pen name from that story here. —-skip
authorjeffbaker 