"…his stories are always sharp and compact and interesting." ——Angel Martinez "(One of) the hottest authors in the independent horror scene…" —-Hellbound Books
The young-looking raccoon scrambled and pulled himself onto the top of the castle’s low wall and sat there breathing heavily.
“This would have been a lot easier to do as a hawk,” he muttered in a human voice. “Demnitos take you, Rehavanc, why couldn’t your magic have worked the way it was supposed to?”
Cygar, known in some quarters as Cygar-The-Thief, had been offered a deal by the Magistrates of Glosber, where he had been caught helping himself to things that weren’t his; charges against him would be dropped if he performed “a small service” for the kingdom.
Mainly allowing himself to be transformed into a hawk and fly to the castle of Prince Tulosbah and find out why Tulosbah and the sorcerer Urzipan were not allowing the promised marriage to Tulosbah’s niece Princess Verona. To find out if the Princess was actually at the Prince’s castle and see what means might be taken to liberate her, for they were sure she was being held prisoner.
But Rehavanc’s magic wasn’t dependable and so Cygar-The-Raccoon had been forced to hitch a ride in the back of a cart traveling between the two kingdoms.
Fortunately, a raccoon was about as inconspicuous in the dark as a hawk would be.
Cygar smiled to himself. And as a raccoon he had a built-in mask, which fit the whole idea of…
“Hey, look! A raccoon!”
Great, Cygar thought. Palace guards. With spears. Just what I don’t need.
Cygar gave the two guards the once-over. Didn’t look too bright or agile. Still they could probably use the spear. Cygar ran the other way and kept to the top of the wall, not glancing back at the guards on the battlements. He turned another corner (How big was this Demnitos-cursed castle anyway?) and stopped where the wall had come to a rise. Almost out of breath, he climbed the angled wall and found himself staring at a lit window in the castle wall. Inside, dressed in greenish robes was a young woman who Cygar recognized from the portrait he had been shown as Princess Verona.
Cygar-the-raccoon watched as she made certain the door to her room was secured, she was after all prisoner of an evil sorcerer. He wasn’t quite close enough to hear but she laughed and suddenly began to shimmer with a soft light. In another moment, Urzipan the Sorcerer stood in her place.
“Oh, they are not gonna like this back in Glosber…” Cygar muttered. “But it does explain why Urzipan wanted the wedding canceled…”
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I was going for more of a Jack Vance feel with the title, but the style of L. Sprague deCamp took over, I guess. —–mike
Joey Strunk had rushed into the church just after morning Mass. He was furious and loud.
“Father! I have to talk to you!”
Father Gareth Armbrewster raised an eyebrow. He’d known Joey for years. He was loud enough now that this probably wasn’t going to be a confession. Gareth was just glad that most of the parishioners had left.
“Do you want to go to the confessional?” Gareth asked. Just in case.
“No, Father.” Joey said. He glanced around. There was nobody nearby.
“You know the old liquor store on Fourth Street? In the Grocery Store parking lot?”
Gareth nodded. He’d passed by it a lot and been in it a few times.
“I always thought ‘The Fatal Glass Of Beer’ was an odd choice for a name for a liquor store,” Gareth said.
“After the W. C. Fields movie, yeah…” Joey said. “But it was a gas station before that and I worked there for a while.” He sighed. “I was working there when I got into trouble.”
Joey Strunk had been sent to prison for a series of burglaries some twenty-three years earlier. He’d been out for a decade or more and was a semi-regular parishioner. He looked like he hadn’t slept and was shaken. He took a deep breath.
“Before I got…sent down…I wrote out a confession. I named names, Father. People who were involved in the thing I did.”
“And I take it they didn’t get caught?” Father Gareth asked.
“No” Joey said. “This was for the stuff I actually did, we did. That I wasn’t caught for. We didn’t hurt anybody, Father. But I had to help them…take some stuff. To get them off my back.” Joey sighed. “And it worked. And about two months later I got busted for the burglary and the thing is, I hadn’t done those. But I had no way out of it so I did about five years.”
“You don’t need a priest you need the police…” Father Gareth said.
Joey shook his head.
“The last thing I need is for the police to read what’s on that paper. My name and the names of…the other guys. I’ve got to get that thing before they do.”
“This isn’t that Father Dowling show,” Gareth said. “And I’m sure not going to break and enter…”
“The demolition already started,” Joey said. “They’ll finish up tomorrow.”
“Look, I can’t possibly be a part of something like that.”
Joey looked at him with pleading eyes.
Father Gareth stood looking at the pile of bricks that had been The Fatal Glass Of Beer. He couldn’t believe he was here at One in the morning. But the lights were off at the supermarket and the parking lot was empty.
The store had been a one-story brick building about the size of a trailer. Some of it was still standing; a brick corner and a thick side wall made of the same brick. The pile of brick and stone, part of wall and roof, in front of it all was almost as tall as he was, Gareth thought.
And the thin, yellow tape propped up around the old building wouldn’t have stopped a kitten, he thought.
“C’mon. We can get in this way” Joey said ducking under the tape and crouching behind the pile of bricks.
“I’m out of my mind,” Father Gareth thought as he followed Joey through what had been a full doorway but was now just a space between the standing wall and the pile of bricks.
Father Gareth had been in the store a couple of times. The tacky green carpet was still there, still attached to the counter which was still in the middle of the room. Pure Nineteen-Seventies, he thought.
“I know just where it would be,” Joey said stepping over fallen bricks and pieces of glass that glinted in the dim light. “Just glad they didn’t tear this wall down yet.”
“I hope he doesn’t expect me to tear down a wall, I draw the line there,” Father Gareth thought. He’d hoped he would be able to talk Joey out of this, it was trespassing after all. But Joey kept insisting it was actually his property he’d left here years ago.
“I dropped it in this when they were putting in that old A. C. unit,” Joey said. “And there used to be a…aha!”
Joey bent down and pulled at a small grating at the base of the wall. When it wouldn’t budge he kicked at it with his boot. With a crack, it broke loose and Joey quickly felt around in the hole.
Father Gareth imagined rats.
With a big grin on his face, Joey triumphantly held up what looked like a rusty metal tin they sold throat lozenges in years ago. He quickly pried it open and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He held it up to what light there was and breathed out a half-laugh.
“It got wet, Father. The ink is all messed-up. Nobody can read it now,” Joey said quietly.
Father Gareth sighed with relief. Joey stuffed the paper in his jacket pocket.
“Now let’s get out of…” Father Gareth broke it off, he’d heard a sound from outside. He waved at Joey to get down. Joey needed no encouragement, he ducked behind the counter a moment before a security guard walked in and shone his flashlight of Father Gareth.
“What’re you doing here?” the guard asked.
“Oh, I’m looking for one of my parishioners,” Father Gareth said, making sure he pulled his jacket open enough to display his clerical collar.
“Parishioners?” the guard asked.
“Yes, he had way too much to drink and was staggering this way and I thought he might have come in here to see if they’d left anything behind.”
“Well, there’s nobody else here, Father, so you’d better get out of this building. It’s not safe.”
“Thank you very much,” Father Gareth said. “Now if you could just give me a hand…”
Sixty wasn’t as old as that but Father Gareth was grateful for his grey hair as the guard took his arm and guided him out of the mostly-demolished store. Gareth was sure the guard sniffed his breath at least once.
“My car isn’t too far away, if you could help me over this bunch of bricks here,” Gareth said.
The guard walked with him across the parking lot and past the dark supermarket.
“Technically I’m just security for the grocery store but I like to keep an eye on Fatal Glass too,” he said.
“Thank you so much,” Father Gareth said. “Old leg isn’t in as good a shape as it used to be. All that kneeling.”
“I know, I’m on my feet all the time,” the guard said. “You know, you were probably trespassing but I didn’t actually work for the liquor store so I probably was too.”
“Yes,” mused Father Gareth. “The vagaries of middle age.”
Gareth smiled to himself. It was amazing the things a priest could get away with. And hopefully Joey had time to get away from the store. Father Gareth didn’t look back.
“My car’s right down here in the hardware store parking lot,” e said. “Could you follow me with that flashlight? It’s so dark and late…”
Father Gareth noticed Joey in the congregation a few weeks later. He didn’t seem to be bothered by anything, in fact he looked relieved.
Father Gareth sighed. At the very least, there had been no damage done and Strunk hadn’t done anything that would get him back in trouble. He looked heavenward and mused: “Lord, for that we can be grateful.”
To Emperor Norton, Thanks For Everything! Love, Georgianna.
by Mike Mayak
“This wig just smells!”
Georgianna Mount Sutro shook the blonde wig she was holding at arms length as if she was afraid something would fall on her gold sequined dress. She considered tossing it in the street as the trolley rolled up the hill in the early-morning fog.
“It’s moldy, Honey, that’s the problem,” said Miss Windy Weather. Miss Windy was sitting beside her in an outfit festooned with veils which were in danger of blowing away.
“Ugh!” Georgianna said. “Perfect for Halloween if that wasn’t months away.”
“Girl, for us every night is Halloween.” Miss Windy said.
“Too bad we don’t get treats,” Georgianna said and they both laughed.
“You can keep that thing ‘till Halloween.” Miss Windy said. “By which time it should all be one big lump of green mold.”
“Not on my head, girl!” Georgianna said. “After last night maybe I can afford to have it cleaned.”
Georgianna and Miss Windy were Licensed Professional Dragsters of the City Of San Francisco, Bay District, Nation of Nortonia.
“License signed by Emperor Norton the Ninth, thank-you-very-much!” Miss Windy would say.
“When’s the last time we got big checks for one of those all-night gigs?” Georgianna asked.
“Listen, Girl, these days we better be glad we got any job.” Miss Windy said. “Look over there.”
She pointed at the Pyramid Building. It was deserted. It wasn’t the only one.
“Remember that young comic the other night?” Georgianna said. “Remember his line? ‘I got a bumper sticker that reads: The Underground Economy Is Thriving, That’s Where I made This Sticker. It was on my car I had to sell.’”
The girls laughed again.
“Oooooooh! Wait a minute!” Miss Windy said. “I gotta check my messages!”
She pulled off her wig and rubbed the spot above her ear where the implant was. She always said it helped with reception.
“Gimmie a minute…Ooooooh! We got a gig!” Miss Windy said.
“Does it include a long nap beforehand?” Georgianna asked, faking a yawn.
“Tomorrow night at the Emperor Norton Ballroom at the Harding-Palace Hotel!”
“Good. I can rest up.” Georgianna said.
“Rest up to count the money!” Miss Windy said. “Somebody on the Emperor’s staff saw us at the club and he wants both of us to perform for five hundred dollars!”
“Apiece?” Georgianna asked, wide awake now.
“Who cares!” Miss Windy said. “We have friends in high places! Bless you Emperor Norton!”
“Bless you!”
They blew a kiss to the city as the trolley started back down the hill.
—end—
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The draws for the November 2025 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge were: A Cyberpunk story, set on a trolley involving a moldy wig. (I had to look up “cyberpunk,” and I’m the guy who made up the list!) I’m aware that in San Francisco they don’t call them “trolleys,” but hey! It’s a dystopia.
And Emperor Norton was a real person way back when, but never a real Emperor. Look him up! Fascinating story! And there is an “Emperor Norton Room” at the Sheraton-Palace Hotel in San Francisco. ——-mike
Here’s the draws for the November 2025 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge. Followed by my usual long-winded explanation:
A Cyberpunk Story
Involving A Moldy Wig
Set on A Trolley
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!) on the blog.
As I’m no good making videos I did the drawing offstage. So, the results were the Queen of Hearts (a Cyberpunk Story), the Six of Diamonds (a Trolley) and the Four of Clubs (a Moldy Wig.)
So we will write a Cyberpunk Story involving a Moldy Wig set on a Trolley.
We’ll have the results here in this same space around Monday November 10th, 2025.
So, get to writing and I’ll post the results next week! And I’m putting the 2025 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!
You’d think Halloween in a genuinely haunted house would be fun, but not when you’re the ghosts and the home’s blissfully unaware owners were out for the weekend.
Gus and Bertram (“Bertie”) had been happily “shacked-up” (as Bertie liked to put it) for decades and had been haunting the house ever since. The house was in Gus Rowley’s family and while it wasn’t a mansion it did have a name: Peregrine House, thanks to the stone bird carved on the front porch and rubbed away by nearly a century of children. Peregrine House was in an old neighborhood by the river and the two ghosts largely kept quiet and unnoticed by the families that lived there happily.
But Gus and Bertie were bored and so they decided to go out for the evening, even though as ghosts they knew they couldn’t stay very long.
Justin and Mick had met at the laundromat two summers earlier, when Mick had been widowed for several months and wasn’t sure about another relationship. But somehow he had gotten started talking about his late husband and he and Justin had gone out for lunch a few times (after Justin had slipped his name and number in with Mick’s clean socks) and after the first of the year Justin had moved into Mick’s apartment.
On this Halloween they were manning a table at the “Tweet-O-Ween” event the school Justin taught at held for the kids. And as this year Halloween was on a Friday, Mick and Justin weren’t sure who was more excited about no school tomorrow: the kids or Justin.
Dressed as pirates, Mick and Justin handed out candy to costumed kids and grinned at each other and held hands under the table there in the big front hallway.
“I guess they don’t really do trick-or-treating outside anymore.” Gus said as they drifted invisibly through the door of the school near Peregrine House where Tweet-O-Ween was in full swing.
“Yeah, they stopped going door-to-door a few years ago,” Bertie said. “Hey, I’m going to grab some candy! Replenish the ol’ ectoplasim!”
“Replenish your…? Okay, Topper!” Gus laughed. “But let’s duck back here and get visible.”
“Wanna do costumes?” Bertie said grinning.
“Naaaah. Vintage Nineteen-Forties outfits will be enough.” Gus said.
“And how!” Bertie snickered.
“Hey! C’mon! Leave some candy for the kids!” Mick said as Justin grabbed another wrapped butterscotch.
“I’m not swiping as much as that Baxter boy,” Justin said. “I’ll have a talk with…oh, Happy Halloween!” Their faces brightened as a shy Fairy Princess walked up with her treat bag.
Wearing casual suits and ties that would have fit in at a War Bond rally, Bertie and Gus strolled around the room, looking like they were about fifty, Bertie nibbling on a chocolate. Finally they stopped at Justin and Mick’s table just as Mick kissed Justin.
“Wow!” Bertie said. “I remember when we wouldn’t dare show affection like that in public.”
“I think it’s sweet!” Gus said. “You two look very happy. Been together long?”
“Little over two years,” Mick said. “You?”
“Yeah, it’s been a number of years that we’ve been…uh…friends.” Bertie said.
“As they would’ve said during the Eisenhower years.” Gus said with a broad smile.
“I love your costumes.” Mick said. “My Granddad had a suit and hat like that.”
“Yeah, they were really, uh, with it once.” Bertie said.
“We just stepped in here on our way back home to see if my nephew was here. Rowley.” Gus said.
“I don’t think I know…” Justin began, but there was a commotion from down the hallway; The fairy princess was crying that someone had stolen her candy.
“That Baxter boy again, I’ll bet.” Mick said.
“Yeah, he keeps bragging that he’ll call the cops if anybody spanks him.” Justin said.
Bertie stared down the hallway for a moment. Then he grabbed Gus’ arm.
“Hey, we’ve got to go! Nice meeting you folks!” Bertie said as he pulled Gus towards the front door.
“Yeah, Happy Halloween,” Gus said as they went out the door. “sorry we have to rush…”
“Bye!” Mick said.
“Nice couple of kids,” Gus said as Bertie pulled him into the parking lot and headed for the shadows. “Hey, what’s with you?”
“I saw that little brat grab that girl’s candy.” Bertie said. Here’s what we’re gonna do…”
Denny Baxter was stuffing his face. Big tough sixth grade bully walking down the hallway behind the decorated partitions that formed the Tweet-O-Ween area. Then the bag of candy jumped out of his hands, landing on the floor. He reached for it and it pulled away.
“What the Hell?” Denny said. He tried to grab it again and it slid through an open classroom door.
Denny ran after it.
The room had several low tables for an art class. There was a green skeleton sitting at one of the tables, happily munching from the bag of candy. The skeleton rose into the air as another skeleton faded into view beside it.
“Booooooooo!!” came two spooky voices. “Don’t ruin Halloween!!”
Denny ran, not caring about candy anymore.
It was after ten and Justin and Mick had helped clean up and were standing by their car.
“Wow. First chilly evening.” Mick said. “I can see my breath.”
“I think it went great,” Justin said.
“Any evening with you is great.” Mick said.
As they stood there and kissed a voice from nearby said “Happy Halloween.”
Mick and Justin didn’t notice that nobody was there.
For Halloween Week, another preview. My Halloween story will be posted here https://authorjeffbaker.com/ next Friday. Until then GRWTG for an evening out.
That’s “Get Ready With The Ghosts,” by the way…
You’d think Halloween in a genuinely haunted house would be fun, but not when you’re the ghosts and the home’s blissfully unaware owners were out for the weekend.
Gus and Bertram (“Bertie”) had been happily “shacked-up” (as Bertie liked to put it) for decades and had been haunting the house ever since. The house was in Gus Rowley’s family and while it wasn’t a mansion it did have a name: Peregrine House, thanks to the stone bird carved on the front porch and rubbed away by nearly a century of children. Peregrine House was in an old neighborhood by the river and the two ghosts largely kept quiet and unnoticed by the families that lived there happily.
But Gus and Bertie were bored and so they decided to go out for the evening, even though as ghosts they knew they couldn’t stay very long.
If It’s Two Prince Charmings, Who Gets the Glass Slipper?
By Jeff Baker
“Okay, we’re on the steps,” Kai said. “And it’s about midnight.”
“It’s about nine-thirty,” Richie said.
“Well, it’s midnight somewhere!” Kai laughed. “And we’re at the front door under the sign!”
“It wasn’t the Boyle Building fifteen years ago,” Richie said glancing up at the metal sign that stuck out of the old brick warehouse. He smiled as he remembered the night they had gotten off work way late and walked half a block, talking all the way, and had climbed these same steps and impulsively kissed at the top. The first time they’d done that in public.
“Our old warehouse is a Korean grill now,” Richie said.
“I noticed.” Kai said. “Kiss me.”
They held the kiss for a moment, lingering as the memories breezed around them. When they broke off, Kai took a deep breath.
“That first time we heard City Hall chiming midnight, remember?” Kai said.
Richie grinned back. “I always hear bells ring when I kiss you!”
I’ve wanted to read the University Of Cosmopoli Papers by Christopher Blayre (pen-name of Edward Heron-Allen, 1861-1943) since I stumbled across a couple of the stories a year ago. Cast as the papers of faculty and staff of a university (collection cataloged by Blayre) the faculty seems to have had a number of odd, supernatural encounters. The stories were collected, but the collections are pricey. But there is a “Complete Shorter Fiction” by Heron-Allen which has all the Cosmopoli stories and more. Got it a few days ago and have been plunging in. So far read “Mano Pantea,” “The Thing That Smelt,” “The Blue Cockroach.” Fun and weird. Some of them were reprinted in anthologies with similarly weird themes.
Finally found and read Elliot O’ Donnell’s short story “The Ghost Table” online. Glad I didn’t pay money for it! If it’s well-known at all it’s because it was the cover story for the March issue of “Weird Tales” which included Lovecraft’s “The Call Of Cthulu,” a very good story. “Ghost Table” not so much. Spooky at the beginning but the explanation was kind of dorky.
O’Donnell himself seems more interesting than his fiction; lots of writers wrote about ghost detectives, but O’Donnell actually was a “ghost hunter.” He published several books of presumably non-fiction accounts of his inquiries into supernatural happenings, perhaps a bit like Hans Holzer.
It’s worth noting that he never collected “Ghost Table” in any of his books.
Also worth noting that when I finished reading the story I thought “Aw, hell, I’m gonna have to write about reading this…”
Oh, and my memory was jogged about this by an ornate antique table I saw which has inspired a flash fiction story.
Read “The Mysterious Food Truck Affair” by Christina Hoag in the online version of Saturday Evening Post. Lots of fun and very Golden Age. Plenty of references to Agatha Christie as her sleuth is a professional expert on Christie. She even ate apples like Adrianne Oliver.
Read Ramsey Campbell’s story “A Life In Nightmares,” a seriously disturbing horror story with perfect campbell touches as well as being very original.
Also read “Trinity River’s Blues” by Chesya Burk.
Both of the above stories are in the anthology “Dark Stars: New Tales Of Darkest Horror,” edited by John F. D. Taff. In his introduction he said he wanted to do with this anthology what “Dark Forces” had done: “Bring horror to a wider audience.”
From what I’ve read of “Dark Stars,” it succeeds.
Been reading through Donald A. Wollheim’s NESFA collection “Up There And Other Strange Directions.” Wollheim said he wrote the stories for fun, and they are still fun!
Started reading M. D. Neu’s novel “Hawaiian Sun.” A fun alternate history time-travel romance.
Got Jane Yolen’s collection “Sister Emily’s Lightship” and read or re-read several of her stories.
Read J. Scott Coatsworth’s “Black Cat” from the Own Voices anthology “Romance In Autumn.”
Started reading O. Henry’s collection of interrelated stories “Cabbages And Kings.” I didn’t know he’d written one like that. “Fox In The Morning” ought to be included in any anthology of stories about secret messages—very clever! I have a collected two-volume O. Henry but I’ve ordered a Selected-Stories so I can carry it around easier.
Read the regular online offerings by E. H. Timms and Kaje Harper. I miss new installments of Scott Coatsworth’s “Down the River.”
And somehow I didn’t read any of John Maddox Roberts’ “Temple Of the Muses.” I gotta get back to that!
I started working on a longer story (I’ve been slacking off on longer stories!) and then I stumbled across a file with a story I started a few years ago and wrote out a page or so on this second story. Then I went down to the library the next day and wrote out (in my spiral bound notebook) a synopsis/outline for the second story. I also have a market for it. And I’m hoping to get this and the first story done by the end of the year.
Appropriate as one of them is called “The Yuletide Horror.” (A title I think I should change!)
I did some work on the longer story I want to finish by the end of the year. If I work at it I can have both of these done by January First.
Of course, I did the usual columns and Flash fictions, including finishing three short-shorts in one day (something I am deliriously proud of!) so I feel a little more productive this time around.
authorjeffbaker 