During her birthday party, Krystal hides in a new and mysterious giant washing machine at an immersive art gallery only to come out in a strange world.
Krystal had never seen the giant washing machine before. While she felt like she would discover a new tiny detail with each visit to the immersive art gallery, a front-loading washing machine, the size of an SUV was not something she would’ve missed. She walked around the silver-colored machine. The art piece wasn’t backed against a wall or connected to anything. That ruled out it leading to another section like the famous washing machine portal at Meow Wolf in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
If she didn’t want to get caught, she didn’t have time to stare. For her 30th birthday, she rented out the entire 6,000 square feet hand-crafted, immersive art project known as MixTape by Factory Obscura. Factory Obscura’s MixTape was a multi-sensory experience that explored the emotions associated with giving or receiving music as a gift. As a gift, Krystal invited a dozen of her friends for an adults-only game of hide-and-seek. Plus, a feast of pizza, cake, and craft beer from local businesses. Her goal: have an unforgettable birthday adventure.
The round, plastic door to the washing machine was covered with a milky way wallpaper on the inside, making it impossible for Krystal to see through. Curious, she grabbed the handle–not sure if it would even open–and pulled. Inside was a fully padded room of clouds against a blue sky and bright pastel-colored pillows, matching those of the nearby cactus treehouse. On the ceiling was a scattering of fairy lights. Krystal’s face lit up in awe.
“I can hide in here,” Krystal declared as she climbed inside.
When the door latched close, soft, dreamy atmospheric music began to play inside. Krystal leaned against the pillow wall and stretched out her legs. She felt confident in her hiding spot and bet her friends wouldn’t figure out that the door opens. She tried to listen for anyone coming, but she couldn’t hear anything over the music.
After several minutes, annoyance began to settle. Krystal regarded her hiding spot as good, but not that good. She then began to wonder if it was a prank or perhaps a wholesome trick.
Maybe my friends are in the lobby together, waiting to surprise me? Krystal thought. Then I shouldn’t keep them waiting.
Krystal opened the door. A sea of socks of every color and every pattern filled the sunny outside like sand dunes. There was no way Factory Obscura could pull off such a room. To fill a place with this many socks, they would’ve had been collecting them for decades–putting out numerous calls for donations, which she would’ve seen and probably would’ve contributed to the cause too. More importantly, she then realized, was that the area was larger than the entire building.
“Hello?” Krystal called out.
No response.
She eased out one leg, keeping most of her body inside as she tapped on the ground. It was solid. Feeling safe, she gradually stepped out of the washing machine. The ground felt like standing on a pile of laundry. She looked behind the machine. Off in the distance were small buildings composed of socks and random junk.
With the small town being her only visible point of interest, she started walking. After taking several steps, the terrain began to rumble. She turned and ran back to the washing machine, but before she could reach it, the machine was flung up into the air by a giant white sock worm.
Krystal screamed. The washing machine landed far away, near the town, but it didn’t seem damaged. The stock worm was three times the size of the washer. Krystal held up her arms, bracing herself to be eaten whole.
“Hello, there,” the sock worm warmly greeted.
Krystal let her guard down. “Hi.”
“Are you new here?”
“Yeah. Where am I?”
“You’re in the Land of the Lost Things.”
“Land of lost things?” Krystal repeated. “Is this like where lost things end up?”
“Yes, but you don’t seem to be lost. We rarely get humans here. How did you get here?” the sock worm inquired with a friendly tone.
“I just got inside that washing machine,” Krystal explained while pointing to said machine, “and when I opened the door, I arrived here.”
“I don’t like that machine,” the sock worm grumbled. “I don’t like it’s creator either. Always playing tricks on people to study the universe.”
“Could you help me get back to my friends?”
“Depends. Do you consider yourself lost in life?”
“Actually, I feel like things have been looking up for me lately and that I have a purpose, a direction for once.”
“Then this won’t hurt.”
“What won’t–”
Before Krystal could finish, the sock worm opened their mouth and devoured her. Her scream muffled as the socks surrounded her, making everything go black. Everything stopped moving, and she stopped screaming.
Then she felt a bop on her head by a human hand. She pushed away the clothes in front of her face, revealing she was back at Factory Obscura in a pile of socks where the washing machine once stood.
“Found you,” her boyfriend playfully taunted.
This week’s short story was inspired by the writing prompt: “You are playing hide and seek, and decide to hide in the washing machine. You sit there for some time, but it seems like your friends gave up. You climb out, only to discover that you are on a mountain of socks. Welcome to the land, where all the lost things go.”
When thinking about this prompt, I was thinking of some way to feature adults in the story as a twist. That got me to thinking of the washing machine portal at Meow Wolf, but I didn’t want to write about that one. Instead, I made up an art piece (or really a machine from Loki and Raven) that would act as a portal to the other world. I debated on leaving Krystal in the land of the lost, but I liked the sweet line of her boyfriend finding her. Happy ending today!
Upon seeing a news story about his death, Jason visits the scene of the crime for answers.
I didn’t care about being made fun of for eating cake while watching the Friday night news. Everything was more fun with cake. It was part of my end-of-the-week ritual after my shift at the hospital. What wasn’t part of my routine was dropping my plate while seeing news about myself.
“In a strange turn of events, the serial killer known as the Isolation Cleaner has changed direction with their latest victim, Jason Sizemore,” the TV news reporter announced. Two paramedics dragged my disfigured and waterlogged body out of the river in the video clip that popped on the screen. “Police say, Jason Sizemore, Caucasian, male, age 27 is the youngest victim of the serial killer who in the past has only targeted senior citizens who lived alone. Jason was found earlier today along Green River at Fort Dent Park in Tukwila. Police are asking for any information.”
“This has to be a mistake,” I muttered as I replayed the clip on my DVR. “I must be imagining things.”
But I wasn’t mistaken. The news didn’t change when I rewatched the clip. I took a deep breath and decided I needed to know more. I searched online for directions to the park–a 15-minute drive–and grabbed my jacket, leaving my cake on the apartment floor. It’s not like I had any roommates who would complain.
Thanks to the bright yellow crime screen tape blocking a section along the Green River, finding the scene was easy enough. I was surprised to find that there weren’t any officers posted there. I hoped to speak to someone, but I took advantage of my fortune and crossed the tape. There had to be some clue still around to tell me what happened—anything as I wadded into the water.
What I did find was a bright flashlight in my face.
“What are you doing here?” the voice demanded.
“I’m Jason Sizemore, and I’m the person the police said they found earlier,” I explained, trying to see who I was speaking to, but she kept the light on my eyes. “There has to be some mistake because I’m not dead.”
I tried to step forward, but she ordered me, “Stay right there.”
“I’m staying right here,” I reassured, raising my hands while using one to shield my eyes.
“I tried to go to your house, but the address was fake.”
“I’m a private person.”
“But here you are. I had to go to great lengths to find you.”
Wait. Great lengths to find me? I thought. I had to ask, “What do you mean you went to great lengths to find me?”
“I hired some performers for a short film, which was the news clip of the police finding your body. Then I visited the local news station under the pretense of a story for my podcast. I set up a backdoor into their systems to keep tabs on them for when they would air a story about the Isolation Cleaner and replace it with you.”
As I listened to her tale, I began to recognize the voice. “You…”
She cut me off. “You got pretty cocky calling into my podcast explaining the Isolation Cleaner to me, like how you got off watching the news of your accomplishments while eating cake. But, you’re not the first serial killer I’ve tracked down and ended because I’m the Pacific Northwest Podcaster.”
I moved to run, but I wasn’t fast enough for her stun gun. I face-planted into the river, with the water filling up my lungs, unable to move.
This week’s short story was inspired by the writing prompt: “Your name, age, height, weight, and race all flash across the T.V. screen. You look in horror as you see your dead body being dragged out of a river as a reporter announces that you’ve been brutally murdered by an infamous serial killer who has been on the run for years.”
For my take, I thought I would have the prompt be a trick to lure out the real serial killer by another one, with the return of the Pacific Northwest Podcaster. One idea I had was to reveal her sooner with her interviewing him, but I decided it was best to keep the twist as late as possible.
A group of librarians in possession of a book that can make characters come to life decide to have a big Halloween party and in true literary fashion, everything goes wrong.
Not every detail of every plan goes accordingly. Even prompts to tell a story could take an unexpected direction as Katie was about to learn tonight. This young adult librarian could express countless words of joy for her love of Halloween–even if the holiday fell on a dreary Wednesday. Being in the middle of the week wasn’t going to diminish her determination to make this year the best Halloween ever, all with the help of an extraordinary book.
“Damn right,” Katie Haines confirmed as she walked down the library’s aisle of fantasy books while holding the aforementioned book. The gold lettering title, “Unbound Words,” provided a mystical sparkle that contrasted the book’s thick, black leather cover. “Now, describe me.”
Katie was an ideal candidate for reaching the books on the top shelf with her slightly above average height for a woman as she grabbed some books by Neil Gaiman. Her mouth was wide, with slightly protruding canines, and her eyes were an unusual shade of topaz. Her face gave the impression of a plotting fairy with her short haircut and a sprinkling of facial freckles, making her purple glitter fairy costume a perfect match.
“Not bad,” Katie complemented tonight’s narrator.
While holding the Unbound Words book, Katie opened the books she seized. A tornado of words and letters gushed out from the pages, popping out several fictional characters.
“Welcome to the Halloween Party of the Century!” Katie greeted with a dramatic flair. “We got food and drinks in the main lobby along with a DJ. There will be a murder mystery game later tonight, so be sure to put your name in the hat by the punch bowl if you want to play. Have fun!”
Katie made her way to the main lobby area, randomly dancing along the way. The 19,000 square foot library was able to pack a party. Earlier in the day, the staff got in trouble with the fire department for having too many people. Patrons came all over for the library’s extravagant character photo opportunity session, oblivious that the staff pulled the characters out from books.
Only the librarians knew the truth, and not even their families. When they found the Unbound Words book a few weeks ago, they swore never to discuss the magical book with outsiders. The staff was able to pass off the fictional characters as cosplayers without any problems. None of the characters could leave the library or harm real people. Though, one observation the staff made that they had no explanation for was that many of the characters would act uncharacteristically, like Dracula being a nice guy.
Katie returned to the lobby area, where the rest of the library staff gathered around the snack table. At the same time, Mad Hatter commanded the DJ booth. It was 9:30 pm, and the library was closed for the day, allowing the staff to have their private party. Katie stuffed her face with a piece of chocolate cake as the branch manager, Chuck Barkley, strolled up to her.
“I must admit, I’ve been rather impressed with how you’ve handled the unbound book,” Chuck praised. “Other than getting in trouble with the fire department for having too many people earlier today, there haven’t been any problems. Your creativity has kept everything in check and increased patron satisfaction.”
“Thanks, Chuck. Does that mean I’m getting a raise in the spring?”
Chuck laughed. “If the budget allows and nothing goes wrong.”
The kay phrase has been spoken.
“The what the what now?” Katie mumbled.
Whenever everything is going right, everything must go wrong. It’s a rule of storytelling.
“The narrator has a point,” Chuck agreed.
Katie whined. “But this is a party. Nothing has to go wrong.”
The music scratched to a stop.
“Let’s all get mad now!” the Mad Hatter laughed as he played a record backward.
All of the fictional characters covered their ears, but their effort was futile. The demonic noise had crawled into their ears. They began to laugh uncontrollably. Then, the laughter turned into madness as they all began to release their inner-crazy by destroying their surroundings, fighting each other, making loud noises, beating their chests, and so forth.
The librarians flipped over a table and ducked down behind.
“How do we get them to stop?” one of the librarians asked their group.
“If any of them touch the unbound book, they disappear,” another librarian, Amy, reminded everyone.
“But there’s too many of them,” Chuck remarked. “We need a way to kill them off at once.”
Katie glanced around the room. On the new arrives stand was a biography of American novelist George R. R. Martin. “How about we get a writer known for killing off characters.”
With Unbound Words in hand, Katie ducked and ran, narrowly avoiding food and furniture, as she grabbed the biography. She cracked open the book, and in a swirling storm of words, George R. R. Martin came to life. While Katie wasn’t a super-fan, she noticed something was off, like this fabrication wasn’t really him, and more like a stunt-double.
“Golly gee willikers, we got ourselves a mess here,” George spoke in a high-pitched voice.
Katie slapped her forehead. “Of course, the book decides to mess his character up completely.”
“Hey, there. Words can hurt people too, you know,” George sneered, reminiscent of Robin from the 1960s live-action Batman television series. “I might be different, but I can help.”
“Then, can you kill off all these characters?” Chuck said.
“Can I kill all these characters?” George mockingly laughed as he pulled out a tiny DOS computer the size of a smartphone from his pants pocket. He finger poked a paragraph’s worth of keys in a second with one hand while the other held the tiny machine. “Get a load of this.”
Dozens of white blobs erupted, taking the form of white-out white octopuses with baseball bat sized paintbrushes in each tentacle. The octopuses charged at the unruly fictional characters, brushing them out of existence. When the octopuses wiped away the last character, they turned on each other, cleaning themselves out.
“Thank you,” Katie said and then bopped the fake George on the head with the book, disintegrating him back into words.
“How are we going to clean all this up?” Amy grumbled.
Katie picked up a copy of Cinderella that had serendipitously managed to get tossed into the lobby. “That’s what Fairy Godmothers are for.”
This short story was vaguely inspired by the writing prompt: “There are some fictional characters you absolutely detest. You’ve even gone and made a list of them. Now all you have to do is hire the most ruthless killer of fictional characters you know; George R. R. Martin.” As you can tell, I basically had George save the day by killing a bunch of fictional characters to keep it in line with my universe.
I’m working on a book staring Katie and the Unbound Words book, which has her deal with an enormous problem the book causes. If you missed it, I wrote about Chuck in another short story, Moral Compass.
Thank you for your support and for reading this week’s short story!
The writing group Janet is a part of takes a turn for the weird when two strangers interrupt with peculiar questions and challenges Janet’s curiosity to walk through a mysterious golden door.
There was no time nor day that Janet Nguyen looked forward to the most then Sunday from 2 to 4 pm–even more than her sixteenth birthday tomorrow. She exclusively reserved the weekly two-hour block for the library’s teen girl writers’ meet-up. The eight girls were eclectic in numerous aspects, which Janet loved the diverse voices, genre fans, and writing styles. Fantasy and alternative realties sparked Janet’s passion the most. Even though everyone was different, they were all united by their passion for sharing stories.
Making the group jibe smoothly together was their leader (or coach as she preferred), Brigit. Janet would find herself enthralled whenever Brigit talked about home in Egypt and Egyptian history. While as fascinating as Brigit was, about once a month, she bought in a special guest. A few months ago, their coach brought in an international travel writer to talk about her profession. Then last month she was able to bring a famous YouTube science teacher to discuss proper science in fiction. Janet was able to learn and be inspired by every guest.
Today, they weren’t expecting a special guest, but two busted into the room with energetic enthusiasm. Everyone stared at the newcomers. The first was a man in a white suit with pink outline accents and a woman in a cotton red dress–the kind one would wear to work–holding a tablet. Both had raven-black hair, with man’s short and messy and the woman’s long and free-flowing.
“Hello, everybody!” the man greeted with a booming flair. He slapped both hands on the table, looked everyone in the eye, and asked, “What does it feel like to write?”
Something about their appearance and accent made Janet think they were Norwegian. They were quite peculiar, Janet thought. Who asks a room full of authors what it feels like to write? Janet looked to her coach for her reaction. Brigit had her arms crossed with her back leaning against the wall, making Janet suspect Brigit planned for these guests.
Janet half expected Ashley to jump up with an answer. When she didn’t, Janet looked over at her. A dreamy adoring gaze covered Ashley’s face. With no one jumping in, Janet stood up, as custom when speaking in the group. “It’s beautiful.”
The women in the red dress typed on the tablet while the man focused on Janet. He grinned. “What’s beautiful about it?”
“The impact the stories have on people,” Janet explained, firm in her conviction. “Like, how you can change the world, or simply bring joy to one person.”
The man copied Brigit’s crossed arms and posture against the wall as he stood next to the coach. He turned to her. “You got a smart group here, Brigit.”
Brigit nodded. “Thank you, Loki.”
Loki turned to the woman in the red dress. “What do you say, Raven? Do you like her?”
“Janet Nguyen appears to be a suitable test candidate,” Raven commented, looking up from her tablet at Brigit and Loki. “I’ve already placed the attachment on your door, Brigit.”
Brigit stood forward. “Excellent.” She snapped her fingers. “Janet, would you go through that door?”
The group of girls turned around. A lavish golden door with a round top and encased in a matching metal frame stood tall in the back of the room. Attached to the side by the door handle was a red box the size of a brick. The door wasn’t there earlier, and none of the girls had ever seen their coach bring it before.
Janet turned to her coach. “Where did that door come from?”
“You’re a writer,” Brigit told her. “Use that curiosity of yours and open it.”
Janet took a deep breath and walked toward the door. The whole room had their eyes glued on her, which Janet could feel them watching her like a lab rat. She gripped the glistening golden lever, pushed it down, and carefully open the door. A bright golden light washed over her.
Bridget woke up in her bed with a hazy head. The morning sun broke through her purple silk curtains, slashing across her face and adding to her disorientation.
She grabbed her black, cat-eye plastic-framed glasses from her nightstand and put them on. Her vision got worse. She took them off and could clearly see her various figurines of fairies and dragons on the black bookcase across the room. She did a double-take and put the glasses back on. Again, she couldn’t see. Everything was in focus when she wasn’t wearing them.
“That’s weird,” Janet mumbled.
She tossed off the purple blankets covering her, revealing her black jeans, dolphin t-shirt, and red sneakers. She even had her bra on, which no matter how tired she was, she would’ve taken it off, along with her shoes. Then it dawned on her. It was the same outfit she was wearing yesterday at the writer’s club.
“That was a dream, right?” she questioned.
Before she could answer, her parents burst into the room with a breakfast tray with a plate of French toast, scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and a chocolate cupcake decorated with a flaming candle. Janet smiled at the sight of her favorite foods.
“Happy Sixteenth Birthday!” her mom and dad shouted in unison.
Janet’s dad brought the tray to her. “Blow out out your candle.”
Janet blew out the candle, her breath releasing an icy wind that sprinkled snowflakes on her father’s arm. Janet slapped her hand over the mouth when she saw what she did. Her mother began to cry.
“She has magic powers,” her mother cried in Korean to her husband. “I thought she would turn 16 and not reveal any magic. Now they’re going to take my baby away.”
“Who’s going to take me away?” Janet demanded in English. “What’s going on?”
“You know what’s going to happen,” her father chastised as if she should know. “Magic is illegal. The government is going to detect your magic and arrest you.”
“What?” Janet snapped. “You can’t be serious?”
A massive bang of wood breaking erupted from downstairs. All three of them jumped from the sound of the intrusion.
“Magic is active on the second floor!” a voice commanded from below. “Apprehend the caster!”
Boots pounded on the wooden steps. Her father sat the tray on the nightstand, ushering his wife to the side of the room, providing a clear path for the squad of army troops that stormed into the room. Janet stared, dumbfounded and anxious, at the four armed men and women as they raised their guns her. Janet’s parents embraced each other, turning their heads away from the scene. Janet’s jaw dropped in confusion as to why her parents would uncharacteristic be so willing to give her away. Why aren’t they doing anything?
The soldiers exchanged confirming glances before tasing Janet unconscious.
The harsh cold from the concrete floor woke Janet up this time. She found herself alone, behind bars, in an abandoned prison. From the lack of modern amenities, she bet the government decommissioned the place decades ago. The only light entering the cell was from the yellow, flickering fluorescent light in the hallway and the glow of the full moon behind her barred window.
With a grasp of her surroundings, she inspected herself. She wasn’t bleeding, so that was good. Nothing felt broken either. She hadn’t been forced into a different outfit, but a stiff metal collar was now around her neck.
Janet desperately wanted to call out to confirm if she was alone or not, but she didn’t want to alert the wrong people. Part of her wanted to be alone to process how she had ice breath, why her parents betrayed her, and what was going to happen to her next. She got an answer to latter, though, when someone tapped on the window bars. She let out a tiny screech before she noticed the cute teenage boy. His green eyes twinkled with a sparkle of kindness.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized in a hushed voice.
“Who are you?” Janet whispered back.
“I’m here to break you out.”
“How?”
With his bare hands, he ripped off the window bars like a person opening a tight jar and gently tossed them on the pavement outside. “Like so. Now come on before the patrol checks in,” he said still keeping his voice quiet.
“How did you do that?” Janet asked astounded.
“Vampire super strength. I’ll explain more later, but we need to get you to safety.”
Janet grabbed his outreached hand. He whisked her into her arms and flew into the sky. Down below, a pair of soldiers arrived examining the damage. The vampire put a hand around her neck, crushing the collar and letting it fall onto the Arizona desert.
“They won’t be able to track you now, and you’ll be able to use your magic again,” he explained. “But don’t the moment you do use any magic, they’ll be able to track it, so don’t cast anything unless absolutely necessary.”
“Okay, I won’t,” Janet assured. “I don’t even know how anyway.”
“If the council is right, it should come naturally for you since you’re the chosen one. The one whose sixteenth birthday falls on a full moon. The one destined to overthrow the fascist anti-magic government.”
“What the fuck?” Janet cussed, confused. She wasn’t one to swear, but the transgression felt justified. “I’m what?”
“It will all make sense when you meet with the Council of Casters.”
The name hit Janet like a crashing car of familiarity. She took a hard look at her savor.
“Is your name Zadicus?”
“Why, yes,” he replied, impressed. “How did you know?”
“Because I created you! I create this whole world where magic is normal but illegal. This all happens in a story I’m writing. But how is this possible?”
Zadicus shrugged. “Perhaps the council will have the answers you seek.”
“Brigit…” Janet uttered. “Zadicus, take me to the downtown library.”
“At this hour? They’re closed. I should get you to–”
“No, take me to the library,” Janet insisted. “I have the feeling someone will be there waiting for me.”
“As you wish.”
Zadicus changed course, flying toward the city, out of the desert. Along the journey, Janet noticed all the public art in her town was gone, and anti-magic propaganda replaced the billboard advertisements. “Protect Our Children: Root Out the Casters.” “See Magic? Say Something!” “Make America Magic Free.” Janet wanted to barf.
As requested, Zadicus slowly landed Janet by the downtown library. As she suspected (and secretly prayed), the golden door stood outside by the main entrance of the modern design building. Loki, Raven, and Brigit played a game of cards from a patio table beside the door.
Brigit sat her cards on the table. “Looks like we all lost. She came back much sooner than excepted.”
“Perhaps another time, her path will take a detour,” Raven chimed in as Janet marched up to the table with her fits balled up.
“How the hell did you make my book come to life?” Janet demanded.
“Science you wouldn’t understand,” Loki responded with smug superiority.
“Whatever…Just get me home.”
“Go through the door and pretend nothing happened,” Brigit explained with a seductive calmness that made Janet relax her hands. “Emphasis on the latter.”
Janet huffed in relief and opened the door. Like before, a golden light swept over her as she stepped through. Janet found herself back in the library, walking through the door as if she had been plucked out of time and space to visit another world and returned precisely where and how she had left. She turned around, looking through the doorframe back at the writers’ club.
“Is something supposed to happen?” Ashely snidely remarked.
“And that’s the power of using distraction to create intrigue,” Bridget proclaimed. “While Loki and Raven had your attention, none of you noticed the librarian wheeling in my door. You all thought it was magic. Now, I want you all to remember this lesson for your own stories. You can set up plot elements without revealing them right when they happen. Distracting your characters will distract your readers too. That’s all for this week. I hope to see you girls again next week.”
As the girls gathered their belongings, Janet closed the door, making sure not to cross through the frame. Loki and Raven left the room with the group, making Janet the last one to go with Brigit holding the door open.
As Janet left, clinging tightly to her backpack, her coach whispered, “I hope you were especially inspired, Janet.”
Extending past 2,100 words, this is my longest short story so far this year. This story was inspired by two different writing prompts. The first was, “‘Hello, everyone! What does it feel like to write?’ Everyone in the room looked at the newcomer who had just burst in. They were quite peculiar, after all, who asks a room full of authors what it feels like to write? But you were willing to humor them, so you stood up to answer the question.”
Using the first prompt, I got to the point of the golden door, but over the week, I couldn’t decide happened to Janet on the other side until I got inspired by another prompt: “In a world where magic is real but illegal, you’re being hunted down for showing magical prowess on your birthday.”
With that second bit of inspiration, I had the other side be one of Janet’s stories. As long as this story turned out, there is room to make it longer. I make a joke at the end with everyone being surprised Janet got back so fast.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this week’s short story.
During an archaeological dig, Hyria found an unusual coin that she shared of photo of on social media. By doing so, she attracted some unwanted attention, forcing her dog to reveal he can talk.
Snuggled warmly in layers of blankets, Hyria released a happy yawn. Her mother’s friends were gracious enough to provide her with a place to sleep while working on her research project nearby. She couldn’t have asked for a more picturesque location than the countryside house they had outside Naples, Italy. Plus, they were awesome enough to let her bring Ace, her black Labrador Retriever.
Hyria couldn’t bear to be without Ace. He was her “Ace up the sleeve” and always there to protector her. As for their origin story, she found him when he came to her aid when someone tried to mug her. She looked around the tiny, cozy guest room for her precious old boy.
“He must be outside,” Hyria shrugged as she flopped back on the bed.
For the first time in ages, her plans for the day were going to be laid-back. She needed the chill day. Following her mother’s career path, she had received a grant that allowed her to join the archeological dig at Herculaneum. The ancient city was on the western base of Mount Vesuvius, which was destroyed—together with Pompeii, Torre Annunziata, and Stabiae—by the Vesuvius eruption of 79 CE.
She didn’t find much during her excavation–mostly household items–but yesterday, she found a purple coin depicting a muscular man on both sides. Although she knew she shouldn’t, she pocked the relic. In her defense, she believed it was modern due to its mint condition and intricate detail. Still, to be positive, she shared a picture on social media, asking for background information. With the grant depleted, she hoped she would discover some great local food and wine during her free time before going home.
Curious if she had gotten any replies about the coin overnight, she stretched her arm out to her cellphone on the rustic seashell white wooden bedside dresser. Without sitting up, she woke up her phone. On the notification was a comment from her mother on the coin post.
“Delete this photo and call me ASAP!” the message read.
Before she could swipe open her phone, Ace leaped on her bed, purposely stepped on her stomach, and got in her face.
“Okay, Ace,” Hyria groaned. “What do you want, boy?”
“Sorry, I know this is out of nowhere, and I thought we had more time, but we have to go.”
“Did-did, you just talk?” she stuttered.
“Yes, and we need to get going.”
Ace bit on the blankets and pulled them off Hyria. Hyria tossed on the clothes she had already set out for the day from the night before.
“Have you always been able to talk?” she questioned as she put on her jeans.
“Yes.”
“Why, just now?”
“Your father didn’t want me too.”
“Wait,” she paused as she dropped her shirt over herself, “you mean my step-dad?”
“No, your biological father.”
“Henry? But he’s dead.”
“That’s not,” Ace started to correct but then stopped. “We need to get going.”
Hyria tied her shoelaces and stood up. “Lead the way.”
“You know that coin you kept for yourself?”
“I was going to return it,” she immediately defended.
“If you didn’t take it, I would’ve put it on your bag.”
“Oh.”
“Now grab it and keep it in your hand. You might need its power.”
Ace ran out the door. Hyria pocked her cellphone and keys and grabbed the coin, which she held onto as requested. She chased Ace down the quiet wooden steps into the living room.
“There’s a lot you’re not telling me.”
“In due time,” Ace whispered as they ran to the front door.
They were alone. Hyria assumed her host family had already left for work or the market. Everyone came and went without much communication, which was kind of annoying but also kind of refreshing compared to her mother’s constant contact. Though now, she was starting to wonder what her mother hadn’t been telling her.
Hyria opened the front door. Ace bolted toward the car parked beside the house while Hyria closed the door behind. Locking the door wasn’t a concern. After all, they were in the middle of the countryside.
She ran to the car while Ace started to bark at the sky. Confused, she looked up as the wind raced around her. Floating down on a flying motorcycle, a humanoid shark-like alien landed between her and her car. Decked in a neon blue suit and wrap-around sunglasses, Hyria felt tiny as the colossal creature stood up and marched toward her. Ace growled, signaling to Hyria this wasn’t a peaceful alien.
“Give me the coin,” the alien calmly demanded.
“Sorry, but it’s not for sale.”
“I’m not here to buy it.”
The alien lunged at Hyria. Ace tried to attack his legs, but the alien kicked him with his black boots, sending Ace flying, hitting the side at the house. Hyria screamed out in rage and punched her attacker in the gut, sending him back several meters down the hill.
“Holy shit,” Hyria cussed. “How did I do that?”
“That’s the power of the coin you possess,” Ace explained as he approached her side, uninjured. “Your father made that coin after losing a bet, but it was lost when Mount Vesuvius erupted nearly two thousand years ago.”
“Wait,” Hyria interrupted. “Who in the hell is my father?”
“Hades.”
Hyria soaked in what Ace revealed. “Like… the Greek god?”
“The very one.”
“Anything else important you want to drop on me?”
“Well, we’re out of the canned dog food.”
This week’s short story was inspired by the writing prompt: “You wake up one day to your dog sitting beside your bed. He suddenly speaks and says, ‘Sorry, I know this is out of nowhere and I thought we had more time but we have to go.'”
