After getting off the San Francisco trolly, a young woman receives a notification on her phone about two unread prophecies. When the first one comes true, her curiosity compiles her to investigate the second one, despite its danger.
Claudia could not think of a single previous instance of taking the San Francisco trolly with practically no other riders. There was another person, a woman with long, curly blue hair. Claudia considered dying her hair blue, but all of her friends insisted she kept her natural red hair. As she marveled over the woman’s blue hair, Claudia wondered how expensive and how long was the process to get such vibrate color for hair that went down to the knees.
The woman with blue hair glanced at Claudia, prompting Claudia to look away. The stranger smirked and looked out the window.
“Don’t stare,” Claudia whispered to herself.
Claudia turned her attention back to the empty trolly. The lack of people was nice at first, but as no one else boarded, the entire trip began to feel like a bad omen. Where is everyone? Is there a big event going on? Did something terrible happen? She could feel the whole trolly getting wider and bigger with each passing moment while the other passenger was jamming out to tunes on her headphones.
When Claudia’s stop finally arrived, she bolted out, nearly tripping on the steps on her way out. She could feel her face light up on fire with embarrassment, but the driver didn’t seem to notice as they said nothing and carried forward.
“What was that all about, Claudia?” she said to herself. “Come on, now.”
Claudia spent her first minute of freedom letting the world resize back to normal. She focused on her breathing and then listened to the sounds of the city. Feeling composed, she realized she hadn’t looked at her phone since leaving the coffee shop. She pulled out her iPhone from her laptop bag.
On the phone was a notification: “You have two unread prophecies.”
Claudia re-read the notification three times to ensure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. She thought this might’ve been something from one of her games getting her attention, but none of those had anything to do with prophecies. She tapped the banner, which brought her to her text messages.
The first message warned: “Watch out for the firebird.”
Claudia scratched her head. “There’s no such thing as a firebird.”
Curious, she scrolled down to the following message, which warned, “A woman in a black dress with a matching briefcase and a pink scarf will get off the next bus. A man in a brown suit and a brown briefcase will follow her and kill her.”
“That’s specifically odd.” Claudia put her phone back in her bag. She then corrected herself. “Or oddly specific, but totally fake still.”
As she snapped her bag close, a pair of car headlights blasted her eyes. She looked up to a red convertible with a flaming bird painted on the hood swerving in her direction on the sidewalk. She leaped out of the way, avoiding the car. The careless driver continued to weave down the hill and around a corner.
“Idiot,” she grumbled. She paused, remembering the warning. “But there was a firebird on it.”
Claudia pulled out her phone again and re-read the second message. Consumed with curiosity, she decided to cross the street, placing her opposite of the bus stop, and waited.
She scrolled through her Instagram feed, catching up with news from her favorite local businesses and friends. There weren’t any major or terrible events she saw that would’ve warranted the trolley’s lack of people. I guess I didn’t miss out on anything, she thought. While scrolling, she kept an eye out for the bus after every few posts. The sun was almost gone, and the night was starting to take over.
She wasn’t sure what she would do if the message was true. She figured if she followed the woman, the man wouldn’t make a move on her with someone else present.
Safety in numbers, she remembered her parents drilling in her head.
As Claudia read a post about the Museum of Ice Cream, the bus approached the stop. She kept her phone out, pretending to be a typical millennial glued to the phone as the bus let out passengers. The leaving bus revealed an Asian woman in a black dress with a pink scarf. She held a black briefcase as she walked up a flight of steps with a Caucasian man in a brown suit and briefcase following her.
Claudia’s jaw dropped. “Well, fuck.”
Claudia looked both ways before jogging across the street, following the two up the stairs. The unassuming and easily missed concrete staircase provided a passage to the Ashbury Heights neighborhood and scenic city views. The woman continued up the street, walking along the sidewalk with the man not too far behind and Claudia not far behind him either. She caught strong gusts of the man’s tobacco and oak scented cologne that almost made her gag. She thought for a moment that her reaction would’ve drawn too much attention, but both strangers marched forward like they were eager to get home after a long day.
They walked past a dozen houses to a turn in the road, revealing the tiny thousand square-foot park, Mount Olympus. Claudia remembered one of her friends telling her this place was once considered the city’s geographical center. With a name like Mount Olympus, her first and only visit shattered Claudia’s grandiose expectations with disappointment. There was just an empty pedestal for a lost statue, and any views of the city were obstructed by trees and condominiums. Nothing had changed since her last visit, with the expectation that there were even fewer viewing spots of the city.
Claudia kept back as the woman walked up the stairs to the top by the pedestal and waited. The man joined her.
“Cats are dangerous creatures,” the woman said to the man.
“Not as dangerous as birds,” the man replied.
“You have the item?” the woman asked.
The man tapped on his briefcase. “I thought it would only be fitting to sell The Ring of Olympus here.”
The two exchanged briefcases. While the woman looked inside the briefcase given to her, the man reached inside the side of his jacket.
Thinking she saw a holster for a gun, she shouted, “He has a gun!”
The woman looked up at the man and immediately swung the briefcase at his face, knocking him out. As he hit the ground, a gun slid across the concrete. The woman walked over and kicked the weapon even more out of reach.
The woman looked down at Claudia. “Thanks for the warning. Are you okay?”
“I feel like I should be asking you that,” Claudia replied as she revealed herself.
The woman laughed as she walked down the stairs. “It’s my job to protect people.”
The woman extended her hand out. Claudia studied the friendly gesture for a moment before shaking her hand. The woman’s silver bracelet flashed a calm, blue light, rendering Claudia unconscious. The woman grabbed and gently laid Claudia down. She seized Claudia’s phone and tapped the screen with her bracelet, unlocking the device. She went straight to the messages, finding the prophecies.
The woman held two fingers on her bracelet and spoke into it, “Hey, I got a situation of another naive human getting one of those ‘prophecies’ to our operations. We really need to figure out who is sending these messages to people. We can’t risk getting exposed.”
From the balcony of a condominium across from the park, the blue-haired woman on the trolly with Claudia earlier spun and danced with a gigantic grin plastered across her face. She paused, leaning on the steel balcony rail as she watched backup arrive for the agent. Her grin grew even wider.
“Looks like you hit a nerve, Veritas,” she praised herself as she spun around to her freestanding door. “I’ll soon expose your villainous fraction to your organization.”
Next to Veritas was a freestanding rustic wooden door with blue glass panels and leafy, brown swirls. She opened the door, traveling back in time to watch the aftermath of the first prophecy text message she sent to a person in Hoquiam, Washington. She closed and opened the door, rewatching the scene of her prophecy text in Augusta, Maine. She closed and opened her door several times, rewatching the endings of all of her escapades. She took a long look at the one in Atlanta, Georgia. When she closed the door, her smile snapped straight.
Veritas pulled out a tablet from the air. “I think it’s time to conclude this quest and force them to reveal their truth, and who better than a journalist to do the job.”
For this short story, I wanted to expand on the mystery of, “You have 1 unread prophecy.” No prompt inspiration this time. I chose to write about San Francisco because I was thinking about Oklahoma City’s streetcars and then thought about the trolly system there. I looked around Google maps, learning about Mount Olympus, and thought that would be an interesting focal point.
For this story, I wanted to show the same thing happening to another person, but when I finished the first draft, I felt like the story was basically an alternative version with nothing new. I thought the plot over and decided to use this story to reveal the person behind the prophecy message: the end-timer, Veritas. As I shared in the story, Veritas is obsessed with the truth. She never tells a lie and believes the universe’s lies and secrets brought its downfall.
As hinted in the story’s ending, I’ve released a third story to conclude this saga. “You Have 3 Unread Prophecies” follows a morning news show host who receives three tips on his phone about the future as he spends time with his sister.
Thank you to Janine De Guzman for the fantastic scene artwork!
Drawn by an urban legend about a mysterious abandoned village, Haley “The Sounds” Riot and Robin Bee embark on an eerie adventure to uncover the truth. With Haley’s future-predicting music player in hand, the duo navigates the overgrown ruins, unraveling the secrets of a community that vanished without a trace.
UPDATE January 17, 2025: As part of a new story release, this episode has been updated to expand details and overall improve.
Haley Riot tugged on the purple musical note dangling from the retractable band around her neck. Her brand-new networker, sleek and stylized like two beamed eighth notes, sprang to life, projecting a glowing three-dimensional map into the air above her palm. The holographic display revealed their position deep within the woods, surrounded by dense clusters of trees and faint, winding trails. Beside the map hovered a swirling collage of digital postings and fragmented news clippings, each one steeped in mystery. Words like “buried treasure,” “unsolved murders,” and “ghostly apparitions” floated amidst the blur of images. Yet none of the accounts provided proof—only tales of explorers who vanished after daring to venture too close.
Haley’s jaw tightened as she studied the display, her green eyes flicking from one piece of information to the next. After solving the murder at the Kruder Hotel, she felt a pull toward unraveling more mysteries–and to better understand the enigmatic music player had a knack for predicting the future.
Behind her, Robin Bee dropped onto a moss-covered log with an audible sigh, the weight of their trek visible in the slump of her shoulders. Sweat glistened on her blue-tinted skin, her ghaukvoi physiology doing little to stave off the oppressive heat. She fanned herself halfheartedly, her gaze flicking to Haley with a mix of exasperation and curiosity.
“How much farther?” Robin asked, wiping her brow. Her tone teetered between a complaint and genuine curiosity.
Haley flicked her wrist, dismissing the glowing map with a fluid motion. The vibrant projections dissolved, allowing the woods to reclaim their shadows. “Just down this hill,” she said, pointing toward a steep incline ahead. “We’re close.”
Robin let out a low groan, leaning back against the log. “Good. I didn’t think this hike was going to turn into an endurance test.”
Haley adjusted the strap of her backpack, a sly grin playing across her face. “You really need to let me train you at the parkour gym. Besides,” she added, with a teasing glance over her shoulder, “it wouldn’t be an abandoned village if there was a light rail stop nearby.”
Robin chuckled, sitting upright to meet Haley’s gaze. “Fair point.” She gestured toward the pocket where Haley kept the music player. “So, does your magic music box have any sage advice for us before we get there? Or is it saving the ominous warnings for later?”
Haley hesitated, caught between Robin’s teasing tone and the very real questions gnawing at her own mind. Solving one murder with the music player’s cryptic guidance hadn’t erased Haley’s own doubts about the device. She fished the small device from her pocket and posed a question.
“What should we know before we approach the village?” she asked aloud then pressed the shuffle button. She read the answer for Robin. “‘Endless War.’”
Robin’s exasperated sigh was immediate. “Well, that’s reassuring,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’m ready to head out whenever you are.”
Haley frowned, tucking the music player back into her pocket. The title nagged at her, but no immediate answers came to mind. “Let’s go,” she muttered, leading the way downhill.
The steep descent forced Haley to watch her step as loose soil and jagged rocks shifted underfoot. The air seemed heavier as they ventured deeper, and the dense canopy above dimmed the sunlight. A sudden sting sliced across her calf.
“Ouch!” she yelped, glancing down to see a thin red scratch on her pale skin.
“You okay?” Robin asked, her tone sharp with concern as she stopped a few paces behind.
Haley rubbed the fresh scratch on her leg, frowning. “Something scratched me.”
Robin’s amused grin flickered as she brushed a stray leaf from her jeans. “Told you to wear pants like me,” she teased, but her smirk vanished when a sharp gust scraped across her shin. “Ow! What the—something scratched me, too.”
When Robin got scratched, Haley knew her imagination wasn’t playing tricks. While Haley was human, Robin’s thick, blue ghaukvoi skin was far tougher than her own. Before they could investigate, another sharp sting raked across their legs, then another.
“Damn it!” Haley cursed as she and Robin swatted at their legs and stumbled forward, trying to escape the invisible assault. The stinging gusts persisted, driving them downhill at a frantic pace. The attacks subsided as they reached the bottom of the hill.
Robin collapsed onto a rock, rubbing her legs as her golden eyes scanned the underbrush for their unseen attackers. A faint rustling in the tall grass caught her attention. She squinted, focusing on the chaotic movement of tiny figures.
“Wind ants,” Robin said, her voice equal parts irritation and relief.
“Wind ants?” Haley repeated, brushing dirt and leaves from her scratched calves.
Robin nodded, pointing at the shimmering insects. Their translucent bodies glimmered faintly in the dappled light as they hurled concentrated gusts of wind at one another, their movements erratic and aggressive.
“They’re territorial little bugs that attack with air currents. I read about them on the light rail,” Robin said, her tone flat. “Looks like two colonies are fighting for this hill.”
Haley’s face lit up with sudden realization. “Like they’re in an endless war!”
Robin crossed her arms and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s… a bit of a stretch.”
“But it makes sense,” Haley said, the sting of the scratches forgotten in her enthusiasm. “Come on. We’re here.”
Nature had reclaimed much of the remote settlement. Vines crept along the cobblestone walls, and moss blanketed the domed roofs of the small homes. According to Haley’s research, the settlement once housed around twenty-five people who had chosen to live off the grid. A dozen dome-shaped residences encircled a now-crumbling community center, all constructed from the same brown cobblestones that had grown mottled and soft with time. Wild, overgrown gardens sprawled between the buildings, their tangled vegetation reclaiming the paths and open spaces that once connected the villagers.
“This place is actually kind of cute,” Robin admitted, scanning the area with appreciation and unease. “Not sure I’d feel the same way at night, though.”
Haley chuckled, shifting the weight of her backpack. “Good thing we’ve still got plenty of daylight to work with.”
Robin’s eyes lingered on the abandoned homes. “So, where do we start?”
Haley scanned the overgrown village, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the domed houses. “Let’s check out a few of the houses first. I want to make sure this place really is abandoned.”
Robin gave a short nod. “Lead the way.”
They approached the nearest house, the wooden door hanging askew, its rusted hinges bent like twisted metal joints. Haley knocked, her knuckles thudding against the weathered wood. “Hello?” she called, her voice cutting through the still air.
The door groaned as it shifted slightly under her knock, the sound scraping against their ears. Robin stiffened when the hinges screeched, the noise crawling up her spine. Haley pressed her hand to the door and pushed, the rough wood dragging under her palm. The gap widened enough for her to step through, her flashlight cutting into the shadows.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” Haley’s voice rose as she moved cautiously into the house.
Robin hesitated, her golden eyes flicking toward the trees behind them before she followed. The air inside was dense, carrying the damp smell of rotting wood and mildew. Haley’s flashlight swept across the room, revealing a single space using furniture to create distinct areas. A dining table stood at the center, chairs tucked perfectly beneath. Candles lined the shelves and windowsills, their wicks blackened but unlit, dust clinging to their bases. The whole place felt to them like the occupants had simply walked out.
As Haley examined the dining area, the liquid in the oil lantern on the table shimmered faintly, reflecting the light from her networker. Beside the lantern was a small bottle of oil for refilling. She lifted the dusty lantern, tilting it back and forth.
“They really did live off-grid,” Haley said, returning the lantern and picking up the bottle of oil. “I don’t think I’ve seen oil like this. I wonder if they made it from some nearby plants?”
Robin opened a nearby cabinet, revealing rows of glass bottles. “I wouldn’t say they were entirely off the grid,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like they had a pretty impressive alcohol collection.”
Haley tucked the small oil bottle into her backpack as she walked over to peer into the cabinet. “Huh. Interesting.” She ran her fingers over the dusty bottle labels, her brow furrowing. “It’s strange, though. It feels like whoever lived here left in a hurry, but why didn’t they come back?”
“Maybe they didn’t get the chance,” Robin said. “Want to head back?”
Haley’s response was immediate. “Not yet. I want to check a few more houses and then see what’s inside that big building.”
The next three homes told the same unsettling story: dust-covered belongings abandoned in place, as if the occupants had simply vanished. Clothes remained folded in drawers, canned food lined the shelves, and keepsakes sat untouched on tables.
In the fourth house, something caught Haley’s eye—a crimson wooden spoon resting on the kitchen counter. She picked it up, running her fingers along its smooth surface. The sight triggered a vivid memory of the day she met Robin. Haley had decided to try a different coffee shop out when Robin spotted Haley with her rainbow hair, thinking Haley would be the perfect test subject for Robin’s new recipe. Haley could still feel the warmth of that moment—the way Robin had playfully shoved a rainbow muffin into her mouth with a spoon just like this one, her laughter filling the room.
A soft smile spread across Haley’s face as she slipped the spoon into her pocket, the memory lingering like a warm ember. Stepping outside, she turned to Robin. “Same story as the others.”
Robin crossed her arms. “I’m curious. If everyone here disappeared, how did you hear about this place?”
Haley strolled through the overgrown courtyard, recalling the story. “It was kind of random, actually. One day, I was waiting for you to get off work, sipping my latte, and overheard this conversation at the next table. They were talking about weird, unexplained stuff, and one of them brought up the Babylon Sisters Village. Apparently, they came out here to deliver something for a wedding but got delayed. When they finally arrived, the place was empty—completely abandoned. That stuck with me. So, I started digging, but there wasn’t much to find. It’s a tiny community, after all. I did see a few posts from people saying they wanted to explore the area themselves, but none of them ever followed up.”
Robin frowned. “What do you mean, ‘never followed up’? Like, they didn’t go?”
“Maybe,” Haley said, hesitating for a beat. “Or… maybe they disappeared, too.”
Robin raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And you’re not worried about disappearing?”
Haley smirked and held up her music player. “Not when I’ve got this.” When Robin gave her a skeptical look, she quickly added, “And you, of course.”
“Smooth,” Robin muttered. She gestured toward the music player. “That thing tell you how this all started?”
Haley tilted the device, as if consulting an oracle. “What caused everyone to disappear?” she asked, then tapped the shuffle button. The screen displayed the words: “My Heart is Burning.”
Robin tilted her head. “That’s—”
“Don’t finish that thought,” Haley interrupted, holding up the device again. “How does Robin feel about that news?” She tapped shuffle and grinned at the result. “Okay, now finish.”
“Spooky,” Robin deadpanned.
Haley showed her the song title on the screen, “Spooky,” prompting an exaggerated eye roll from Robin. “You set me up,” Robin muttered.
“What? Me?” Haley replied, feigning innocence. “I would never.”
Robin rolled her eyes so dramatically it was almost theatrical, then nodded toward the large dome structure at the heart of the village. “Okay, enough games. Let’s check that building now.”
“Right behind you,” Haley said, her playful smirk softening as she followed.
Blocking the wide double doors was a massive wooden crate, stamped with the logo for the retailer, Journal of Ardency, in bold, black ink. Haley ran her fingers along the weathered surface, noting the rough texture and faint splinters catching the edges of her palm. The crate looked old but sturdy, the sheer size sparked wonder about the contents.
“Let’s take a peek,” Haley said, prying the top loose with little effort. She lifted the lid just enough to shine her flashlight inside. The beam revealed a disorganized collection of wedding supplies: crumpled lace tablecloths, shimmering gold runners dulled by time, and unopened bundles of pale pink napkins. Compostable plates and cutlery were crammed into one corner, their packaging slightly yellowed with age.
Haley reached in and pulled out a chair cover embroidered with the word “Mr.” in elegant script. She turned to Robin with a proud smile.
**
“Look! This must be the wedding supplies that were left here!”
Robin ran her fingers over the fabric, feeling the soft, slightly dusty material. “This is nice. I wonder why this box is blocking the doors, though?”
“Good question.” Haley stepped back, planting her hands on the crate and giving it a hard shove. It didn’t budge. She frowned, leaning her weight into it, her boots scraping against the ground as she struggled. “What the…? Why is this thing so heavy?”
Robin crossed her arms, one brow arched in mild amusement. “Maybe it’s not supposed to move?”
Haley shot her a mock-annoyed look. “Or maybe it’s just packed to the brim. Come on, help me out?”
Robin sighed with theatrical exaggeration but couldn’t suppress the hint of a smirk. “Fine. Let’s see what’s behind this thing.”
Together, they pressed against the crate, their combined strength forcing the bulky container with a loud, grating scrape. Finally, after one last push, the crate slid far enough to clear the double doors.
Both women straightened, catching their breath. Robin adjusted her backpack and gestured toward the now-cleared doors. “Moment of truth.”
The scene inside stopped them both in their tracks. Sunlight poured through the tall, arched windows, casting golden beams across a reception hall that looked like a blank canvas for guests who never arrived. Polished wooden floors gleamed under the light, their surface so smooth the room reflected back like a mirror. The air carried a faint, almost sweet scent—like flowers long since wilted but lingering despite the lack of any plants in sight.
“Whoa,” Robin murmured, her voice low with awe. “This… isn’t what I expected.”
Haley stepped forward cautiously, her boots echoing softly against the floor. “It’s spotless,” she said, her tone edged with unease.
Robin scanned the room, her expression darkening. “All those houses we saw were covered in dust. Why isn’t this?”
Haley felt a chill creep along her spine as her gaze landed on the room’s centerpiece: a massive red rug sprawled across the floor. The fabric shimmered faintly, its crimson hue seeming to ripple like water under the sunlight.
“Check out that rug,” Haley said, pointing. “Looks… out of place, doesn’t it?”
Robin caught Haley’s arm as she took a step closer. “Wait. Something’s not right.”
Haley turned to her, frowning. “What do you mean?”
Robin’s golden eyes narrowed, fixed on the rug. “It’s too clean in here. Too perfect. This doesn’t fit with the rest of the village.”
Haley pulled her music player from her pocket. She whispered, “What danger should we be aware of here?” Her finger hovered before pressing the button.
The screen lit up with a single word: “Quicksand.”
Haley glanced at Robin, her mouth slightly agape. “Quicksand?” she repeated softly.
Robin stiffened. “Quicksand… in here?”
Haley didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into her pocket, pulling out the wooden spoon she’d found earlier. With a quick toss, she flung the spoon onto the rug.
The change was instantaneous. The fabric jolted, snapping shut like the jaws of a predatory beast. The spoon disappeared into the folds, vanishing without a trace.
Robin’s voice sliced through the stunned silence. “Run!”
The rug began to undulate, rippling and slithering toward them with unnatural speed. The couple bolted for the doors, slamming them shut behind them. They shoved the massive crate back into place with frantic urgency, their breaths coming in sharp, panicked gasps.
Gasping for air, they turned just in time to see a towering figure bounding toward them. Sunlight glinted off the dark brown fur of a sasquatch, who was carrying a bundle of tote grocery bags in his arms. “Don’t go in there!” he yelled, his deep voice laced with panic.
Haley glared at him, still catching her breath. “Too late. What the hell was that thing?”
The sasquatch hesitated, his wide eyes darting between the two women.
Robin stepped forward, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. “What was it?”
The sasquatch inhaled deeply before speaking in a hushed, shame-filled tone. “A cursed carpet.”
Haley softened, her expression shifting as she turned to the towering figure. “Okay, we might be able to help. But first—how did this all begin?”
With a heavy sigh, the sasquatch lowered himself onto a nearby rock, bringing his hulking frame closer to eye level. His fur rippled under the faint breeze as his shoulders sagged. “You could say my heart was burning with pain,” he muttered, his deep voice carrying a raw edge of regret.
Haley and Robin exchanged a glance but said nothing, letting him continue.
“The woman I loved was arranged to marry someone else,” the sasquatch said, his gaze fixed on the ground. “I wanted to spook their parents, so I bought this rug from this traveling merchant. Thought it would send a message—a bad omen, you know?” He let out a bitter chuckle, though no humor existed. “They told me the rug would bring bad luck, so I placed the rug in our community center, and when the whole village came together to prepare, that damned thing came alive. It ate them all. Even her.” His voice broke slightly, and he let out a long, exhausted breath. “I’ve stayed here ever since, trying to ensure no one else gets hurt.”
He paused, his shoes tracing idle patterns in the dirt. “I thought maybe it would starve to death eventually, but… no luck.”
Haley’s face tightened, disbelief and sympathy mingling. “But the carpet’s still alive and kicking,” she said quietly.
The sasquatch nodded grimly, his large hands curling into fists.
Robin crossed her arms, her sharp golden eyes narrowing. “Did you go back to the merchant?”
“I did,” he said, his voice rising with frustration. “But they were gone. I asked around the market, but no one remembered seeing them. It’s like they never existed.”
Haley reached for her music player, her fingers steady despite the tension in the air. “How do I kill the cursed carpet?” she asked, pressing shuffle. The screen displayed the answer, and she nodded with a sharp breath of determination.
“Simple enough,” she said, already turning to leave. “Be right back.”
The sasquatch tilted his head, his brow furrowing in confusion as he turned to Robin. “What’s she doing?”
Robin gave a slight shrug, the corners of her mouth twitching with faint amusement. “Her thing,” she replied casually. “I’m Robin, by the way.”
“Francesco,” the sasquatch replied, his voice softening as a flicker of hope broke through his weary demeanor. “And… sorry for not warning you earlier. I was out getting groceries.”
Robin waved a dismissive hand. “No worries. Just glad you’re here now.”
Haley returned moments later, clutching a glass bottle stuffed with a rag. The sharp scent of alcohol wafted faintly through the air as she approached. “Alright, open the door and be ready to close it fast,” she said, her tone sharp and decisive.
Robin and Francesco didn’t hesitate. With a shared grunt of effort, they pushed the heavy crate aside, the wood scraping loudly against the cobblestones until the double doors were exposed.
Haley struck a match, the tiny flame springing to life with a hiss. She touched the fire to the soaked rag, which ignited instantly, flames licking upward hungrily. With a single motion, she hurled the makeshift Molotov cocktail inside.
The bottle soared through the air, shattering on the massive red rug. Orange flames erupted, spreading quickly across the fabric’s surface.
The rug unleashed a piercing wail that clawed at their ears. As the flames singed away the fabric, the creature’s true form unfurled, revealing jagged, fang-like protrusions along its border that snapped and gnashed at the air. From its center, a single, lidless eye emerged, bloodshot and unblinking, fixing its gaze on them with a searing, hateful intensity.
“Close it!” Haley shouted, grabbing the door handles and slamming them shut with Robin’s help. The beast crashed against the wood, its immense weight bowing the old frame inward as Francesco heaved the crate back into place with a grunt of effort.
The sounds of crackling flames blended with guttural, otherworldly wails that seemed to seep through the doors, sending icy pricks down their spines.
“Shouldn’t this thing be dead already?” Robin yelled, pressing her shoulder hard against the door as the creature groaned under the relentless pounding.
Francesco, trembling, shook his head. “It’s a cursed entity! Of course it wouldn’t go down that easy!”
“Did the fire make it stronger or something?” Robin asked, her voice strained as her muscles locked against the force slamming into the door.
“It certainly made it mad,” Francesco muttered, his fur bristling as the door shuddered under another blow.
Haley clenched her jaw, pulling out her music player again. “What’s the next move?” she demanded, tapping shuffle. Her eyes widened as the answer flashed on the screen. “Ring of Fire,” she read aloud.
Robin, panting as she braced herself against the door, shot Haley a skeptical glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We need to trap the rug in a circle of flames,” Haley said, her eyes darting around the courtyard. She spotted rusted lanterns swaying from ropes strung between the buildings and pointed. “Francesco! Those lanterns—are they filled with oil?”
Francesco hesitated before nodding. “Yes, but they haven’t been touched in—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Haley interrupted. “Grab as many as you can!”
“Me?” Francesco questioned, his voice cracking.
“Yes, you,” Haley snapped. “You’re the tallest here. Bring them here, and I’ll pour the oil into a circle here.”
With a deep breath, Francesco leaped into action, yanking the rope to slide the lanterns down one by one. He caught each one, his large hands fumbling slightly under the weight of the rusted metal, and rushed them over.
Robin dug her heels into the cobblestones, her muscles trembling as she pressed harder against the door. The splintering wood groaned, and each blow from the creature sent vibrations rattling through her body.
Haley tossed the package of matches she found to Francesco and uncorked one of the lanterns. She sniffed the contents and recoiled as a sharp metallic tang hit her nose. The oil gleamed with a faint purple hue, glinting in the fading sunlight. She didn’t stop to question it. Whether luck or fate, this was their only shot.
She crouched and began pouring the strange oil in a wide circle in front of the building, the liquid spilling smoothly and leaving an iridescent sheen on the cobblestone. Francesco scrambled back and forth, his powerful strides carrying more lanterns as fast as he could.
The door behind Robin splintered further, the cracks spreading like jagged lightning. “How much longer, Haley?” she asked, her voice strained.
“Almost there!” Haley shouted, her hands trembling as she emptied the last lantern. The eerie sheen of the oil gleamed brighter as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard.
The door burst apart with a deafening crack, splinters flying as the rug surged through. Robin dove to the side just in time, the monstrous fabric snapping the crate into jagged shards in a single, savage motion. Frayed edges of fabric lashed outward like tentacles, each one tipped with jagged, gleaming fangs. The beast advanced, its movements unnervingly fast and predatory.
“Francesco, light it now!” Haley shouted as she and Robin sprinted to join him outside the newly formed ring.
The sasquatch struck a match, his trembling fingers nearly fumbling the stick, and flung the flame toward the glistening circle. The fire erupted with a sharp whoosh, leaping to life in an instant. But instead of the expected orange glow, the flames roared to life in a vivid, surreal purple. The flames crackled and hissed, casting threatening shadows across the courtyard.
The rug halted abruptly, its edges recoiling as if burned. The creature twisted and thrashed, but every attempt to move forward faltered against the crackling barrier. Smoke rose from the beast’s edges, and an acrid, burning scent filled the air as its body to sizzle and char.
“What is this?” Robin murmured, staring at the fire in awe.
“The oil we used is extracted from shadow blooms,” Francesco said. “People always said those plants repel evil, but I thought it was just some old myth.”
“Doesn’t matter!” Haley shouted, stepping back as the rug convulsed violently. “It’s working!”
The purple flames clung to the beast like a purification entity, spreading across the creature’s surface. The creature let out a hiss that seemed to split the air itself, its once-powerful movements becoming sluggish. The fire surged, consuming the fabric in waves, until the cursed rug collapsed into a heap of smoldering ash.
Francesco approached the remains cautiously, his hands trembling as he scooped up a handful of the ashes. They felt cool and light, almost weightless. As the wind picked up, the ashes scattered into the air, disappearing into the sunsetting sky.
“It’s over,” Francesco whispered, his voice choked with relief.
Haley stepped closer, her music player already in hand. “Let’s make sure,” she murmured, pressing shuffle. The screen flashed the song titled Dust in the Wind.
She exhaled deeply, a grin spreading across her face. “It’s done.”
Robin slumped against her, her exhaustion finally catching up as she let out a quiet sigh. “Next time, we investigate something less homicidal—like a haunted bakery or something.”
Haley laughed, slipping an arm around Robin. “Deal.”
The trio stood in the quiet aftermath, the stars above shimmering as the village finally fell silent.
Night had fallen by the time Haley and Robin arrived at the light rail station to get home in Aequus. Francesco had chosen to stay behind in the village, wrestling with the question of where he truly belonged with the curse gone, though he had promised to reflect on his path forward. Haley and Robin stepped into the empty passenger car, the quiet offering a brief reprieve. They knew more commuters would fill as they got closer to the city, but for now, they could spread out and steal a moment of peace. Without a word, Robin curled up, resting her head on Haley’s lap. The simple, tender gesture sent a warm ache through Haley’s chest, a moment of quiet connection that felt like sanctuary amidst the lingering tension of the day.
“What does that thing say about how I feel about you?” Robin asked, her voice a gentle whisper, laced with a playful curiosity.
Haley couldn’t help the grin that broke across her face. She lifted the music player and tapped shuffle. “Really love you,” she read, her voice warm and steady.
Robin’s smile deepened, her gaze softening with an emotion Haley couldn’t quite name. Hope? Longing? Or something quieter, deeper? “Do you think it has any predictions about our future together?” Robin asked, the question slipping out like a half-formed thought, almost hesitant.
Haley hesitated, just for a breath. The lightness of Robin’s question didn’t match the faint tightening in her chest. With a flick of her wrist, she raised the music player. “Alright, what do you have to say about my and Robin’s future?” she asked lightly, though her grip on the device betrayed a flicker of unease.
She pressed shuffle. The answer appeared, and for a moment, Haley’s expression faltered—just enough for doubt to creep in. Then she smirked, sliding the device into her pocket before Robin could peek. “Champagne,” she said with a playful wink, masking the real response: “Can’t Cheat Death.”
Thank you for reading my February 2021 short story!
After writing about Detective Psychon last month, I knew I wanted to feature another story about Haley “The Sounds” Riot where she was solving some sort of mystery to test the music player. I got inspired by the writing prompt, “For years, people go missing in the nearby abandoned village, sparking dozens of theories about treasure, murder, and ghosts. The culprit? A carpet that traps and drowns them like quicksand.”
Like I did for Body Drop, I also solicited song suggestions from friends that I incorporated through the story in different ways. Those songs were: Journal of Ardency by Class Actress, Spooky by Classics IV, Babylon Sisters by Steely Dan, Don’t Call Me Back (feat. Francesco Yates, DJ Lux & AJ McLean), Really Love You by Paul McCartney, and Mein Herz Brennt by Rammstein. I also tossed in a few of my shuffled songs.
Story artwork brought to life by Mikey Marchan at Design Pickle.
I updated this story on January 17, 2025, to make major improvements, including expanding the drama and setting up for future episodes.
Every piece of media and publicity Detective Psychon found about The Glimmingdrift recommended seeing a live show in the Dionysus Circle district. Spawning from a shady gambling past, the current captain revitalized the spaceship city to be a theatre lover’s paradise. Performing arts venues replaced the twelve casinos, keeping the flashy neon aesthetics and repurposing them for the arts. A neon blue holographic billboard promoting, “‘A Disastrous Carol’ Written and Directed by Scourge” briefly caught the detective’s attention as he walked deeper into the district.
Pairing with the performing arts, visitors also knew Dionysus Circle for its eclectic culinary collection of food vendors. Each booth was a work of art, often embodying the dish they best served. While the detective had no use for food, in a past life, he would’ve had a hard time picking something to eat based on all the tantalizing aromas as he strolled past them.
All the detective planned to do during his visit aboard The Glimmingdrift was to see a client.
Vertically, the district was only two to three levels tall, allowing people with wings to fly around, but no need for upper-level pedestrian walkways. The detective stopped in front of a mini-tower consisting of an elevator base to a circular observation deck. At the top was a penthouse suite that doubled as a living and rehearsal space for the prestigious writer and director, Canopus.
“I’m here to see Canopus,” the detective said to the private guard.
The muscular brown sasquatch with a black hoodie and jeans sized up the short-by-comparison human vampire. “What’s your business?”
“I’m the new hat designer,” the detective lied as requested by the client.
The guard looked at Psychon’s ragged black pointy hat with various hand-sewn patches adorned on it. The guard shrugged and stepped aside from the door. “Canopus is waiting for you.”
The door automatically slid open, and the detective stepped inside the freight elevator, which was large enough for a few dozen people. The elevator walls and ceiling were covered with living flowers and ivy, smelling like a spring meadow. A few of the flowers had a metallic sparkle to them. As the door closed and lifted him to the only destination, Psychon recalled his initial conversation with Canopus. They spoke on a holographic video call via their networkers.
Canopus patted her forehead with a towel using one tentacle while the second used her flower sewn hat as a fan. Her third tentacle held the networker as the last one raised a glass of ice water to her mouth. She took a sip through the rainbow swirly straw.
“Look, I need you to find out how my stories are getting leaked to the press,” Canopus said as she sat the glass down. “I don’t want to accuse my troupe falsely, and I don’t want to come across as unhinged.”
“Is it one media outlet that gets the inside details?” Psychon asked.
“No, it changes every time, but whoever gets it, it’s an exclusive.”
“That rules out any media outlet. Do you have any suspects on your team?”
“My troupe is loyal,” she said with a hateful glare with her large eyes.
The detective opted not to question her statement further and went with a different approach. “I’ll need to infiltrate your team to be sure. They may be unknowingly or unwittingly helping.”
Canopus tossed the towel aside and put her hat back on, which gave her an idea. “You could be my new hat designer.”
Psychon adjusted his pointy black hat he made himself. “I can pull that off, and I now know how to solve your problem.”
The elevator dinged open with a gentle musical melody. Like the elevator, plants covered every inch of the ceiling. Most of the walls were transparent or were windows to the outside, making the circular penthouse feel larger than it already was. Before walking on the plush green carpet, Psychon took off his boots and placed them on the shoe rack with the others.
The detective only took a couple of steps when Canopus ran up and greeted him with a tight, warm hug that lifted him from the floor. If Psychon needed to breathe, he would’ve been struggling at the moment. Instead, he grumbled, and Canopus carefully returned him to the ground.
“I’m so excited to see you,” Canopus apologized.
“I’m excited to be working with you too,” Psychon said as he straightened out his black trench coat.
Canopus turned back to her troupe of eight people working together for their latest show. Each person sat in a plush pod hung from the ceiling that formed a circle, so everyone was equal in discussion and rehearsal. All nine pods were large enough to fit Canopus, who was the largest person there. The detective noted the diversity of the troupe. From the reviews the detective gleamed about the company, the mix of ideas and cultural backgrounds was a favored trait.
Canopus returned to her pod. “Everyone, before I give out the scripts for tonight’s show, I have a special associate who I commissioned to design you each a special hat for this production.”
Psychon took off his hat, then one by one, he walked around the room, pulling out a hat from inside his hat, which was bigger on the inside. Each black and red striped hat was similar in appearance as not to cause any jealousy. However, they were different enough in size and strip width to tell each one apart. After the detective passed out all the hats, he returned to Canopus.
“I hope everyone enjoys their hats,” Psychon said as he gave the last one to Canopus.
“These are exquisite,” Canopus genuinely praised as she put on the hat. She took a rolled-up poster from her pod and unraveled it to show only Psychon. “This is for you as a thank you. You’re the first one to see the poster for tonight’s show.”
“Thank you,” Psychon said as he rolled up the poster and put it in his hat. “It’s been a pleasure working for you.”
The detective tipped his hat and returned to the elevator. Everything was going according to plan.
The detective made himself comfortable in the corner of an underwater themed bar. He sipped on his glass of blood while his networker projected live feeds from the hidden cameras placed in each of the hats. With the show starting in a few hours, no one attempted to leak any details about the production. With tentative diligence, he watched for any sleight of hand tricks as well as any outsiders who might be spying on them.
When a news alert with breaking details about Canopus’ latest show popped up on his feed, he almost didn’t want to believe it. Earlier, he scheduled his networker to push any news about the show to him. He tapped on the news box from The Daily Cork.
The article revealed exclusive details about the plot. The story even mentioned the wardrobe and hats for the show. It included several suggestions on what to eat that paired with the show. Then down at the bottom was a witness sketch of the show poster, which Psychon plotted with Canopus to make sure only he saw it.
Psychon closed the networker video. “Time to pay The Daily Cork a visit for answers.”
The Daily Cork was a one-person operation specializing in culinary news and reviews, with the occasional story about performances, usually with food recommendations. Luckily for the detective, they had an office aboard The Glimmingdrift, but it was a private residence, which meant he couldn’t barge in.
The detective learned the residential hallways were designed without any decorations so people would get to and from home quickly without any distractions. The bright purple walls did give Psychon a sense of luxury despite the minimal architect. He knocked three times on the white door to Room 289.
The door slid open, revealing a young 28-year-old human woman, although the snakes in her hazel hair exposed she was half-gorgon. She wore a thick, white sweater and a pair of tight red leggings.
“Hello, Alaia,” Psychon said, forcing a warm smile. “I saw your article about Canopus’ latest show, and I wanted to see if you are interested in interviewing me about the hats I designed for it.”
Alaia beamed with excitement. “Yes, please come in.”
With the invite, Psychon stepped inside. “Thank you.”
The detective studied the white minimalist zen studio apartment room. If Alaia was hiding anything or anyone, there wasn’t much space to do it. He didn’t spy any surveillance equipment, and Alaia didn’t seem to recognize him either.
Alaia took a cross-legged seat on a mattress on the floor, which was the only piece of furniture. She sat up with an immaculate posture.
“So, tell me, what’s the story behind this show’s hats?” she asked.
“Well, Canopus hired me to find out who was leaking details about her shows to the press, and so I made special hats with surveillance equipment to track her staff.” The snakes in Alaia’s hair rattled with nervous restlessness. Psychon held up a warning finger. “Don’t even try to turn me into stone. Vampires are immune. Now, tell me, how did you learn about the show when I saw no one contacting you?”
Alaia’s posture slouched. “I got an anonymous message. They said if I brought them some stuff, they would give an exclusive. I’ve seen other publications get exclusives, and so I took it. I thought it was a publicity stunt at first…”
“What did they want in return?” the detective questioned.
“I can’t pronounce it, but here’s the message. They wanted me to deliver it to a dumpster out back behind Canopus’ place.”
The journalist brought up the demands on her networker.
The detective swiped away the screen. “That explains everything.”
Canopus and her troupe stumbled up the penthouse entrance with celebratory bottles of wine and high spirits from a successful performance. The detective stood outside with the personal security guard.
“Psychon, it’s so good to see you,” Canopus said. “Do you have good news for me?”
“Yes, I’ve learned that your troupe is loyal, and you don’t have to worry about your shows being leaked to the press again.”
“Really?” Canopus said, about to drunk cry with happiness.
“Wait, I thought you were a hat designer?” one of Canopus associates asked.
“Detective is my proper title,” Psychon said.
“How’d you fix it?” Canopus asked.
“I set it on fire.”
“Set what on fire?”
“All of your plants, specifically the aglowies. Fun Fact: aglowies are native to the Yellow Planet and illegal on all the others. They are notorious for fusing with technology. They’ve been getting fertilizer in exchange for exclusive information about your shows.”
Canopus paused to soak in everything explained to her. “I got that plant as a souvenir when I visited the Yellow Planet for inspiration. That’s about the time when small little details started to leak to the press.”
Psychon nodded. “And as the plant grew bigger, it was able to expand its reach.”
A realization hit Canopus. “But the aglowies covered my entire place!”
“Yes, your whole penthouse suite is currently in flames. I had to get special permission from the ship’s captain, but once I explained the danger, she gave me access.”
The detective’s client took a big swig of wine. “I guess it was time for a remodel anyway.”
For January’s short story, I wanted to reveal the case Detective Psychon was heading to that he referred in Who Killed The Toymaker Aboard Starbringer II? I thought it would be fun to explore more of The Glimmingdrift featured in A Rescue Request to Santa, having both stories take place at the same time. In the Santa story, I did mention Starbringer II landing there, so I’ve planned this idea in advance. I was also inspired by a bit of dialogue from a writing prompt, which I incorporated. The prompt was, ““How’d you fix it?” “I set it on fire.””
I got to work again with Chen Kang at Design Pickle to bring Dionysus Circle to life. I incorporated the tower in the background Chen drew as Canopus’ penthouse. Huge thanks to Chen for the fantastic art!
I have to say, I love writing a detective story in a speculative fiction world with Psychon as I can give him such weird and unusual cases. If you liked this story, be sure to click on the Detective Psychon tag for more with him or his character profile.
A conversation with a philosophy professor about a repeating dream beginning prompts a revelation.
For the past three months, my dreams began with waking up in my own room with a man in a white suit with pink accents on the end of my bed. He would encourage me to go through my bedroom door where I would be in some alternative reality for the rest of the dream. Regardless of what happened, I woke up refreshed. Still, with the way the dreams always started the same, it began to bother me.
I considered taking a psychological or a dream interruption class, but while doing some research I stumbled upon an online philosophy class taught by a fellow journalist, Hank Williams. In the sample lesson, he spoke with such wisdom and insight one would gain from interviewing numerous people. I was hooked.
Eventually after several classes, I got to have a one-on-one videoconference session with my professor. I started out by asking him course related questions, but the conversation drifted over to the subject of dreams and I solicited him for his thoughts on mine. He asked me questions I never considered and he seemed particularly interested in the man and the door I would go though.
“Do you recall seeing this man in your life before you started to have these dreams with him?” Hank asked.
“I don’t believe so,” I replied.
“Is this man always alone or is someone with him? A woman perhaps?”
“No, it’s just him.”
“Have you ever tried to touch this man to make sure he was there?”
“No, I never thought to do that.”
“This door you would go through, are you sure it was your door? Did the weight and movement of the door feel different from your real door?”
“I didn’t really notice anything…”
“How curious.”
Our conversation ended with him saying he would like to discuss the subject further tomorrow. He was curious if our chat would alter my dream. I didn’t think it would, but I said I would be glad to talk to him again tomorrow.
Upon waking up in the dream, my philosophy professor sat at the end of my bed. He wore a dark brown suit under a light brown overcoat, being a stark difference between the man in the white suit who would normally sit there.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Hank commented.
I took a moment to startup my brain to process some words. “Hank?”
“Please, call me Quis.” He walked over to my door. “This isn’t really a dream and neither were those dreams you had.”
With those words, everything suddenly felt so real. It was like a fog had been lifted from my brain. My face got red with awkwardness, but Quis wasn’t paying any attention to me as he turned the door knob. On the other side was a sunny forest. He closed the door like a person who had gotten what they needed out of a fridge.
“When did you get this door replaced?” Quis asked, like he knew it was new.
“About a few months ago, actually,” I said, shocked.
“Then the dreams started, didn’t they?”
My jaw dropped. “Yes, they did.”
“Do you remember what the person looked like who installed it?”
“I do. I only remember her because she wore a red dress, which I thought was unusual, but I hate fashion criticisms myself.”
“Black hair, right?”
“Yes!”
“That would be Raven.” Quis gripped the door knob and yanked it out from the door. “That should put an end to their work. If you do run into my siblings, send them my regards.”
He tossed the broken pieces on the floor and left my apartment. I knew I wasn’t dreaming because I didn’t fall back asleep.
The final weekly short story for the year was inspired by the writing prompt: “You wake up from one of those dreams again. It starts in your own bed, in your real room, only outside the door is an alternate reality every time. The man you see in every dream was your Philosophy teacher this time. Who is he? ‘Strange, isn’t it?’ He says from the end of your bed.”
I thought this prompt would be a fun way to feature Quis again as I only wrote one story, Interview Spoilers, about the end-timer. I got to show a different side of him as previously he was portrayed as just a journalist, but like all the other end-timers, he does take on other roles.
I hope you all have been enjoying the weekly stories this year! For the most part, I did keep up with my goal of releasing a new story every week with the exception being around A Killer Among the Spaceship Game Show, which took me two weeks to write part one and another week to finish it with part two.
I’ll talk more about my plans for 2021 later, but fun fact: The total word count of all my short stories this year (at the time I’m writing this) was 47,518 words. I do plan to revisit all of my stories, send them to an editor, and publish them as a book.
If you’re on Reddit, I have a forum for my fictional universe so join the community today!
While preparing for a hot date, the visiting cat warns him that his date is going to kill him.
“She’s going to kill you tonight.”
My heart sank – not because the cat spoke in a deep, ominous tone to me as I had gotten used to that, but because of what I already had planned for tonight. Before I get any further, I should back up a little bit. You see, when I signed the lease for my duplex at the beginning of the month, my landlord asked me to take care of her cat, Phineus, any time he visited. Since I felt like I was renting the place for a steal, I agreed.
From time to time, the cat would pop in and I made sure to have bowls of food and water for him. I had no clue how he would get inside, but I became accustomed to randomly seeing or hearing him.
After the first week, Phineus started to warn me of danger. The first time this happened, I dropped my coffee mug. The cat told me to take another route to work. I did and later found out about a deadly multi-car pileup. I asked my landlord about her talking cat, but she laughed me off.
“Is she going to kill me like accidentally or on purpose?” I asked the cat as a I put a holiday album on my recorder player.
Phineus licked his paw. No surprise, the can’t didn’t respond. The cat never responded to any of my questions. He would occasionally repeat himself, but he only spoke to give warnings.
The doorbell rang.
“Fuck it, I’m going to roll the dice.”
As I walked to the door, the cat ran and hid behind the Christmas tree. I decorated my duplex just for her. I even went out and bought the biggest Christmas tree that would fit and that I could afford, even though I lived alone. The cat seemed to enjoy it and the smell of the tree was nice, but I only got it for her.
I opened the door. Her long, curly brown hair danced on her bare shoulders. She wore a sparkling black dress and not much else. She was more gorgeous than her photos. If her stunning looks could kill, I would be dead. I didn’t see any weapons on her, so maybe I can prevent her from accidentally killing me?
“I’m going to take your silence as a complement,” she said with a smile. “May I come in?”
Mentally, I slapped myself and stood aside. “Yes, come inside, Iris. You must be freezing.”
Iris shrugged. “The cold never really bothered me.”
As she stepped a foot inside, the Christmas tree came tumbling down at us. I grabbed Iris, spun her around, leaving us with only a slight brushing from the crashing tree. The cat stood where the tree did.
I lifted the tree back up as I scolded the cat. “Phineus, what is your deal? I’m so sorry.”
“It’s cool. Phineus is an interesting name for cat,” Iris said as she entertained herself by browsing though my vinyl collection.
“He’s technically my landlord’s cat. He just like to hang out here.”
“Ah. Well, did you know in Greek mythological, Phineus was a king and a seer?”
“No, I didn’t,” I answered.
I made a note to ask my landlord about the cat again. Once I got the tree situated, I walked over to the kitchen. I liked the open modern concept of the duplex as it was great to keep connected with guests while I was in the kitchen.
“So, what movie did you want to watch?” I asked as I poured us some wine.
“I thought we could browse together,” she said as she took a seat on my couch.
I handed her her glass. She took a sip and sat the glass aside. The moment I took a seat, she saddled up on me, kissing my neck. I looked to the side to find a safe spot to place my glass when I caught a glance of the cat looking down at me from a tiny door in the ceiling that I’d never seen. Behind Phineus, it looked like he was in a city colored with a purple sunset. Before I could say anything, the cat jumped down from the hole, landing on my head, causing me to spill my drink all over my shirt.
Iris pulled herself off me. Thankfully, the drink only landed on me. I apologized and excused myself to my bedroom. Phineus raced ahead, beating me inside. I stripped off my shirt as I walked over to my dresser. The cat jumped on the dresser and sat next to a small black box with a red button it that was placed in front of the dresser mirror. I tossed the shirt in the clothes basket and picked up the device, looking it over.
“You know, I don’t mind if you leave your shirt off,” Iris said from the doorway.
I looked up at the dresser mirror. The mirror was half the size of the wide dresser, which meant it was large enough for me to see Iris standing in the doorway, however, Iris wasn’t reflected. I turned around to check and Iris was indeed leaning against the doorway, waiting for me. I looked back at the mirror and she wasn’t there. I think Iris caught the look of confusion as when I turned around, a set of fangs protruded from her mouth.
“Push the button,” Phineus ordered.
As Iris leapt at me, I pressed the red button. The room filled with a bight, warm light that made me feel like I was on a beach during a sunny day. Iris screamed. I closed my eyes and held onto the button until she was silent. I released my grip and the warmth and light faded away. With hesitation, I walked over to where Iris stood. There was only a pile of ash and clothes.
I sat the device on the dresser and collapsed onto my bed. The cat jumped over and walked to my face. He bopped me on the nose with his front paw before giving me a warning I had heard before.
“Don’t think with your dick.”
This week’s short story was inspired by the writing prompt: “You’ve just signed a new rental lease, but the landlord makes you agree to care for the cat that lives there. You agree, but within one week that cat starts talking and giving you ominous warnings.”
Story Artwork by Janine De Guzman at Design Pickle. Get a discount off your first month of Design Pickle via this affiliate link, which full disclosure, I earn a small commission as a discount for me as well.
