Category: Creatures of Fantasy

A Bad Idea

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Ameldine reached out just a little bit further and snatched the snow white bit of fluff caught in-between rocks at the edge of the cliff. However, the Pegasus that left the tail hair behind had hollow bones and weighed nearly nothing. Ameldine weighed a little more than that. There was a grinding sound and the rocks tipped out from below her.

Ameldine shrieked out a spell as she fell. She finished just before she hit the bottom of the ravine. She opened her eyes and looked down. The ground was two feet below her dangling toes.   She sighed and cancelled the spell.

Opening her hand, she was delighted to see that the hairs were intact. It was the last ingredient she needed.   Ameldine whooped in delight and summoned her broom from the top of the cliff. It lazily floated down and landed at her feet. She tucked the hairs into a pouch and tied it to her belt.   Then, she picked up the broom and flew home.

It took thirteen days to brew the potion. Then she waited nine more days for it to cure. On the night of the new moon, she carefully painted every drop on the outside of her new umbrella. Now she just had to wait for it to rain.

Ameldine started to carry her umbrella around everywhere. It sparkled in the sunlight. People constantly asked her where to order an umbrella just like it. Ameldine told them that it was a custom order from a secret umbrella supplier. Surprisingly, people believed that. Ameldine began to wonder if there really were secret umbrella suppliers.

Finally, one morning, dark clouds blocked the sun. The world below was cast into shadow. It began to rain without any transition from a light sprinkle.   Instead, it poured water from the sky as though someone had left a thousand faucets running in the clouds.

Ameldine opened her new umbrella. Every raindrop that touched the potion-painted surface turned into a small diamond. Diamonds bounced and slid off the umbrella to land in the street around her.   However, there were too many raindrops.   The umbrella began to wear thin.

Finally, it tore in three small places. The tiny holes rapidly expanded as tiny sharp diamonds spilled through.   They hit her face and hair, leaving tiny scratches down her cheeks and on her scalp.

She tossed away the umbrella. It continued to pour. The diamonds pouring off the umbrella made a faint hissing sound that was almost drowned out by the drumming of the rain.

Ameldine pulled her long sleeves over her hands and reached in and closed the umbrella. She could feel the little diamonds poke through the thin material of her shirt.   Once the umbrella was closed, she slipped the loop at the bottom of the umbrella handle around her wrist. Then she knelt down and scooped up as many of the small diamonds as she could, and put them into a pouch.

Then she trudged home, completely soaked. On her way inside, she dropped the umbrella in the birdbath. Perhaps she could gather a few more diamonds from there when the rain stopped. She should have coated the inside of the birdbath to begin with instead of painting the potion onto the umbrella. Who know diamonds were so hard and sharp?

Ameldine unlocked her front door, but it wouldn’t open. For some reason, it was stuck closed. She tried a spell. Nothing happened. She kicked the door and shoved at it with her shoulder. With a crash, it opened and Ameldine fell inside, just catching herself from landing flat on her face.

There was no hot water when she took her bath. The cheese and bread were both moldy. All that she found in her mailbox was bills. When she turned on the television, the power went out.   Ameldine went to bed in the dark, her hair still wet. She woke up in the morning with a terrible cold.

She pulled out her potion book again. How hard would it be to collect the ingredients again and coat the birdbath?   Going down the list, Ameldine sighed.   It would be difficult to gather everything again.

Then she noticed a tiny sentence scrawled at the end of the recipe.   “Warning: Attempting this potion will cause the brewer to suffer from terrible luck.” Ameldine smelled something burning. She looked down to see that her hair had caught fire. She smothered the flame with her sleeves.

She looked at the charred fabric and inspected the burn on her arms. She decided to wait to see how long and terrible the run of bad luck was before she attempted the spell again. She certainly didn’t want to make the bad luck any worse. Diamonds or not, it might not be worth it.

 

The Mysterious Seed

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“Brandon, come help me put these books on the bookshelf,” his mom said.

Brandon came into the kitchen. His mom was pulling a pan of cookies out of the oven. An open box of books was on the counter. “These books?” he asked, pulling one out of the box.

His mom looked up. “Yes, those books,” she said.

“Did you get these in the mail?” Brandon asked.

“Yes, they came today.”

Brandon flipped the book he was holding so that he could look at the title.   It looked like a book on gardening.   “Where do they go?” he asked.

“Second shelf,” his mom said.

Brandon picked up the other three books and carried them into the living room.   He put them on a chair and started to put them onto the shelf. There wasn’t quite enough room for the last book. He stacked it on top of the other books.

He went back into the kitchen. His mom was putting the last of the cookies onto a cooling rack. “They didn’t fit,” he said. “I put the last one on top of the others.”

“Oh dear,” his mom said. “I guess we’ll need a new shelf.”

“You could always give away a book you don’t need,” Brandon said. “Then everything would fit.”

“I guess I could,” his mom said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“What do you want to do with the box?” he asked.

“Please take it out to the recycling,” his mom said.

Brandon picked up the box. Something rattled inside. He pulled out the brown paper that had cushioned the books and shook it. He didn’t see anything. He set the paper on the counter and looked in the box.   He still didn’t see anything.

He tilted the box and shook it. The box rattled, but once again he didn’t see anything. He tilted it the other way, and something rolled out from under the flap at the bottom of the box and disappeared under the flap on the other side.

Brandon set the box down and lifted the flap. There was a little white seed stuck in the gap below the box flap. He picked it up and looked closely at it.   It was similar to an orange seed, but it sparkled as though it was filled with glitter.

He tilted it back and forth and admired the shine. He rubbed it between his fingers. The seed was smooth. He’d never seen anything like it. “Mom, there was a seed in the box,” he said.

His mom was spooning cookie dough onto the pan. She looked up. “Hmmm.   It must have fallen in at the garden store that I ordered the book from. You can keep it if you like,” she said.

“Do you know what kind of seed it is?” Brandon asked.

“I think it’s difficult to identify plants by their seeds,” she said.   “You’ll just have to plant it and see.”

Brandon put the seed in his pocket. Then he took the box and paper out to the recycling bin. He went into the garage and found an empty flowerpot.   It was green plastic with a large hole at the bottom for drainage.

He found a pebble to place on top of the hole so that his seed wouldn’t wash away. Then he filled the pot with soil and poked a hole inside for his seed. He pulled the seed out of his pocket. Even in the dim light of the garage, it sparkled. It almost seemed to glow with an inner light.

He dropped it into the hole in the dirt and covered it up. Then he went back inside to the kitchen. He watered the dirt and set the flowerpot on the windowsill. ‘Is it all right to leave it here?” he asked.

“As long as you set it on a saucer so that it doesn’t warp the wood,” his mom said. “Or wait, here, use this plastic lid.” Brandon took the lid from her and put it under the flowerpot.

Life moved on. Once a week or so, he’d remember to water the plant. It grew slowly. It was gray, with white fuzz all over. “Maybe it’s lamb’s ear,” his mom said. But, as it grew taller, she shook her head. “Not lamb’s ear,” she said.

It grew taller and taller. Two months later, a large bud appeared at the top of the stalk. Brandon checked it every morning and evening. Finally, one evening, just before bed, it looked like it was starting to bloom. The blossom was large and white. It smelled like lilacs or jasmine or roses.

His mom was out of town. He couldn’t wait until she got home and he could show her the blossom. Now that it had bloomed, maybe they could figure out what it was. He smiled and went to bed.

He woke up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. The moon shone brightly through the window. He stretched. Maybe he’d get a drink of water. He shuffled down the hall into the kitchen.   The moonlight was bright enough that he didn’t need to turn on the light.

The curtains swayed and a breeze blew in. The flower’s perfume was carried on the breeze. He walked over to the windowsill to check on it.   Something moved next to the flowerpot.   He paused and looked more closely.

Two little doll-like people with wings on their backs were hugging his flowerpot. They flapped their wings and the flowerpot rose up out of its plastic lid. With a few more flaps they rose a little higher. Then they darted out of the window with his plant.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Brandon said. “That’s my plant. Bring it back.” He rushed to the window and looked out. He could see a dark shape fly past the tree at the edge of the yard, then it was gone.

The next day his mom got home. “Did your flower bloom?” she asked.

“Yes, but then the fairies stole it,” Brandon said.

“That’s too bad, dear,” his mom said. “Maybe you’ll have to grow something else. Why don’t you look at my new gardening books and see if there’s anything in there you’d like to plant?”

“Okay,” Brandon said. “Maybe I’ll find out what kind of plant it was. We never did figure it out.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” his mom said.

 

Lost

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Mara was walking home from Amy’s house through the park. When she started out, the sun was shining and she could hear birds singing. Somewhere there were wind chimes playing a new melody as the breeze blew. It lifted strands of Mara’s hair and threw them into her face.

A gust of wind blew past and the leaves shook and whispered. The world went grayer and Mara looked up. Dark clouds were moving quickly across the sky.   Where had they come from? Mara shivered. She wished she’d brought a coat.

The wind blew through even stronger. Mara kept tucking her flying hair behind her ears. The wind chimes clanged an urgent tune. She couldn’t hear the birds any more. Mara started to walk a little faster. As she left the park, she felt the first raindrop.

And then, it poured. It rained so hard that Mara couldn’t see clearly. She was still two streets away from home. She hurried a little faster, rushing through a blurry world that she couldn’t really see, continually blinking the water out of her eyes.   Left turn and then right turn.   She should be almost home.

As suddenly as it began to pour, the rain gentled. Mara looked around. She had no idea where she was. She’d never been on this street before. She would remember that stump carved to look like a bear if she’d ever seen it before. Or that dark purple house.

Mara stopped walking and looked around again. She was cold and wet and it was still raining and she had no idea where she was. She turned around and tried to walk back the way she came. Nothing looked familiar. Should she knock on the door of one of those houses? She wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. Besides, it looked like no one was home.

There were no lights on in the houses, even though it was overcast and rainy.   There weren’t cars in the driveways.   Was she alone in the world? Did the rain take everyone away and leave her behind? Her eyes stung and she blinked away the tears. Her nose started to run and she wiped it on the back of her sleeve. She’d change out of this shirt as soon as she got home anyways.

Mara began to slow down. Would walking around help when she was lost and alone? Shouldn’t she wait for someone to come find her? But would they know where to look? She shivered and rubbed her hands together.

The bushes in front of her rustled and a black cat stepped out. It looked at her than tilted its head to the side.   Then it turned, and tail up, it walked down the sidewalk a few steps and stopped.

The cat turned and looked at her. “Meow?” it said.

“Am I supposed to follow you?” Mara asked.

The cat turned and walked a few more steps and turned and looked at Mara again. She took a step forward and it turned and started walking. This time it didn’t stop. Mara followed it. She didn’t have any better ideas.

The cat turned and walked down a path between two houses. Mara hadn’t seen it until they’d turned off the sidewalk.   It was bordered on either side by chain link walls that fenced in the yards on either side. Some sort of leafy vine wove in and out of the fence, making them seem more like hedges. Mara looked close and could see morning glory blossoms, closed tightly against the dark and rain.

The cat continued walking forward, without pausing or looking right or left.   The rain stopped and the sun came out.   Mara started to feel a little warmer.   And then they turned a corner and she knew where she was. If she turned the next corner, she’d be able to see her house.

She sprinted forward and then paused and turned. She needed to thank the cat. But, the cat was gone. She looked around, turning in a circle. She couldn’t see it anywhere. “Thank you for helping me,” she said anyways. Then she turned and ran home.

The Rose Prince

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One day, Princess Matilda cut through a rarely used courtyard in the older part of the castle. She was late to archery practice, so she was taking the shortcut.   Most people didn’t use the short cut, because there was a tall fence with spikes along the top at the end of the courtyard.

However, Princess Matilda wasn’t most people, and she knew the trick to climbing the fence. There were chips in a few of the stones in the wall of the castle next to the fence. If she ran straight at the wall and jumped, she could use the chipped spots as toeholds. If she climbed quickly enough and turned and jumped just right, she could sail right over the fence.

Of course this meant she had to tuck and roll to survive the fall without breaking anything, but that was part of the fun.   As long as she shook the dust and bits of grass out of her hair, no one had to know.

Halfway through the courtyard, Matilda paused.   There in a corner of the courtyard where some weeds had sprung up in cracks in the stonework, a little rosebush was growing. She would come back later. Matilda secretly loved roses. For now, she raced ahead, then turned and ran straight at the wall.

The next day she returned with tools she’d borrowed from a gardener. She cleared away the weeds and then sat by it. It looked so lonely standing by itself in the corner.   She told it a little about her day, and placed some pebbles around it in a ring. When she left, she promised to come back.

She came back often to clear away weeds or water the rosebush when it hadn’t rained in a while. She brought pretty pebbles or bits of wood that caught her eye and added them to the ring around the bush. Every time she came, she stopped to talk to the rose bush for a little while.

The rose bush grew and branched out. After several weeks, it sprouted a single bud.   Matilda began visiting more often, hoping to see what the blossom would look like once it bloomed. One day, she came to the courtyard early for archery class so that she had time to check in with her rosebush.

The flower had bloomed. It was a simple rose, but the fragrance filled the courtyard. It was lovely. Matilda leaned in closer and smelled the rose. It was wonderful. “You’re perfect!” she said. Then she kissed the soft petals.

The rosebush began to sparkle. It grew brighter and brighter until Matilda had to squint to look at it. Then there was a flash of light. Matilda blinked the stars from her vision, while holding her bow at the ready.

There was a young man standing where the rosebush had been. He was wearing glasses and his clothes were well made but practical. He was smiling. Princess Matilda frowned. “Who are you?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, when there was another flash of light from the opposite side of the courtyard. Matilda turned, bow up and arrow notched, while stepping back so that the strange man was at her side rather than her back.

A young woman dressed in black was pointing a stick at her. Matilda’s eyes narrowed.   That was no ordinary stick. The woman raised her eyebrows and scowled.   “You broke my enchantment. You had no right to do that. I shall turn you both into frogs and let my cat chase you.”

Matilda shot an arrow through the top of the woman’s tall black hat. “Put your stick down,” she said. “Or next time I wont miss.” She notched her arrow. The woman lowered her wand.

“Hide here all you want, little prince,” the woman said.   “If you ever come back home, I’ll get you.” There was another flash of light and she was gone.

“So, you’re a prince who was turned into a rose bush?” Matilda asked.

“Well, I was turned into a seed that grew into a rosebush,” the prince said. “But otherwise, yes.”

“Why did she do it? Did she steal your kingdom or something?” Matilda asked.

“I have three older brothers. As far as I know, the kingdom is fine,” the prince said. “However, that woman was responsible for killing thousands of striped gilkie birds. She used their tongues in a hair removal potion. When I submitted a proposal to the court that the birds should be protected so that they didn’t all disappear, she got angry.”

“Hair removal potion? Do people like the bald look where you’re from?” the princess asked.

“No, they don’t like leg hair,” he said.

“Weird.”

“I know, right? Besides, if she hunted until the birds were all gone, she wouldn’t be able to make her potion anyway,” the prince said.

“That makes sense,” the princess said. “Did you explain it to her?”

“Sometimes people don’t want to listen. I tried to explain how everything is interconnected and everything relies on other things for survival. If you take out a link in the chain, you could have dangerous consequences. She muttered something about how the strong survive and that I’d see that nature wasn’t gentle.”

“Then she turned you into a seed?” Matilda asked.

“And tossed me into the wind,” the prince said.

“So, what’s your name,” Matilda asked.

“Frank. I’m sorry I hadn’t introduced myself, I feel like I know you so well after all your visits,” Frank said.

“Then I guess it’s my turn to get to know you better,” Matilda said. She smiled.   “I know something already.”

“What?”

“You still smell like roses. It’s nice.” She laughed as Frank tried sniffing his arm.

“I do?” he asked.

“Yes. Would you like to come in for sandwiches?” Matilda asked.

“Don’t you have archery class?” Frank asked.

“Oh, you’re right. Sandwiches can wait. Come cheer me on,” Matilda said. She stooped to pick up the black hat and pulled the arrow out of it. “Do you think she’ll come back for this?”

“I guess it depends on whether she needs it back or not,” Frank said.

“You’re probably right,” Matilda said. She stuffed it into her quiver. “Well, let’s go. I hate being late.”

Unfair Advantage

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“It’s not fair,” a hairstylist with short blue hair said. “Of course the judges would be amazed by anything she does.   She’s six and has an adorable lisp.”

“Is she really old enough to be in the competition? It doesn’t make any sense,” another said. This one had her magenta hair in two curly pigtails.

“I think her hair model is what’s unfair,” a third said. He had no hair at all.

The blue haired hair stylist frowned. “Who’s her model?”

“You haven’t seen?” The bald hairstylist asked. “It’s all anyone’s been talking about.”

“You mean it’s crazier than the fact that she’s six?” the pigtailed hairstylist asked. “This I’ve got to see.”

“Yes, you do. I’ve never seen anything like it. At this point it’s a battle for second place,” the bald hairstylist said.   “It’s not fair. Go look and come back. I’ll wait here.”

The two hairstylists tried to make their way through the crowd to the other side of the large hall. They had to dodge fast moving people carrying their scissors in an acceptably safe manner. They had to wait in order to avoid photobombing numerous photos. They had to smile and nod as people complimented their own hairstyles.   And hand out business cards, of course.

After handing out a third round of cards, they were only halfway across the hall.   There were so many people between them and their destination. “This had better be worth it,” the blue haired stylist said. “We could be meditating or sharpening our scissors or something.”

“Just think of how many business cards we’ve handed out so far. You can’t hand out too many business cards,” her friend said.

“Of course you can. They do cost money, you know. If you’re handing them out to fish or hairless cats or bald people, you’re totally wasting your time.”

The hairstylist with pigtails rolled her eyes. “Who would hand a business card for hairstyling to someone without hair? I guess maybe you would if they wanted one for a friend or relative with hair, but they’d have to ask.”

The blue haired stylist pointed to her friend. “Aha! Then you admit I’m right. Point to me.”

“Who cares?”

“You’re just saying that because I’m thirty points ahead.”

“Why are you even keeping track? Oh, look. I can see a bit of a path opening up.”

The blue haired stylist turned to look. “I see. They’re clearing a space for the man in the wheelchair. Let’s follow behind him. We’ll never get through the crowd otherwise.”

The two hairstylists hurried to get to the front of the crowd rushing in to walk behind the wheelchair. They both managed to get near the front of the group. They’d had to kind of squeeze their way in and ignore the grumbling.

“It’s not like there’s really an official line here,” the blue haired stylist said.

“Besides, we just want to look and leave. They’ll get their turn soon enough,” her friend said.

They followed behind the wheelchair to the little girl’s station. Her hair model was already there, standing in front of the chair. “She has a unicorn?” The pigtailed stylist asked. “How is that even possible?”

Just then, the unicorn leaned over and touched its horn to the forehead of the man in the wheelchair. There was a flash of light and the man stood up. “I feel no pain,” the man said. He began to sob. “I can walk. I can walk.”

“Don’t let it touch you,” the blue haired stylist whispered. “It might heal your hair to the correct color or something.”

“Do you think it can cure headaches?” her friend whispered back. “It might be worth it.”

“Whose side are you on anyways?” the blue haired stylist said. She grabbed her friend by the elbow and managed to push their way through the crowd. They finally made their way back to their stations.

The bald stylist was there waiting.   “So, did you see?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s totally not fair,” the blue haired stylist said.

“It’s kind of cool though,” the pigtailed stylist said.   “I mean, it’s a real unicorn.”   The other two glared at her. “It is unfair though,” she said. “I’d totally give them first place no matter what the hair looked like.”

Her friend sighed. “Sometimes I wonder about you.”

Bear in Fish Clothing

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Mama Bear was telling Baby Bear a story. “And then the wolf ate the sheep and lived happily ever after,” she said.

“But why didn’t the sheep know it was a wolf?” Baby Bear asked.

“I told you, he was dressed up as a sheep, so they thought he was another sheep,” she said.

“Sheep aren’t very smart, are they?” Baby Bear asked.

“No dear,” Mama Bear said. “They aren’t.”

Soon Baby Bear was snoring softly. Papa Bear was curled up half-asleep next to him. And then inspiration struck. He sat up, blinking. “Hey, Mama Bear,” he said. “Do you think it would work on fish?”

“What would work, dear?” she asked.

“The dressing up thing that the wolf did. Do you think it would work on fish?”

“Hmmmmm.” She thought for a moment. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try. But how would you dress up as a fish?”

“Well, how did the wolf dress up as a sheep in your story?” Papa Bear asked.

“I imagine he used the wool of a sheep he’d caught earlier,” Mama Bear said.

“Well that won’t work. Fish don’t have wool,” Papa Bear said. He grumbled unhappily.

“Well, all the fish I’ve seen are shiny and grayish,” Mama Bear said.

Papa Bear looked confused. “How would I look like that?” he asked.

“Your fur gets shiny when it’s wet,” she said.

“And I could roll in some grayish dust,” Papa Bear said. He smiled a big toothy smile.   “I’ll try it tomorrow.”

“I hope it works,” Mama Bear said. They cuddled together around Baby Bear and soon the cave was filled with snoring.

In the morning, the bears went down to the stream. Papa Bear jumped in and roared. “That’s cold,” he said. He hurried over to the nearby trail and rolled in it. The dirt clung to his wet fur. Soon he was colored a dark chalky gray.

He stood and faced his family. “ Do I look like a fish?” he asked.

Baby Bear laughed. “No,” he said.

“Maybe a little,” Mama Bear said. “Why don’t you go to the river and see if the fish are fooled. They aren’t very smart.”

“Like sheep,” Baby Bear said.

“Yes, dear,” Mama Bear said. “Like sheep.”

Papa Bear crouched by the side of the stream and waited. The fish didn’t come any closer. “Do you think they can see me this far away?” he asked.

“Maybe they think you’re a rock,” Baby Bear said.

“I’ll get in the stream and move around a bit,” Papa Bear said. But, as soon as he was in the stream, the dirt washed away. “This was a terrible idea,” Papa Bear said. “Let’s go look for berries. It’s too cold to stand in this stream any longer.”

The idea was forgotten for a time. And then, several weeks later, Papa Bear was patrolling the boundaries of their territory, when he smelled people. People were always trying to come and take over. He hurried over to chase them away.

That’s when he saw it. One of the people was lying in a large, shiny, grayish bag. He looked like a giant fish. It was perfect. He roared to scare the humans away quickly.

He waited, making sure not to get any closer. When he got up close, humans often became petrified with fear and tried to pretend to be dead. It was sometimes inconvenient to be so fearsome. He didn’t want the human to play dead in the fish costume.

The humans weren’t moving. He roared again. They scrambled up and began gathering their things. Nope.   He grumbled and took a step closer.   They ran and left the fish costume behind. Papa Bear couldn’t wait to try it out.

He carefully brought it home and showed it to Mama Bear and Baby Bear.   They were very impressed. He had to rip a hole in the bottom for his feet, but otherwise it was perfect. He decided to try it out the next morning.

He put on his fish costume and jumped into the slightly warmer stream.   He waited a moment and the fish came closer to investigate. He was just about ready to see how many he could catch with one swipe, when something plopped into the water and the fish scattered.

Papa Bear looked up through netting. A human was backing away, eyes wide. Papa Bear launched himself out of the costume, roaring. The human ran. Papa Bear chased him a little bit and then returned to the stream.

The costume was ruined.   Mama Bear pulled it from the stream and sighed. “Do you think you can find another one?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Papa Bear said.

“Hey, Papa,” Baby Bear said. “Look at this.” He was inspecting the human’s net. The net was unharmed, left on the trail where it had fallen off Papa Bear’s head. “Do you think we could learn to use one of these to catch fish?”

Papa Bear smiled a big toothy smile. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try,” he said.