Witch Way

I’m not lazy, I just do things in my own time. I had every intention of doing as the Hags asked, but I’d nearly reached my wits end with them, so they were just going to have to wait for me to run my errand first.

“Don’t be too long, Rachel. You know we need that laurel wreath for the ritual tonight,” Marian said.

“And do try to find a fresh one this time. The last one was so old and dried out, I’m pretty sure the sacred elements conspired to throw it out the tower window,” Sorita said.

I resisted rolling my eyes. The laurel wreath wasn’t the only thing old and dried out in the tower.

“Oh, and stop by the liquor store, will you? We’re out of Merlot,” Althea said.

I sighed as I snatched up my bag and their shopping list. “You do realize I’m your apprentice, not your errand runner.”

“Same thing,” Sorita said with a wave.

“We do appreciate it, dear,” Marian said with a smile. Fake, I was pretty sure.

“Be a good apprentice and run along, or I won’t share the mulled wine,” Althea said, and while the words were gruff, I could hear the affection there.

“You wouldn’t dare.” I gave her a look of mock horror, and she gave me a shove.

“Off with you.”

As I made my way out the tower door, I could hear them discussing me.


The Real Boy

Dessie waited behind the curtain while the audience clapped. They cheered loudly, erratically, and some members sobbed. She smiled. Preschool audiences always made her smile.

She threw open the curtain and had her puppets bow one by one. When she herself finally stood, the children swarmed her. They asked questions, told her their favorite kind of construction equipment, and asked to play with her puppets…all except one boy in the corner. He sat alone, poking at a graphing calculator. It was Dessie’s own four-year old son, Beckett. Her smile vanished. (more…)

June Stories at the Confabulator Cafe

Welcome to another month of free fiction here at the Cafe. Pull up a chair and let us get you a nice iced coffee or tea. It is much too warm out there for June. Which really means it’s great weather to stay inside and catch up on your reading.

This month, Confabulators were charged with looking back through the titles of old Cafe stories and using one for inspiration to write an all new tale. Then they had to give it a new title to make it their own. We call this Recycled Titles. We’ve also linked the original story at the end of each piece, so you can go read the original story, as well, to see how they measure up.

Here’s the schedule for June:

Friday, June 8: “The Real Boy” by Emily Mosher
Friday, June 22: “Witch Way” by Sara Lundberg



Battle of Wills

The rhythmic bang, bang, bang of his hoof against the stall door reverberated through the old stables. Pegasus bobbed his head with the sound as though the echoing, metal clangs were the sweetest music to his ears. They weren’t, but he wasn’t letting the stable boy know that. Not that it was the stable boy’s fault he was here, chained by Bellerophon’s golden bridle to a ring in the stall wall.

Pegasus paused in his banging to switch hooves, waiting just long enough for the stable boy to relax before starting up the noise again. He supposed he shouldn’t torment the mortal so, but he was bored. Horribly, infuriatingly, insanely bored. How long had he been in here? Pegasus considered the question as he continued to bang his hoof against the stall door, making it rattle and clang with each strike. Four months, maybe? It was a short enough time for an immortal like him, but even immortals could get bored.

“What is it now?!” the stable boy yelled, startling Pegasus out of his thoughts. The boy, face pinched in a scowl, stalked toward the stall imprisoning Pegasus and glared through the bars on the top of the Dutch doors. Pegasus would have expected a mortal to pay him more respect, but then the boy was probably as bored and annoyed as Pegasus was. He’d been standing at the stable doors for three hours, guarding them in the unlikely event Pegasus would manage to break free of the bridle, the stall doors, and the stable itself.


The Upset

Rex watched the dial spin as the Powers That Be selected his team’s foe. Their rank was low, so their opponent would be powerful. But maybe not unbeatable, Rex thought, watching the wheel slow. His heart sank as the flapper landed on Unicorns. Bloody Unicorns. Uptight, arrogant, can’t-help-but-adore-them bluebloods of the human imagination.

Pix, the saner of Rex’s two teammates, groaned and buried his face in his claws. “Well,” Pix said, “that’s it for Team Chupacabara this year.”  Mynx, his other teammate, only drooled and whined.