The Election

“Dear, what are you looking at?” The man, hunched over in the doorway, looked over at his wife. She had one hand on her hip, the other held back the dark curtain just enough to poke her sun-spotted nose through the opening. She glared at something outside.

“It’s back!” She said and let the curtain flutter back into place. She turned to her husband, her white visage a stark contrast against the panel behind her. “What will we do?”

He sighed and hobbled over to the door and flipped the bolt into place, slid the chain lock over with a click, then grabbed his wife’s hand. “For starters, keep yourself away from the windows! If it sees you, you’re as good as gone!”

If not for the stillness in the neighborhood, you wouldn’t know anything was amiss. The sun was shining, a slight fall nip chilled the air. In the distance, children could be heard playing and laughing– they had nothing to worry about. Not yet, at least.

The season was beginning to turn and with it came the election. And with the election came the monsters creeping around the neighborhood. Yes, even in the light of day. One must stay diligent or else you’d be trapped by one. They’d quick-spit their vitriol in your face and then you’d be devoured. The thought sent a shudder through the man.

“Don’t leave the house! They’ll be gone in a few days,” the man said. They agreed to stay shuttered in until the election was over. (more…)


Orlen stood back and looked at their work. “Do you think it’ll work?” he asked his brother, Neven.

“Now you want my opinion?” Neven snapped as he knocked on a length of the solid wooden fence.

“Cloth wouldn’t work, Orlen.”

“How do you know? Rosella said they tried it and it worked on their section of the Vine.”

“Yes and Derek, and John, and Pearl tried it on their Vines and those damn beasts barrelled through it like it was nothing. We can’t risk them getting through, the Vine is too fragile right now.”

“I don’t know what those damn hunters are doing.”

“Oh come on now, Neven. They’re doing the best they can. We need to plant more diversion crops to draw them away.”

“Who’s got time for that?”

If you didn’t spend half your free time drinking, perhaps you would have time for that! Orlen bit his tongue though.

“Perhaps if we put up a sign up sheet for it?”

“Sure, why not.” Neven shrugged. He leapt over one of the short fences that separated the property from the main road. (more…)

Fear, Rejection and Spring Traditions

“We fear the wrong things you know.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We should be a afraid of not getting a job someday.” He nodded solemnly.
“Economy is bad.”
“That is what we should fear.”
“Not this other stuff.”
“Agree again.”
“So are you going to ask someone?”
“Doubt it.”

Damon jumped down from the air conditioner he had decided would make a good chair. He was wrong. He hated these chats with Derek. Derek was, for lack of a better idea, Derek. Full of bravado and bluster, but had no depth to him at all. If he was a tree he would be cardboard. Yet he put up with Derek, and Derek put up with him. It worked, and in college they would either both grow up or drift apart. They accepted that by laughing about it sometimes.
“You going to ask someone? Kristen Shaw?” Derek stared at him as if it was not just answered a moment ago. (more…)

May Stories at the Confabulator Cafe

April showers bring May flowers, right? Well, what if May also brought terror? I know, I know, usually October is the month for fright. But what if it was something completely not terrifying that was terrorizing a town?

The Confabulators explored that idea for this month’s prompt. Just when you thought you were safe…

We also have three returning Cafe contributors this month! We’re very excited to have them back.

Here’s the May lineup. Please visit us every Monday this month for new stories:

Monday, May 8: “Fear, Rejection and Spring” by Rob Conway
Monday, May 15: “Bunnies” by Anita C. Young
Monday, May 22: “The Election” by Sarah Bredeman
Monday, May 29: “Arbor Day” by Jack Campbell, Jr.


The Thirteenth Cat

Delilah loved cats. She had twelve already, all of them strays that had followed her home. They were reds, blues, tabbies, tortoiseshells, calicos, every color imaginable. Except pure black. Her parents wouldn’t let her have a black cat, though Delilah thought it silly. Her friend, Carlton, was terrified of black cats. Of course, he was also terrified of ladders, cracked pavement, and umbrellas. Delilah thought that silly as well.

She didn’t think it was so silly when Carlton banged on her window one night in the middle of a rainstorm. Putting her book down and crawling across her furry comforter, she pulled open the window. An icy blast slammed into her face and she recoiled. “What?” she hissed.

“I need to talk to you,” Carlton hissed back.