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the girl who lost herself in a spider-made labyrinth

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Gazing into the spider-made labyrinth, her mind grew dizzy and lost its way. She wandered ’round and ’round the web, unable to break free. A dying fly told her to run, but she found she couldn’t. When she passed a dewdrop, she stopped to scry inside, hoping for escape, but all she saw was spider. A stuck mosquito urged her to leave, but she couldn’t find the way.

A dragonfly flew past, his wing getting stuck, and she ran to him. He struggled in fury, and yanked himself free. “Wait!” she cried, as he flew away. “Take me with you!” He turned and gave her the strangest look, but he didn’t take her with him.

She sighed and set about mending the web, silk streaming from her body. She wondered if she’d always been a spider, after all. Foggy dreams of friends and books and human life were fading fast. There was little she could do but go back to the dying fly and finish off her meal.

 

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places long-forgotten

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The building appeared abandoned. To be sure, she knocked on the door with a vined hand and waited. No one answered but the rustle of the spiders who had already taken up residence, the whisper of termites in the walls, and the sad sigh of places long-forgotten.

She pushed open the door and looked around. The floor had caved in, decomposing into a banquet of nutrients for green and growing things. The roof had begun to crumble, allowing slips of sunshine and pockets of rain to come through. She sent up vines to widen the holes as she planted moss children and nanny mushrooms into the rotten floor.

Her work complete, she slipped outside again, her footsteps soft in the meadow without. She left little trace, but anyone passing the homestead would know Nature had been there, and took it for her own.

 

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the city gargoyle’s seaside retirement

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He began his life as a gargoyle in the big city. He spent his days staring into the window of a studio apartment across the street. Nothing much happened, until the day a clumsy wizard moved in. A few days later, an errant blast from her wand struck the gargoyle, and he found himself a free statue.

The gargoyle ran away without delay, escaping the city and heading for the coast. Once there, he found himself a decent perch upon a cliff. His days are now spent glaring out at the open ocean, thinking grumpy thoughts about fish, and frightening the occasional beachcomber.

On full moons he likes to stretch out his wings and soar around for a while, but he always returns to his seaside perch. “Home sweet home,” he tells the waves, still marveling at his luck.

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tales of a mushroom detective

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The man peered at the mushrooms with his magnifying glass, his cloak tossing behind him in the breeze. “Hmmm. An eruption of mushrooms can mean only one thing.”

“That it rained yesterday?” asked the boy.

“Of course not. It means dragons, or faeries, possibly a goblin.”

The boy crossed his arms. “What kind of a detective are you?”

The detective straightened, pocketed his magnifying glass, and winked. “The very best kind.”

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a most inconvenient gender swap

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It’s hard being a frog princess. People just aren’t ready for that gender swap. Boys poked at her with sticks, carried her around in buckets for hours at a time, and occasionally tossed her at a girl to make them scream, but they never kissed her. They never even considered kissing her.

Still, she supposed there are some small beauties to life as a frog. Her hair never got tangled, she didn’t have to go to school, and she could swim all day. Those things count for something, but she misses her old friends. She misses books and clothes and her old dog, Charlie.

So she sought me out and asked for my help. She wants me to ask you, if you know any little boys, to dare them to kiss frogs. This, she feels, just might work. It seems to me if little girls can do it, then little boys can find the courage too.

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how to trap a bit of sky

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He whispered to himself as he placed rocks into the puddles. Ancient rhymes and old spells spilled together without reason. He smiled to see pieces of the sky become trapped in the water’s reflection. A few more rhymes and he’d be able to smuggle them home in his pockets.

Not that he knew what to do with them. He’d probably just tuck them into jars and leave them on a shelf to frighten youngsters. It seemed a disappointing conclusion for his work and a sad fate for a bit of sky.

He added a new rhyme. The bits of sky grew restless, reaching up with wings which lifted them from the sand and flew them back up where they belonged. Much better to have invisible birds flying around than a chunk of depressed stratosphere trapped in a jar, he reasoned.

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playing with the threads of time

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All at once the woods fell silent. There were no planes, no sounds of traffic, just silence and the forest. Time appeared suspended. As she wandered through the forest, how tiny felt the thread that held her to her time. It seemed as possible a knight in a suit of armor might come crashing through the bush as a plane might fly overhead. She lingered there, playing with the threads of time, more than willing to believe she had a choice.

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the mating rituals of aging widows

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Old Mr. Snodgrass lived near the garden on the hill. His failing eyesight and his funny bulbous nose made him a favorite among the local widows, who flocked to his side with little cakes and books he could not read. Mr. Snodgrass, who had trained as an anthropologist and yearned to remain relevant, saw his chance. He hired an assistant and dictated his theories. Together they created his masterpiece; a book entitled The Mating Rituals of Aging Widows.

The local widows were horrified. They stopped bringing him little cakes right away. Mr. Snodgrass lost several pounds before he realized how much those cakes had meant to him. He relented at last, and married the woman who had brought his favorite cakes. Soon after the wedding he discovered she bought them at a corner store. They do not discuss his book.

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the luck of a four leaf clover

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At her foot lay a four leaf clover, colored purple so she couldn’t miss it. It looked ragged and strange, but she didn’t mind. She considered luck to be a rather tricky thing, so she hid the four leaf clover away in a book about folklore.

Inside, the clover pressed between the pages of a story about trolls and used up its luck burrowing into the story. She still has the book, so if you’d like to crawl inside a story and meet a troll or two, just ask. She’ll show you the page, pack you a lunch, and send you along the clover’s trail.

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a clutter of sailing spiders

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The Captain kicked at the ground and grumbled to himself. His crew made him furious. They were lazy and clumsy and ruined his best sails. He came across a spider and watched it for a while. His anger ebbed as he marveled how the spider rushed onto a web with ease to catch its prey, despite it flapping in the wind. An idea occurred to the Captain.

The next day the harbour hummed with strange tales of a mad sea captain who replaced his entire crew, save the cook and the cabin boy, with a clutter of spiders. No one knew what to think as they watched the ship sail out to sea with flawless symmetry, each sail just so and the rigging just right.