Doghouse
After forgetting Mother’s Day, Pop was in the doghouse.
“Mom’s being a real witch about this,” I frown.
He sighs as a Bluetick Hound. “At least the potion only lasts a day.”
“Good,” I say, wiggling a vial. “Because I put some in her coffee!”
There’s a bay from the kitchen.
Journal Entry
“May 12th, 1870,” he writes. “At a depth of ninety-nine fathoms, I’m hallucinating from oceanic pressures…”
The mermaid child sits half out of the water portal at the bottom of the driving bell. She reaches for a brass valve. “Ooh!”
“Don’t touch that!” he warns.
Torches and Pitchforks
A horde of peasants surrounded the pair.
“I am not a münster!” the cheese golem yelled.
The circle of pitchforks and torches, stopped.
He gestured to his vegetative companion. “And he is a Human Bean!”
The village collectively groaned, then made enchiladas.
Guardians of Faith
“The storm will be here soon,” John Horse says. “Great orenda. Here, take this.”
He offers me a rain poncho.
“Do your traditions prepare you to face monsters?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Does Celtic reconstructionism teach you how to swing that sword of Cú Chulainn?”
South of Vardø, 1943
A giant of ice approaches the portal as Nazi scientists and Quisling collaborators kept the invention running.
Knut lowers his binoculars. “I can’t stop a jötunn!”
The Norwegian commando looks to the hammer he had found. “Unless…”
Mjölnir glows.
Copyright © 2020 by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
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