Category Archives: Fantasy

Animal Instincts

01 Sunday Nov 2015

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Today kicks off my A-Z Wilds Duology Challenge! Since it’s also the first Sunday of the month I wrote a short story for the letter A.

Because I didn’t want to go into spoiler territory, most everything I publish through the month of November will either take place before the beginning of the duology or will be irrelevant timeline-wise.

Animal Instincts takes place when De’vii (one of the leads in the novels) is about fourteen. De’vii and his two dogs, Fel and Sou, are mainstays in the duology. Te’iil is De’vii’s immediate cousin and is a minor character in Song for the Wilds (Book II). Si’raa is a new character I made up specifically for this story…so don’t get attached.

So without further ado, I give you…

Animal Instincts

The hunt never felt so good as when he ran with those he trusted. With his dogs, Fel and Sou, that trust had been implicit since they’d been gestating within their dam. With Te’iil, the trust stemmed from years of growing up together, knowing and believing Te’iil and his pack would come to De’vii’s aid if necessary. And knowing just as surely Te’iil would attempt to steal the kill right out from under De’vii’s teeth.

With Si’raa though… Si’raa was a different matter altogether. One De’vii hadn’t yet figured out.

The fresh scent of the underbrush filled the air. The lightly dripping leaves, drooping from the heaviness of the last dredges of the rainy season, brushed De’vii’s shoulders as he ran. His small pack—the steady Fel and the bloodthirsty Sou—ran to his either side, Sou slightly ahead, his eagerness an aphrodisiac affecting De’vii’s mind.

Si’raa and his three dogs trailed behind. His footsteps heavy on the dirt. His breathing harsh within the light pattering of droplets falling from the canopy. De’vii’s concentration split between the scent of the spindleleg they hunted and the need to know exactly where Si’raa was at all times. He chalked it up to that lack of trust, a burden during the hunt, forcing him to watch his back. Continue reading →

An Adorable Brand of Macabre

04 Sunday Oct 2015

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I made a deal with the adorably sweet guy next door before I discovered his fascination with masks. And, God, do I wish I meant those fancy theater faces or those old-fashioned masquerade pieces. Those I could handle since I’d dated my share of Broadway wannabes.

These ones were damn spooky in their own unholy place of honor on his wall.

“Do you like them?” Albert asked, his blue eyes sparkling with unrestrained excitement. He had a boyishness about him. A youthful exuberance. Something I’d given up on a decade or two ago.

“They’re interesting,” I said, making sure not to show my hesitation.

“Handmade, every single one.” He raised his wine glass toward the wall to point out a particularly lifelike one. “Created from the dried and treated skin off of some of the more notorious criminals in the state. That one is from a man who went on a four year murder spree across three states. You may have heard of him. Nathan Woton. Picked up women during the winter every year and would leave their bodies in shallow graves on the beach after raping and murdering them. If you put his mask on you can actually see how he would go back, walk along those stretches in the spring and summer to see if they’d been uncovered yet. I was actually able to help attribute seven more women to his victim count, women who had washed up elsewhere or hadn’t ever been found. His memories are intense.”

I swallowed a little too much of my wine in astonishment and did my best not to glance toward the door, focusing instead on Albert’s handsome profile. Continue reading →

Wish Delivery

07 Monday Sep 2015

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Wish Delivery

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (2100)

September eighteenth dawned like any other. Mostly clear. Slightly cloudy. Humidity on the low side for the end of summer.

I could hear the squeak of the school bus stopping outside the cul-de-sac of townhomes. Bright cheerful voices. Youthful ones. Laughing.

With a groan that tasted of bitterness, I shoved my pillow over my head and squeezed my eyes shut in the hopes that life and its pointlessness might fade away with a few more minutes of sleep.

Then the firehouse began a long low tone, signaling to my muggy brain that very soon it would be the irritating cry of sirens that would come screaming down the drag. So I reluctantly tumbled out of bed.

Not twenty minutes later I sat at my grooved kitchen table staring at my coffee and listening to those sirens and wondering why I’d bothered taking off. It wasn’t as if I had plans other than to sit on my couch, watch a Netflix marathon and eat delivery. Which now, as I stared morosely into my coffee, I realized that wasn’t a plan at all and certainly was an embarrassing way to spend my thirty-fifth birthday. Continue reading →

Coming Together

02 Sunday Aug 2015

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As Greg placed the pieces together, the rounded curves sliding into place seamlessly, the brown hair in the puzzle began to flutter, as if an ocean breeze had caught the visible strands. He watched for a few seconds, then sifted through the bulk of the pieces until he found the other portion of the man’s forehead. He attached it to the couple of pieces of cloud and sky and hair he’d already put together, then blinked when the forehead crinkled.

He glanced from the connected grouping of puzzle pieces to his condensating beer, then to the pile of freshly opened pieces. Bits of residue from the box decorated the table, calling attention to themselves when he sighed. He returned his gaze to the portion he’d just put together and shook his head because the hair no longer fluttered and the forehead had gone as smooth as it’d been when he’d first picked it up.

For a long time Greg worked quietly. Sorting the colors. Connecting the edges. Separating sky and ocean from beach and man.

The tight bathing suit, bright orange and black, easily went together. The legs extending down from it almost looked the same as the sunny piling above the pier that ran along the right side of the puzzle, but he found them as the pier grew longer. He thought, for just a moment, that he saw droplets sliding along the man’s knee after placed the pieces, but when he looked again, the telltale sparkle of sweat had disappeared. Continue reading →

Pawned Photos

05 Sunday Jul 2015

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Pawned Photos

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx 1900)

The first photo showed up on an otherwise normal Thursday morning. I found it tucked under the cash register, the bottom edge showing just enough to have me scouring my mind for when it might have been hidden. The photo itself had me blinking in surprise to see a twenty-something man with short spiky brown hair grinning back at me in an obvious selfie. The watch display from my pawn shop was fully visible behind him.

I immediately checked my alarms, both the ones bought from ADT and the ones I’d commissioned from a spellcaster. Then I did an inventory, starting with the watches. By the end of the day, I still hadn’t found anything missing, though I had discovered that the man had obviously used my computer, my camera and my printer in order to leave his surprise.

Needless to say, I was angry. Continue reading →

Twisted Bronze Arms

07 Sunday Jun 2015

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Twisted Bronze Arms

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx 3000)

I couldn’t keep still. Despite twisted bronze metal for my arms and legs and glittering sapphires for my eyes, I found ways to shift my body into unnatural positions. The statue on the other side of the iron gates and rusted portcullis turned his face, just slightly, so he couldn’t see and though I scoffed and called to him to join me, he refused to even acknowledge my existence.

That was what happened when built second. Second best, second born. I’d heard that somewhere, somehow. Probably one of the artisans as they’d melted and molded my body into shape. A shape I immediately slouched off in favor of more comfortable positions, because I did not want to spend all eternity standing with my arms outstretched as if welcoming refugees to clamber over my limbs.

Some days I whirled around and leaned upon the wall to enjoy examining the tiny city dwellers who spent most of their time eating and sleeping or finding ways to irritate one another. I assumed there were many things I didn’t get to see go on when they were inside their homes and businesses, but my curiosity didn’t extend to those things. Thus, I stood outside that gate on a pedestal for a long while before I discovered one of their more wondrous secrets.

It happened at night, while I’d been attempting to morph my stiff body into a dance move I’d seen a young girl perform in the street a few days prior. The two guards hurried up the staircase and plastered themselves to the left of the doorway of the watchtower. Head level. Continue reading →

There’s a Demon…

03 Sunday May 2015

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 There’s a Demon…

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Mini (Approx 1200)

There’s a demon living in my bathroom. He claims he’s harmless. Kind. In rare instances he even uses the word delightful. Though if that truly is the case then it’s a wonder that he sneaks peeks at me around the shower curtain.

Sometimes he appears as a child. Talk about disturbing. He blinks owlish eyes and stares as I shave. Then he gathers the tiny pieces of hair, collecting it in a pale pile that he hides away somewhere. I keep expecting him to throw a tantrum one day and coat me in a hurricane of stubble.

On Mondays he becomes one of those typical interpretations. You know the type—cloven hooves, forked tail, antler thingies, bright red body with a black goatee he swirls into two separate curling points. He gets mad when I call them antlers. He also insists that he looks that way on Mondays in order to keep my world from imploding. Something about Mondays being the worst day of the week and he just wants to be a part of that. The worst part.

Honestly, I don’t mind that he looks that way on Mondays because any and all attraction I have for him is inexplicitly gone. I can fumble about in the morning, trying to relieve a hangover and still get myself at least partly presentable for work without worrying about popping random woodies. Continue reading →

Fateful Hunt

12 Sunday Apr 2015

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Fateful Hunt

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx 14200)

Me’nor knew exactly when Nat lost the scent. The poor pup yipped in frustration and fret over the ground-up soil, ruining whatever hint might have clung to the soggy trail. The rest of the pack gathered quickly, the dogs he loved leaping excitedly over rotting wood and skidding through the muddied ditch that had formed years before when a burrow had collapsed. Another long ago hunt with only the black sky to bear witness to its failure.

“Aw, Nat.” Me’nor knelt, already too covered with smears and spatters of mud to heed the mess as he scrubbed the pup between the ears. “You’ve got to learn some patience, love.”

Nat snorted and shook himself, spraying his litter mate, Alo. She snapped at his flank in retaliation, sending them both sliding into the ditch, playfully fighting. Their dam, Kos, stood over them serenely, watching, but blatantly not interfering.

Ignoring the pups, Me’nor sniffed the heavy air. Something lingered. Not the moss hare the pups had been intent on eating. Something else. Something more dangerous. Win could smell it too. She was at his side immediately, her mind tugging on his, her nose to the ground, peeling away the overwhelming scent of moisture clinging to every branch, leaf and rock surrounding them.

“That’s different,” he muttered, more to himself than to Win. She responded anyway, with a light warning that spread though the collective consciousness of his pack. “And this close to the treaty line…” Continue reading →

Panty Nightmares

01 Sunday Mar 2015

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 Panty Nightmares

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx 2200)

Most of the time, I find it child’s play to divide my dreams from my nightmares. Like good and evil. Life and death. The lines tend to be bold and thick, marked with red tape and bureaucracy that always overstays its welcome. Or maybe I’m simply holding onto a type of faith my parents instilled back when I was three and the world seemed a whole lot simpler. Though, I think the immediate clue I stumbled upon was one I came to understand in my teen years, long after my parents had given up on trying to argue with me about life.

Just like then, I thought I knew everything.

Headless mannequins with crack-riding, pink-laced panties tend to fall in my I-know-what-kind-of-dream-this-is territory. Like I said, as easy as black and white. Right? Continue reading →

A Cold Bargain

01 Sunday Feb 2015

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A Cold Bargain

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.

Short Story (Approx 1500)

On the pamphlet it said they were Battery Everlasting. An interesting gimmick. Unrealistic, she was sure, but it was a nice touch. Especially since it was written in big broad letters, with phallic shapes to the b and g. It cost less than five though, slashed from a seventy-five percent sale, and she loved a bargain.

The only two left were hot pink and frost blue so she bought the blue. Once she got home and opened the packaging, the phallic b ripping in half because the tape wouldn’t come off, she discovered that blue really meant purple. Of course. She’d probably just been scammed. No return policy either given the intimate nature of the product.

Oh well.

She washed it thoroughly and lay down to test it out. Sans batteries. She didn’t actually believe it would turn on, but—surprise!—it hummed to life in her hand, dancing like it wanted to mate. Interesting. She could save a fortune on double As if it worked. Continue reading →