The village of Nkwere woke slowly, like it had nothing urgent to do. Morning sunlight stretched across the red clay streets, pooling in the gaps between houses, glinting off the corrugated tin roofs. Birds trilled from the mango trees, their calls weaving with the distant low hum of goats. Chinedu adjusted the strap of his satchel, heavy with forms, and squinted at the notebook inside.
The 1950’s
A BREAKTHROUGH IN EVOLUTION!
“Come on, Hester! Pee faster!”
“You can’t rush science, Mabel!” A few seconds of cautious tinkling and then a groan. “Gosh darn it, all over the jar!”
“Nah, it’s okay. I yoinked a pair of gloves from the lab.” A steadier stream, and then, “All right, now it’s the waiting game.”
Mabel took the lull as an opportunity to touch up her lipstick in the bathroom mirror. “You’re gonna throw that sample jar into the autoclave after, right?”
Connie texts around midday: Cancel the cake samples. The wedding is off.
I use my apron’s hem to dust flour from my phone screen, hoping I misread. Now, I have no way of knowing whether this is just dramatics. Just like Connie has no way of knowing the cakes were in the oven by six o’clock this morning.
The two-year-old rips the giftbox’s taut ribbon apart with untrimmed claws.
Kai’s parents beam. “Happy birthday, buddy!”
It’s after midnight when he finally gets home. Again. He throws his overcoat over the back of the worn couch and turns on the television. While he waits for the ancient tube to warm to life he pours himself a drink — three inches of Jack Daniels in a rocks glass without the rocks.
The glass is half-empty by the time the picture stops wavering and settles into focus.
He’s tuned to the late news — murder, rape, rising health-care costs and unemployment, government scandal. Nothing new. And, as usual these days, nothing about him.
Everything was ashes in the end—at least if you planned it right. And this time, she was going to get it right. Nicole stirred the fire, watching as the clothbound cover inside the trash barrel finally caught. Despite her commitment to her wife Angie and to this weekend, regrets swirled like smoke as the book’s pages flared. Nicole would never use it again, not in praise to the Old Ones nor in sacrifice.
Though really, the two were often the same.
“They’re not pets, Lily.” Richard rubbed his temples. “I understand why you’re upset. But this isn’t safe.”
“Isn’t it?” Lily perched on the edge of the sofa, hands wrapped around her knees as she pulled herself into a ball. “I’ve lived here for years. Nothing bad has happened.”
Richard gave a concerned frown. “And I’m very glad nothing’s happened. But that doesn’t mean it’s safe. Please tell me you understand.”
In August, Sonny Gebhardt inherited an apple orchard.
The call from the lawyer and a letterhead confirmed it. His great-uncle had no other kin to give it to. When the deed came, Sonny almost crumpled it up.
But ten acres might cover a year's rent, and pizza rolls to boot. So without even seeing the property, he searched for a way to sell it.
My great-great-great-great-great granddaughter's at it again with the Bad Dragon Lil' Vibe.
“Do you see what she's doing, Sissy?” thinks Rue.
“I'm your cousin, not your sister, and I don't see anything,” I think back for literally the millionth time. “Stop psychically spying on her. Give the girl some privacy.”
When you're an immortal brain in a jar, precision is vital.
I rubbed the rough surface of the ancient ring that clung to my finger and felt it bite deeper into my flesh, the pain reminding me of Its impending visit. The wall clock ticked and ticked, its hands spinning mercilessly, begging for my gaze. I refused the call, but the message was crystal clear.
Midnight was approaching.
Emilia tapped the cover of the book I was holding, startling me.
“And then, Mommy?” she asked, her breathing labored but steadier than it had been in months.