Tag Archives: urban fantasy

(Friday Fiction) Changeling: The Talk

Writing 150Our protagonist gets a name! I’m still feeling out how being a Changeling would feel in inner-city Baltimore. I think there’s something distinctive about the idea and I’d love to try and capture it. Here, Mr. Foster takes our narrator to McDonald’s for an explanation of what’s going on. Or not.

I don’t know if I’ve ever really SEEN the McDonald’s at Walbrook Junction before. I’ve walked past it all the time, and it’s always been the same place since I was a kid. The outside is the same fake stucco that covers the entire crumbling strip mall, and the inside is this big, open space that is way cleaner than it should be for the neighborhood but still choked with the smell of a generation’s worth of fryer grease and industrial cleaners. The tile is old, the walls are peeling but scrubbed clean, and the chairs are so worn you wouldn’t know foam was in the seat. I had always thought it was a dump, like everything there, even if the owner gave a shit about it being clean.

That was until I went in there with Mr. Foster. When he picked me up at my house, it was in a car that was twice the size I had remembered it being. The dashboard was covered with weird knobs and words in another language, but he drove it just fine. We cruised through my neighborhood, and it was like I was seeing everything for the first time. The trees were bigger and greener. The abandoned house looked like it was alive, sitting back from the street with its mouth wide open like it wanted to eat you. There were rats and cockroaches playing double-dutch on the sidewalk.

Walbrook Junction looked mostly normal, except for that McDonald’s. It was a castle with — I shit you not — an actual moat around it and banners flying and everything. When Mr. Foster walked up to it, a drawbridge just appeared. When he opened the door, one of the old mascots — the bird with the yarn hair — curtseyed and greeted him like he was a visiting noble. “Good afternoon, Sir Baobab,” is what I think she said.

Everybody seemed to know him. He walked up to the counter and the worker there stared up at him. Mr. Foster is a tall dude, but…he was really tall here. His Afro scrunched against the ceiling, and you could hear the horns coming out of his forehead scraping against it. His skin was unnaturally black but kinda brown, like molasses. And his hair was white with little flecks of black in it. That’s not how Mr. Foster looked before. And I had known him for like, five years now.

He ordered two quarter pounders with cheese, two Big Macs, a 20 piece Chicken McNuggets, and the biggest Coke they had. I got a double cheeseburger and a McChicken, then some fries and a milkshake. I don’t know why, but it felt like I had to keep up with him. The way everybody was acting around him, it made me want to live up to something.

We got our food, and he wasn’t charged for it. He told the cashier where we were going to sit (at a table in the corner) and he said “I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.” Before we sat down, he took a lima bean out of his pocket and put it on the chair. It sprouted immediately, and a new chair made of vines formed over it, sized up for him. He caught me staring, but he just pointed at me to sit down.

Mr. Foster tore up his food immediately. I couldn’t stop looking around. There was a five-foot squirrel dude mopping the floor and wiping down tables. Every once in a while, a rat walking on its hind legs would walk up to him and he would chitter at it or something, and then it would go off and pick up trash or put balls back in the ball pit.

I’ve been seeing shit like this ever since I got mugged. It’s still straight-up crazy to me, but with Mr. Foster it was the first time it felt like it was a kind of crazy I could live with.

“What do you want to do with your life?” When he spoke, he demanded you listen. He had that kind of voice.

“Uhm, what?” I was distracted by the squirrel-dude, and caught off guard by the question. What did that have to do with anything?

Mr. Foster leaned in and rounded his shoulders. There was a table between us, but I still felt trapped. “I said, what do you want to do with your life?”

I stared at him for a long minute. My mind went blank. Was I supposed to know what I wanted to do with my life when I was just in high school? Wasn’t that what college was for? I reached for anything I could think of, the first thing that came to mind.

“I want to cut hair.” I felt so stupid right after I said it. Mr. Foster lifted his eyebrows, but otherwise he didn’t react.


I shrugged. “It’s cool to just be able to talk to people all day while doing something nice for them.”

Mr. Foster nodded. “You know how to cut hair?”

Oh shit, I didn’t even think of that! I shook my head quickly. “Naw, but I can learn. It looks like something I can get pretty good at.”

“Yeah, you think so, huh?” Now he seemed amused. But not in a way that made me feel bad. “You just need some clippers and a YouTube video, right?”

“Maybe a head to practice on or something, I don’t know.” I returned his smile without knowing why. None of this made sense. Weren’t we supposed to be talking about the fact that all kinds of impossible shit was happening all around us right now? That we were in a McDonald’s that suddenly looked like a castle? That he was some giant unnaturally-colored dude that seemed to pull a lot of respect here? Why were we talking about hair all of a sudden?

“Listen, I got a few friends who could use a haircut.” He shifted in his seat, and the whole thing groaned, vines and all. “I’m going to bring a clipper set over to school tomorrow. It’s yours. And in two weeks’ time, you’re going to come to my house and cut hair. That’s how you’re gonna pay me back. Deal?”

“Uhm. Deal.” I glanced at a small group of rats that seemed to be arguing about a mess on the floor. They were squeaking at each other in these high voices that made it hard to make out what they were saying. “But shouldn’t we be—?”

Mr. Foster put up a big hand to stop me from talking. “You’ll get to talk all you want in a couple of weeks. But if you have questions, you write them down one at a time on this.”

He made a motion like he was sliding something to me across the table. It didn’t look like anything at first, but when I looked down there was a piece of paper there. It was thick, like a page out of an expensive journal or something, colored yellow-brown with all kinds of spots in it. It looked awesome. Too good to write on, even. I gathered it up and slipped it in my backpack, not really sure what to say. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You write the question, and I’ll see it. I’ll write a response, and you’ll see it on that slip of paper.”


“Magic, that’s how.” The look on his face let me know he was giving me a big secret. “It’s like untraceable email, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I still felt weird about all of this, but kind of comfortable. “But what if my parents find it or my sister starts snooping in my room?”

Mr. Foster shook his head. “They won’t see it. Only folks like you and me can. If you want to know what I mean by that, that’s your first question.”

He got up all of a sudden, and it looked like he was going to smash right through the ceiling. But he didn’t. “I’ve got to go, but I want you to know two things. First, you’re not crazy. You’re special. Second, if you ever feel like you’re in danger or this is too much to handle, you come here and ask a cashier to get me. I’ll come as soon as I can, OK?”

I nodded. I didn’t really like it, but I nodded.

“Good.” Mr. Foster grabbed my shoulder when I stood up and squeezed it. “You’re a good kid, Marvin. It’s going to be OK.” He stared at me with those weird blue eyes of his until I believed it.

And then he drove me home.

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Posted by on September 16, 2016 in RPGs, Sleepwalkers, Thursday Prompt, Writing


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(Friday Fiction) The Surprise at the End of the Hike

Writing 150The sun slunk low behind the canopy as we made our way deeper into the woods. It wasn’t low enough yet that the pockets of light were weaker or smaller, but it was low enough that sunbeams hit at crazy angles. You could still feel the difference in the air between the sun and the shade. And you could still see the way the light changed the color of his skin and made the sweat shine, or revealed the true dark brown of his eyes.

I really fucking loved this time of the day.

We were walking to the river — my spot, the one I went to when I needed to be alone and think about stuff. I still brought my fishing pole, even though there weren’t any fish any more; it was nice to go through the motions, to keep the stuff my dad taught me when he was still around. I don’t have a lot of stuff to remember him by, and it’s important to me that I do.

As far as I knew, no one else came here. So showing him this place was a big deal. But I wanted to make tonight special for both of us — we weren’t used to being open with people, letting them into our secret places. Like almost everybody our age, we armored ourselves against a world we expected to be hostile. The closer people were to you, the more likely they were to hurt you.

Which is why I couldn’t believe we had gotten so close. I met him just five months ago after his family moved here from out west; he didn’t like to talk about his life before, and I couldn’t blame him. It sounded like he didn’t have the best relationship with his dad, and though his stepdad was around that was…complicated. His mother was checked out, as far as I could tell, watching soaps and talk shows all day, making canned or boxed shit for dinner. They didn’t care where he went or what he did. So he hung out with me.

We went to school, of course. I’m trying to get into college so I can get the fuck out of here, and I know he’s smart enough to come with me. But when we talk about it he gets real nervous, like it’s some new thing to be frightened of that he had never thought about before. I don’t push him, but I want to. Life doesn’t have to be this way for him. For either of us. We can get out of here and actually give a shit about people. We don’t have to be scared of the world.

We were close enough to the water that I can hear it. It’s a quiet tinkle under the sound of the wind and leaves. It calmed me down, but he just seemed to get more and more nervous. I watched him, a little ways ahead of me, looking around at every sound, lifting his nose up like some kind of squirrel, like he could actually smell something. Even though it wasn’t that hot, he was sweating enough that his shirt clung to his back. I could see the shape of his shoulder blades and the thin muscle moving around them. I loved to pat him there or put my arm around him, letting it linger just a little longer than it should. He never pulled away. Did he know? He had to know, right?

The river came up suddenly. One minute, you’re in the middle of the woods and then there’s this drop of about three feet. Right below you was a short little bank with exposed root and stones, and then a thin little river, just big enough to be fast. In the summer, you could wade in it up to your thighs in the middle; now, it was just a little bigger. I guess the snow in the mountains was starting to melt or something. I don’t know where the water comes from.

I hopped down to the bank first, and he came in after me. It was completely shaded here, and with the cold water right next to us the air was almost chilly. I stepped close to look at him, to feel his heat on me. He was almost feverishly hot now. He kept looking away from me and up towards the trees. What was he looking at?

“So this is it,” I said. I tried to sound relaxed, but with what I wanted to say and the way he was so wound up I couldn’t really make it work.

“Yeah.” His voice was smooth, like he and the river went together. “It’s nice.” He watched the sun set, then sat down when he couldn’t see it any more. I sat with him and we let the evening settle in silence. When it got dark enough, I brought out the flashlight. He flinched when I turned it on.

“Listen, I have something to tell you.” I rose up on my knees and turned to face him. I could feel my palms getting sweaty now, nerves and anticipation all getting my body ready for that rush of relief. I was at the top of the roller coaster, getting ready to take the plunge. It was scary, but I knew that once I dropped momentum would carry me the rest of the way. It would be fun, and fast, and frightening.

“I figured,” he said. He turned to face me too, and he grunted as he did, doubled over for a second. “I have something…to tell you too.”

“You OK?” It looked like his stomach hurt, bad.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He rose up, breathing hard. Almost panting. He smiled though, to reassure me. “I’m fine.”

“OK then.” I don’t know why I set that worry aside, but I did. “On three, we both say it. Ready? One…two…three!”

“I love you,” I said.

“I’m a werewolf,” he said.

I looked at him, stunned. He stared at me close, waiting for my reaction. It was like what I had said didn’t even register to him yet.

I laughed in his face. “What? Quit playing.” I reached for his hand, but he pulled it away.

“I’m not playing.” He was definitely panting now, and still sweating even though I was at the point where I wish I had a jacket. He let out this weird noise and doubled over again, then pulled up. “I…you know how I like to go out camping with my stepdad?”

I nodded, but then realized he wasn’t looking at me. “Yeah?” That was all I could say. What the fuck was this?

“It’s…we go out into the woods so people don’t see us. When we can. Otherwise….ughh!…we hang out in our basement.”

Suddenly the night seemed a lot darker. The flashlight wasn’t nearly bright enough. This was it. This was why people didn’t do this kind of shit. “What…what are you talking about?”

“Here…I’ve…I’ve just got to…show you. You can use the flashlight if you want.”

I picked it up and shone it on him. I could feel myself go numb. Was this dude crazy, or what? Did I just take myself out into the woods with some guy who was about to kill me? Should I run?

He clutched his stomach and growled. It was a real, honest-to-God growl, like an animal would make. I heard this muffled pop, like when someone cracks your back, and then he made this whimper of relief. Another pop, and a there was this gasp of surprise. Then another, and another.

His clothes ripped around his spine, just like in the movies. Black fur pushed out of the hole, and then he heaved up while still on his knees, making the tear bigger. His voice changed, got rougher, like a bunch of rocks tumbling together.

He put his hands on the ground, almost like he wanted me to see what was happening to them. The fingers got long and weird, and his nails got dark and shiny, grew out to points. I could hear his skin stretching, and all of his clothes breaking, buttons popping off, the whole thing. Hair was sprouting out everywhere, that walnut-brown skin curling up between the strands like it was an illusion melting away.

He…it…whatever was in front of me growled again, and this time it’s completely not him but some weird cross between a wolf and a bear. I brought up the flashlight and two eyes flashed back from the beam. There was a glimpse of teeth, fangs as big as my little finger and pushing out bigger.

Its breathing was this noise that was half-wheeze, half-growl. It kept staring at me as it changed, all hunched over, getting closer even though it wasn’t moving. It just kept getting bigger, growling louder, starting to loom.

I have no idea how long it took before its shape finally settled, but I do know it was this huge, terrible thing growling right in front of my face. It looked at me and pinned its ears back, then rocked back onto its haunches. When its back straightened, the remains of its shirt slid off of its fur and its head rose high above me. It looked…relieved. Its breathing steadied, a rhythmic bellow.

“I haven’t told anyone,” it said. “But you…I knew you would understand. I had to tell you because…because I love you too.”

It reached out for me. All I saw was the flash of claws longer than my fingers. Something…something I had no idea was lurking inside my head leapt up and took hold. I couldn’t control myself. I jumped up, I screamed, and God help me…I ran.

“Wait!” The beast roared behind me and I ran faster. I don’t remember much about anything until I was out of the woods and booking across the empty lot that separated the projects where I lived from the little patch of park that was my private spot. But I do remember looking up to see the full moon peeking over the building.

And I remember how lonely the howl sounded as it bounced off the high rises.

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Posted by on June 3, 2016 in Writing


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Friday Fiction: Urban Blight

Writing 150(This is a short story that I’m writing for the Clarion Write-a-Thon, inspired by the short story “Removal Order” by Tananarive Due. I had never seen someone tackle the idea of an apocalyptic scenario from the perspective of an inner-city character, and the prospect is really exciting to me. You see apocalyptic stories from the point of view of “prestige fiction” protagonists an awful lot, but it would be really cool to see the unique challenges such a scenario would bring to someone without resources or connections. Where would they go? What could they do? This is a VERY rough draft, and my first attempt at tackling the idea. I’m thinking the short story in its final form will be way different. But for now…enjoy!)

Marcus sat on the front steps of his home and listened to the silence that had fallen on his neighborhood. He could hear the crows calling to each other from the dogwood and mulberry trees that lined his block. He could hear the leaves rustling in the breeze. He could hear the sound of his own heart beating.

He couldn’t hear cars humming up and down Gwynn Falls Parkway, or the sound of children shouting to each other from porches, parking lots, the front of the corner store. He couldn’t hear the sound of ambulances rushing down side streets, or the occasional sound of raised voices or fights or gunshots. There weren’t people out on other porches. There wasn’t the drone of radios or televisions, or the hum of fans. There were just the birds, the leaves, his heart.

It was disconcerting. Marcus spent his entire life wishing that the city was quieter, and now he realized just how much the buildings around him were meant to be noisy. The houses all around him were quiet and dark, and he knew it wasn’t just because the power had gone out three days ago. It was for the same reason he’d rather be out here instead of inside his own house.

He woke up this morning hoping for the best but expecting the worst. The worst had happened. He walked out immediately, sat on his front steps, and hadn’t moved all day. The sun had come up behind the house across the street, illuminated the emptiness of the road in front of his house, and sunken down behind his back yard before he came out of his own head for long enough to realize the time. It was getting dark; he could see the reflections of the sunset off of Mr. Frank’s bedroom windows. Unless he wanted to spend the night here, he would have to get moving soon.

He had done a lot of grieving over the last twelve hours or so. His brain was a thicket of memories that he had to fight his way through to get here. He reached back for the earliest one he could recall and sat there, letting a jungle of them form around him. He took his time cutting his way through them until he got here, watching golden sunlight crawl up the side of Mr. Frank’s house, listening to nothing. It was time to go, something inside of him said. He knew this. But he couldn’t make himself stand up. He couldn’t go back into that house.

Something moved down the block, just to the right of his vision. It was too big to be a bird or a dog, too upright. He looked down the street to see Tyrone stumble into the middle of it. He stopped, he pulled up his jeans, and he looked around. Before Marcus could do anything, Tyrone spotted him. Then he started walking towards him. He called out. His voice was strong and clear. It startled him; it made him remember how long it had been since he heard someone’s voice.

“Hey yo.” Tyrone hustled up the street, stopped in front of his gate. “What you doing here?”

Marcus felt the rush of adrenaline remind him of his own body. He was suddenly cold, and his ass had fallen asleep, and he was terribly hungry. His heart beat inside a chest that felt too weak for it. His tongue was swollen and dry. It peeled from the roof of his mouth and scraped against his teeth when he tried to come up with an answer.

“Hey man,” Tyrone said. “Come here.” He wore clothes that were so oversized they looked like a mass of fabric, a pile of blues and blacks and whites with him and who knew what else underneath them.

Marcus hesitated. He had been popped by Tyrone so many times before; for the old iPod he had gotten one summer, for the eighty dollars he had right after he cashed his check, for a pair of sneakers that were as white as a new road sign, for nothing at all, just so he could be shoved around a bit when his friends were bored. Whatever Tyrone wanted now, it was not good. He really didn’t want to deal with it.

So he stared at him. Tyrone stared back for a minute, then sucked in his teeth. “Come here, man. I ain’t tryin’ to fuck with you or nothin’. I just need to talk with you for a second.”
Marcus rose. He leaned against the bannister as he made his way down the steps. Both of his legs erupted into that feeling, like he was being bitten by ants. He could feel his feet slide inside his shoes, hundreds of pinches just under his skin. When he got to the bottom, he walked stiffly, slowly down the sidewalk. He must have looked like Mr. Frank. It felt like an hour had gone by when he got to the gate.

“What you want?” The question squeaked out of his throat and garbled between his tongue and his cheeks. It sounded like he had been crying, but he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he hadn’t.

Tyrone looked at him for a second in that way that made it seem like he was, indeed, trying to fuck with him. Then he nodded his head. “You got family in there or somethin’?”
Marcus shook his head. He tried to will the image that came up out of his head. He would not remember her that way. “Naw. Not no more.”

(If you think this story has potential, or you’d like to donate to a good cause, please consider donating to the Clarion Write-a-Thon through my author page. I’m 20% towards my goal of $500 raised; all I need is eight more people making a donation of $50, or a pledge of 1/1000th of a cent ($.001) per word!)

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Posted by on June 27, 2014 in Writing


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