He stood up in the waves, hands covering his ears, and began shouting as he walked toward me. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, so I stopped singing. No one had ever actually made it onto the island before, and I was curious to see what he had to say. Would he be furious? Insatiable? Frenzied? I licked my lips in anticipation.

“Please!” He shouted. “Stop!”

I smiled. He was under my spell, just like all the others. I opened my mouth to sing again, but he cut me off.

“You’re so bad at singing!”

No gob has ever been more smacked then my own was in that moment. His words froze the notes in my throat, causing me to literally gag in response. “Huhck,” I choked out, astonishing myself.

He came to a stop in front of me and leaned forward, hands pressed on his knees while he caught his breath. “Oh god,” he panted. “It’s like nails on a chalkboard. Just stop. Please.”

Mouth agape, I stared at him. This mortal morsel had the audacity to not only invade my home but to also criticize my siren song? I.think.not.

“Mortal,” I said, using my polyphonic voice to put the fear of jeebus in him. “Take care in what you say, for these words may be your last.”

He placed his hands on his hips and arched his back. “Ugh god—I don’t care.” He flapped his hand at me, like I was moth he was shooing away. “Just don’t sing.” Then he tilted his chin down and looked me in the eye. “You fucking totalled my boat you know.”

Does the mouse scold the cat when it’s been caught? Does the rabbit look the fox in the eye and say “Oi! You fucked up my nest!” No! It cowers and gets eaten! And that’s exactly what was going to happen here.

I furrowed my brow and squinted at this brazen bit of man flesh. “I usually try and make this quick, because I’m not a sadist,” I explained, forgoing any further formal language since this twat had seen fit to dispense with the proper order of things. “But given your lack of respect, maybe not this time.” I opened my mouth and screamed—a piercing roar that would strip the flesh from any living creature.

But it had no effect on him.

“Demeter was right,” he said, wiggling a finger in his ear. “You’re a nasty piece of work.”

My blood froze. Demeter?

“Maybe you’re the one who should learn some manners.” He held his hand out and a golden bow came flying up from the wreckage of his ship and into his hand.

“No,” I hissed, backing away. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“Well, now you do.” He held out his other hand, which soon became a fistful of golden arrows. “And I really didn’t like your singing.”

“Apollo—no! I can repair your ship! I can change my voice!”

He notched an arrow. “I think,” he paused, looking at me. “Not.” And he let the arrow fly.

Christmas Everyday by The Frights

I thought at first my eyes were deceiving me, but no, it wasn’t bugs or some other tiny creatures: these were three tiny women. Sitting at the base of the small potted tree I had placed near my kitchen’s windowsill.

I moved closer to the pot and stared at them. The women sat side-by-side in a slightly curved line, with the one in the middle knitting something long out of iridescent yarn. The other two sat on either side of her, their legs crossed and their eyes closed, as if meditating. They wore blue dresses and had long white hair that hung in a single braid down each of their backs. None of them had any shoes and I marvelled at how tiny the toes were that peeked out from under their hems. Were they sisters? Triplets? They looked identical to me though it was hard to tell given how small they were. They were very old, though. That much I could tell.

What were these women doing at the bottom of this little tree? I’d bought it yesterday on a whim as I’d passed by a bodega on the Danforth, its woven trunk and knotty branches drawing me in like a crow to a bottle cap. That compulsion had been strange enough, given my complete lack of interest in plants, and now there were these tiny supernatural women, knitting and meditating like some kind of weird fairies.

I heard a faint chiming sound and, as if on cue, the woman to the left of the knitter opened her eyes. She turned and reached one hand down toward the end of the knitted fabric and the other up toward its beginning. She looked back and forth between her two hands and then lifted them up, as if trying to determine whether the fabric was long enough. But long enough for what? I heard her click her tongue, and then she quickly sliced open the palm of her right hand using a long fingernail on her left. I stifled a gasp and watched, horrified, and she dropped blood onto the upper part of the fabric—about six inches from where it connected to the needles.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, aghast.

The second the blood hit the fabric the third woman jerked awake and began moving like a poorly controlled marionette. She awkwardly drew a knife from a pocket in her dress and lurched toward the fabric, wrapping her gnarled fingers tightly around the fabric below the bloodstain. She then began to saw, shredding the threads at the spot where the blood had fallen. Back and forth she jerked the knife until the length of fabric was separated from its source. Then, she grabbed the piece of fabric and flung it into the air.

I watched as it fluttered briefly, faded, and then disappeared, like a sunbeam behind a cloud. I sat in silence for a moment, unsure of what I’d just seen. The two women returned to their meditative positions and the third one continued knitting, as she had been the whole time.

My phone rang, shocking me into action. I picked it up from the table and saw it was my mother calling. “Hello?” I answered shakily. “Oh Moira!” She said happily. “She’s here! Your sister had her baby! And she’s just the cutest thing too…”

(This was my take on the Norns sitting at the base of Yggsdrasil and deciding everyone’s life span)

(Edit to add brackets)

Thanks!

“He still really drinking the PSLs?”

Betabat sat slumped over the counter and didn’t look at me as he replied. “Yeah. He thinks they’re delicious.”

I poured him a cup of coffee and leaned down beside him. “Who knew pumpkin spice was so popular with the dark side?”

“Do you know how long eternity is, Dolly?” He said, sitting up to look at me. “Because it’s a really long time.”

“I know, sugar. And it must feel even longer when your boss is mad at you.”

He groaned and leaned back, hands holding onto the counter to keep himself from toppling backward. “Why did I even take this job? I was perfectly happy terrorizing the damned. They feared me! I was good at it!” He lay his head back down on the table and covered it with his hands. “And now I fetch pumpkin spice lattes and track soul snatching appointments on outlook.”

I tapped my fingernail on the counter and smiled. “And you can’t even do that right.”

He pushed himself up forcefully. “I know!!! I can’t even keep fucking appointments straight!”

The shop was empty, but I looked around reflexively before returning my gaze to him. “You know why you took this job, sugar.” I said evenly, looking him in the eyes. “And you need to stay focused on that.”

He turned his face away from me, so I grabbed his chin and kissed him. He was hesitant at first, but I felt his mouth melt into mine and his fingers in my hair.

I pulled back and stood up, the chain on my ankle rattling as I did so. “Because we’re getting out of here,” I said determinedly. “Even if it takes an eternity.” Then I turned and dragged my manacled foot toward the espresso machine.

(Note: my husband says they don’t serve pumpkin spice lattes at diners but this is just how I pictured the scene in my head.)