Short Story 2

20 November 2025

An interesting context to the following post–how things have changed 12 years later! Little Bella is now a lovely young lady, with two younger sisters, who also treat us as grandparents. The wife is now semi-retired–she works as a long-term sub at her school, pulling small groups to teach, her stress level nearly zero. A second short story follows, also written early in my career.

28 January 2013

Viruses . . . viruses . . . viruses, defining my existence, overcoming all defenses, all efforts to fend them off; and I read recently that this season’s viruses are more virulent than ever, and more prevalent in the west than the east. Worst of all, we live in this metropolitan city where visits people from around the globe: the parents of my wife’s students all work somewhere ‘downtown’ involved with these tourists, who bring every bug, pass it to the workers, pass it to their children, pass it to their classmates, pass it to their teachers, to their families, and it goes around the families several times, mutating into new strains as it makes its rounds. Two members of my household were up all night ‘worshiping the porcelain god. . . . Ah, to possess the recuperative powers of youth: we took care of a friend’s baby Saturday, as surrogate grandparents, and poor Isabella came down with it Saturday night, gave it to her mother, who was then up all night. She called us early Sunday morning asking for help; we took little ‘Bella’ and did laundry every two hours, but by evening, Bella was her old self, running around with her walker, or whoever would hold her hands, on the verge of walking on her own (Lookout world! Here I come!). By midnight my wife was up and stuck in the ‘water closet’, hearing echoes from downstairs where our son was mirroring her actions.

I, on the other hand, have had it for over a week, wishing I had the recuperative powers of little Bella. . . .

In the meantime, here is another short ‘short’, titled “Wishes Granted,” written around the same time as the previous tale, a story of the vicissitudes of life, and how things rarely turn out they way we plan. Enjoy!

Wishes Granted

Damn! What a day it had been! It began as it always did– some local sees Cutter sneaking out of someone’s house, pulling on his boots, shirt hanging open, and his hair looking as if he just got up. Hey–is it my fault he likes married women? Soon, we beat feet out of town with a mob of angry locals in close pursuit. Then we saw him–that cursed sage. He beckoned to us, we followed him to his cave, and the locals, afraid of him, decided to return to their village. It would have been better had the locals caught and lynched us–hanging would have been a cleaner way to go than what the sage planned. Cutter went like a true warrior–begging for mercy and screaming for his mommy.

We entered the sage’s lodgings, typical for his lying kind. The smoky, drug-filled incense did little to cover the fact that he had not bathed in this century.

“Who are you?” I asked once the locals had left.

“Some call me Gilmore,” the sage replied. “I’ve looked long for two like you–strong and brave, worthy of the reward. Tired of being chased from town to town? Would you like to live the rest of your lives in luxury and ease?”

“We live well enough,” I replied.

“Do you?” Gilmore said. “Then be on your way–I’ve no more time to waste.” He turned from us, moving deeper into his cave.

“Wait!” Cutter called. “What do you mean, luxury?”

The sage stopped and glanced over his shoulder, his look sly. “It is said she will grant anything unto those who release her.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The Fairy princess, trapped by Baal, a demon lord, inside a magical box,” Gilmore answered. “She would grant a king’s ransom unto her saviors–much better than working for copper and silver as mercenaries. Wouldn’t you agree?” he finished, turning suddenly to face us.

I was suspicious. “If it is so easy, why haven’t you released her and claimed the prize?” I asked.

“A magical beast guards the box, created to keep magic wielding people from approaching–the stronger one’s magic, the stronger the beast,” Gilmore replied.

“Then why hasn’t some non-magical local freed her?” Cutter asked.

The sage smiled a crooked smile, cocking his head to one side. “The beast is not defenseless–more than a match for any local but not equal to the two of you.”

“Let’s say we agree,” I said. “What do you get out of it?”

He snorted. “Two gentlemen like you, made suddenly wealthy, would not forget a reward of gratitude to the person who told you of this road to luxury.” The crooked smile returned. “Besides, I’ll be forced to place a curse on you and your posterity should you fail to return and give me thanks for my timely aid.”

#

Our suspicions should have returned when we arrived at the place where this box was guarded. In the dark wood we came upon a hidden clearing. In the center, on the charred stump of a cedar, the box rested. Of its beastly guardian, we saw no sign. Withered grass surrounded the fire-blackened stump. The rest of the clearing, covered with grass, showed no signs or trails where a beast had regularly walked. Silence surrounded us, as one would expect near the home of a carnivorous beast. I could not be sure, but thought I smelled a very faint hint of sulfur in the air. We entered the clearing, swords drawn, warily looking for the beast. It never appeared.
It took Cutter three heartbeats to open the lock. He flipped the lid open with the point of his sword. Red smoke rose from the box and coalesced into the figure of a woman, standing naked on the cedar stump. Cutter, overcome by her beauty, sank to his knees. The scent of sulfur hung heavy in the air.

“We have released you, O princess,” he began formally, “grant us each a wish.”

The woman began to laugh. “A wish? Before I finish with you, you’ll wish you hadn’t gotten out of bed.” Her laughter continued, louder than before. Light flashed and she became a large bat, flying directly toward us. We dove and rolled out of her way, barely avoiding her disease inflicting claws. We tried to fight her, but for all our strength and skill, could not defeat this demon we had released. Cutter’s sword did not harm her. Mine, having been blessed by a cleric, only seemed to slow her momentarily, doing no visible damage. At the time, however, we were both too involved in fighting to realize our efforts were wasted.

As we chased the demon-bat around, she somehow became two bats flying in opposite directions, one seen by me and the other by Cutter. We pursued our separate battles for a time, each thinking we alone pursued the true one. She tricked us by leading us at the same time through a series of quick turns, pretending to slow. Just as we both believed we would catch her, she made a final quick turn, running us at full speed into each other–a dull thud followed by stars.

I awoke, head aching, and found myself bound as I am now to the selfsame charred cedar stump. The demon stood before me in her true form–a stunningly beautiful, naked woman. She smiled like a cat toying with the mouse it has captured. She held out her hands. A black spider the size of her palm rested on each hand. She gently placed them on our legs–one for me, one for Cutter.

“In case you are wondering,” her voice purred, “those are called Black Widows. After mating, they pull their mates apart, daintily consuming each piece before pulling off another. You can guess then, how they feel about the male of any species. I’d say you are in for a very bad time.”

The demoness laughed again. Cutter began to beg for mercy. She smiled, picked up and moved the spider to his neck. He screamed for his mother and struggled to get free. The demoness grinned, looking like the cat who just bit off its prey’s head. Cutter’s scream faded to nothing. I decided struggling would only make things worse, watching and sweating as the spider crawled slowly up my leg. The demoness licked her lips in anticipation. The spider crawled slowly over my shirt. A curse upon that lying sage–may he die a thousand deaths tormented by demons in Hell’s blackest pit! I felt the slight touch of the spider reaching my neck.

Damn! What a day it had been. Damn. . . .