Stories from the Hut

By N.H. Luedke

Stories from the Hut is a compilation of 24 short stories. These fictional forays run the gamut of human experiences, from the first forays of independence to the thrill of full-blown adventure, and from the bitter taste of love unrequited to the unbalanced danger of revenge. Think of them as an exploration of the unknown or the mundane, wrapped in the guise of fiction and fantasy with as much humor thrown in to offset the creepy as possible (and there are a few creepy and dangerous stories here, so be warned).

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.H. Luedke
• Release date: Sep 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311538420

N.H. Luedke

I was born and raised in Houston, and currently reside in a much smaller city in central Texas. Encouraged to read at a very young age, I voraciously devour books when time permits and write my own books when it doesn't. My favorite authors include Connie Willis, P.D. James, Jim Butcher, and Craig Johnson.

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Stories from the Hut

by N.H. Luedke

Published by N.H. Luedke at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 N.H. Luedke

All rights reserved.

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

This material is a work of fiction. Since it is based entirely upon imagination, any resemblance of any character within it to any persons living or dead would be extremely coincidental and highly unlikely.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Widget

Noble

Patience

The Eyes Have It

Declarations

Point of Origin

No Regrets

Random Chance

And It Dinged

Request Denied

The Pregunto Pelosi

Open Door

Don’t Even

Marleyed

Self Help

Oh Goodie

The Freedom of Flight

Charity

Blues

The Winning Smile

The Skeleton Dance

Method Number Four

The Sorrel

Skeleton Key

Prologue

Some of my favorite novels growing up were ones filled with short stories such as the Just So Stories, The Illustrated Man, and The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories. In today’s hectic pace short stories make sense, which is why I write them so often. Like the novels listed above, Stories from the Hut is a compilation of small tales – most of which I posted during the many years I have been writing on the internet.

Hopefully, you will enjoy these fictional forays - my way of sharing my love of tales with you. They run the gamut of human experiences, from the first forays of independence to the thrill of full-blown adventure, and from the bitter taste of love unrequited to the unbalanced danger of revenge. Think of them as an exploration of the unknown or the mundane, wrapped in the guise of fiction and fantasy with as much humor thrown in to offset the creepy as possible (and there are a few creepy and dangerous stories here, so be warned).

There is very little foul language in this collection. I never describe (explicitly or otherwise) any sexual activity. I do include violence if it is necessary to the specific tale, but I am not gratuitously graphic; I leave that to your imagination. In my opinion this compilation is okay for anyone 16 and over to read, though I will list this anthology as ‘adult’ just to be safe.

***

Widget

(Tempting fate for the sake of a quick bit of coin is never a good thing.)

Boris triumphantly banged the small cage down on the worn wooden table centrally located within the old wooden structure, causing his brother, Yeltic, to jump near a foot in fright.

What do you think? Handsome, eh? he asked.

Yeltic, a year older in age, eyed the strange creature within it and laughed. Never let it be said the famous Tolskey family humor died with our generation.

No, no! Boris waved a hand in irritation. Do you think we can sell it?

As what?

As a widget, of course!

Yeltic sighed his frustration. You snuck out and lost at the games again last night, didn’t you?

Yes, but that’s beside the point. A widget would fetch a fair sum of coin, seeing how scarce they’ve become. He smiled. No one nowadays would know a real one from this fake.

Except us, Yeltic countered.

Except us.

The two bothers, dressed similarly as shopkeepers in their short linen overgowns, leather aprons, hosiery and leather shoes, watched as the creature chattered madly and gnashed its teeth. Yeltic nodded his head toward it. No one will mistake that shaven squirrel for a widget. How long did it take to dye him blue? It’s the wrong shade, by the way.

All night, Boris admitted. And that is the right blue.

He looks mad enough to bite a finger off.

Boris held up a bandaged digit. He nearly did.

And you want me to pass that angry little rodent off as one of the most magical pets around? No, thank you, said Yeltic, continuing where he had left off on dusting the heavily laden shelves of medical and magical goods scattered about the shop. We have coin enough to be comfortable as long as you don’t waste it on the games. Don’t ask this of me brother mine. I don’t want a curse upon me for selling falsely.

We’ll sell it to a fool, offered Boris.

"And the Abbey monks would have our heads for selling a magical creature to a non-magical fool.’

Sell to a magical fool, then.

We’re back to being cursed. Yeltic turned and faced his younger brother, nearly his twin except in recklessness. Look, either the monks collar us for selling outside magical or medical lineage, or the constable imprisons us for selling false goods. Either way, daft idea.

Now Boris sighed. Even Grandda mixed pebbles in with the pill bugs a time or two.

Yeltic grinned. The constable back then was a bit more pleasant about it, too.

The squirrel chattered again.

Give it a nut, will you Yeltic? It won’t take a thing from me.

Yeltic fetched a handful of acorns from outside and offered one to the caged and humiliated animal.

And that’s another thing, Yeltic said as he watched the creature vent its frustrations upon the shell. Widgets don’t eat nuts. They like spicy and sweet things.

How do you know?

Grandda said there was one that would hang around in the shop at times. Yeltic glanced up as if to spot one hanging from the rafters and thatching, then lowered his eyes and his voice. He said it would steal ginger, cloves, and whatnot from the pantry.

Boris seemed impressed. I never knew Grandda had a widget! I’m surprised he didn’t sell it.

He didn’t have it to sell. Yeltic handed the squirrel another nut. It stayed around because it liked him. Remember those stories about the cow on the roof, the hens laying blue eggs, or the duck that crowed every morning and night for a moon’s age? All due to that widget, and that widget liked him. Grandda always breathed a sigh of relief when it was gone. Imagine if one found out you tried to pass off a fake in its name? We’d be cursed for sure.

Boris looked crestfallen. Then I’ll set this little bugger free once his tail hair grows back and the dye is gone. He eyed his brother. Unless we sell it as a harmless little pet?

You’re begging for trouble, Yeltic warned as he walked over and lit the lantern in the window, signaling the start of another day of business. Don’t bring down the wrath of a widget upon us. He left the room.

It’s not a real widget, argued Boris loudly to the open door behind him. It’s just a squirrel. And how’s a real widget to know when one’s not around anymore?

Whatever, said the disembodied voice from the other room. I’ll make us some porridge. You’ll feel better after we eat.

No scones?

We seem to be out of cinnamon.

There’s a pity, sighed Boris. He chucked his finger at the contented squirrel but quickly withdrew it when the animal lunged for him. Ha! Think you can curse me, then? I think you’ll do as a widget. After all, no one’s seen one in two generations. They’ll pay well for you and I can recover my losses from last night, and no one will get hurt because it was all a joke if I’m found out. The Tolskey sense of humor can take the blame for anything.

He missed the small burp from the rafters above. A bright and lively little creature hanging from a prehensile tail looked down on Boris with interest as it polished off a cinnamon stick and patted its tummy with humanlike hands. Then it smoothed its brilliant blue fur for a moment, chuckled wickedly, and scampered across the steeply sloped ceiling in defiance of gravity as it headed toward the sleeping loft above the kitchen.

Candlemarks later, when a day’s worth of sales had occurred without Boris’ aid, Yeltic climbed the ladder to the sleeping loft in search of his missing brother. Sure enough, there was a lump under Boris’ bedcovers.

About to chide him for the lack of help, Yeltic stopped in mid breath as he observed the squirrel from the morning now freed from the cage and sitting out in the middle of the room, preening a glorious tail full of fur. It was still blue in color, but it was definitely in a better mood, for it scampered over to Yeltic’s foot and gazed up at him as if in thanks for the earlier acorns. Absently Yeltic fished around in his purse and found one last nut, which he gently handed down to the animal. It grabbed the offering and scurried down the ladder and into the depths of the house below.

Concerned, Yeltic slowly approached the bed and pulled back the covers. Boris was there, snoring softly. His hair and beard were gone, leaving a clean pate and chin for the world to see. That wasn’t what made Yeltic stifle a yell as he backed away, lost his balance, and fell to the floor in a seated position, though. No, it was the sight of the small legendary animal curled contentedly at his brother’s cheek that frightened him near witless, that and the fact that his brother’s skin was the same brilliant blue as the magical creature.

Two golden eyes blinked at him from beneath watchful lids and he bowed his head respectfully to the widget.

I don’t suppose he’s harmed, and I’m grateful for that, said Yeltic in a tone far more calm than he felt, but if you wouldn’t mind, please don’t have him climb the roof and crow in the morning. The Tolskey family humor can only excuse so much.

It nodded and Yeltic beat a hasty retreat in search of what ginger and cinnamon he could find as an appeasement offering, stifling his laugh when he heard his brother’s shriek upon waking.

There would be no games tonight.

***

Noble

(What if you weren’t really what you thought you were?)

Our business relationship has lasted three years to the day. I knew Georgia realized this when she glanced at her desk calendar and smiled. It was a small smile, probably because I am so much trouble.

What am I going to do with you, Noble? She shook her head slightly and I wondered if maybe I am a lot more trouble than I think. One place has to let you go and another is waiting in the wings to snap you up. You haven’t been out of work since we found out your specialty. You don’t need me anymore. You could do very well on your own, you know, as a freelancer. Your reputation is growing.

I shrugged. I am not good at interacting with people. Georgia is not people, but I still have problems communicating with her easily. She just understands me. That is why I am a temp worker and use her agency to find employment, She uses me to further her reputation. It is mutually beneficial.

Here’s another financial mess with a firm on Tenth and Michigan. You start today, Monday, 9:00 am. The sooner you get going, the sooner you’ll be done.

It was my turn to smile. She knew me. That was comforting.

She hesitated slightly. Still nothing with the memory? Any other clues?

Then she had to go and ask a question like that.

I cleared my throat a little. I usually have to because I rarely say anything.

Only my name and the locket. Nothing more, I admitted. Tenth and Michigan. Got it.

I took the folder she offered and left before she could say anything else I would regret.

_*_

The woman behind the sleek steel desk was sharply dressed. Her manner was direct and to the point. It was very intimidating.

She hung up her desk phone. Jane Noble?

I nodded. Jane was actually tacked on at the hospital. Noble was all I could remember.

This you? She held up a paper with my image and statistics on it, something Georgia had created. I stared briefly at the light brown skin, black hair, dark eyes and unremarkable features that represented me and nodded again.

She cocked her head. You illegal?

I nervously shook my head and added, Not that I know of, in perfect English.

There’s not much background here. Government witness or something?

Other people were beginning to stare.

Amnesia, I whispered.

Oh. She seemed disappointed at that and then raked me over with a glance. We do have a dress code. Hint: dresses for women. No cheap jewelry, either.

I stashed my locket under my top and next to my chest. This is all I have, I mumbled, pulling at the sleeve of my nicest sweater. My slacks melted under her glare, their cottony softness shriveling in the presence of her silk skirt. She was too much for me. I backed up a step, moving toward the glass door that separated me from the elevators and freedom. I will leave.

She quickly put out a hand. Wait. You come highly recommended. Even Ms. Franklyn suggested you. No one mentioned how shy you are. Let me make a call.

She whipped out her cell and discussed my eccentricities with someone presumably from my past – someone I must have pulled from the brink of a data mismanagement disaster. I studied my loafers and hated the awkwardness. The snap of her personnel binder reminded me of a mousetrap. My image was now caught inside it as she stared at me.

Ms. Franklyn is on maternity leave for another two weeks but said you should go ahead without her help. She said you can use the computer in her office for privacy. I’ll have IT set it up. You have our instructions?

I held up the folder Georgia had given me. You found data not archived. I will input it.

And you really can type 200 words per minute? I nodded. And you never miss with numbers? I nodded again, taking another step back toward the door.

Maybe she noticed I did not like her questions. Maybe she was just in a hurry to get me started and out of sight from other eyes. Whatever it was, she stood and turned quickly on her stiletto heels.

Come with me, Ms. Noble. No one will bother you.

_*_

Ms. Franklyn’s office did not have a window, but I knew it was well after dark. I knew this because I always know the time without looking at any clock. I sleep three hours a night and only three hours a night, and they are