The Fablecastle Chronicles

By Trina Spillman

Maggie McCullough is a star reporter for the Daily Mirror. In her monthly column, Setting the Record Straight, she revealed the truth behind the fables you may remember from your childhood. Those interviews brought her to the attention of someone in another dimension—someone claiming to be Lucifer. Lucifer insisted that she interview him before he unleashed an electromagnetic pulse weapon that would wipe out all electronics across this other dimension called Earth. Maggie's interview has been turned into a book entitled The Fablecastle Chronicles.

In this tale, Maggie and Andrew Wolfgang, her boyfriend and quasi bodyguard, travel to Earth and hopscotch across this strange dimension, in pursuit of a story that explains the truth behind Lucifer's origins, the mutation he unleashed on Earth's inhabitants, what really happened to the ark following the great flood, and why pyramids dot the planet.

Can Maggie write her earth-shattering article and escape Earth before all hell breaks loose?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trina Spillman
• Release date: Jun 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463159392

Trina Spillman

After winning first place in second grade for a short story entitled "And the Snake Smiled," Trina declared herself an award-winning writer. She has been creating works of fiction and non-fiction ever since. Trina is an exceptionally talented writer whose creative works range from meticulously researched, spine-tingling ghost stories to daring and thought-provoking science-fiction, fantasy novels. "The Fablecastle Chronicles," an award-winning tale, delivers a fresh and captivating perspective on mankind's history through the enigmatic lens of Lucifer. With a knack for weaving captivating narratives that delve into the unknown and the extraordinary, Trina's stories are bound to keep readers on the edge of their seats. From the mysterious allure of forgotten tales to the daring exploration of mankind's most intriguing historical events, Trina's books are a must-read for anyone seeking an enthralling and thought-provoking literary experience. Whether you find Trina on the beach, on a mountain, or crisscrossing the US, dollars to donuts, she's writing.

Book preview

Acknowledgements

This book wouldn’t have been possible without the help of some incredible people.

To my editor, Emily Gmitter, who I am convinced is a sister from another mother, thank you for making what I write sound so much better!

To my family and friends for enduring hours of listening to me read aloud the countless interview questions contained within this novel.

And to all the Lemurian inspired entities that have helped me along the way; you know who you are.

Chapter One

Andrew and Maggie stepped through the shimmering pool of light and found themselves ankle-deep in sand behind a deserted lifeguard stand. The beach was empty except for a few fishermen. The shoreline was bordered by a sea wall, beyond which was a street lined with bars, restaurants, and hotels.

Andrew shot Maggie an irritated look. The beach? Really? The portal couldn't open in front of the hotel?

Too many people. Come on, let's see if we can figure out how far it is to the hotel.

They trudged through the sand, struggling to drag their suitcases and cat carrier. Miss Kitty cleared her throat. Andrew heard her, picked up the cat carrier, and peered inside. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?

Ha, ha. Very clever. I just wanted to remind you both that you are forgetting something.

What?

You’re supposed to cast the protection spell, remember?

Maggie didn’t know if she was more annoyed at forgetting to cast the spell or being reminded by a cat. She dug the pen out of her bag and drew the protection symbol on the corner of a map. Then she ripped the corner off and tore the paper into tiny pieces.

Where did you get the map? Andrew asked,

It was in the background material Greta gave me. According to this, the hotel is just up there. Maggie pointed northward with her chin as she headed off in that direction.

Hey, don’t worry about me and Miss Kitty, Andrew said a bit crossly, as he picked up the cat carrier and hurried to catch up to her.

They spotted an entrance on the side of the hotel that was for guests only. Maggie swiped the key card Greta had given her and was relieved when the red light turned green.

Andrew held the door open for Maggie, as she checked the room number written on a piece of tape on the back of the card. She led the way to the appropriate bank of elevators and pressed the up call button. Once inside, she hit the button labeled Penthouse Suites. Noticing Andrew's smirk, she asked, What?

Nothing. I’m just impressed is all. Greta has spared no expense for her star reporter.

Knowing Greta, there is more to it than that, but so far so good.

Their room was a luxurious one-bedroom suite with its own bar. The décor was chic and modern with a minimalist color palette. The wall in the main living room was glass. On the farthest end of the wall was a door that opened onto a full balcony overlooking the ocean.

Andrew put the cat carrier down on the beautiful Italian marble floor and opened it. Miss Kitty escaped like a bat out of hell while Maggie spun with her arms out then collapsed on the white couch, which conformed to every curve of her body. Wow, I can’t believe we're on Earth!

What’s the game plan?

I have no idea.

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At seven o’clock the following morning, the phone next to the bed chirped like a bird, pulling Maggie out of her dream.

Hello?

Good morning, Miss McCullough. My name is Javier, and I will be your personal concierge during your time with us. I wanted to provide you with your wake-up call and let you know I have taken the liberty of sending breakfast up to your room. Your car will pick you up in front of the hotel at nine o’clock and take you to the Miami Mirror. If there is anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please let me know.

Maggie climbed out of bed, grabbed one of the plush robes from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, and went into the living room to wait for breakfast to arrive. No sooner had she sat down, there was a soft knock at the door. She opened it to a young man in a white chef coat and black and white checkered pants. He smiled and nodded at her as he pushed a cart into the room. He unloaded several savory items and a carafe of coffee and placed them neatly on the polished white surface of the bar. The young man handed Maggie a copy of the Miami Mirror’s morning edition as he pushed the empty cart out of the room.

Maggie poured herself a cup of coffee and took it and the newspaper out to the balcony. It was a glorious morning; the sky was royal blue and the sun reflected off the ocean, making it appear as though a million sparkling diamonds were dancing across its surface. Scanning the headlines on the front page of the paper, Maggie was alarmed to read that three gunmen were being sought by police after robbing a jewelry store; two deputies had been fired following a shooting at a nearby high school, and a local celebrity had died after a shark attack at a nearby beach. Maggie continued to read one horrifying article after another and was absorbed in a story about little children being locked in cages, when Andrew appeared behind her. Maggie jumped. You scared the shit out of me!

He bent down and kissed the top of her head. Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to scare you.

Maggie folded the paper and, with a look of shock and horror, started waving it at Andrew. It’s not you. It’s the news! No wonder you were so worried about me coming here alone.

I tried to tell you.

Maggie tossed the newspaper on the table and appeared visibly shaken. Andrew massaged her shoulders, saying, Don’t worry, you’re going to do great.

Maggie squeezed one of his hands, then stood to hug him. I am so glad you came with me.

Andrew returned the hug and planted a kiss on her forehead, then sat at the table and started reading the paper as Maggie went into the bathroom to get ready. She emerged transformed, with her hair piled neatly into a bun. She wore a pair of sensible black flats and sported a lightweight, white linen blazer and a black pencil skirt. Andrew whistled when he saw her. You look fantastic.

Maggie spun around and asked, Not too much?

No, it’s perfect.

I have no idea what time I will be back. What are you going to do today?

I don’t know. I was thinking about taking a walk. Get the lay of the land and see what there is to see.

The phone rang.

Her car had arrived.

As soon as she stepped outside the hotel, she was hit by a wave of humidity. She climbed into the back of a nondescript, but blissfully air-conditioned, black four-door sedan and peered out the window as they headed west into a landscape that was flat and lacked the aesthetic appeal of Fablecastle.

At a stoplight, Maggie could see a man holding a sign, pleading for money because he was homeless. Maggie asked the driver, Are there a lot of homeless people here?

The driver responded in an unfamiliar language. Maggie continued to stare out the window, wondering if it had been a mistake coming here. The car pulled up in front of a five-story, brown stucco building.

A large fountain sat in front of the building. Several paths branched off the fountain, leading to seating areas nestled under an umbrella of green foliage, providing ample shade to those seeking refuge from the brutal sun. Maggie entered the building and stopped at a reception desk manned by a security guard.

Hello. My name is Maggie McCullough. Today is my first day and I was told to report here and ask for Claire Condie.

The guard gave her directions, and when she reached Claire Condie's office, she knocked lightly on the door before entering. It was like déjà vu. This office could have been back in Fablecastle with Greta sitting behind the expansive desk. There was even a globe bar in the corner. Claire sat there, behind her massive mahogany stronghold, with an icy stare that made Maggie physically shiver. When she tried to speak, she was immediately met with the palm of Claire’s hand. Sit.

Claire Condie could have been Greta’s twin sister. She had the same raven-black hair cut into a bob. The same ice-blue eyes. There was only one difference: Claire sported a flawless bronze tan.

Not wanting to get off on the wrong foot, Maggie sat as ordered. Claire remained seated, silent, with her hands tightly clasped together on the desktop.

I want to make sure you understand a few salient details about your assignment, Miss McCullough. First, you are in no way the only talented reporter who could have conducted this interview.

Not wanting to ruffle any feathers, Maggie just nodded in the affirmative.

You’re going to be on everyone’s radar. It is going to be up to you to confirm this guy’s story. It is going to be up to you to determine if this guy is lying or if he is telling the truth. I personally think your objectivity is a detriment in this case. If this person is who he says he is, then historical context is going to be crucial when conducting this interview.

Who am I interviewing?

It is ‘whom’ –not ‘who’. I certainly hope you write better than you speak. At any rate, it has been requested that you not be told whom you are interviewing until the two of you meet.

And when will that be?

8:00 PM this evening.

Where?

At the hotel bar by the pool. He also made it a point to mention that if you are late, he will not wait.

He wants to meet this evening. Why so soon?

I don’t have the foggiest idea; all I know is he called and insisted he meet with you tonight. I suggest you review as much material as you can and not be late, for your date, at eight.

She sounds a lot like the Mad Hatter, Maggie thought, careful not to blurt her thought out loud.

Luckily, Sandra, Claire's assistant, opened the door and said, I'll take you to your desk now. Please, follow me.

Don’t fuck this up.

Again, Maggie knew better than to reply. She avoided additional eye contact with Ms. Condie and ducked out of the office. Sandra led her to the farthest corner of the building. There, a row of cubicles lined a stretch of wall that was made of large glass windows.

These cubicles are highly sought after since they all have windows. That one will be yours.

I really don’t need the large cubicle with the windows. I'd be right at home at a desk with nothing more than a phone and computer. The desk doesn’t even have to be that large. Maybe the basement? I’m not picky.

Would you like to go back upstairs and talk to Ms. Condie about switching desks?

Oh no, I wouldn’t enjoy that at all.

Then I suggest you make yourself comfortable. Sandra rolled out the chair and spun it around so Maggie could be seated. In the middle drawer, you'll find an envelope with cash and a corporate credit card. The card has a $500 daily limit, so keep that in mind. You'll also find a cell phone; keep it on and with you at all times. Lastly, you will find a list of usernames and passwords for the network, your computer, voicemail, etcetera. Do you have any questions?

Ms. Condie suggested I do some additional research before my meeting this evening. Do you have any suggestions?

There's a bookmark for a team share site on your browser. There's a folder with your name, in which you will find links to resources you should review. I’ve also sent you a map of the building.

Maggie looked around to see if anyone was listening and quietly asked, Do you know where I’m from?

I'm on a need-to-know basis, and, at the moment, I don’t need to know.

Okay, fair enough.

Maggie sat in her chair and looked at the typed list of usernames and passwords. She noticed her computer’s password was princess.

Sandra, out of curiosity, who set up my computer password?

I did.

Need to know, my ass, thought Maggie.

With a knowing half-smile, Sandra asked, Is there anything else I can help you with?

Nope, I think I’m good.

If you need anything, you can always call. The staff directory is listed in Outlook.

Thanks.

Sandra left Maggie sitting at her desk. She logged on to her computer and opened her browser. She quickly located her designated folder and was surprised to find a list of religious texts. She wondered which religious character was going to make an appearance during her interview. She felt like she was cramming for an exam and soon lost herself in reading material.

An incoming call made her jump and fumble with the phone’s handset. She yanked the cord, caught the handset in mid-flight, and finally answered, Hello?

Her car had arrived.

Outside, the sun was blinding. She reached into her bag and extracted her sunglasses as she walked toward the same nondescript black car she had arrived in earlier that day.

Back at the hotel, Maggie found Andrew sitting out on the balcony, sipping what looked like a tall glass of lemonade. She was pleasantly surprised when he handed her a glass.

"I can’t believe it is almost six o’clock! The traffic was stupid! And check this shit out. The guy I’m supposed to interview has insisted on meeting me this evening, at eight o’clock sharp, here at the hotel bar. And you are never going to believe one of the headlines I ran across while doing research in