The Society of Misfit Stories Presents...(September 2020)

By Julie Ann Dawson, Vonnie Winslow Crist, J.T. Seate and 6 more

Each issue of The Society of Misfit Stories Presents… is a celebration of long-form fiction. These novelettes and novellas will entertain and surprise fans of the form. In this issue, Kerri Caldwell, Vonnie Winslow Crist, Mark Cassell, Paul Mills, Crystal Lynn Hilbert, J.T. Seate, Scott Forbes Crawford, and Mark James Russell.

 

Some of the stories in this issue include:

 

When his automaton creation runs amok, a wheelchair-bound contractor finds himself at the threshold between worlds in Hole in the Sky.

 

A vampire seeks the aid of his favorite bartender to help him life a curse in The Minutiae of Being Dead.

 

A woman takes the law into her own hands after uncovering the horrific secret behind a small-town police department in Desert Heat and the Hereafter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bards and Sages Publishing
• Release date: Aug 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393346043

Julie Ann Dawson

Julie Ann Dawson is an author, editor, publisher, RPG designer, and advocate for writers who may occasionally require the services of someone with access to Force Lightning (and in case it was not obvious, a bit of a geek). Her work has appeared in a variety of print and digital media, including such diverse publications as the New Jersey Review of Literature, Lucidity, Black Bough, Poetry Magazine, Gareth Blackmore’s Unusual Tales, Demonground, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and others. In 2002 she started her own publishing company, Bards and Sages. The company has gone from having two titles to over one hundred titles between their print and digital products. In 2009, she launched the Bards and Sages Quarterly, a literary journal of speculative fiction. Since 2012, she has served as a judge for the IBPA's Benjamin Franklin Awards.

Book preview

Wishing Stone

by Vonnie Winslow Crist

THE END OF THE WORLD had come and gone a month before Sophie Brown's fifth birthday. Though she had been young, she did remember the glow of electric lights, the whirl of an electric fan, the sight of electric cars driving past her family's home and secondhand shop—and her parents. But that was fourteen years ago.

Through it all, Pawpaw, Toots, and Sophie had not only survived, but with an adjustment here and there, thrived. It turned out, being pickers, traders, and salt-of-the-earthers was a positive thing when times got tough. Now, life was even tougher for Sophie—but starting today, she intended to implement a magical solution to end her loneliness.

Time to begin, Jig, she told the large shepherd-mix watching her climb the ladder.

The dog wagged his tail as Sophie removed the protection amulet from above her home's doorway.

For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of remembering. On a September day when she was nine, she had found the stone with a natural hole in its center in the creek bed within a short walking distance of Brown's Pickings.

Her grandmother had said, It's a wishing stone, as she ran her fingers through Sophie's chestnut hair. But until you're old enough to make a proper wish, we'll thread it on a cord and hang it over the door to act as an all-seeing eye.

What will it see, Toots? Sophie had asked.

Just about everything there is to see. Then, her grandmother had paused before adding, maybe if we'd had this all-seeing stone four years ago...

Let it go, Toots, Sophie's grandfather had interrupted. Leave the past alone.

Although she was young, Sophie knew Pawpaw was talking about her parents. They'd been in the city when the grid went down. They had never, and would never, come home.

A bark from Jig brought her back to the present.

Got it! she told the dog staring at her as she descended the ladder.

Mouth half-open in what looked like a smile, Jig flapped his tail as Sophie remove the cord from the former protection amulet.

Let's go, boy, she said as she strolled outside into the late afternoon sun.

Obediently, the shepherd-mix shook himself, then padded beside her as they hiked to the creek where she'd first found the flat rock with the hole bored in its center by Mother Nature herself—or at least by the water of her creek as it tumbled, smoothed, and rubbed holes in stones.

Once they reached the edge of Quail Creek, Sophie knelt, then washed the stone in the running water. Next, she pulled a circle of indigo cloth from her pocket and dried the rock. Using a piece of chalk, upon the stone's surface she wrote: Find and marry my true love.

As she wrote each letter of her wish, she felt her heart pounding. She was delving deeper into the witching Pawpaw had warned her not to explore. Even though she knew her grandfather would be displeased—she also knew her grandmother would be smiling. For Toots had told her the exact opposite of Pawpaw when secretly handing her a handwritten book whose leather cover appeared to be older than any of the mechanical junk crammed into Brown's Pickings.

If ever there was a time for enchantments, it is now, Toots had whispered. Embrace who you are—just be sure to ward against evil when you open the windows to magic.

And that was what Sophie had done. She'd studied the grimoire her grandmother had given her, always careful to use salt circles and other protection methods when dabbling in magic. As she turned the pages of the book, Sophie had discovered that she was good at making charms, dowsing, and casting simple spells—much like the spell she was working on at the moment.

Well, my wish is officially written on stone, Sophie told Jig as she stood, then slipped the piece of chalk into a pocket. Back to the house to complete the spell.

Jig woofed, then danced beside her as they headed home. His impatient dancing was what had earned him his name. A scrawny, sore-footed pup when he'd first arrived on their doorstep, with regular meals, a warm place to sleep at night, and lots of love—he'd become a strong, faithful protector for Sophie. One which she needed now that she lived alone.

Upon reaching the house, Sophie picked up the shovel that she'd left leaning against the porch, then walked to the western side of the structure. There, a short row of tomato plants sheltered from the wind by the house and barn were still laden with green and partially ripened fruit. With September nights becoming chillier, for the last two weeks Sophie had pulled a sheet of plastic over the vegetables to prolong their growing season. Today was no different.

Once the tomato plants were covered, she dug a shallow pit at the far end of the row. Second, while facing the setting sun, she placed the stone with her wish written upon it into the excavated space. Beside the stone, she laid a piece of blue ribbon with a knot tied in it. Third, she filled the hole in the stone with allspice. The fragrant spice had cost her more coin than she had hoped to pay—but it was a necessary element of the spell.

Next, while sprinkling the stone with water she'd dipped from Quail Creek on the last full moon, Sophie repeated, Find and marry my true love, three times. As she covered her wish stone with soil, she warned Jig, Don't you dig this rock up until I meet my true love—or else the spell won't work.

The dog barked in response.

As an evening breeze ruffled Jig's fur and tugged at her hair, Sophie thought, the winds of change will soon bring me my true love, as she went to the barn to make sure her mules, Sal and Petey, were safely bedded down for the night.

After locking up the barn, Sophie and Jig returned to the house. With the protection amulet no longer hanging over the doorway, she needed to institute another ward to prevent enemies from entering the Brown home and doing harm to its occupants.

The moon isn't full yet, so the Wolf Protection Spell can't be done, mused Sophie as she chewed on her lower lip. So the Phoenix Protection Spell will have to do, she told Jig.

Jig woofed, then sat on the kitchen floor observing his mistress pull her grimoire from its hiding place.

After rereading the spell, Sophie plucked three times three white feathers from the jar where she saved all the feathers she found when she was working outside or taking hikes with Jig. After placing them inside an aluminum pot, she took a long, slender, white candle down from a shelf and lit it with a match. Next, she tilted both pot and candle, so she could ignite the feathers. When the nine feathers were afire, she put the pot on the counter and extinguished the candle. It didn't take long for the feathers to burn.

Once there was nothing in the pot but ash, Sophie put her hands over the metal cooking vessel and chanted, O mighty firebird, bless this ash. Come through the planes, through beast-gates smash. Protect this place and all within. O let us hear the phoenix sing.

A feeling of peace came over her as she smudged the ash on the doorways and windowsills. Best of all, there was enough feather ash left to protect the outbuildings, too.

I'll smudge ash on the barn's doors and windows tomorrow morning before we depart for Springfield, she told her sleepy-eyed dog.

LONG BEFORE SUNRISE, Sophie was out of bed, dressed, and finishing preparations for the Springfield Harvest Festival and Autumnal Equinox Swap. Prior to feeding Jig or eating her breakfast, Sophie went out to the barn to spread the feather ash, chant the Phoenix Protection Spell, then feed and water the mules, Sal and Petey. The pair needed to be ready for the six-mile trip into Springfield before she harnessed them to the wagon. As she piled hay in their feed bins, she spotted a key half-buried in the dirt and sawdust beside Petey's stall.

What have we here? Sophie said as she picked up the tarnished key. It was a sign—soon she'd be opening the door to success. Success in love, she thought.

Strange I didn't find the key before, she told Sal as she patted the mule's rump.

Sophie had been the one taking care of the mules and going to swap meets in Springfield since her grandfather had died a year ago. It had only been three months since Toots passed, but with Pawpaw gone, those nine months alone with her grandmother had been filled with wisewoman tutoring.

Pawpaw never took to spells and such, Toots had explained. But the Howe family has always had magic in our blood—and you are as much Howe as Brown.

Though she never said anything to Toots, in the back of her mind a voice whispered, and as much Mom's bloodline as my father's. But Sophie knew little about her mother's side of the family—other than her mother had been abandoned as a child, never adopted, and raised in the foster care system until she was eighteen.

Come on, Jig, she said as she left the mules crunching on their breakfast and hurried back into the house in the early morning dark. You're next.

While Jig gulped down his breakfast, Sophie decided to do a little magic to guarantee the success promised by the key. She held the brass answer to her prayers in her left hand, lit a white candle with her right, and visualized the door to love she wished to open. Once the image of the doorway was clear in her mind, Sophie drew a picture of it on a small piece of paper. Next, she dribbled some candle wax over the image of the door, pushed the key into the hot wax, then let it set.

When the candle wax was cool, she folded the paper around the key, so it formed a rectangular packet. Next, she sealed the packet closed with more wax. Finally, she blew out the candle, then slipped the key parcel in her jeans pocket. She'd finish the spell tonight at the Harvest Festival's bonfire.

THE WAXING MOON PROVIDED enough light for Sophie to drive the mule-pulled wagon into Springfield. In truth, the gloomiest part of the road was the section which wound past the Brown property. Always wooded, the trees and shrubs around her home had grown thicker, more tangled, and thornier since she'd begun practicing magic. Though the changes did not frighten her, Sophie was curious to know if the increased wildness was indeed due to magic.

As she drove closer to town, she encountered other people eager to trade or sell goods. Of course, this time of year there were lots of farmers bringing produce to the Autumnal Equinox Swap. Not only fresh-picked apples, garden vegetables, and bunches of grapes—but burlap sacks of grains, cloth bags of newly-milled flour, jars of produce they had canned, and handmade garments.

Sophie knew she'd do well at the swap, because she had the best selection of goods of any junker in the area. Most had sold off what stock they had years ago—but thanks to Pawpaw's obsession with accumulating every useful metal item he could find, Brown's Pickings had inventory to trade for years to come. Grid down or not, Sophie would have made a living doing what her father's family had been doing for generations: picking and selling old things to recyclers, repairers, re-purposers, and re-users. During the last fourteen years, with technology nearly dead, Brown's Pickings' old-time mechanicals, kerosene lamps, wind-up contraptions, steam-powered engines, tools, and such had shot up in value. Indeed, her family's pickers' hoard was a treasure-trove.

With the word treasure lingering in her thoughts, Sophie slowed her mule team to a stop.

You setting up today? Asked the Springfield swap manager as he jotted her name down by torchlight.

Though it seemed a stupid question, since she was obviously driving a wagon loaded with desirable trade items, Sophie politely responded, Yup, then handed him the vendor's fee.

Number 59, he said as he dropped the rolls of nickels and quarters into a cash box. And don't let them mules kick anybody or that mutt bite some kid.

With a nod, she flicked the reins and drove the wagon to her assigned vendor's space.

Though dawn was less than an hour away, it was still dark. Dark enough, that before the customers arrived, Sophie was able to unhitch and tether Sal and Petey, put a feedbag on each mule, and pump two buckets of water for the pair to drink. Jig quietly laid on the driver's seat of the wagon while she worked. Sophie knew the dog would protect both the mules and merchandise should anyone come near.

After Sal and Petey were taken care of, Sophie used a rag to polish a brass wind-up clock she thought would bring a good price and scanned the jumble of nearby vendors hoping to spot someone dealing in veterinary supplies. Jig needed a rabies booster and distemper shot at a minimum. Plus, she always liked to have antibiotics for her animals on hand. Then, there was Jig's heart worm medication for next spring and worming meds for the mules.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a shrill voice behind her asking, How much for the lanterns?

Depends, answered Sophie as she turned around to face the speaker, on the size of the one you choose. Seeing the woman held a red lantern with a quart of kerosene capacity, she said, That one will run you thirty-five dollars.

Twenty, offered the woman.

I can't do twenty, but I'll take thirty.

Twenty-five, said the woman, and not a penny more.

Twenty-seven, answered Sophie as she stuck her hand out.

The woman paused for a couple of seconds, sighed, then shook Sophie's hand.

Though Pawpaw had always preferred coins, Sophie accepted part of the payment from the woman in paper money. She would spend the paper at the swap meet on supplies, but only take coins home.

Pawpaw and Toots had taught her to store real silver coins—dollars, quarters, dimes—and true copper pennies in empty peanut butter jars and coffee tins, then to hide the coin-filled containers beneath the floor of their silo. When spending money was needed, they'd instructed her to rely on nickels and metal alloy dimes, quarters, fifty-cent pieces, and dollars. But trading is always best, her grandparents had preached. That way, nobody will be looking to rob you for your cash.

As the woman walked away with her lantern, Sophie called after her, Nice doing business with you, ma'am. The woman acknowledged Sophie with a halfhearted wave.

After slipping the payment for the lantern into a money box secreted in a hidden compartment beneath the wagon seat, Sophie gave Jig a pat on his head. Keep an eye on our cash, she told the dog. Then, she resumed polishing the wind-up clock.

I'd like to do some business with you, too, said the barrel-chested trader from the vendor's space next to hers as he pointed to a sewing machine displayed near the rear of the Brown's Pickings' wagon.

Sophie nodded. She had made sure the old Singer was in good working order. Anyone with a little sewing skill and enough energy to rock the treadle which powered the machine could stitch up clothes, curtains, quilts, and other fabric projects.

Name's Bill Pettit, and they are, he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, my wife and sons.

Sophie made a point of looking at Mrs. Pettit and her boys, though she'd been secretly sizing them up since dawn when the family rolled more than a dozen wheelbarrows and handcarts heaped with fabric, used clothing, and plants onto their vendor's space.

You buying out-right or swapping? she asked, though she knew the probable answer.

We would prefer to swap.

Don't think you have what I'm looking for.

Bill Pettit rubbed his chin, glanced between his wares and the sewing machine, then said, Tell me what you're planning on buying today, and maybe my wife can acquire it in trade.

Suppressing a smile, Sophie pulled a piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. Here's the list of the items I need to get while I am in town. I'd need one-hundred-and-fifty dollars in cash or trade for the machine. I am only staying until three this afternoon, so your wife might not be able to find everything...

The boys will help her, said Bill Pettit as he took the list. We will have a hundred-and-fifty dollars’ worth of merchandise to trade for that sewing machine before you hitch up your mules.

I'd love to make the swap if you can manage it, she responded.

As Mrs. Pettit sent sons off in various directions with lengths of fabric in-hand in an effort to locate items on Sophie's list, two extravagantly tattooed men searched through the bicycle parts stacked alongside Brown's Pickings' wagon.

Looks like you have quite a collection, said one of the men. He grinned at her, then hooked his thumbs in his belt. We are looking for some of these parts, and we're willing to trade labor.

Thanks, but I don't need any help right now.

The second man cracked his knuckles. We're strong. Maybe we could follow you home and help you around your shop.

The grin on Thumbs-in-belt's face widened. Yeah. Follow you home and do a few days' work for some spare parts. How about it?

No, thank you. Sophie backed away from the pair. Behind her, she heard a low growl coming from Jig. She was grateful another customer stepped between her and Thumbs-in-belt and Knuckles.

After studying her for a few minutes, the tattooed men moved on. Still, Sophie felt uneasy.

THE REST OF THE DAY sped by without incident. She had managed to sell or trade most of the items she'd brought to the swap. Perhaps if she was staying until four, Sophie might have sold even more, but she had to drive over to Springfield Livery and Tavern to bed the mules down and secure the wagon until morning. Tonight's harvest activities would last too late to drive home, so she and her animals would be spending the night in town.

As she was almost finished packing her merchandise, Bill Pettit and two of his sons, laden with items from her shopping list, walked over.

We got all of your staples, Bill said.

Sophie nodded as the Pettit boys unloaded the Singer sewing machine from the wagon.

Here's your list back. You can see we checked off most of the stuff on it, the man continued as his sons loaded an assortment of cloth sacks containing flour, mule feed, cornmeal, dried dog food, oatmeal, sugar, salt, and grits onto the back of the wagon. But we couldn't find any of the veterinary stuff you asked for.

Sophie sighed—she really needed the medical supplies, especially the rabies vaccine for Jig.

It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Pettit, she said as she pulled a couple of spools of thread from a coffee can sitting beside a bucket of old kitchen tools. Here's some thread to get you started.

The man grinned, tapped his cap, then said, Thanks. You have a good evening, before walking back to his wife.

Upon hearing Jig whine, then give a small woof, Sophie turned around.

A tall, dark-haired man stood by the newly re-harnessed mules patting Sal's neck.Are you the one looking for veterinary supplies? he asked as he took a step in her direction.

Yes, Sophie managed to reply. She felt tongue-tied.

I'm Doctor Lambert Munford, the new Springfield vet, he said as he extended his right hand.

Shake his hand, whispered her brain, but she couldn't lift her arm. Before she could ask for help, her knees seemed to bend on their own and she slumped to the ground.

WHEN SOPHIE CAME TO, she was staring into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.

What? she gasped as she struggled to get up.

Whoa, easy, said the vet as he helped Sophie to a sitting position with her back leaning against one of the wagon wheels. You passed out. He handed her a cup. Take a few sips of water. It should help you feel better.

Trying to hold the cup steady, she drank several mouthfuls of water. Before speaking, she retraced her steps searching for a reason for her lightheadedness. Breakfast! she thought. I got so wrapped up in the key spell that I forgot to eat this morning.

I forgot to eat breakfast, she explained.

Lunch?

No, I didn't eat that either. I had customers to wait on. Then, the mules and Jig needed water, so...

No excuse, said the vet as he stood, then reached down to help her to her feet. Here's an apple I picked up from a farmer two rows over. Eat it.

I can't take you apple, Doctor Lamb...

Lambert—but people call me Bert. And, yes, you can take the apple. I can't have you fainting if we're to talk about getting a rabies vaccination for your dog.

Wanting meds for her animals more than an argument with Doctor Bert, Sophie bit into the apple. Mm, it's sweet, she thought. She swallowed the fruit, then said, Jig needs all the vaccines you have—distemper, canine flu, rabies. Oh, and heart worm preventative tablets, too. Plus, I need worming meds for Sal and Petey.

The vet raised his eyebrows. You're talking a lot of money.

I've got it—either in today's sales, or more likely, at the house.

Then, how about I ride over tomorrow with vaccines, worming pills, and heart worm tablets. I'll take a look at the dog and mules then, too—just to make sure there are no health issues. Now, if you'll tell me your name and where you live...

Sophie Brown, she answered. "I live about six miles outside Springfield heading northeast. I have