Phantasmias

By A. R. Lachance

Magic. Mayhem. Madness.

 

Phantasmias is a collection of fantasy and horror stories blurring the line between genres—dark fantasy, light horror, and a little bloody whimsy. Each story is a small world of its own laced with fanciful frights and maddening magic.

 

When Tom's demonic roommates save him from an assassin, he must uncover why he's suddenly on an otherworldly mob boss's hit list.

 

A sorcerer's familiar is kidnapped and forced to cross the dreaded forest of giants to find a dragon's lost treasure, but the kidnappers may be the ones barking up the wrong tree.

 

An old Victorian house finds it has more live-ins than it initially bargained for, and it's quite frankly fed up with the blood being sprayed all over its walls.

 

Helena is just your typical exterminator-for-hire—faeries, gnomes, demons, you name it—but following a routine pest-control call, she may have bitten off more than she can chew.

 

Will they and others like them fulfill their wildest fantasies or succumb to their darkest nightmares?

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. R. Lachance
• Release date: Oct 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777705510

Book preview

Pest Control

Mew? The curious plea of her cat interrupted her stagnant thoughts.

A foot up on her desk, chewing on the end of her pencil, Helena lazily looked down at her feline companion. She tapped her lap with her free hand and made a small clicking sound with her tongue to urge the cat up, but she just stared back with big, round, golden eyes. Rolling her own eyes, Helena leaned over and picked up the bundle of fluff, bringing her close to her chest and petting her.

You smell like kitty litter. She smirked and let the cat jump out of her arms. Her phone rang, and she glanced at it derisively. She went back to watching her cat. Swaying her tail with a weird neurotic twitch, the feline jumped up on her bed and stared as the phone rang incessantly in the background. When the machine clicked, they both looked towards it simultaneously.

The shaky but polished voice was familiar. Oh, um…hello, Miss Helena, it’s Dottie. Um…it seems I have that pest problem again. If you could call me back, dear, that would be lovely. Thank you. You have a nice day now.

Again? Helena sighed. She liked Mrs. Duschenes, but no matter how many times she cleared out that house, they just kept coming back. You think she’s cursed?

Maah-ow, her black cat responded.

Hm, you’re right. They’d be harder to chase off. Helena chuckled to herself and checked her notebook for the address. Grabbing her long, leather coat, Helena headed out the door.

She paused briefly, looking back at her cat. Plan on joining me, Whimsy?

Mrrow. Stretching languidly, her cat gracefully hopped from the bed, sauntered slowly to the door—pausing briefly at the threshold—and finally followed Helena out.

She hadn’t been out to Dottie’s since last summer, but this was still too soon for her to be calling back. Helena tried to remember all the methods she’d tried already while she walked to the out-of-place suburban block. Crammed between sky-scraping office buildings and shining condominiums was this narrow street with narrow houses side-by-side. Most had pitifully small front gardens—scraps of durable plants mostly—and the picket fences seemed a sad joke of the suburban paradigm.

Except for Dottie Duschenes’s house. Helena stopped in front of the bright white gate. Her house was just as narrow as the others—the tips of its roof kissing each neighbour’s—but her garden, though small, was the neatest. In the summer, it would be in full bloom with begonias, roses, chrysanthemums, lilac, and lilies. But even now, in the throes of winter, her driveway was expertly shovelled, a clean path carved smoothly out of the three feet of snow.

Whimsy sneezed as they entered the front yard. Helena lingered over the details: the freshly painted porch, the polished windows, the empty gutters.

She walked up the creaking steps to the porch and knocked on the door.

Oh, hello, dear, Dottie’s chipper, high voice greeted her.

Helena smiled. Hi, Dottie. Pest problem again, huh?

I don’t know why they keep cropping up. Would you like to come in for some tea?

Always. Helena held the door open behind her to let Whimsy in.

Whimsy rubbed herself against Dottie’s leg as they entered the front parlour. Helena made herself comfortable in an armchair as the older woman bustled about fetching tea and putting together her usual tray.

Helena looked around Dottie’s neat little home. She’d seen it before, of course, since this was her fifth time helping the woman with her pest problem.

The house was spotless, but certain peculiarities were now blindingly obvious. The swinging door into the kitchen gave Helena a peek at the bowl of milk and small cake under the table—set on a more ornate tray than the copper one Dottie brought out to her.

Dottie smiled sweetly as she poured Helena a cup of tea: one and half cubes of sugar and a spot of cream.

So, when did the problem start up again? Helena inquired, examining a suspiciously familiar small cake.

Dottie sighed and worried at her sleeve. Not long after you left.

I couldn’t help but notice the wee rowan sapling I brought you last time is missing. Helena remarked.

Dottie’s lips tightened into a regrettable pout. The poor thing withered away, I’m afraid.

Hm. Helena took a sip of her tea before continuing, And the verbena and St. John’s Wort we hung by your entrance?

Oh, just one of the many things that have been disappearing, dear.

Hm. Helena gave a small nod to Whimsy, who stopped her coiling around Dottie’s ankles and trotted away.

Dottie was worrying at the edge of her apron. Helena took a moment to admire the copper tea cup.

When did you get rid of your silver tea set, Dottie?

The older woman blinked, stuttered, I-I didn’t.

A muffled meow came from Whimsy as she rounded the corner from the hallway back into the parlour. She held a small, wrinkly old man in her mouth by his ragged, brown shirt. At barely five inches tall, the captive wriggled furiously but couldn’t escape the cat’s grasp.

Oh…oh, dear. That’s another one of those…those things!

Dottie’s manufactured surprise didn’t impress Helena. Whimsy had caught the last four brownies to take up residence in Dottie’s home. Helena had always had her suspicions the old lady was luring them in, but now, she was sure.

Dottie, the removal of silver and iron from your home, the destruction of the rowan tree, the disappearance of the herbs…Brownies can’t touch any of those objects. You’ve been removing the wards.

Dottie frowned. Miss Helena, I-I don’t want these creatures in my home if you’re insinuating—

Why’s there a bowl of cream and a bit of cake on your floor, Dottie?

Dottie’s mouth snapped shut. She sniffed. And then the tears.

Oh, I-I’m so sorry, Miss Helena…I-I just…they help me keep things tidy. I can’t do the gutters and tend the garden like I used to anymore…and I….

Helena gently hushed her. I know, Dottie, but then why did you call?

Logic stifled the tears for a moment. He gets…a little, well, rambunctious at times, Dottie continued.

Mm-hm. He’s still faefolk, Dottie, they like their mischief. They feed off humans—

The brownie cursed shrilly, twisting and turning with his shirt still caught in Whimsy’s jaws. Helena barely made out what he said, her Gaelic was rusty. "Níor ghoid mé aon fhuil."

Oh, really? Helena turned to the creature, signalling Whimsy to release him. To his credit, he didn’t flee, though he took a few steps away from the cat. "Cén fáth ar chóir dom tú a chreidiúint?"

The brownie sniffed and rubbed his hands together. He seemed unlikely to answer but pushed words past his tight lips, muttering, "Is maith liom í. Agus…agus tá brón orm as aon trioblóid a chruthaigh mé."

What’s…what’s he saying? Dottie nervously asked.

Helena sighed.

Well, he says he likes you, and he’s sorry for causing you any trouble. She looked between the two of them and rubbed her temple. All right, Dottie, if you want to keep him, we’ll make a pact. He won’t cause mischief in your home or yard, and you agree to let him tidy things and leave him out some sweets and cream on the daily, okay?

Dottie readily agreed. Helena reluctantly drafted the agreement.

By the time she was done and back out on the street, it was pitch black. Helena was exhausted. Ministering a pact with a fae really took it out of her, plus all the Gaelic she had to remember! One word out of place and the brownie would find a way out of his contract. She’d make a note in her schedule to check on Dottie around the next lunar cycle but hoped she’d brokered some kind of peaceful solution.

She took out a small pill box from her jacket pocket and popped one of the opaque green tablets into her mouth. She rattled the nearly empty container.

Best stop by the pharmacy, Whims.

Helena took a hard left into the twenty-four-hour shop. The light jingle above her head was followed by a casual, ’Ullo, from the red-headed pharmacist at the back of the small store. There was a woman and her son waiting in the seats to the left of the boxed in counter.

Hey, George. Helena poked at a few items as she crossed the aisles to the man behind the counter. He pushed his glasses up his nose as he took his eyes from his book to look at her.

Oh, hey, Hel. That time again, huh?

On my way back from a routine job, figured I’d stop in for my refill. She offered her best smile. She liked George.

George blushed slightly. ’Course. Give me a few. He hurried away, giving her a flash of a smile that added more red to his pale cheeks.

Yeah, she liked George. Helena smiled and wandered down one of the aisles.

Whimsy caterwauled from behind her. Helena spun around and found her cat twisting in figure eights in front of the boy. She smiled to the mother, who seemed pleased by how delighted her son was over Whimsy’s antics.

When he reached out, the cat stood on her hindlegs to headbutt his waiting hand. He brightened a little as he laughed, but the kid was obviously sick. He had dark circles under his eyes. His face had an odd, greenish pallor. He shivered yet beads of sweat rolled down his temples.

She’d guessed what was bothering him before she saw the tell-tale shimmer. As disarmingly as possible, she walked over to them. Helena put on her best customer service smile and introduced herself.

Whimsy seems to like you, Helena remarked. You guys are out kinda late, though.

The mother smiled, fatigue plainly written on her face.

The pharmacist here, he’s…he’s the only one who’s taken Jonathan’s illness seriously. The mother dabbed the kid’s forehead with a crumpled tissue in her hand.

Well, George is pretty stellar. She made sure he heard that, and something rattled in the back. She smiled and knelt to be at the kid’s eye level. You have trouble sleeping, tiger?

The kid nodded.

He has horrible night terrors, the mother confided. Bouts of…of terrible pain…and fever. He barely eats. Tears were threatening her eyes, but she seemed relieved to be talking about it.

Helena’s eyes shifted to the small imp sitting on the child’s shoulders, hunched over and back arched, as if defending a precious trinket. It stuck its tongue out at her.

George came back to the counter. Here you go, Mrs. Dewitte. This sleeping tonic should let your boy rest and increase his appetite….

Helena took George’s distraction and snatched the imp as she stood up again, muttering under her breath.

By the time her binding spell subdued the minor demon, Jonathan’s mother had administered some of the tonic.

The combined effect was immediate. The kid brightened considerably, sitting straighter, and waving off his mother’s attentions. Mum…I-I’m okay.

You…. She looked stunned. How’s your tummy?

He seemed to contemplate the question, rubbing his belly, and shrugged. I’m okay.

Turning to George, she thanked him profusely. Tucking the prescription into her purse, she picked up her son, continued to thank George, and headed out.

Helena leaned against the counter, smiling.

That’s some draught you make. She grinned when he gave her a knowing look.

Do you really think I missed your sleight of hand?

Helena plunked the bound demon on the counter. It swore mightily in several dead-on-Earth languages.

Ah, see, I thought it was some kind of vampiric gremlin, George took a pencil and tried to get its attention. Couldn’t get a good look at the thing.

Close, but it’s a nightmare. Your warding spell on the tonic would have been just as effective, though.

George shook his head. She came in yesterday, all in tears, at her wit’s end. So, I said I’d put something together for her quick. Planned to call you after. That poor kid’s been sick since he was barely out of diapers. They’ve tested him for everything. Doctors couldn’t figure it out, she said.

Hm. Helena eyed the creature on the counter. Too bad demons don’t show up on CT scans or MRIs. She popped another pill.

Her heart fluttered when George put a hand on hers. His concern was plain in his silvery blue eyes. How many of those are you taking now?

’Til the bottle runs out, usually. She smirked.

Per day, you twit, George chuckled.

Helena shrugged. He squeezed her hand. She felt her face flush. Ah, I don’t know…two or three….

Whimsy leapt up on the counter and meowed.

She says eight or nine, George looked more worried despite his boyish smirk. Your cat’s not one to lie.

I hate that you can understand her. Helena sighed. Yeah, she’s right. I’ve been getting the shakes more often and that weird numbness.

You need to take a break, Helena. His voice was suddenly so soft. He was staring at the scars on the inside of her wrist, old wounds from before she met George, and he made her the little doses of compressed magic. We all do, you know.

I’m not very good at taking breaks, she smiled, but what say you and I grab lunch tomorrow? Would that count as a break?

George looked up, astonished. I-I…um….

Helena laughed, No pressure, really—

No, he wouldn’t let her pull her hand away, I’d love to! I just…didn’t think…. You caught me by surprise is all.

His face was as red as a tomato.

See you tomorrow at one then? Helena grinned when he nodded fervently. Brilliant.

George reluctantly let go of her hand and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He was grinning from ear to ear. Ah, you want me to get rid of this one for you?

Ah. She laughed at her absentmindedness. Yeah, if you don’t mind.

He traded her the bag with her medication for the bound imp.

She took the small bag, deftly brushing her fingers against his, bid him goodnight and, with Whimsy at her heels, headed home.

The headache was almost worth it as she thought about lunch with George. What other use was there for on-the-fly demonic bindings if not to impress the local pharmacist you liked? She giggled to herself, hiding under the covers. If she could convince him to dinner on the weekend, maybe she would take more breaks.

Helena didn’t get to sleep long. She groaned when Whimsy jumped on her abdomen. Seriously?

Miaou! Whimsy complained.

A peek at her curtains made her grumble. Whims, it’s not even sunrise yet.

She rolled over, trying to hide from her complaintive feline. Pawing at her shoulder, the black cat wouldn’t quit. Helena sighed and sat up.

Mrr…meeee-yow! Whimsy twirled in figure eights.

What do you mean? Who? Helena couldn’t make heads or tails of her familiar’s griping…until the cat leapt onto the bedside table, knocking over the pharmacy bag.

Her stomach sank into a dreadful pit that made her knees weak. George.

She ran out the door without her coat, Whimsy hot on her heels. As fast as her legs could carry her, she rounded the corner and bolted down the street.

She skidded outside the pharmacy door, grabbing the handle, and pulling.

Locked.

No, no, no…. She could see the aisles in disarray, shelves bent and askew. But no sight of George.

Whimsy meowed loudly, prompting Helena to leap the railing and charge down the alleyway beside the pharmacy. She skidded to a halt in front of the ruined side door.

She ran in.

The back room of the pharmacy was a mess of torn boxes and ingredients. Helena picked her way through into the main area.

George! She called out. No answer. Her heart was in her throat. George!

A faint moan. She dashed to the upturned shelves to her right and lifted the steel frame up and off her friend. Oh, gods. George, George….

She knelt beside him, trying to stanch the blood from several gaping wounds across his chest and abdomen. It was hot, the wounds fresh. His arms and face were torn. He’d fought back.

He grabbed her hand when she touched his face. His eyes strained to open. H-Hel….

Shh, shh, just…save your strength. Let me— She stopped when he grabbed her other hand.

Jonath…the-the boy… he wheezed.

Okay, okay. I have to fix you first, okay? She tried again to put pressure on his wounds, but he weakly shoved at her. He managed to sit up, the torn skin on his face slowly knitting together.

Hel…Hel…. He grabbed her face with his bloodied hands, stopping her frantic attempts to bind his wounds. I’m an elf, Hel, I’ll heal. Go, I’m okay, go! He pressed a small, cylindrical pill bottle into her hands and pushed her away. Go!

Whimsy yowled at her as she reluctantly staggered away from George. Following her cat back out into the street, she saw the destroyed mesh fence separating this alley from the next.

Helena stared at the pill bottle George had given her. These pills were red.

Whimsy yowled again. Growling under her breath, she followed Whimsy down the alley. Her familiar guided her through the backstreets, keeping to the shadows of the massive skyscrapers.

Until they reached the little suburban hamlet tucked away in the concrete jungle.

Helena stopped short of crossing the destroyed fence.

You have got to be kidding me. She gawked at the familiar back door. Whimsy had led her straight into Dottie’s back garden. During her first couple of visits to Dottie’s last year, the old woman had brought her outside to have their tea.

It had been a perfect image of grandma’s garden, replete with mismatched knick-knacks, small vegetable patch, and outdated but well-kept furniture.

All of that lay in ruins between the crawling mist and snow.

Whimsy stayed near her ankles and sneezed.

The smell of sulfur was unmistakable. Helena popped one of the red pills and took a deep breath.

As she crossed the broken and blistered fence, a soft groan caught her attention. Helena knelt beside Mrs. Dewitte, checking the smudges and cuts for anything serious.

Out cold, she muttered to Whimsy as the cat twirled in figure eights. Helena popped another red pill.

Oh, hello, dear, Dottie’s voice had a new edge and a sharp wheeze.

Helena rose to her feet, forcing a smile. Hi, Dottie. Pest problem again?

Yes, dear, a…slightly different one this time. The old woman placed a growing, clawed hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. The boy’s eyes were dull—a trance spell. He was oblivious to what was happening around him.

You don’t say. Helena swallowed another pill, sizing up the old woman.

Dottie cackled inhumanly. "My son was too good for that bitch…but at least their half-blood spawn can be of some use to me."

Helena inched her way closer, making it halfway to Dottie’s back step. "So, you’ve been sending those imps after the kid all this time. Why not just sacrifice him and be done