The Inkwell presents: This is Not an Anthology

By The Inkwell

From harmless pranks to deadly mistakes, the wrong symbols in the right place are rife with possibility. It could be the start of a meet-cute across the wrong order or result in the discovery of a fantastic world just beyond the one we know. It could also end in a trip to the hospital or horrors rising from the deep. But at no time are any of these repercussions expected.

Down the Rabbit Hole - A little casual drug use opens up a whole new world.
Muskrat Mishap - Instructions don't help when there is no order to anything.
On A Mission - How can you find answers when you're not sure what you're looking for?
A Fluffy Misadventure - Show and tell goes awry due to the best of intentions.
Intern's Chip - An attempt to impress results in mechanical mayhem.
Payment on Delivery - Doing a favour is often more trouble than it's worth.
The Claim - Family secrets should sometimes stay buried.
Jam Session for the Brokenhearted - A little song, a little drink, and a lot of introspection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Inkwell
• Release date: Jul 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005517595

The Inkwell

We are a writing collective founded on Discord that currently includes 20+ writers all helping each other on the climb to completed works.

Book preview

Down the Rabbit Hole

Written by LA Harper

I hadn’t meant to start following my roommate; it just sort of happened. 

Where you goin’? I asked, more to acknowledge him than in genuine interest. 

Out for a walk, he replied, tone just evasive enough that it piqued my previously absent curiosity.

Wordlessly, I went after him, his shadow block after block. I was hoping he’d turn around and ask me what I was doing, but he never did—though his intense interest in his phone might have had a little to do with it. Eventually, as there began to be more graffiti than brick, more plyboard than window, that I finally decided to say something, and even then, it wasn’t terribly clever.

Where are we?

Probably somewhere you don’t wanna be, dude. Blue light reflected off his face as he maintained focus on his phone. I didn’t disagree, but I was too macho to admit it. Eventually, his gaze met mine, trying to gauge my reaction. Why’d you come anyway?

Didn’t have anything else to do and figured you wouldn’t mind.

I mean, as long as you aren’t a bitch about it. His phone chirped, and after checking it, he moved a few more doors down the street to in front of some kind of shop, seemingly following instructions. He must have been doing so the whole trip. Just hang out here and don’t say anything ‘til I’m back.

Bruh, you are not leaving me alone in this dump. The street was eerily quiet aside from the skitter of dead leaves across broken concrete. I’m gonna get mugged or something.

Mason gestured around. By what, a ghost?

I mean, I get that, dude, but this shit is kinda creepy. I glanced at a window display, its contents dull and amber with age in a streetlight’s glow. 

This is where we need to be. I’ve been seeing this girl for a while now, and she’s good people.

You got a girlfriend? And she lives here?

No and no. You ask a lot of questions, he grunted as he pushed open the store’s door, old wood painted a dull sage and still swollen with yesterday’s rain. Come in if you want to. Wouldn’t want the ghost muggers getting you.

I sighed, continuing to follow as Mason led me deeper in. The sole source of light streamed through the display window, bathing the sagging shelves full of…stuff in those same sepia tones. I couldn’t tell what the varying silhouettes were in the dimness, but it felt like every single inch of usable space was crammed full. It smelled like pine bedding and dried herbs in here, too, and soft animal sounds drifted from a back room. Was this a pet store? A junk shop? Both?

Mason, a voice purred from the gloom, and I nearly gave myself whiplash trying to pinpoint it. Who’s your friend?

Lesidhe, he said, surprised as white teeth glinted in the darkness, a slender woman appearing behind them, Cheshire Cat-like.

She chuckled. No, that’s me. I asked who your friend was. Deep magenta eyes —something I’d never seen before—took us in. Maybe it was the unease left over from the trip here, or just this weird dusty shop with its strange noises, but this woman scared me.

This is my roommate, Blake. He decided to tag along. I texted you about it.

I know, which is why I’m not surprised. You just haven’t introduced us yet. She extended a hand and I grasped it, her fingers surprisingly warm.

Pleasure to meet you, Blake.

You too, um, Lesidhe, I stammered. Her name was as exotic and strange as her eye color, only adding to the tempestuous air of mystery seeming to swirl around her.

Now, I won’t keep you boys here all night, she said, clapping like a delighted child, so down to business. Long skirts swirled so that she seemed to be gliding across the floor until her lower half disappeared behind the counter. Fabric rustled as she squatted, leaving only her purple hair visible.

I got some new stuff in if you’re interested, Mason, her voice muffled as she rummaged. 

Yeah, I can have a look. Exams are over now, he said, leaning casually on the counter. I was pretty sure what was going on, now, and while not opposed, I felt like he should have at least let me know so I could bring more money along. As he’d said, exams were over. Nothing wrong with celebrating a little.

She plunked down a wooden chest, unlocking it with a thin, tarnished key. Hinges squeaked as she exposed all sorts of little glass vials and mesh tea bags, like some kind of apothecary kit.

I ran out of plastic baggies, she explained, smiling. So I used what I had on hand. Winking, she turned the box for him to inspect, before turning to me, gaze pierced mine. I swallowed. You want any?

I didn’t bring any money, this trip being a bit of a surprise, I admitted, shifting uncomfortably. The woman placed a pensive finger over her lip as she stared at me.

You have seven dollars; I can work with that. I have a sample somewhere here of the new stock. Her fingers tiptoed over the bags as I pulled my wallet and opened the billfold. Sure enough, a handful of very wrinkled singles stared back.

How’d you know?

"Lesidhe has a weird sixth sense. You get used to