Val’s House of Musings: A Mixed Genre Short Story Collection

By Valerie Willis

Short fiction, featuring Florida and the Fantastic!

 

Throughout her career, award-winning, paranormal fantasy romance author Valerie Willis has been collecting her thoughts in short fiction. Some of these tales you may know, published in anthologies, blogs, or even featured as contest winners. Others are hidden gems that are no longer satisfied to collect dust, including some deleted scenes from The Cedric Series.

 

Readers will encounter myths and monsters from all over the world before being pulled back close to home, or in this case, Florida. If that wasn't enough, find love in unusual places from the sea to cemetery.

 

Val's House of Musings is the first short story collection pulled together for fans and new readers to savor a little at a time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 4 Horsemen Publications
• Release date: Nov 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798823201612

Book preview

Table of Contents

Welcome to Val's House of Musings

Tales from The Cedric Series

A Time Before Civilization

Lady Ranger Ann

Badbh

When Katie Comes to Town…

The White Ram Law Associates

Otherworldly Tales

A Fisherman's Tail

Weight of a Haunted Heart

Tradition

A Photo of a Tree

Flowers on the Grave

For the Love of Stress

Destiny’s Game

The King’s Son and Little Gem

Within the Ring of Fire

And Close to Home

The Unique Flavors of Florida Man

In Memory of the Orange Groves

Dear Flu,

A Short-lived Treasure Hunt

The Holiday Season Is Here

An American Kestrel

Taste of Wild Florida

Mallory Loves Me

Mikey from Middle School

Why I Should Be In Japan

Horror and Unpleasantries

The Text Message

Antichrist is a Manatee

Teach A Man to Fish Today & Two Merrows Eat Your Life

Yellow Fever Bridge

In Life and In Death

The Longest Day was Oct 17, 1867

Bastion’s Solstice

Fiery Mary & the Dog Days of Summer

Non-Fiction Wanderings

Corn Killed the Indians

Corn: America’s Backbone

Celtic Apollo Versus Greek Apollo

21 Mythological Winter Figures You Didn’t Know

Evolution of Vampires

The Mother of Dragons Is Not Daenerys

The Oracle: Myth or Real?

About the Author

Book Club Questions

Val’s House of Musings: A Mixed Genre Short Story Collection

Copyright © 2023 Valerie Willis. All rights reserved.

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.

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Dunedin, FL 34698

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Cover by Autumn Skye

Typesetting by 4 Horsemen Publications

Edited by Kris Cotter

All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain permission.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023936334

Paperback ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0160-5

Hardcover ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0162-9

Audiobook ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0159-9

Ebook ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0161-2

Dedication

To all the authors, mentors, literary agents, editors, and publishing experts who guided me down the path through many of the small pieces found within this tome. Without you, I wouldn’t have been brave enough to chase after this wild dream and find myself writing to my heart’s content, able to gush with readers and fans all over the world.

Thank you!

Welcome to 
Val's House of 
Musings

Writing is a passion, and it takes lots of practice to get to where you can write consistently and in huge amounts. Sometimes I find myself needing to take a moment to explore an idea or test a scene in a novel. Other times, I just want to experiment or capture what I am feeling in the moment. So, these are those musings—short fiction and palette cleansers that have proven to be stepping stones for greater works or the chance to partake in a collection with my fello w authors.

Within this volume, you will find musings gathered from 2009 until 2022. In hopes of helping curate the tone and themes of these stories, I’ve divided them into these core sections:

Tales from The Cedric Series—I often write snippets to explore or test out theories that don’t make it into the series. Whether it’s imagining the side stories they find themselves in or meeting characters from another part of the series world, it’s a great way to flesh out and capture a little extra insight into some well-known characters and their world.

Otherworldly Tales—I love writing fantasy and adding that atmosphere layered on top of our own existing world. Here you will see me explore fantasy scenarios and imaginings. Some are bittersweet, others heartfelt, and many from bizarre travels into unknown worlds.

…And Close to Home—I love writing with Florida in mind or sometimes taking a breath and writing a contemporary rom-com or similar piece. Other times, it’s a reflection about an encounter, emotion, or experience I want to lock into words. Some of these are just me wanting to share something with others, while others are self-reflecting and having fun.

Horror and Unpleasantries—I find a lot of my work has a better chance of landing in collections and contests when I write horror and thrillers. Some are creepy knee-jerking stories, while others will make you smile. They always involve myths, ghosts, and even harrowing true ties to history long forgotten. Be prepared to venture into the dark and unknown in this section.

Non-Fiction Wanderings—I love to do research! Most of the large novels I write take from the real world and are heavily inspired by history, mythology, and, at times, the etymology of words. Other times, I am just having fun, shedding some light and leaning way left or right on a topic to show that even a well-researched essay can be extremely biased.

I hope wherever you travel within these pages, you find something delightful and spooky, fun and inspiring. There’s much to pick from, and I couldn’t bear not sharing some of my favorites. Some take me back to certain moments. When pulling together these stories, many evoked surprising memories and emotions that were completely forgotten until I dove into the slush piles of yesteryear’s lost musings. To give you some insight into how much emotion a story can create in me, here’s a selection from each section with the emotions tied to them.

When Katie Comes to Town…—I had no idea I wrote this! For readers of The Cedric Series, this was written a LONG time ago, and it shows us a future version of Tony that hadn’t been brought to life until King Incubus, nearly ten years after the initial date of this file! WOW!

Flowers on the Grave—I can’t toss everything under more than one section. A lot of what I write is influenced by real life, and this little fiction piece is one of those moments. At the time, I lived five houses away from a graveyard that was dead center in a subdivision. Whenever someone came to visit or dropped me off, they would ask about it, which earned them many puns, including my husband’s personal favorite: I hear folks are just dying to get into that place.

In Memory of the Orange Trees—I wanted to do something with an emphasis on the five senses but also to capture memories with my dad. When I wrote this, my time with him was running out, and things were looking grim. Fortunately, he managed to get and survive a double lung transplant, during which I drafted my novel The Prince’s Priest in the lobby with next to no sleep. Amazing how writing has proven a must for distraction in the harder moments in my life.

The Longest Day was Oct 17, 1876—Those who know me know I am a ham for dark lesser-known history. When asked to join an anthology I hadn’t intended to participate in, this nugget of history was itching to be shared. As many of you either have experienced or will soon experience, I love bringing these harrowing moments to life and putting the reader in the front seat of historical aspects so that it is as if you are there as it unfolds. To really pack a punch, I seeded a hint of a male/male romance at the beginning, a means to let your armor fall before I started to dig deep, retelling what happened that day at Hoosac Tunnel.

Corn Killed the Indians—Foaming at the mouth. There is no other way to describe how I felt when my college course on essay research implied that research papers couldn’t be biased. In the end, this and another corn paper were the most heavily researched assignments, with the most radical and well-supported biased views. It was fun, and it really showed me how well I can manipulate research and storytelling, all well before I started publishing my first book. That and where else would I get to write Squanto, Corn’s Puppet?

So without further delay, here’s the menu for the selection. I hope you find many favorite musings among this pile. Some may be half a page, others just long enough to have a few chapters for themselves. There’s bound to be a moment or character that will leave a lasting impression or even divulge a snippet of new information about history that may surprise you.

Tales from 
The Cedric Series

A Time Before Civilization

She stood at the mouth of the dark cave, wet from the rain that had recently fallen. It had been three days since she had had a decent meal to eat, even though she was an accomplished hunter. With the bow she had made herself, she went off into the forest. She would eat tonight, that she knew.

She was young, no older than thirteen, with black hair and a darker complexion. The forest had scared her with all of its sounds when she was younger. Now, even without her pack, she could navigate it. Stepping lightly through the forest, she heard the first sound of food. As she heard the second shriek of her meal, she turned around, falling to one knee, and released an arrow into the treetop.

Her fear rose as she waited for something to fall. A moment went by, then a small bird hit the ground without a sound. It was small, but it would sustain her for a day. She looked at the colorful creature and saw that it was a mockingbird. A beautiful bird her people believed was sacred and could imitate the sounds it heard.

She picked up its limp body and put it into her pouch. As she walked back, she saw an opening in the trees. It would be a full moon tonight. Fear rose in her stomach. The packs would return, and this time hers was dead. She would have to survive alone for the first time.

As she started the fire in front of her cave, she watched the moon slowly rise in the sky, dreading what would come.

She picked through the bird’s cooked body, peeling the bones out as she ate what little meat it had on it. As she eyed the moon from the corner of her eye, a feeling of terror rose. She saw the noticeable change in its shape. She felt the sweat roll down her entire body. Her joints began to ache. She was changing, and she knew it.

A young werewolf stood no chance against an adult, and there were seven packs crawling around this forest. She knew she would need to move on.

As she picked the last of the meat off the bird, her fingers slowly began to change with the third phase of the transformation. It would not be long now until the transformation was complete. She brought none of the gear she would need to survive in her human form as she left the cave.

She fell to the ground, in the usual pain caused by her insides changing to match her outer appearance as she reached the first creek. She knew she would become the animal that lurked inside her in just moments.

She woke from her unconscious state; she saw the world in a reddish tint. It was the effect of having her wolf’s eyes. She stumbled through the brush as she got used to her four legs. She could hear in detail all the critters walking around. She heard the other packs howling into the air. They were close to her.

The small wolf wandered through the forest following the sounds of the other wolf packs, trying hard to find their scent. If she could do that, she could ride their scent and be safe from the other packs that would kill her on sight. Fear gripped her all throughout the forest. She was a quarter of their size. If confronted, she could not outrun or outfight any of them.

The young woman followed the sounds until she smelled something odd. It did not belong in the forest. This she knew. It was the scent of a fellow werewolf from another of the many packs, a strong scent of dog and blood. She smelled the kill they had made. It was a young human girl; she could tell from the scent.

She lay nearby in a bush, waiting for the night to end. She smelled and heard the breaking of bones and lapping up of the blood of their young victim. The gurgle of the girl dying was now silent and gave the young wolf pause. She did not want to be their next victim. Werewolves had no problem going into a cannibalistic state. If food were scarce, they would eat their own pack members.

The bush branch worked its way into her snout, and she had to sneeze. As she exhaled the air in her lungs, she heard the breaking of bones stop, followed by the worst thing that could have happened: silence. Not even the creatures of the night made a noise in that instant. In just a breath, she heard the rustling of trees as the entire pack started to investigate the sound.

Fear broke her silence as she darted out of her hiding place, trying to find any place that would keep her safe from her soon-to-be attackers. As she broke from her spot, she heard the familiar howls of the pack giving chase. They would be on top of her in just a few moments.

Her surroundings became a blur as she raced through the dark forest. She could hear the larger werewolves gaining on her heels. The familiar sound of a stream flowed into her ear. It’s my only chance, she thought to herself. She made a quick turn, narrowly missing a large tree that would have ended the chase. The stream became louder and louder as she neared.

At the first feel of water touching her paws, the wolf launched herself into the water, swimming as fast as she could. A few moments passed until she reached the familiar sturdiness of solid ground. Her back paws hit the dry ground as she heard the splashes of her pursuers. As quickly as she could, she made a sharp right, following the water upstream, trying to throw her pursuers off her scent. If she could avoid them a little longer, she could reach the valley where her people frequently stayed.

The young one stood next to the wall of a mountain. She stayed as quiet as she could, only hearing the paws of one of her pursuers. I may just live through this, she thought.

As softly and slowly as she could, the tiny black wolf walked along the wall of the mountain, trying to escape to the safety of the nearby canyon. The canyon held dozens of deep caves that could keep her safe for a long time. Being near her people’s homes and caves gave her comfort. With only one pursuer behind her, she had a chance.

She heard him smelling her out. Since they were wet from the creek, their scents blurred enough to confuse the very large wolf. She walked until she felt the familiar feel of the hard, rough stone. A cave leading into the canyon would be close by. She continued, still careful not to give away her position to her attacker. He was good at the hunt. He was gaining on her, though he could not see or smell his way to her.

The tiny wolf entered the cave opening, following the directions she had memorized as a young child. Her mother had made sure she knew her way home. They may now know about her safety area, but she would live for another day.

As she walked out the other side of the cave, she saw the moon light up her old home. She had her choice of places to hide. She looked at the plentiful caves; she heard the wolf howl to the rest of them. They would soon catch up to their pack mate, and maybe even her. The fear that had dissipated now came back with a vengeance.

She ran down the face of the walls to find the best cave with the most tunnels, the cave her pack once called their home. She was sure she would survive the night, but the packs would still hunt, kill, and eat her in their human form. She would have to wait for daybreak to make her great escape, but she would live through the first night of hell.

Shivering brought her out of her sleep. Her human skin was damp. Her leap into the river last night was now a hindrance to her survival. Hugging her knees close, she looked about the cave. Her only hope was that there were still supplies hidden in some of the cache pockets. Searching stalagmites, her hand finally fell into a nook, grasping something soft. She pulled it out and unfolded it quickly. Her luck was still in good standing. It was a satchel of clothes, and tucked inside them was a small survival knife, relieving some of her panic.

The sun was up higher than she had thought as she approached a cave exit. Squinting against the light pouring in, she looked about. There was no immediate sign of her pursuers, but she kneeled there, waiting to hear or see any clues. The werewolves that had chased her were much older and had an advantage over her. Even in human form, the veterans had gained stronger abilities. It varied from person to person, but the most common trait gained was an acute sense of smell or night vision without the need for the wolf form.

There were a few fireside stories her elders would tell about werewolves that had earned blessings from the gods and nature; rumors of incredible speed, strength, or the ability to control their transformations at will were only some that she remembered. Whispers would flood the group, as the story would explain that upon this achievement, a werewolf would become immortal and would stop aging, unlike those we lived with.

Her heart stopped as rocks came rolling down from above the cave entrance. She shrank into the cave, trying to slow her pulse with steady breaths. A shadow leaped down in front of the opening, and she flinched, closing her eyes. Her ears caught the sound of hooves on rock, and she opened her eyes to see one of the local mountain goats staring. She stood up, causing the goat to leap away. If prey like that were near, she had to be safe. As hungry as that pack was, the goat and any others would have been eaten by now. It was passing noon, and she was running out of time to gain distance before the moon reclaimed her.

She gathered her nerve and ventured out into the sun, its warmth comforting. She paced herself as she worked her way out of the caverns and her old home. The forest had proven to be too crowded with packs. Being alone, she would be better off in the fields just past the gorge and caves. The grass grew tall there; being small had its advantages. A breeze blew past. Shuddering in the coolness, her nose caught the scent of the flowers that were blooming just up ahead.

Excited about the strong smell, her heart sang and her feet quickened. Any scent of her would be lost in the fields, for sure. Her hand tightened on the little knife as if to squeeze the hand of a friend. She would be out of danger very soon and chasing rabbits in the flowers tonight! I am safe!

"Errraaaagh!"

Something had killed the goat.

Tripping from the distraction, she hit the rocks hard, cutting her hands and scraping her knees. She lost control of her panic, and tears fell down her face as she clambered to her feet to break into a run. She could hear the shouts of men behind her, wild and more than she had been aware of last night. Her chaser had brought the entire pack back to the caves while she had slept. Whimpering and crying, she refused to look back. Her eyes focused on the path in front of her, the scent of flowers with promises, as the peaks of the grasses were starting to show.

Something caught her ankles, and she tumbled to the ground. Her head bounced off the rocks, spinning the world about. She tried standing, but her ankles would not break from one another. They had used a bola, its rough rope dug into her skin. A calloused hand grabbed her neck, pressing her cheek into the sharp rocks. All she saw in her still-spinning vision was the fanged grin of a man.

Howls brought her back into her nightmare. Smoke filled her nose, and growls, yelps, and snaps invaded her ears. She staggered to her paws, the full moon looking down at her in her wooden cage. Whimpering and whining, she tucked her tail between her legs, shaking violently. Silence responded as the pack turned to glare at her, the bonfire’s light reflecting in their large eyes. One of the bulkier, grayer wolves came close, sniffing at her. Her lips curled, and she flashed her teeth at him as she scooted away. With a grunt, his lupine face grinned widely. Canines the size of her front legs took her rebellious snarl away.

Lying in her cage, her snout under her front paws, tears fell from her eyes. The night went on forever as pack members came and went. Most returned with various kills for the bigger brown Alpha male, who always took the first bites from each prize. He was massive and shaggier than the others were. Chunks were missing from his huge ears, and the manner of his eating sent her stomach jerking. This entire pack was full of males. What had happened to all the females? Was their Alpha male killing them off? Her fur bristled as terrifying thoughts filled her mind.

The cracking of a branch from behind her cage made her jump to her feet. Her red vision stared deep into the dark forest’s edge. Her nose rose to the air, trying to catch the smell of what she had heard. The pack behind her was too involved in their abundance of goats to notice her behavior. The blood was washing out the smells of the forest, making her sneeze. Once more, her nerves heightened, fur bristling high, and her vision caught the glow of eyes. The fire’s light was obstructing her ability to see what it was more clearly. She was now sniffing the air desperately, and finally, a slight breeze pulled the iron of blood away enough for her to catch the smell.

Another pack of massive werewolves was approaching. Shuddering, she stared helplessly as it slowly came on. She could not tell if there was just one or more. All that her instincts told her was to run, but she was trapped in her wooden box. Every sense screamed that whatever was coming could easily take on the pack that howled behind her, drunk with their killing spree. Horror took hold of her, and she began digging at her cage. Her nails were aching from the task, but the beating of her heart pushed her further. One wooden bar was starting to work loose when a bark deafened her.

One of the pack members had caught her in that act, and she scrambled backward, her back to the forest. The scrawny pack member growled, his warning was clear as he watched her. Her chest was rising and falling quickly, her fear making it hard to breathe. The pack member went quiet. He staggered back, beginning to whimper. Chills took hold of her as warm, evil-smelling air came from behind her, and she watched the scrawny pack member pee himself.

Panic overwhelmed her, and she began yelping loudly. This is the end! An arrow flew, whistling past her cage, hitting the scrawny wolf between the eyes. The pack members all turned to her, and then all of them bristled at the creature that stood behind her and her little wooden prison. With grace and speed, the largest werewolf she had ever seen leaped over her cage and stood between her and her captors like a wall of fur.

Are you alright? A woman’s voice caught in her ears, and she realized a human woman stood beside her cage. Are you alright?!

Her wolf head managed to nod, bewilderment taking the place of fear. Her eyes went back to the massive hulk, its tail whipping wildly as its thunderous growl shook her chest. All at once, the pack leaped onto the titan wolf. It rose to its back feet, growing in height tenfold. Massive claws swiped and plucked out the other werewolves, one by one. The woman released arrows as she caught her chance to strike them down. They fell like acorns from a tree.

Romasanta! You got this? Another arrow whistled across and hit its mark.

There was a grunt and flick of an ear as his monstrous mouth chomped the pack leader’s right leg off. He was relentless. The woman brought out a silver-bladed knife and sliced at the ties that kept her in her cage. Scents were giving her mixed information. Her nose was telling her this woman was a werewolf as well, but the full moon should force everyone into his or her wolf form. The woman grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, pulling her out of the cage with great strength, like a kitten carried off by its mother.

Confusion kept her legs from moving. Why had they saved her? Who was this duo? Or were there more of them? There was one last yelp as Romasanta finished off the last standing pack member, the pack leader. He had given a good fight. She had not been mistaken when her instincts had told her that her captors stood no chance of surviving. Romasanta walked up to them, shaking blood from his fur and licking his bloodied snout as he returned to all fours. The ground shook, reflecting the weight of his steps into her tiny paws.

Lady Ranger Ann


They couldn’t be allowed to fight. Grainger had to think of a way to stop it. How does one stop a mimic dog and hellhound from tearing one another apart in the middle of the village? Both stood at eye level with one another, snarling. Barking and snapping their jaws, they lunged and jumped back. Night had fallen and revealed the presence of the hellhound, the invisible hunter who had plagued the woods around them since his own father was a child. No one was sure where the mimic dog had come from, but he was now in the territory of a long-term resident hellhound.

Both were muscular hairy dogs, larger than most men in the village. Villagers had sent for help when both supernatural beasts had been spotted nearby. But help had not arrived, and now they were battling it out by the well. No one here had the skills to take one beast down, let alone the two of them. A part of Grainger secretly wished the hellhound would win, but would it leave them in peace again?

My, this is a mess. The woman’s voice startled him. He spun on his heels to face the tall, cloaked figure in the shadows behind him. What on earth is a mimic dog doing here?

I… I don’t know, but if they start to fight now, it’ll be a disaster. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the glowing eyes and jowls of the hellhound and shuddered. If the hellhound starts to release his fire, he’ll burn this place to the ground.

Agreed. She pulled her hood back to reveal ebony skin and hazel eyes that could see into one’s soul.

Y-you’re Lady Ranger Ann!

Yes, I see my reputation has traveled even this far? She grinned. I will need your help, but it will prove dangerous.

W-what is it? He paled as another round of lunging and jumping back erupted from behind him.

I need to know which of these is actively hunting. She was no longer staring at him but was glancing past him at the beastly dogs. My guess is the mimic dog.

The hellhound has lived in these woods for years. He turned to face the scene. But how are we going to know if the mimic dog is hunting?

If you run out into the open, he will stop fighting the hellhound. She gave a toothy grin, pulling her bow out and checking the arrow in her other hand. Don’t worry. I will be ready… what is your name?

Grainger. He swallowed. The dogs growled and bit at one another’s necks before breaking away. I’ll do it. I hear you’re the best shot. The best demon hunter in the world, even.

You’ll let me know what you think afterward. She winked, but he only swallowed in response. Huff out there, Grainger. We are running out of time.

Y-yes. He looked at the two canine monsters, blood splattering at their feet.

Badbh

She didn’t mind them staring. It was an honor to have them take in the sight of the scars that covered her body.

Her name: Badbh, the Battle Goddess. Each wound was a keepsake from one glorious battle after another. She was tall, with tanned skin. Her face was a mystery, apart from the rich, lustrous red lips below the bronze and silver helmet. The shine of dark eyes could barely be seen through the mask’s eyeholes, and the helmet came to a point in front of her nose. The edges of the silver-embellished bronze curved under her eyes before soaring upward and back into menacing horns. Her hair was a deep purple and black, wild and thick. It bloomed from the back of her helmet and head, cascading behind her shoulders, at which point it started to thin until it lightly caressed the divot where her hips met her lower back.

Yes,