Valentina opened her eyes as the last glimmer of sunlight disappeared over the horizon. Looking around her, she saw the dank cave of stone in which she'd slept, deep within the rocky, seaside cliff, far from human eyes. She heard the waves violently battering the craggy shore far below. That's why she'd chosen this cliffside dwelling off the coast--it was isolated and utterly unapproachable. The smell of the decomposing bodies lying about the cave neither enticed nor repulsed

The iron-gray snow clouds softly sprinkled large, fluffy flakes upon my cheeks and eyelashes, like kisses from a doting mother, as I dragged my battered orange sled behind me, toward home. The neighborhood kids and I had burned through the overcast daylight, sledding on Clark's Hill—the unparalleled sledding idyll adjacent to the old Clark house—until twilight heralded the end of the unplanned, but welcomed, snow day. None of us knew who lived there in those days, but they d

Chantel Lemieux went outside and lit each of her jack-o'-lanterns. She'd carved them with love and care, as she had decorated her home for Halloween. It was her favorite holiday—especially when it fell on a full moon. Now that the sun was setting, she knew that her annual trick-or-treaters would be arriving shortly, so she smiled and ran off to get dressed in her angel costume before the door-knocking began. The kids did not disappoint, and Chantel was having the time of her

'What, in the name of the Sun Goddess, is that smell?' grumbled Logos, as he slowly stretched the slumber from his enormous frame. His matte gray scales, which had long since lost their argent luster, were dappled with clinging brown leaves and a few fallen branches. He emitted a low groan, as his skeleton realigned, bones popping into place with cracks and muffled thuds. The smell of what had awakened him lingered among the miasma of his weary thoughts. If the scent was imp

When I was a child, camping out in the deep rural Maine wilderness was nothing short of magical. It always began by stepping off of the bus on the last day of school to see our old station wagon packed to the gills with camping gear and supplies. It seemed like my feet had barely touched the ground before the old Buick's heavy door thunked closed behind me, and we began the long journey to Old Town and beyond. It was a tight fit in the back of the weathered family wagon. In

Coolness. Silence. Darkness. Pressure—so much pressure. It surrounded me on all sides. It didn't hurt. It felt just as it always had....