The Girl (Fiction) (Short Story)

Kanna wondered, as she often did, about the secrets hidden behind the chocolate eyes of the girl in the corner booth. Each day she sat, school books set neatly upon the formica table top, papers or a notebook set just so as she worked.

Her order was made according to the weather, iced tea for warm days, hot coca for cold. Only once had Kenna been surprised when asked for hot tea with lemon, (but the girls rough edged voice and red, raw nose explained the request).

Such things were not what had caught her curiosity, though. It was the time after, when the papers and books had been put away and the girl would sit, sometimes for hours, looking out the window.

To Kanna, it did not seem as though she looked at the scene just beyond the glass but to some thing or some where, only she could see.

Secrets (Short Story)

By Kira A. Moore 

She stood at the window, light highlighting the tips of her hair, her body draped in the shadow she cast across my bed where I waited in pensive silence. Looking at her I felt a chill creep across my skin, raising goosebumps and I suspected I would never be completely warm again.

Her voice floated across the room, soft as down, brittle and knife sharp,

“Secrets are demons you know. Your hopes. Your dreams. Your trust. They destroy everything.” 

She didn’t turn but I felt her eyes burning into mine. “Then they devour your soul.” 

Untitled (Short Story)

Such unseasonable weather, she thought. It seemed typical for late Spring, not the first week of Winter. A warm Southerly wind blew, swirling the ground fog into fantastic shapes, the morning dew sparkling from browned grasses and bare limbs.

Maybe it was the silence which gave the scene such an unnatural feeling. No bird song nor buzzing of early insects, just the rustle of leaves and the creak of tree trunks pushing against each other. Even the sun had yet to clear away the low haze, the light diffused. The blue sky above washed out to a lifeless grey.

Her eyes drifted downward, past the reaching trees and course brush. Through the trailing fingers of fog moving across the vacant earth to a figure, cloaked in black, which knelt among the silent stones which stood guard over this sacred ground. She could not hear his words, though she knew he was speaking as he always did, in a whisper lost to the wind. His back was to her today, though she didn’t need to see his face to know the tears which coursed down weathered, unshaven cheeks. She need only close her own eyes to his, blue, broken, and empty.

It shouldn’t be this way she knew. It was never what she wanted; for him or herself.

“Set me free,” she whispered.

He did not see the dove rise from its perch on a nearby headstone and fade into the morning mists.

The Grimm (Short Story)

Belladonna found her eye kept sliding past Jerrico, her mind refusing to acknowledge what he held loosely in his hand. Something in the back of her mind was threatening to tear loose and rip her to shreds just be away from… from, that. She was having trouble controlling her breathing, she trembled, and her skin was slick with sweat.

Within his grasp was a matte black, thing was the only word she could come up with. It was somewhere between a circle and an oval and it moved. It slithered and seethed while not moving at all. Though it didn’t reflect the light, it seemed to glisten wetly and she was sure it made a low, ominous scratching sound, like dry bones rubbing together.


“What is it?” She asked, almost choking on the words.


“A talisman.” He replied.


“What does it do?”


“It eats The Dark.”

Erin (Short Story)

Looking up from the book in her lap, Erin made a disgusted noise.

“That wasn’t very polite,” her mother pointed out.

“So?” Erin slammed the book closed, “this is nothing but rubbish.”

Her mother closed her eyes for a moment, maybe counting to ten which she claimed helped… sometimes.

“It’s a book. It isn’t rubbish.”

“Really?” Erin was quivering with suppressed rage. Her jaw clinched so tight her mother thought her teeth might break.

“Really?” She asked again. She took the book in both hands and slammed it into the floor with an ear splitting scream. “Then where is that stupid Godmother?” 

Her mother took another deep breath, “She isn’t real, dear. They are just stories, nothing more.”

Erin got up and went to the window. Dusk had settled across the yard and she could see the street lights beginning to flicker on up and down the street. She was rigid for a moment and her mother wondered if there was to be another outburst.

There was a mumble, too low for her to hear, “What did you say dear?”

Erin turned back to look at the woman sitting across the room, all prim and proper, as much a fairy tale princess as she was ever likely to see.

“I know,” she replied, “I just wish someone could make me a real girl.”

Curious (Short Story)


By Kira A. Moore



Emili was ever the curious child. Her mother or Grandmother, even the occasional sitter would be compelled to retrieve her from the most unlikely of places, drain pipes, culverts, from boxes and under beds. If asked what she was searching for, she would just smile and reply, “I don’t know.”


Often times, when speaking with friends, her mother claimed Emili was to blame for the alarming numbers of grey hairs she would find when looking in the mirror. “I swear that girl is going to drive me to drink!” she told her husband, but he, being who he was, could only point out; “Not until she’s sixteen!” Which he found unaccountably hilarious, but in which her mother found no humor at all.


It was with no small amount of trepidation her mother saw her off to her first days of school, days which were spent in a constant state of anxiety as she waited for a call from the school or a letter in the mail explaining just why little Emili was not to be allowed to return. For the safety of the other students, of course. So it was relief when first one year, then another, and yet another passed uneventfully. In truth it seemed Emili was not only an excellent student but was well liked by students and staff alike.


At the ripe old age of eight, Emili found a new passion. The adult section of the community library. For days on end she had wanted to get lost in those endless shelves of mysterious books, but being afraid she wouldn’t be allowed, she found herself, time ofter time creeping up the stairs only to flee to the sanctuary of the children’s section at the slightest noise. It took an unusually cold and rainy August afternoon when she was the only person besides the two librarians on duty for her to finely pluck up the courage to top the stairs and cross the threshold.


She walked the isles, one after the other just looking at the countless titles she had never dreamed existed, not daring to pick one out for fear of being reprimanded. It would be the first of many such excursions, each time she gained a little more confidence, at last picking out a book which she took to a reading cubby almost slinking, as if she were a mouse with a bit of cheese. Those first few times were spent as much looking over her shoulder as reading the words on the page. She did wonder what someone would think of her reading the dictionary or leafing through an encyclopedia. 


In the end it was her curiosity which won and she found herself picking out titles at random to hold in her shaking hands and fill her wide eyes with wonder. There were the classics; ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’, ‘The Good Earth’, ‘Alas, Babylon’ and many others. From there she branched out in a dozen directions, fiction, science, autobiography. Yet she never dared to try and check anything out, remaining curled up in her favorite cubby until they announced closing time.


Then one day she found it. A book which seemed to reach out and call to her.


It was a small book with a deep purple cover and gold lettering across the spine. It has a picture of three girls standing around a window at their feet. Each looked to be completely enraptured with what she found there. It was called ‘Three Curious Girls’ and she knew she just had to read their story because she was sure they would be just like her and she so desperately wanted to find others just like herself even if they were only make believe.


It wasn’t until closing time, when Mrs. Abby did her nightly check, looking for sleepers and forgotten books that she happened across a dark purple book lying on the floor. She prided herself on being familiar with all of titles in her library, yet she could not remember a purple book of any kind. Intrigued, she picked it up and looked at the cover. 


‘Four Curious Girls’.

Jerrico: Part Two (Short Story)

How long had he been watching? He remembered her as a child, a tiny thing almost lost in the drifts in which she played. Her giggles echoing across the distance like crystal bells on a frosty morning. He had looked on as she grew and changed, becoming her own person, confident in herself and her abilities.


It was with a bitter smile that he moved to his usual place beneath a towering pine. The lower branches touching the ground, keeping the space beneath free from snow. A deep layer of needles forming a soft cushion on which to sit. There were times when this place seemed more home to him than his own rooms, the scent of pine and cool winter air mixing with memories of cold stone, cotton, and wool. 


He adjusted his cloak and settled against the trunk, letting his thoughts float free.He didn’t realize he had drifted off until the sound of a footstep startled him awake. He reached for his knife knowing it was already too late.


“It isn’t there,” said a soft, feminine voice.


He opened his eyes to find himself looking into blue eyes as hard and cold as ice. 




The word slipped from his lips before he thought it. If possible, her eyes became harder, colder.  


“It seems you have me at a disadvantage.” It was a statement, as flat and metallic as her gaze.


She didn’t know how true her statement was. However, now was not the time or place for her to learn that lesson. The issue now was going to be communication, he had the means to understand her but without a little help she wouldn’t be able to understand him and all he could do was hope she wasn’t skittish or their first face to face meeting wouldn’t end very well. He slowly opened his arms away from his body and then pointed toward his ear with one hand. 


A scowl crossed her face, turning her lips downward.


He repeated the gesture, bringing his hand closer to his ear. She didn’t relax in the least, backing up a few steps, his own knife held steady in her hand. Again he reached up and touched a loop clipped to the outside of his ear. He raised a questioning brow.


She never wavered, simply giving him a single, tense nod.


He slipped the ring from his ear and extended his hand toward her. Not taking her eyes from his, she reached out and took it then slipped it onto her own ear.


“Can you understand me?” He asked and watched her eyes widen slightly, though it was the only sign of her surprise. 




“Good,” he said, relaxing a little. It was a beginning.

Jerrico (Short Story)

There was something about this world which put his teeth on edge. Every time he came here it was different. Sometime cold, another hot and everywhere in between. Just thinking about it made his stomach hurt; these things the locals called “seasons.” 


There was more of course, the air was wrong. A dirty, stinging thing which left his throat raw and his lungs burning for days. The sunlight was too harsh, a nasty yellow-white which burned the eyes, forcing him to wear protective covers of tinted glass and the water? It tasted of metal on his tongue. Never mind what passed for food here, he had made the mistake of trying it once and thought he was going to die as a result. Now he brought his own supplies, even though it was troublesome.


A indelicate sound escaped his throat as he thought back on the scouts report which had made this sound a virtual paradise. He had seriously questioned the man’s senses upon his return. How could anyone with eyes, nose, and tongue ever think of this as anything approaching paradise?


The portal was located in a wooded area not far from a human town. This wasn’t typical procedure, not by a long way but there had been little alternative since much of the surrounding countryside had been cleared for farming and raising livestock. He shook his head, as many disturbing things as there were about this world, the worst had to be the first time he found himself staring across miles of cleared land. It looked like a sea of mud which stretched as far as his eyes could see, broken only here and there by small stands of trees an brush. Little islands of green sinking into brown. The effect had been immediate and disastrous. Everything swung and tilted until he found himself face down on the ground. 


Of course he had never heard of agoraphobia or vertigo. It would take meeting her before such things made sense.

Winter Queen: Part 4 (Short Story)

Time slowed to a crawl as she waited. She knew this was yet another test, but it irritated her none the less. Each encounter had increased in tension as they took the required steps in a dance which was older than time its self. The danger also increased as her opponent gained knowledge of her abilities and limits. One day in the not too distant future, he would win. It was never a matter of if, only when.


There was a bitter taste in her mouth thinking such things. Of course she had known the price she would have to pay the moment she had found his little book tucked away in her mother’s library, where, no doubt he had arranged for it to find someone just like herself. Young, foolish, ambitious, and willing to do anything for power.


She doubted he had expected her to best him in a contest of wills. The fact he had underestimated her had been a pleasant surprise, but as she quickly found, he was a poor loser indeed. Everything she gained was done so only through these painful, brutal contests. Winning gained her knowledge, loosing would cost her soul. The annoying part? He had to win only once.


At last a shape appeared on the far side of the ring, indistinct at first, then resolving its self into the figure of a man, apparently at his ease, slowing walking toward her. He was of indeterminate age, wearing a wrinkled black suit. His shoes scuffed, the tie crooked and hanging loose. His black hair was in need of a trim, just over the ears and hanging in his eyes. One might think it a trick if the light, but she knew, those eyes were black as night and totally inhuman. He stopped at a respectful distance and bowed low, his hand touching the ground, a blue stone twinkling on his ring finger. It was a gesture meant to be as mocking as the smile which played across his lips.


“It brings joy to my heart whenever you deign to grace us with your presence, your Majesty.”