Signs & Oddities: A quirky collection of flash fiction

by Nancy Chase

  YOU’RE NOT AT HOME.

  Well, yeah. That’s obvious. That’s what I just said. But where am I?

  YOU’RE ASLEEP.

  Really? Well, how about that. I’m dreaming, and I know it. I must be having one of those whatdayacallits—lucid dreams.

  APPARENTLY.

  Ouch! These flies can really sting! Look, it left a welt. Man, this is really something. A dream so real I can even feel the bugs biting. Listen how the grass rustles when I walk through it. The smell of the dust, the feeling of sweat sliding down my back, the sting of sunburn beginning on my arms. This is incredibly vivid!

  SO GLAD YOU’RE PLEASED.

  You don’t have to be sarcastic about it. I’ve never experienced any dream as real as this one before, I think I’m entitled to be a bit enthusiastic. Although, why here? If it’s going to be this real and three-dimensional and vivid, why am I here on some African savannah? Why couldn’t I be in a five-star hotel, warming up some silk sheets with a really cute—

  DO YOU WANT TO DREAM THIS OR NOT?

  All right, don’t get huffy, I was just asking. This one’s fine, in a rustic, Wild Kingdom sort of way. What should I do now?

  WALK THAT WAY.

  This way? Okay. Man, this grass is thick. Almost as tall as I am. I thought African savannahs had short grass.

  THIS IS A DREAM.

  Oh. Right. Things are different in dreams. Obviously. So, why am I going this way? What’s over here?

  THE LION.

  What? You mean that really was a lion I heard? Shouldn’t I be heading the other way then?

  PROBABLY.

  I—I can’t. I can’t stop, and I can’t turn around. What’s going on? Why can’t I stop?

  THIS IS A DREAM.

  Right. Okay. Sort of like a nightmare, then? I can’t control my actions, and I keep walking directly into danger, and then I wake up all sweaty and relieved at the last possible moment?

  SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

  No, “something like that” isn’t good enough. I want answers. I am going to wake up, right?

  Right?

  Hello?

  What was that?

  There he was, in a booth in the back, cozied up to some blonde in an overstuffed tube top. The clutter of empty beer bottles on the table testified that he’d been here a while, and the full one in his hand proclaimed that he was planning to stay a while longer.

  This was the last straw. She should have been used to his lying, cheating ways by now, but as of right this second, Kristy wasn’t taking it anymore. She snatched a tumbler of something-on-the-rocks from a nearby customer’s table and marched straight to the back. “Asshole!” She threw the drink straight into his lying, cheating face. She slammed the glass down on the table and yanked off her ring and threw it down too. Then she turned on her heel and marched out.

  She was crying so hard she couldn’t fit her key into the car door lock. It wasn’t that she was stalling to see if he even cared enough to follow her out. It wasn’t! She was done. She never wanted to see him again, and if she had to listen to one more of his beer-soaked apologies and teary promises never to hurt her again, she was going to scream, or kill him, or both.

  “Kristy, wait!” Sure enough, he emerged from the bar, still clutching his beer bottle. “It wasn’t what you think.”

  Here we go, she thought. She knew the spiel so well, she mouthed it along with him.

  “It didn’t mean anything. It was just a couple of beers. Why are you getting so upset? Look, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad. Please? Come on, baby, don’t be that way. You know I love you. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

  “Promise?” She whirled to face him. “Do you even know what that word means? How many promises to me have you broken? ‘I love Kristy. I’ll never hurt you Kristy. We’ll be together forever, Kristy. It didn’t mean anything, Kristy. I swear I’ll quit drinking, Kristy. I’ll never touch another woman again, Kristy.’ Well, it’s done. I’m through. You’re never going to break another promise to me again.”

  He wobbled back a step. “Jeez, why’re you being such a bitch about it?”

  “Jeez, I don’t know.” She mimicked his slurred tone. “Maybe it’s all in my head, right? Maybe I imagined it all? Or maybe I just have PMS or something. Doesn’t matter, because it all stops right here, right now.”

  “Ooooh,” he taunted. “What’re you going to do? Throw another drink in my face? Slam some doors?”

  “Not this time, Larry.” She slipped her hand into her purse, felt the pistol’s cold grip slide into her palm. When she pulled it out and pointed it at him, she had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes get big. Good. She had his full attention at last. “Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

  In the cold, heavy darkness, she felt the ship’s approach as a shift in the current, a sliding pressure that rolled through the silence and set the kelp beds swaying. She turned and nestled deeper into her resting place, drowsily aware of the ocean’s change of mood as a lover is aware of her paramour’s fitful dreams while he sleeps beside her in the same bed.

  At this depth, the sailors’ laughter and strident music were no more than a distant gurgle and clink, meaningless vibrations from the world above. They held no charm for her, no temptation. The upper realm was a dim and painful memory of stabbing light and searing air.

  But then the sounds changed, became less random, less rhythmic. A specific sound—a sound that had meaning, not the usual whine and bleat of human conversation—pierced the depths. Though muffled and indistinct, the sound tugged at her mind like a steely hook on a white-hot thread. Someone was calling her by name.

  She poured from the grotto in a roil of silt. The kelp fronds parted to make way for her passage. The ship’s oblong shadow hung overhead, closer now; she could hear the hoots of drunken laughter.

  Something flashed in the water above her. A cylindrical object tumbled down through the murk, bounced in slow-motion against the rocks of her grotto, and rolled to a stop in the sand below her. From a crack in the glass, a crimson stream trickled, stinking of wine. And man.

  In times gone by, sailors had prayed to her, prayed for deliverance from her, burned offerings and made sacrifices. But that was long ago. They had forgotten their fear and grown impertinent. It was time to teach them some manners.

  And so, Charybdis rose.

  Nikos swayed against the starboard railing, a bottle of wine in each hand. The sky to the west was layered in dazzling slabs of vermillion and gold, the breeze off the bow was as warm as a woman’s breath, and his woman of choice—for tonight, at least—was standing at the bow, silhouetted against a sea that glittered like glass.

  He hoisted the bottles for her approval. “Red or, uh—red?” he called above the jangling, thumping noise that brayed from the boombox. He didn’t care much for rock music, but these American women, it was all they liked, so he kept a modest collection of CDs on board for just such occasions.

  Sophie turned, and the wind tumbled her auburn curls forward around her cheekbones. She shrugged a tawny shoulder and reached out to take one of the outstretched bottles. “Doesn’t matter, I’m easy.” She cast him a twinkling glance and crinkled her freckled nose playfully to let him know the innuendo hadn’t been accidental. He grinned. It was going to be a good night.

  He deftly uncorked the Kotsifali and refilled Sophie’s glass. As she lifted it to her lips, he leaned down to brush his lips against the warm skin beside the narrow strap of her halter top. “Delicious.”

  She giggled. “You’re supposed to be tasting the wine, not me.”

  “I can’t do both?” He traced the damp cork along her collarbone, then licked the trail of wine away. “See? Now I can test which is more intoxicating, you or the Kotsifali.”

  She choked into her glass. After three bottles, she was getting giggly. He slipped his arm around her and gazed out at the sunset. The soulful, poetic act usually worked wonders. “The bones of many of my people
lie beneath this sea. My family, we have been sailors since the beginning of history. In the olden times, the monster that dwelt beneath these waters wrecked many ships.”

  “Monster? That’s bullshit.”

  “Not at all. Her name was Charybdis. She brought storms and whirlpools.”

  “Charybdis!” Sophie gulped the dregs of her wine. “Why do you men always name storms and natural disasters after women?”

  “You’re saying you don’t believe in Charybdis, dark lady of the watery depths?”

  Her curls bounced when she shook her head. “Why don’t you call her forth for me and prove it?”

  Obligingly, he sprang up onto the plastic cooler and struck a dramatic pose. “Charybdis! Come forth and chasten the unbeliever!”

  Sophie burst out laughing. He grinned back at her. After a moment, she tilted her head and teased, “I don’t hear any answer. Maybe she’s not in the mood tonight.”

  “I can solve that problem.” He hopped down from the cooler and grabbed the remaining bottle of wine. “I find that a little alcohol usually softens a woman’s mood considerably.” Playfully, he flipped the bottle overboard. Sophie’s arm was warm against his as she leaned over with him to watch it sink.

  Behind them, the sky darkened. The waves scattered in all directions, and the wind began to rise.

  One Saturday night when Cinderella was scrubbing the soot from the ornately carved fireplace surround with a toothbrush again, thinking, “Whose dumb idea was it to make a fireplace out of white marble, anyway?” her two evil stepsisters flounced downstairs in their newest taffeta ball gowns.

  “We’re going to a party at the royal palace,” sneered one.

  “Don’t you wish you were invited?” taunted the other.

  Cinderella shrugged. “Have fun.” She maintained a sort of zen-like inner peace because she knew in the morning their toothbrushes would taste strangely smoky.

  But in the morning, the stepsisters were so giddy with delight, they didn’t even notice the grit in their teeth. While Cinderella served them a piping hot breakfast of golden pancakes and crisp bacon, they regaled her with tales of their evening.

  “The Prince danced with me five times,” the first sister cooed, taking a sip of her fresh-squeezed orange juice.

  The second sister slathered more home-churned butter on her pancakes. “He danced with me seven times.”

  The first sister set down her cup. “He said I danced divinely.”

  The second sister’s knuckles tightened on her knife. “He said my eyes were like stars.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, he kissed me in the stairway.” The first sister stuck out her tongue.

  The second sister rolled her eyes. “That’s nothing. He was just trying not to hurt your feelings. He told me that while he was feeling me up on the terrace.”

  “You are such a little liar. He only did that to get rid of you so he and I could slip away to the hayloft.”

  “Slut!”

  “Hussy!”

  “Sisters, sisters!” Cinderella intervened before they could come to blows. “Has it never occurred to you what the problem is with this whole fairy tale?”

  Sister number one glared at her. “What do you mean? There’s no problem. I’m going to be Queen someday. He asked me to marry him.”

  Number two leaped to her feet. “What are you talking about, you home-wrecking bitch? He asked me to marry him!”

  Cinderella hastily refilled their coffee cups and pushed both sisters back into their chairs. “See? That’s just my point. A hundred desperate girls and one eligible prince. He can say whatever he likes to sweet talk you, but where’s his motivation to settle down? And if by some miracle he actually does marry someone, how long do you think he’d stay faithful with all those girls throwing themselves at him at every opportunity?”

  “What are you saying?” sister number one demanded. “If he married me—”

  “I’d give it a month, tops.” Cinderella tried not to sound smug. Well, okay, not really. After all she’d been through, she was entitled.

  “You’re just jealous that he didn’t propose to you,” sister number two accused.

  Cinderella patted her hand. “No, dear. I have other plans.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, all those evenings you two were off dancing at the palace, I’ve been putting myself through night school. I graduated summa cum laude and I just landed a six-figure job at one of the top law firms in the city.”

  “What? You can’t do that. You’re a nobody.”

  “Yes, well, this nobody is going to sue you both—and your arrogant bitch of a mother—out of my house, so one of you better hurry up and get that philandering prince to say ‘I do,’ or you’ll all be out on the street.”

  Their jaws dropped; for once they were speechless. Cinderella slid a small rectangle of paper across the table toward them. “Here’s my new business card. Give me a call when you need someone to handle your divorce.”

  “All right, all right, I heard you the first five hundred times. What is it now?”

  “Yipe!” Thump-bump, bang, CRASH! The man in the black robe tumbled backwards off the dais and lay on the floor looking up at the glowing figure beside the pulpit.

  “I really don’t know why you people have to make such a commotion all the time,” the figure grumbled. “And why are you all so slack-jawed and bug-eyed when you see me? I have to tell you, it’s a little off-putting. I mean, really, who were you expecting?”

  “You—you’re—” The priest picked himself up, still staring.

  “You look a bit like a goldfish, opening and closing your mouth like that. I’m very proud of goldfish, you know. One of my better inventions, if you ask me.” The figure stepped down to the floor in front of the altar. “So, what do you call this place?”

  “It—it’s a—”

  “Hey, nice windows. Bright colors. Interesting way of piling stones on top of each other, too. Very lofty. I gotta say, though, I think I liked these better before.”

  “These—?”

  “The trees. I don’t know why you people insist on chopping them down and cutting them up into pieces after I’ve spent all that time growing them. Don’t get me wrong, it’s all very innovative, what you’ve done with the beams and balustrades and stairs and all. But it’s just not the same as a good forest.”

  “I—I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be impertinent, but—this is what you look like?”

  “Why? You got a problem with this? Oh, blast, I didn’t show up in the wrong form again, did I? It gets a little confusing, you people are so inconsistent in your expectations. Maybe you’d be more comfortable if I looked like this!”

  “WAAUGHHH!” The priest fell backward against a pew and huddled there, covering his eyes.

  “Oh lighten up, will you? Can’t you take a joke? Why does everything have to be so ridiculously serious all the time? Please! Have you ever seen a duckbilled platypus? And you still haven’t figured out that I have a sense of humor? I’m starting to think you just haven’t been paying attention.”

  “No, no, I have!” the priest babbled. “I’ve prayed and prayed. And now you’ve come to answer my prayers!”

  “Hold on a second, bucko. I’m not some kind of cross between your fairy godmother and the genie of the lamp, if that’s what you’re thinking. You think I have nothing better to do than rearrange the order of the universe just for your benefit? I mean, it’s sort of sweet the way you all like to talk to me a lot and tell me what’s going on in your lives. But sometimes I wish I hadn’t made you all so darned needy. June bugs, for instance, are nowhere near as much trouble as your kind.”

  The priest blinked. “You don’t answer prayers?”

  “Sure I do, every now and then. But come on, did you really think that was my raison d’être? I’m an artist. I’m working on my masterpiece here, my great Creation. I can’t be going back and changing it every couple of seconds because one of you doesn’t like the color of this or the s
hape of that. I have a plan, you know. If you’d just be patient and pay attention, you might start to get a glimpse of what I’m aiming for.”

  “I’m sorry. Very, very sorry.”

  “Look, I don’t mean to sound harsh, but every now and then, how about trying to answer your own prayers? I put a lot of good stuff into this Creation. Why not look around, appreciate it a little? You might be surprised to find that everything you need is already here.”

  “But I was just going to ask for—”

  “Ahem. What did I just say?”

  “But—”

  “Hello? Am I talking to myself here?”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s better. Now why don’t you let me get back to work? I was just getting to the good part.”

  Thanks for reading Signs & Oddities! I hope you had as much fun reading the stories as I did writing them. If so, would you consider taking a minute to post a brief review online at your favorite book e-retailer and/or on GoodReads?

  For indie authors like me, reviews and word-of-mouth are the most important ways to spread the word about my work and introduce new readers to my books. But I can’t do it without your help. So, if you liked it, please tell your friends!

  Thanks again for letting me share the wild and wacky world of my imagination with you. Your support and encouragement mean so much!

  Nancy Chase writes fantasy, sci-fi, fairy tales, and paranormal fiction, often inspired by mythology, dreams, folklore, or history. Born in Maine, she now lives in Virginia, USA, with her husband and an ever-changing family of pets.

  For information about her other works or to contact Nancy directly, please visit:

  NancyChase.com

  Facebook.com/NancyChaseAuthor

  Twitter.com/NancyAChase

  If you liked Signs & Oddities, you might also enjoy my first book, The Seventh Magpie. It’s a dark fairytale of loss and renewal, gorgeously illustrated by Katrina Sesum.