With a Twist of the Nib

MUM’S THEORY ON CATS

THAT DAMNED CAT! A blur of black fur skittered under Mum’s feet. It just appears out of nowhere.

Binky sat, cleaning himself. Watching.

He is always watching, said mum, as she rubbed her ankle. Smiling at his handiwork, no doubt. She glanced in his direction. The spot was now vacant. See! Maybe he has gone off to report back to the alien mothership? Mum grinned mischievously.

I found Binky in my bedroom, staring into the air and mewing. The air shimmered before him. A feline hologram that listened intently. It disappeared.

I gasped. Binky winked.

Ssh, our secret, he mewed.

THE END

LOST

THE ONE THING MOTHER had said was to stay close. If only she had not stopped to pick up her beloved doll. If only she had not lagged behind.

Their light had faded up ahead, long ago. Only the faint glimmer of the cave's famous glowing moss guided her now. It had not helped. She stumbled over the uneven ground. With the end of the man-made pathway, went all hope.

Amelia's legs trembled and collapsed beneath her. The ground was cold. The chill of the thick air enveloped her, chilling her to the bone.

Perhaps if she stayed put? Perhaps they would eventually find her? Amelia sobbed. Her numb fingers clung tightly to her doll. At least she had company.

The cave filled with the echoes of Amelia's cries. Each rebounded, lamenting the other as it faded. Soon only faint, forlorn whispers remained, forming an eerie serenade that wafted through the endless tunnels.

John Bartel loved spelunking. He had spent most of the morning exploring the old caves. He stood in the main cavern, listening to the water as it dripped down the walls as he marvelled at the faintly glowing mosses. A cool breeze caressed his face. A faint, sorrowful whisper broke the stillness, bringing with it, heartache.

Some poor creature is lost.

John lit his headlamp and followed the sound along one of the cave's passages. As he delved deeper, the air grew thicker. The cold crept closer. The cries grew louder until it was recognisable.

A child's cry.

Jack's gloved hands fumbled for his phone. He searched for a signal and dialled for assistance.

Nothing. He pressed further on.

Hello? His call echoed back, overlapping as it ricocheted in the narrowing crevice.

The cries stopped.

Don't be scared. I am here to help, he said.

Silence.

Up ahead, something gleamed in his light. A few steps more and he found her.

The white bones were cold, loosely held within the tattered remains of a pale blue linen shift. Beside them lay a porcelain doll; its remaining eye glinted in the torchlight.

THE END

DAGNAL’S BANE

THE STENCH OF BRIMSTONE caught in Dagnal’s nostrils, burned her throat. The faint crackle crept closer.

Fire giants. She licked her lips and peered into the darkness. Finally! She hefted her war axe in her hand, turned to her companions and grinned.

Moth nodded, skittered up the wall and clung to its smooth surface. An arrow dropped silently