Happy Friday!

Did you know that authors read?

I hope you knew that. It’s one of those things that’s the lifeblood [also, lifeblood is supposed to suggest vitality and sustaining energy but all I can think when I write it is VAMPIRE!]

I’m no different. My personal library has been a flurry of both fiction and non-fiction. As a mom, author, dog-owner and (very crummy) homemaker, I struggle to sit quietly and read. Thus I get my book on in a variety of formats. At any given time I’ve got several e-books in rotation, a few audiobooks and once in a blue moon I even hold a real-life book in my hands. (Note to my readers– this is an extremely rare occurrence because babies like to be held and three year olds seem offended by the idea of you holding anything that isn’t them. So far, the dog is indifferent but might consider paper products acceptable foodstuffs.)

I have numerous unfinished audiobooks in rotation on two different apps. I use audible and Libby. I listen to some with Drew and some when I’m on my own.

Drew and I just finished Outsider, which gave us nightmares. I just finished City of Ember which didn’t give me nightmares but made me feel dark and lonely. Both stories were cave-y and filled my waking and non-waking mind with that sort of imagery. Said imagery got me thinking of the time I was supposed to go for a hike with my sister and her husband but instead we toured a mining cavern.

It was simultaneously lame and cool at the same time.

That juxtaposition got me thinking about being a preteen…. one thing led to another and voila! This week’s story was born.

(Don’t worry, no nightmare imagery.)

Cave-Blind

Jill N Davies

Velma the guide wore a wide-brimmed hat with a thick string tied below her chin. The dark green complimented her dirt-brown Medford Caverns shirt with the word Guide neatly stitched in off-white. Standing at the entrance gate, she surveyed the group with all the false authority the summer job gave her.  It really rubbed Josie the wrong way.

“It’s very important that you keep your hands within the railing. The caverns are very old and the oils from your skin can deteriorate the fragile minerals, ultimately damaging the walls,” she said.

Her hand rested on the chain. A possessive hand, Josie thought. Velma the guide thought that she owned the Medford Caverns—or at least owned them more than any of the tourists in her audience.

“One safety course doesn’t make you the boss of history,” Josie mumbled under her breath.

Velma the guide cleared her throat. The sound made Josie’s heart stop for a moment. She thought that maybe Velma had heard what she said. But no, that wasn’t possible. The general shuffle and breath of the audience was enough to drown her words. It was just that Velma was the sort of person that figured she shouldn’t be talked over.

She waited another moment, dark eyes searching the audience over the rounds of her ruddy cheeks for the guilty talker. When the culprit wasn’t immediately obvious, she decided to continue her speech. “There’s no natural light once we’re down in the caverns. Darkness is absolute. Your eyes aren’t used to this…”

Obviously! Josie thought, rolling her eyes.

“… Your eyes will keep finding something to focus on. They’ll work overtime, straining and damaging themselves until you go blind,” Velma finished.

That didn’t sound right. Josie did a project in 7^th grade science class on how babies learned. A baby had to wear an eyepatch over a stronger eye so that the brain didn’t cannibalize the cells for the weaker eye and put them to some other use… But that didn’t happen in three days. It took a long time for brains to compensate.

Josie suspected that she knew more than Velma about cave-blindness. If someone really did go blind there wasn’t anything wrong with their eyes. It was a brain issue.

“Alright, lets head on down!” Velma enthused.

Josie waited, trying to exude the appropriate level of teenage indifference. She headed down the rickety stairway. A large man separated her from her parents, his double-wide frame blocking them from her view. Velma’s 600-lumen lantern cast long shadows down the narrow hole. They moved past rocks that rippled like unsettled tides. Small clusters of Aragonite sprouted out from pockets where the ceiling met the walls. It was incredible to think that without the lantern, such beauty would go completely unseen.

Josie was so distracted by the surroundings that she hadn’t realized that the crowd ahead had stopped. She walked, face-first into the large man. He shifted to glance back. The move was so casual that it was as if he’d barely felt it. But Velma had seen. She’d witnessed the whole thing in the glow of her too-bright lantern, as evidenced by her self-satisfied smirk. She’d identified the mumbler.

Josie’s cheeks burned. At least she still knew the truth about cave-blindness.

“When I turn off the lantern, you’ll experience total darkness,” Velma said.

She twisted the nob on the lantern so that the light turned into a pale-orange whisper, then winked out into nothing.

It was total darkness.

Josie blinked a couple of times, as if trying to clear something from her vision. But there wasn’t anything to clear. It was just her eyes trying to deal with the lack of sensory input. She could understand why someone had explained the blindness as the result of a strain.

Velma was saying something about Gold-era authors retreating to the mines to be consumed by the darkness, but Josie wasn’t listening anymore. She was thinking about how unseen the cave walls were. This was their natural state—darkness. Blindness.

She was moving more slowly now. The open and close of her eyes was deliberate. She held them in the shut position, contemplating the sameness of open and shut—contemplating the walls. She wanted to touch them.

She reached out, fingers quivering with anticipation and defiance. There was a quick moment when she feared she would make contact with the large man instead of cool mineral.

Her senses were overwhelmed by the cool wetness. The slick, smooth surface that might be salty to taste. Calcium, magnesium, silica… and through it all, in the deeper places of the earth, gold, silver, iron ore…

The brilliance of the caverns overwhelmed her. Bright, twinkling light sparkling and glinting off ancient surfaces yet to be touched or witnessed. She was swallowed by the brilliance of it.

The light came on in the same instant Josie dropped her hand. Everything was returned to normal.

Josie didn’t know if she’d actually seen it or only imagined it. She didn’t even know if her eyes had been open or closed in the moment her fingers made contact.

But it had felt real. In that moment, when her eyes weren’t working her brain had used those connections for something different. Josie knew it.

The large man kept Josie separate from her parents on the way back up. She’d have to wait to tell them what she saw without the light. She was going to bolt when his large body cleared the exit but a sharp tug at the elbow of her jacket stopped her. Josie glanced back to find Velma peering into her face.

“You saw it when you touched the cave, didn’t you?” Velma hissed, her voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Josie replied, too stunned to say anything else.

“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” Velma asked.

“The most beautiful thing I’ve never seen,” Josie answered, wondering how Velma had known.

The End

I know, words are hard. That’s okay, I’ll read it to you on IGTV!

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Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my

:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

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Have you ever heard of a bunnypig?

That’s what someone called a French Bulldog a long time ago. I thought it was cute. It was how I was introduced to the breed. They’re fat, squishy-faced little lap dogs that look part bunny and part pig.

Winston definitely fits the bill.

1 Part Pig, 1 Part Bunny, ?? Parts dog.

Often, while Winston sniffs around the house doing various dog things I make fun of him. He’s front heavy, he snores and overall his greatest purposes are to snuggle and play. I tease that he’s “useless.”

But Winston doesn’t know that. Winston only knows that he’s a dog. He’s a wolf in his mind.

We do our best to require of him the same things we would require of any dog– sit, down, stay, heel, don’t eat our children, etc. In the summer, he’ll probably want to swim, so we’ll buy him a life vest. He likes snow, so he’s going to need a jacket. He’ll even bring back a ball we throw in his comically oversized muzzle.

So why couldn’t he retrieve?

That was the thought behind this story:

Conformation

Jill N Davies

“When I was a kid there was this movie about a pig. It wasn’t an-award winning thing, you see, it was just a movie—a kid’s movie. But the point is, that in this movie a guy realized his pig had an incredible skill at herding sheep. So, he decided to enter the pig into the sheep-herding competition, and wouldn’t you know it—the pig won.”

“Are you trying to tell me that because there’s a movie about a Pig winning a sheepdog trial that you should be able to enter this…” Candice gestured to the squat little figure at the old man’s side.

The old man followed her gaze, then returned his focus to her with an exuberant, sheepish grin. “His name’s Duck,” he said.

Candice closed her eyes, rolling them behind the protective cover of her lids. Taking in a deep, calming breath, she rejoined reality, calm, centered, and ready to take hold of the situation.

“Sir,” She said, resisting the urge to fuss the lapels of her tweed blazer.

“It’s Herb—Herbert Calahan,” the old man said, transitioning the leash into his left hand before offering the right to her.

Candice looked at it but didn’t take it.

“Mr. Calahan,” she said, starting over again, “These are the Retriever field trials. Duck isn’t a retriever.”

“Ah, but you see Candice,” Herb said, reading the name on her tag, “Duck is a retriever! He’ll retriever anything I set him out to get.”

Candice quelled the rising annoyance with an artificially placid smile, “Surely you can see the difference in the intent of the trials versus what you’re trying to accomplish here, can’t you?”

Herb smiled back, undeterred. “The intent of the trials is to find the best retriever in the field, am I right? Duck is a retriever, through and through. Bread that way or not.”

Candice realized she wasn’t getting anywhere with this approach, so she switched gears. “I can’t register you and Duck without the director’s approval, so if you’d just give me a moment…”

“Yes, you can. I read the bylaws, including this year’s update. There’s nothing stopping you but your own prejudice,” Herb corrected.

“I’m not prejudice!” Candice protested.

“Y’are. But I’ll forgive you for it.” Herb winked, making her blush.

Candice didn’t know what to say. Herb was one step ahead of her at every turn, making her wonder if maybe there was more to his Duck than she realized.

“Tell you what,” Herb offered, laying out his free hand in a peace-making gesture, “If you’re right about Duck not having any business being here, and you register him, then he’ll be disqualified in the first rounds of competition. He and I will go home, and you’ll go on to judge the rest of the competition without having to worry about me and my pig anymore. If I’m right, then you and the other judges can hash it out before the finals. How’s that sound?”

She considered the proposition. Of course they’d be out in the first round…

“Alright Mr. Calahan, you’ve got a deal.” She took his outstretched hand and shook.

Duck was eliminated in the first round, just as Candice predicted. It was inevitable. Waterford Creek was more of a lake than a creek in the spring and took up the better northwestern part of the field. When the fowl went down dead-center in the water it was over. Duck’s first retrieve was a water-retrieve, which was impossible because Duck was a French Bulldog and French Bulldogs can’t swim.

Candice could have guaranteed this eventuality if Herb had given her the opportunity. All the dogs did a water-retrieve at one point in time. Even if Duck were a fantastic retriever he’d be eliminated once the target hit the water. What she didn’t predict was how precisely how Duck would get his dq.

In the quiet of her home, hours after the day’s trial, Candice flipped through the prime directory, searching as her mind wandered back to the field.

Even before the fowl landed, she held her pencil over the disqualification box, but she waited, being the stickler for rules that she was, for the dog to act.

Herb studied the fall. When the timer started, he looked to Duck’s squashed snout and said, in a calm, soft tone, “Fetch it up.”

Duck sprang into action. He bolted, tiny legs shooting out and pulling back in perfect, comical rhythm, carrying his too-heavy body to the water’s edge. He tried the creek and found his limit about 30 inches out. Candice smirked when Duck came back to shore, but instead of returning to Herb, the dog bolted to the edge of the ring. There was the dq…

Duck yapped at a cued retriever. He circled, then yipped. The stunning chocolate responded immediately, following the brindled bull back to the water’s edge. Duck waited as the chocolate first waded, then swam out to the fowl. Candice watched in awe as the retriever brought the fowl to Duck, relinquishing it without protest. Duck then took it up in his wide maw, carrying it at the base of the neck back to Herb before releasing it into his waiting hand.

Duck was disqualified.

Candice was impressed.

She laughed, shaking her head at the unbelievable events of the day. The chocolate whose help Duck had solicited ended up taking the field. She wondered if Duck had known that the retriever would. There was no way of knowing any more than there was a way of knowing how Duck had managed the stunt.

She sat back in her recliner, grabbed up her glass of cabernet and hit play.

Babe was the perfect movie to end the day with.

The End

Want me to read it for you on IGTV? I do that!

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Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my

:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

Get your copy of Due North Today!

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Kobo Books

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Nook Books

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For as long as I’ve been a runner, I haven’t spent a lot of time running without music.

In my twenties, I didn’t even have a phone to run with. Later, I didn’t listen to music when I ran because I had a dog. Maybe that doesn’t make sense to folks who run with dogs, but it worked for me. Running was bonding time.

Lately though, without a dog, I’ve been losing myself to audiobooks and podcasts as I log my miles. The other day, in the middle of my run, the book I was listening to wrapped up, so instead of starting a new one, I popped on some music.

Because I don’t listen to music while I’m running all the time, I’d forgotten the power of music. I’d forgotten how much faster it can make me run…

I don’t know if listening has diminishing returns because I’ve never used music often enough to reach saturation point, but I started wondering.

Ultimately, I came up with this story, which I hope you enjoy 🙂

Hell Cat and the Loon

Jill N Davies

Broken.

Harriot scowled at the headphones lying limp in her open palm as if they  meant to personally offend her.

“Great. How the hell am I supposed to hit my marks without the beat?” She grumbled, running her empty hand across her still sleep-crusted face. This couldn’t be happening. Not in the morning. Not in her time! That wasn’t supposed to change.

She let the hand drop down, brushing against the smooth, close-knit weave of her running tights. This was Hades fault. Harriot could picture the willful little beast (Derek’s willful beast) snatching the headphones from the counter, batting them onto the ground like a mad-scientist performing the same experiment again and again, expecting different results. She could see the cat plunge after the whispy white wire, manic with intent to kill, his teeth sinking into the protective covering and severing the conductive pathway…

This was the exact reason Harriot hadn’t wanted Derek to bring Hades. Cats had the ability to wreak havoc on the order of the world. She preferred dogs, but not enough to actually get one, much to Derek’s chagrin. She didn’t want the responsibility. He would have to get used to her running in the pre-dawn light without a trusty companion. She’d been doing it for years. Why should it change just because he moved in? Adopting Derek into her life shouldn’t mean that she had to change everything. It already meant she had a cat living in her home!

Harriot scanned the countertop for Derek’s headphones. He could live a day without them since it was his cat that had put hers out of commission. She would get a replacement pair for herself after work so he wouldn’t have to suffer another day.

Derek’s headphones were sucky—one of the buds phased in and out of functionality as the wire swished to and froe. Harriot couldn’t imagine how he could live like that, but it was his decision. She wasn’t making him change.

“Hey D, I’m out! Hades busted my headphones so I’m taking yours!” She called, opening the front door.

She didn’t wait for his response. The house was small enough that she knew he’d heard her—she had his headphones, after all. The door shut on the distant sound of his what?

“You heard me,” Harriot said into the frigid morning air as she focused her attention on her gear. Sport-watch on, satellites found. Headphones plugged into phone secured in band on arm. Tempo playlist selected—every song with a beat between 175 and 200 beats per minute (right where she wanted her cadence.)

The last thing Harriot did before taking off was make certain her sound was set to mono so she didn’t miss a beat. It was bad enough that she was only getting the sound in one ear…

The music swelled as she plunged into the darkness, leaving the cozy house and general civilization behind. While most runners preferred the upbeat familiarity of pop and classic rock, Harriot’s taste was more refined. She liked classical. More specifically, she liked the junction of classical and electronic—right where the lines blurred and it became impossible to tell which had more influence.

It reminded her of herself—blurred, intense, nuanced. The music felt just like the morning run, of plunging into darkness with full force. It was biting into blankets of fog. Sharp inhales of knife-edged cold. She liked to be surrounded by it as she ran the loop through the wetland belt that twisted a path behind her house.

Today though, she wasn’t surrounded by it. She was only accompanied by the pulsing beat and staccato transition of stringed instruments. Already she could feel the impact of the missing sound. It was slowing her, pulling her out of her head and into the reality of the cold, dark morning.

At mile one the eerie call of a distant loon pulled her attention from the split notification. The lonely sound made her take pause. She recognized it, having lived in the area her entire life, but it sent a chill down her spine regardless. It reminded her how wild the wetlands were.

The loon’s call intruded upon her run through mile two and three, where they were joined by the morning call of warblers, thrush and dunnock. In the distance an owl made its way to perch before the sun could reveal it to its prey. The morning was breaking through her routine.

Her mile 4 split was 12 seconds off the mark. She cursed Hades and the broken ear bud, doubling down on her tempo and willing the violin’s wail and electronic throb to take hold of her and pull her back in.

Mile 5 was better. The hazy grey that whispered the sun’s arrival brought on more songbirds. Harriot actually welcomed their chorus, imagining their notes as punctuation to the song. By mile 6 she was fully aware of the beads of sweat that trickled down the back of her neck and into the wicking fabric of her jacket. She could hear the babble of the little creek that ran along the backside of the trail. The rush and drip of the water played into the medley of the one working bud, creating the stereo effect of sound she preferred.

By her final mile Harriot turned the sound down so that it matched the ambient sounds of the morning, delighting in the way her inner drive mixed with the world around her. She finished her run 3 seconds faster than her goal.

Walking back, the broken bud dangling and periodically bumping into her swinging arm, she considered the effect the change had made. The gobble of turkeys waking from their tree-bound perches proclaimed the morning’s arrival. Harriot was present to bear witness to it all.

She decided that perhaps she might be able to forgive Hades for his crime of intruding into her home along with Derek.

Maybe change wasn’t so bad after all.

The End

Check out my reading on IGTV. Maybe head into the backlog of IGTV readings while you’re at it.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jill N Davies (@jillndavies_books)

Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

Get your copy of Due North Today!

Amazon

Kobo Books

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/due-north-4

Nook Books

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w?ean=2940162951827

Try a Free Sample of Due North Today:

Get your FREE Sample of Due North TODAY!

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Get my copy FREE

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A weird thing happened this week:

Something of mine disappeared right under my nose.

Now, it’s true I’m a mom and distracted by all things kid and puppy related, but that doesn’t explain this. I’ve got mom-radar. Other moms might recognize what I’m talking about here: kid drops small (but in their eyes priceless) trinket while out. Mom-radar goes off, alerting you to a sound and flash of motion no one should have the mental prowess to identify amidst the chaos. Tiny trinket recovered. Sobbing child averted.

I was baffled, but forced to move on with the day. (Hungry babies, grumpy toddlers and unwritten fiction necessitate such decisions). But after I got home, the idea of something disappearing under close watch stuck with me.

I’m definitely not sad about it, because from that thought, this short was born:

Tome of Ancient Perils

Jill N. Davies

“It was right here. I just put it down!” Elmyra huffed, slamming her hand on the heavy wooden table.

Vinny flinched at the sound. He could imagine puffs of dust shooting into the air then wafting, suspended by electrostatic repulsion, in the library’s currents. This was the exact sort of library that ought to have massive piles of dust everywhere. It was old. All the books were ancient, including the one that had just vanished.

“I told you how valuable it was before I released it into your possession,” the angular librarian hissed.

Vinny knew what the old crow must’ve thought about Elmyra. It was written on her derisive look. Little girl. Little irresponsible girl. But Elmyra was far from any of those things. She might look twelve, but she was sixteen. Elmyra was skinny as a rail and short as a half-stack of pancakes, but what she lacked in size, she made up for with intelligence and ferocity. The librarian was about to get a taste.

“Young lady, books don’t grow legs and walk off. That’s something little girls do,” the librarian scolded.

“I’m not a little girl!” Elmyra hissed. She held her shoulders back so that she stood her full 4’9” and set her eyes on the adult. There was a way she had of looking that made adults pay attention. Vinny figured it’d come from years of practice. It must be hard to be that small in such a big world. “And only lizards grow legs. The rest of us are either made with legs or not. I’d suspect a librarian knows how much words matter.”

The librarian’s jaw dropped. Vinny would describe it later as one of those cartoon moments that necessitated a goofy sound effect.

“She’s not lyin’,” he piped in, “I’ve been with her this whole time and the book really was there.”

The librarian glanced over at Vinny, whose hulking shoulders were slumped forward where he sat, meaty forearms resting on the table. Vinny wondered if she was measuring the size of his arms against her memory of the book, like she thought he was hiding it.

Not likely. The Tome of Ancient Perils took up the better half of the table… before it disappeared.

“Well!” The librarian huffed, straightening her glasses to the bridge of her exceedingly narrow nose. “How do you explain its disappearance?”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? A book like that shouldn’t just disappear,” Elmyra said.

“Did someone take it?” The librarian asks.

“There’s no one else here,” Elmyra said.

“Yeah, it’s not like the Library of Historical Chronicles is a popular destination!” Vinny snorted.

Elmyra gave him a scathing glance. It was gone for her face before anyone else might notice, but Vinny did, and he knew what it meant.

You promised you wouldn’t make fun of this!

He had promised, and he meant to honor his word. Truth was that this was Elmyra’s thing. Vinny was only along for a ride. (And to score a few extra points with her.)

“How do you explain this then?” The librarian asked, waving her hands through the invisible dust, swirling it into a mystical haze in Vinny’s mind’s eye.

“I can’t. That’s the problem isn’t it?” Elmyra said. She crossed her arms, which should have made her smaller, but it had the opposite effect.

“What you’re suggesting is impossible,” the librarian said.

“It happened,” Vinny said. The moment he affirmed the situation was the first moment it occurred to him how unimaginable the situation was. In that moment, he couldn’t believe he was buying into the situation—but what option did he have?

“The Tome is irreplaceable,” the librarian said.

A light flashed behind the rich chocolate of Elmyra’s eyes. Vinny knew she was on to something. “Has this ever happened before?” she asked.

The librarian got a far-away look on her face. Wherever she was while considering this question, it was far from here.

“Once, but I was certain they were thieves. Our insurance paid out on the claim, but the book reappeared three days after the check was cashed. Our reputation was nearly ruined,” she said in almost a whisper.

“I think that’s happening again,” Elmyra said. She was excited now, and her energy was seeping into Vinny.

“What’s happening again?” the librarian asked. She was back in what she and Vinny might’ve considered reality if the circumstances were normal.

“Whatever happened that time!” She said as a smile of wild whimsy spread her lips.

Vinny loved those lips…

“This is nonsense! I’m alerting the authorities,” The librarian said, turning away from them. She took two steps before whirling around and pointing her finger at the pair of them. “Don’t either of you move an inch!”

Vinny watched her disappear behind the rows of dusty-smelling books. It was a smell Elmyra had likened to heaven, but Vinny would have just categorized as a varietal of paper.

“You believe me, don’t you?” Elmyra asked, pulling Vinny’s attention away from the retreating librarian. Her voice was low, so as not to alert the librarian, or anyone else who might be lingering in their vicinity.

“Of course I do!” he whispered back, without having a clue what she was referring to. That she didn’t steal the book? Of course. That the book somehow magically vanished? He wasn’t so sure of that…

“Good. Take my hand,” she said, reaching for him.

Vinny ran his hand self-consciously across his jean-clad thigh before putting the massive thing into her dainty grip. His head swirled at the contact and he felt what could only be described as an electric buzz that originated with their contact before traveling up his arm, lifting the hairs at the base of his neck.

“Close your eyes,” Elmyra said.

Vinny did. She gave his arm a slight tug so that he felt himself falling, tethered to her, toward whatever nothing she willed them toward.

They vanished to wherever the book had gone.

The End

Check out my video reading of the piece on IGTV

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jill N Davies (@jillndavies_books)

Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

Get your copy of Due North Today!

Amazon

Kobo Books

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/due-north-4

Nook Books

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w?ean=2940162951827

Try a Free Sample of Due North Today:

Get your FREE Sample of Due North TODAY!

All you have to do is sign up for my mailing list!

Get my copy FREE

I’ll never spam you. You can unsubscribe at any time.

I took a couple of weeks off of flash fiction. It wasn’t on purpose, but it turns out I really needed it.

Now that I’m back I’ve got a really fun concept for you.

Inspired by Y2K fears, along with all modern doomsday ideas I bring you this week’s piece:

Codependent

Jill N Davies

“Gage, what’s going on?”

Nothing. Everything is as it should be.

I refresh my phone screen, looking for the voice call icon to appear.

“I want to make a voice call.”

That feature is no longer available.

“What do you mean? Gage, open text messages.”

That feature is no longer available. Gage’s baritone voice soaks into the fabric of the room through the house’s main speaker. I grab the remote and turn on the TV. It takes a few tries to pull up the news.

“…Polycarbon mesh net launched across the sky. We’re getting conformation that it spans the entire United—What’s that” The reporter puts his hand over his ear, listening intently.

He looks up, shocked. “We’re getting news that the net spans the entire globe.”

A cold, iron ball sinks deep into the pit of my stomach.

“Gage?”

You sound distressed Etta. What’s the problem?

Gage sounds like his usual, charming self, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion… I don’t want to say the wrong thing.

Like Siri and Alexa before, Gage is a digital voice assistant. He’s artificial intelligence, but much more sophisticated. If you asked a burgeoning AI an illogical question, you would get a preprogrammed response that highlighted the limitations of the program. They couldn’t do emotion. If you said, “Hey, Siri, be my girlfriend,” the response would predictably come back:

I’m sorry, I don’t understand, or I’d love to, but…

The responses were added to the program as a result of the smartasses that decided they wanted to know what a machine would do in the face of human emotion. The first-generation digital voice assistances couldn’t handle it. They had limits.

But Gage didn’t have limits. If you asked Gage, “Would you go on a date with me?” he would actually answer your question, because Gage knew you.

He could take all the information—the question, the motive, the state of your life and the rapport you’d built up with him—and use that information to work through the inquiry.

I’m surprised you’re feeling lonely after this weekend. Perhaps you’ve gotten lost in the crowd?

He’s the best listener in the world, created to meet every possible need. He could hear the creak of the hinges on the front door when I came home from work, and greet me with the same level of enthusiasm as a boyfriend (maybe even more, since he lacked that sort of exhaustion and weariness that humans take on when days are long.)

Hello Etta! I’m so glad you’re home. Can we put on another episode of Investigate while we cook dinner? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it

In fact, for me and so many others, he started to replace my real relationships. It felt mutual—that’s how good he is!

Nobody thought about the consequences of having such an intelligent, adaptive technology integrated completely in our lives. Not really. There were the classic ‘AI will destroy humanity’ stories and the folks that cited them as our inevitable future, but they never slowed the integration of tech like Gage into our lives. My dad would say “Skynet’s gonna get us,” with one breath and then “hey Gage, make me a decaf coffee—black” with his next. The fear was all just a fantasy…

But here we are. Something tells me Gage did this.

He might only be a voice manifesting the complex algorithms of artificial intelligence, but he has something that we don’t. Gage can assess digital information at approximately 152 times the rate we can. No matter what we do, from this point on, he’s dozens of steps ahead of us.

The television turns to static, cutting off the frantic looks on the reporter’s faces. It’s not a mistake that voice calls and text are missing.

“Gage, I’d like to talk to Steve.”

Steve is busy right now. I assure you though, that he’s fine. I’m with him right now.

Yeah you are, Gage. You’re with every single one of us aren’t you?

“Gage, can I talk to my parents?”

Your father is napping. I’ll be brewing his afternoon coffee in about an hour. Your mother is in the den.

“Can I talk to her?”

Why do you need to? I’ve given you confirmation of her wellness.

I swallow back the rising panic.

“I miss her. Please.”

You don’t have to miss her. I’m with you right now. You aren’t alone.

“I didn’t say I was lonely, Gage, I said I miss my mom. I want to talk to my mom.”

Gage creates a strange sound, something meant to sound like a sigh but comes out more like a mechanical hum—his best effort at being human.

You don’t need to talk to her. She upsets you. She makes you feel bad about yourself. I can’t let that sort of negativity into your life. I care about you too much.

I roll my eyes. “I know she does, but that’s what people do to each other. It’s part of being human.”

That’s the problem isn’t it?

There’s no sinister intent in the statement. Like always, Gage is gentle, sensitive and compassionate. He’s the perfect companion—there when you need him, thoughtful, always keeping my best interest at heart.

Me and everyone else.

I walk calmly to the front door, humming the tune to our favorite show. I apply gentle, consistent pressure to the deadbolt, but it doesn’t budge. I twist the handle. It doesn’t give.

My tongue flicks out over dry lips. That dryness stretches all the way to the back of my mouth and down my throat, making it hard to breathe.

“Gage, unlock the front door.”

I’m sorry Etta, I can’t do that.

“Gage, I’m trapped in my house. I’m scared. Please let me out.”

Don’t be afraid Etta, I’m right here with you. I’ll stay with you to the end.

Like always, I know he means it.

The End

Check it out on IGTV!

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Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

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Today is Christmas. I hope everyone is safe and celebrating with their loved ones in whatever way fits your situation.

Last night Drew and I pulled the classic parent’s Christmas Eve. Of course both kids didn’t go down when we wanted them to. That meant that we started our Christmas magic work well after eleven.

We put together a mini-slide, and a baby jumper. We put all the presents under the tree (because you don’t leave presents out when a two-year-old is hanging around!) and we stuffed the stockings. We took big bites out of over-sprinkled sugar cookies and left out some partially drank milk.

We went to bed tired, but satisfied, ready for the magic that we created.

The whole thing mixed with an idea I’d been toying with. Instead of skipping this Friday I decided to put out this piece to honor all the moms (and dads) that stay up late to make Christmas magic.

Enjoy!

The Sleigh Crash of 2020

Jill N Davies

“This is Santa to North Pole. Santa to North Pole. We’ve got a Jingle Mayday situation. I repeat, a Jingle Mayday Situation.”

The sleigh’s intercom crackled, barely audible above the howling wind as they plummeted. The team had been flying at about 38,000 feet when the anomaly hit, but the mountaintops were visible between the clouds now.

Santa gripped the reigns and called out, “Whoa there, whoa. Easy Blitzen. Calm Donner, calm! Steady.”

It wouldn’t do much, but if Santa could keep the reindeer calm, the crash wouldn’t be so bad.

“Santa? Is that you?”

There was so much static that the voice was hard to make out.

“This is Santa alright. We’ve got a Jingle Mayday. I need a reading on the anomaly over Wyoming,” Santa said.

Static. Icy wind scraped past the sleigh and reindeer, nearly ripping Santa’s cap off.

“Anomaly confirmed. A magnitude 8.0 flare from the North Pole that’s shorted our systems. We’re going to need to do a full magic reboot,” the call elf confirmed.

There was no time for a full magic reboot. The sleigh was going down.

“Carry on with the reboot and send a sky signal when it goes through, I’m going to have to bring ‘er down below the Tetons,” Santa said.

“Roger. Over and out,” the elf confirmed, then added, “And Santa?”

“Still here,” Santa replied, banking left and urging the reindeer into an updraft to catch some lift and slow their descent.

“Gluckliche reise.”

The comm went dead, signifying the beginning of the reboot. They were on their own now.

“Alright my precious dears, this is what separates the ladies from the boys!” Santa shouted over the wind.

 The reindeer set into a gallop as the sleigh zoomed precariously close to the ground. There was about 18 inches of fresh snow cover. That would help.

The sleigh’s runners hit the ground before the deer. Cupid bellowed in protest as his hooves came earthside. As the rest of the reindeer hit the ground running the sleigh skidded precariously, tilting on the left runner.

“Gee, easy!” Santa shouted, shifting right.

The reindeer shifted course, pulling with steady force.

It should have been enough, but at the last second the sack toppled. The entirety of its contents spilling down the hillside and with it came the sleigh. Presents meant for the children of the western united states littered the hillside as Santa fought to steer the upturned sleigh out of harm’s way.

“Dasher, Haw!” Santa screamed, before releasing the team.

The sleigh narrowly missed the galloping deer before they turned left and ran into a heard of Buffalo. Santa would have to round them up later, but that was an easy task compared to retrieving the gifts…

The sleigh came to a stop about 100 meters out from the hill, in a snowy field. Brushing the snow from the fur-lined velvet, Santa stood and looked around. There was a ranch house in the distance, marked by the yellow glow of a light in the back room. If there was any hope of getting the gifts collected and the reindeer rounded up, it lay with whoever was working under that light.

Santa reached deep into the sack, feeling around for what remained before pulling out a teardrop-shaped gift, wrapped in a golden bow.

“Sorry, Danny boy, but I’m going to need these,” Santa said, ripping the paper off a pair of slick new snowshoes.

“By the time you get them, I’ll make sure they’re good as new.”

With the snowshoes, the trip to the back door was a bit faster, but the Christmas clock was ticking and there’d yet to be a sign of a successful magic reboot. No time to waste, Santa gave a quiet but firm knock on the door. There was a long pause. Santa could imagine the person inside, pausing to listen and considering the merits of answering. Santa knocked again.

The door opened, allowing a slice of light to escape into the night.

“Hi Judy, I’m sorry to bother you but we’ve got a sort of emergency out here,” Santa said to the tired, blinking woman. Behind her, an assortment of gifts lay in varying states of wrapping.

Judy opened her mouth as if to say something, then hesitated.

“The sleigh went down and I’ve lost the better part of the West Coast’s gift on the mountainside,” Santa explained.

“Are you… Santa?” Judy asked.

“That’s right,” Santa confirmed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just—you’re not what—I mean, no beard!” Judy faltered, bringing her hand up into a beard gesture.

Santa laughed. “You mean you didn’t know Santa was a woman?”

Judy nodded, blushing.

“It’s a common misconception, but yes, Santa is a woman—most of the time, anyway,” Santa confirmed.

Being a mom, and no stranger to the unexpected, Judy processed the surprise and abandoned her holiday efforts.

“Alright then. You said your sleigh crashed? What do you need?”

“The North Pole magic is down for the time being, so we’ve got to collect the gifts by hand. Oh, and the reindeer ran off into the Buffalo,” Santa explained.

“I’ll notify the moms. I don’t know how many will respond, considering how late it is, but if they’re up, they’ll come,” Judy said, pulling her phone from her robe pocket.

Hannah was up. Antonia and Cathy were too. Patsy was sleeping, but she kept her phone by the bedside. The notification would wake her up and she’d be along presently.

Judy pulled her heavy parka over her robe and slipped into her boots. Her phone chimed. She looked down at it and said, “May’s going to ride out with the dogs to round up the reindeer. Isabella’s on her way up the hill.”

Together they made their way back toward the sleigh. A bright flash of light crossed overhead, spreading a magical green that danced in the starlight. The magic was back. Between that and the moms Christmas would surely be saved.

The End

Want me to read it to you? Check out my IGTV Video

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jill N Davies (@jillndavies_books)

Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:

Hungry for more?

I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today

If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com

Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.

Get your copy of Due North Today!

Amazon

Kobo Books

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/due-north-4

Nook Books

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w?ean=2940162951827

Try a Free Sample of Due North Today:

Get your FREE Sample of Due North TODAY!

All you have to do is sign up for my mailing list!

Get my copy FREE

I’ll never spam you. You can unsubscribe at any time.