Steampunk Fairy Tales (12 page)

Excerpt of
Dream Eater’s Carnival

It was an explosion—not the ringing of the
bell tower—that startled Leisl awake.

By the height of the shadows, she’d slept
through the morning bell. Not the first time she had neglected
chores in favor of sleep.

She hugged a sheet to her body and hurried
across the cold stone floor to peer out the arched window. A plume
of smoke rose above the nearby field. She traced it to its source,
a full-sized replica of a galleon ship. Iron-wheeled houses with
colorful banners trailed the vessel as it crept toward town. The
procession resembled a small village on the move.

Forgetting that only a thin sheet robed her
nakedness, Leisl hurried to the cathedral observatory. There she
grabbed an arm-length rosewood telescope and dashed to the balcony.
Her elbows pinned the sheet around her while she focused the
lens.

A sign crowning the
tallest wheeled building read
The
Tower
. Acrobats launched themselves
through windows and twirled on poles jutting from the structure.
One performer worked her way to the roof, where she did a handstand
atop a flagpole. Another rode a unicycle balanced on a railing
while he juggled.

This wasn’t an invasion, it was a carnival.
Precious few visited town anymore, and this one looked especially
wonderful. Leisl smiled at the promise of adventure and returned
her attention to the ship. Shreds of a sail whipped about the mast
as it rocked back and forth across the bumpy field. She read under
her breath, “The Dreamer’s Carnival.”

The sailors reloaded the cannons and fired
another volley into the sky. Leisl flinched, hoping they were
blanks. Performers on balconies tossed confetti and sweets to the
cheering crowds that rushed to meet the procession. A jester
saddled the carved mermaid bust and tossed life preservers to the
townspeople.

“
You are not decent,” a
pious voice announced from the gardens beneath her.

“
Brother Mikkel, I was
startled by the explosion …”

“
Yes, and everyone else
will be startled by your exposure. You are seven-and-ten now, and
you still can’t dress yourself?”

Leisl blushed and pulled her sheet
tighter.

Music blared from the carnival. She watched
the cheering crowd with envy. Their parents hadn’t given them to
the cathedral. Unlike her, they were allowed to have fun.

With one last glance at the performers, she
returned to her dormitory cell. She didn’t bother to get dressed,
not yet. Brother Mikkel wouldn’t check on her; he’d be too busy
researching to notice if she attended to her work.

She continued to watch out the window,
already planning her escape.

To read more, visit
http://bitlather.com/books

Alison Latzko

Allison Latzko is a recent graduate with a
degree in Fiction Writing. She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania,
where she spends her time slowly writing horror novels she plans to
someday publish. It’s just taking quite longer than expected. The
Copper Eyes is her first published short story.

Links:

Blog:
https://allisonlatzko.wordpress.com

Excerpt from Alison’s upcoming book:
Queen of Hearts

Excerpt from
Queen of Hearts

When I was younger and my dad was alive, he
liked to frighten me with tales about the haunted theater we once
visited called The Refuge.

“
While many horrors have
befallen the performers and guests of this theater within the last
century,” my father read aloud to me and my sister, “The Refuge
still stands as one of the oldest, most popular, and most uncanny
tourist attractions in Alden Grove.”

He read from an article he’d found on a
magazine page, exaggerating every syllable to make them all sound
ominous and frightening. My sister Em and I were both awed by his
voice, mesmerized like two young girls should have been. He had fun
scaring us, telling us ghost stories before bedtime instead of
fairy tales, and letting us watch Tales from the Crypt instead of
Barney. We’d eagerly sit in the living room with him late on
Saturday nights, watching movies like A Nightmare on Elm Street
until our mother came home from work and made him shut it off.

To see something right from the Travel
Channel’s most famous haunted places was something I’d longed for.
“Established in 1893” was marked on a gray and faded slab, which
was tacked on to the corner of the brick building. I snapped a
picture of the entrance to the theater and a short staircase that
led to two gold and red doors awaiting our entry. I hummed
ecstatically. It was a place I had only ever seen in my dreams.

“
Will we see dead people?”
I asked loudly, moving my camera away from my face. My family stood
around me in a circle.

“
No, Delaney. He’s just
scaring you. The magic show won’t be like that,” my mother
said.

“
Are you sure?” My
thoughts swirled. “I think we’re going to see some.”

“
Let’s go inside.” She
took my hand and led me up the steps, her warm fingers pressed
around my small fist. My sister and dad followed.

My dad spoke with false menace as we walked
up the steps. “Most people say if you’re quiet long enough, you can
hear the dead screaming from hell as soon as you walk through the
entryway.” Our eyes widened in fright and he grinned back at both
of us.

“
Greg, you’re going to
give them nightmares before we even go inside.” My mother stared
around us with a look of contempt. My dad chuckled, checked his
pager, and led us through the entryway. As we passed I read the ‘no
photography’ sign posted at the entrance of the theater and tucked
my camera into the folds of my blue jacket.

I had imagined a grand opera house-type
theater that held hundreds, with seats scaling up the sides and
balconies holding the most sophisticated theatergoers as they
observed with small binoculars. Instead, we got a room with tables
in the back and fold up chairs in the aisles. There were scuff
marks in the floor and cracks in the walls. As I sat down, my dad’s
shoulder brushed up against mine. We were in the fourth row, close
enough that we could see every detail on the stage, every indent in
the floor, and every wisp of shadow underneath the stage curtain.
Red velvet lined the sides of the walls and the lights danced
above. It was just nearing sunset outside, but it was eternally
nighttime inside the theater.

I drummed my fingers against the side of my
ripped chair cushion. As we waited for the show to begin, a man
appeared on stage. My sister and I leaned forward in our seats,
whispering excitedly. “Is that him?”—“Is it starting?” My dad put a
finger to his mouth to shush us, although I could tell there was a
hint of excitement on his face. Only our mother looked
uninterested, gazing at the man as though he were an annoying bug
crawling on the counter.

The man wore an ill-fitting suit, and his
large face was very pale and sickly. “Thank you everyone for coming
tonight for a very special show at The Refuge” he said, coughing
into his sleeve. “I have some unfortunate last minute news: our
regular magician will not be performing tonight. He’s gotten
terribly sick, and has had to cancel at the last moment.”

The crowd murmured and lost focus of the
stage. Dread welled up inside of me. I glanced around and felt the
disappointment of the audience, some of whom had known about the
magician’s act. Others looked towards him with confusion. Friends
from my class had been chatting about the magic show all week, and
after my onslaught of begging, my parents had granted my wish. Now
everything was falling apart. I slid to the edge of my seat and
waited, hoping with all my might that the show would go on with any
magician necessary.

The large man continued. “Instead, we’ll be
introducing two new last-minute performers who we assure you are
worth everything you paid for. Please welcome your magician, Quincy
Ganson, and his lovely assistant, Elizabeth Armonte.” The crowd
clapped but I couldn’t help notice a ripple of disappointment
throughout the room. People stood and walked back toward the door
as dismay stirred in my chest.

A young man and woman appeared on the stage
and it took a moment for the audience to notice. I elbowed my
sister Em, who’d been looking at the family beside us that’d gotten
up to leave. The man on stage, Quincy, was tall, and his shadow
stretched out behind him. His suit looked expensive, and he wore a
red tie that matched the dress of his petite assistant. His eyes
roved over the crowd. The woman looked to be about a foot shorter
than him, but side-by-side the two couldn’t have belonged anywhere
else. They matched like two pieces in a puzzle.

“
Ladies and gentlemen,”
the magician called out. “Are you ready to see something amazing?”
No one cheered. Everyone was fixated on the family walking out.
“Suit yourselves,” he added.

The doors swung back and forth, and another
couple stood to leave.

“
You two are going to miss
out,” his assistant Elizabeth called in a high-pitched voice, which
echoed through the building. She placed her hands on her hips as
she watched them with an amused smirk. The light from above gave
her dress a blood red sheen and her short black hair curled against
her round, childlike face.

Lifting her small hand above her head, she
snapped her fingers.

It was like a firework had gone off,
bursting in the auditorium. A few people yelped. I blinked and
Elizabeth was no longer where she’d been on the stage. I glanced
around nervously, then towards Em, who shrugged back.

The back of the theater gasped.

Elizabeth stood in front of the doorway and
ushered the couple back to their seats. Em and I glanced at each
other, our smiles widening and faces lighting up. The magician
began to clap and, slowly, the audience followed suit. When
Elizabeth was back on stage beside him, he grabbed his hat, swung
it and bowed.

“
Now are you ready to see
some magic tricks?” Quincy asked, and everyone cheered. The show
had officially begun.

Heather White

Heather White hails from the lands of the
Appalachian Mountains. She spent her childhood moving, giving her a
love for books, games, and stories and driven her passion for
twisting tropes. Her writing passions run towards the paranormal
and the romantic with an emphasis on superheroes. You can find out
more about her and her other projects at her blog:
https://heatherwhiteauthor.wordpress.com/.

She’d like to thank her family—Mom, Dad,
Jay, Andrew, and Daniel—for their support and belief all these
years.

Ashley Capes

Ashley is a poet, novelist and teacher
living in Australia. He's the author of six poetry collections and
five novels and was poetry editor for Page Seventeen from issues
8-10. He also moderates online renku group Issa’s Snail.

Ashley teaches English,
Media and Music Production, has played in a metal band, worked in
an art gallery and slaved away at music retail. Aside from reading
and writing, Ashley loves volleyball and Studio Ghibli – and
Magnum PI
, easily one of
the greatest television shows ever made.

Links:

http://www.cityofmasks.com
https://twitter.com/ash_capes
http://www.amazon.com/Ashley-Capes/e/B004H6WC4K
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5806251.Ashley_Capes

Excerpt from:
A Whisper of Leaves

Riko
unclenched her fist when the plastic of her phone cover
creaked.

“
Damn it.”

She dropped it
on the empty passenger seat and took a breath. Relax, idiot. Smart
phones aren’t cheap. She gripped the steering wheel of her little
Toyota instead; was he ever coming out?

Parked beneath
the shade of a pine tree in one of Fuji-Yoshida’s better
neighbourhoods, it probably looked like she was on a stake out –
the family who’d circled the block in the afternoon sun had
certainly given her an odd look.

But she didn’t
have a choice; her job was at stake, maybe more.

And the man
who held everything in his palm was doing his best to stay out of
sight. Ikeda’s compound – the residence was more than merely
‘fenced’ – had cameras, intercoms and a massive gate that remained
closed to visitors. He had to leave sometime. Or return, if he was
out. And she’d waited hours – she wasn’t going anywhere, especially
after nearly getting lost finding the place.

What would she
even say? He’d be angry. And he wouldn’t believe her; why would he?
Her word against that of his son. She was a fool for trying.

Riko jumped
when her phone rang. She grabbed it.

Dad.

“
No way.” Not now. She jammed the mute button down and tossed
the phone back onto the seat. Even if she could talk, he wasn’t
going to say anything she hadn’t heard a thousand times before.
Worse than a broken record – he was like some awful, auditory
tattoo.