coming.
And Dickie totally knew it. He shoved up onto his feet and torpedoed across the yard.
“Dickie — no!”
But he didn’t listen. He took off like an undead bullet, even his bad legs keeping up with the rest of him.
He reached the end of our yard at the exact time the car drove in front of our house. My stomach clenched with sick horror. Dickie had always wanted to chase cars when he was alive and I wouldn’t let him. Then the one time he’d gotten out and chased a car, it had killed him.
“No, Dickie. Stay!” I yelled.
But he did not stay. He went faster, legs pumping hard, body low to the ground, ears back, tail straight out.
If he got crushed to death again I didn’t think my mom would let me re-raise him no matter how much I begged. Stupid dog, chasing stupid cars. “Stop!” I ran after him, even though there was no way I’d catch up before he was deader than undead.
He lunged for the front tire. Missed.
Hope fluttered in my chest. Maybe he was too slow. Maybe the car would zoom past and he’d be smart enough to let it go.
Dickie wasn’t that smart.
He ran under the car, jaws snapping at the opposite back tire — the back tire that ran right over the top of him. I heard the ka-thump and squeak of the shocks. The car kept right on going like nothing had happened. Like it hadn’t just re-killed my best friend.
“Dickie!” I ran into the street.
Dickie was nothing but a flattened lump in the middle of the road. And even though I wanted to cry, I noticed he was not bleeding. Then I noticed he was still breathing.
“Dickie?” He wagged his tail and slowly peeled himself off the pavement. His legs were working pretty good, and so was the rest of him, I guess. Maybe he was a little flatter in the middle but it didn’t seem to bother him. He shook his head and sneezed. Then he wagged his tail harder and barked at the retreating car.
He was fine. More than that, he was happy and excited, like he’d just gotten off a roller coaster ride.
“You’re crazy. Do you think you’re indestructible?” I rubbed the sides of his face and didn’t feel anything more broken than usual. Maybe he was indestructible. Maybe I’d done a really good job when I brought him back to life.
“Promise me no more cars today, okay boy? I know you like it but it freaks me out.”
He barked and licked my hand, still excited about chasing the car. And I knew we had an agreement — no more cars today. But tomorrow was a whole new story.
The theme for this dark fairytale was “Christmas Spice.” This read-out-loud challenge story was written in homage to the spooky holiday tales of old.
THE WISHING TIME
In the icy grasp of the northern land , Santa Claus lords his castle, and paces beneath the whispering eechoes of children’s wishes that are carried by the wind to him; a sweet addicting madness for a man bound to grant all wishes on one day each year. There, in that inescapable cold, where Santa Claus mutters to himself, chained by wishes in a thousand languages, you will find the elves.
They are slim and quick, half as tall as a man. They are cold, angled and edged, skin and hair and lips the color of glass and sharp rainbowed cuts of diamond. Human eyes can not see them, except for a glint of light against the carved crystal walls, silver snowbanks, the blue edge of sky.
But to a creature of my sort, the elves are easy to see. I am a coal troll, content to live beneath the hills where winter is but a passing season.
I am still a child, only two hundred years old. I do not remember the day Santa Claus came to our tunnels, promising jewels and joy, ribbons and toys, cinnamon and spearmint wonders. But ever since, there have been fewer trolls to dig in the hills, to scrape out the coal that Santa Claus gives to naughty children.
I do know that he has taken my mother, my father, and yesterday, when I went calling for my youngest sister, I found he had taken her too.
Tonight is Christmas Eve and I have
And Dickie totally knew it. He shoved up onto his feet and torpedoed across the yard.
“Dickie — no!”
But he didn’t listen. He took off like an undead bullet, even his bad legs keeping up with the rest of him.
He reached the end of our yard at the exact time the car drove in front of our house. My stomach clenched with sick horror. Dickie had always wanted to chase cars when he was alive and I wouldn’t let him. Then the one time he’d gotten out and chased a car, it had killed him.
“No, Dickie. Stay!” I yelled.
But he did not stay. He went faster, legs pumping hard, body low to the ground, ears back, tail straight out.
If he got crushed to death again I didn’t think my mom would let me re-raise him no matter how much I begged. Stupid dog, chasing stupid cars. “Stop!” I ran after him, even though there was no way I’d catch up before he was deader than undead.
He lunged for the front tire. Missed.
Hope fluttered in my chest. Maybe he was too slow. Maybe the car would zoom past and he’d be smart enough to let it go.
Dickie wasn’t that smart.
He ran under the car, jaws snapping at the opposite back tire — the back tire that ran right over the top of him. I heard the ka-thump and squeak of the shocks. The car kept right on going like nothing had happened. Like it hadn’t just re-killed my best friend.
“Dickie!” I ran into the street.
Dickie was nothing but a flattened lump in the middle of the road. And even though I wanted to cry, I noticed he was not bleeding. Then I noticed he was still breathing.
“Dickie?” He wagged his tail and slowly peeled himself off the pavement. His legs were working pretty good, and so was the rest of him, I guess. Maybe he was a little flatter in the middle but it didn’t seem to bother him. He shook his head and sneezed. Then he wagged his tail harder and barked at the retreating car.
He was fine. More than that, he was happy and excited, like he’d just gotten off a roller coaster ride.
“You’re crazy. Do you think you’re indestructible?” I rubbed the sides of his face and didn’t feel anything more broken than usual. Maybe he was indestructible. Maybe I’d done a really good job when I brought him back to life.
“Promise me no more cars today, okay boy? I know you like it but it freaks me out.”
He barked and licked my hand, still excited about chasing the car. And I knew we had an agreement — no more cars today. But tomorrow was a whole new story.
The theme for this dark fairytale was “Christmas Spice.” This read-out-loud challenge story was written in homage to the spooky holiday tales of old.
THE WISHING TIME
In the icy grasp of the northern land , Santa Claus lords his castle, and paces beneath the whispering eechoes of children’s wishes that are carried by the wind to him; a sweet addicting madness for a man bound to grant all wishes on one day each year. There, in that inescapable cold, where Santa Claus mutters to himself, chained by wishes in a thousand languages, you will find the elves.
They are slim and quick, half as tall as a man. They are cold, angled and edged, skin and hair and lips the color of glass and sharp rainbowed cuts of diamond. Human eyes can not see them, except for a glint of light against the carved crystal walls, silver snowbanks, the blue edge of sky.
But to a creature of my sort, the elves are easy to see. I am a coal troll, content to live beneath the hills where winter is but a passing season.
I am still a child, only two hundred years old. I do not remember the day Santa Claus came to our tunnels, promising jewels and joy, ribbons and toys, cinnamon and spearmint wonders. But ever since, there have been fewer trolls to dig in the hills, to scrape out the coal that Santa Claus gives to naughty children.
I do know that he has taken my mother, my father, and yesterday, when I went calling for my youngest sister, I found he had taken her too.
Tonight is Christmas Eve and I have
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