Happily Ever After

“I hate fairy tale endings!” Rose threw the child’s coloring book into the fire place designated for burning princess memorabilia. She stooped to pick up a sheet of stickers and waved them in her husband’s face. “Look at her! Look at her! Does that look like me at all? Do I have blond hair? What kind of Nordic whore do they think I am?”

She threw the stickers back into the fire and grabbed a torch from the sconce on the wall. “I. Am. Sick. Of. Happy. Endings.”

“What happy ending?” Gavin asked, relaxing back in his chair with a cop of coffee and a newspaper ten months out of date.

“The one we’re supposed to have! The one that left us here!” She let loose with a stream of invective she wouldn’t have dreamed of using a few centuries ago. Time had been a bad influence on her. “I want to die!”

She flopped into her ornate chair and stared at the banquet in front of them. The same banquet they’d been eating for the last four centuries, or was it five? She’d lost count somewhere along the line.

“You can’t die,” said Gavin in a mild tone. “Dying isn’t living happily ever after.”

“I hate happily ever after.”

“We haven’t happily ever aftered in quite some time.” He looked over his raised mug at her with a lifted eye brow.

Rose blushed. They’d been quite happy, for a few years. But there were no children in happily ever after. No visits to friends. No improvements on the castle. No wrinkles. No lines. No death.

“It wouldn’t have been bad if we’d aged. That’s what normal people do. They get wrinkles and they die and sob over each others graves.”

“Old age isn’t happily ever after either.” He flipped the page. “Oh, look, we missed another concert.”

She glared daggers at him. “Concerts aren’t happily ever after, dear,” she replied sarcastically. “Neither are cell phones, hot running water, or cars.”

Frustrated that she couldn’t get Gavin to fight with her, Rose stormed off to her room and started her letter writing campaign again. To every known book seller and movie maker she wrote the same plea: Kill Beauty at the end of the movie.

Wouldn’t it be dramatic and sweet if she died saving her beloved? Preferably before her beloved became that guy she couldn’t stand because they didn’t have anything in common but a stupid flower and some wishful thinking.

The only daughter of the widower school master was meant to be an old maid, dispensing charity and maybe entering a convent before she died. She was not meant to marry some forgotten prince of a kingdom no one had ever heard of. Deep in the bone, Rose knew it was the truth.

She looked out the window and the spiky vista of pine trees and mountains, and considered how many people she would willingly kill to go see a beach. Swimming! Beaches! Surfers! Visitors told her about such things, but no where in happily ever after did any author ever mention the second honey moon, or family vacations.

While she watched dark clouds rolling over the pass and young woman hiked into view carrying the now very familiar outline of a lap top case.

“Visitor!” Rose screamed, rushing downstairs to wait for the inevitable knock. “Gavin! Get dressed! We have a visitor!”

“You never used to complain about me going naked before,” he grumbled.

“That’s because you were covered in fur,” she snapped back. Rose sighed in exasperation. “You aren’t answering the door like that.”

“I hate codpieces, they pinch!” he whined.

“Do I look like I care what they pinch?” And she let the joke die there, pursuing it any further would start another castle burning fight. It wasn’t really Gavin’s fault. He’d been deeply in lust when they met, not love, and princes as a rule just weren’t genetically programmed to be monogamous. Was it any wonder he’d gotten bored with her? Or her with his… “No more jokes,” she told herself.

The inevitable knock came.

Rose threw open the door to show the slightly surprised looking young lady. Maybe not so young, there was a definite pudginess around the midline and confidence in the smile that suggested the girl wasn’t still in the first bloom of youth.

“Welcome to our castle,” Rose said with a painfully sweet smile.

The lady smiled back. “What a fabulous costume! That must have taken days to make. But why pink, did they have pink in the fourteenth century?”

Rose looked down at her rose-pink gown and lied. “It was red, but the dye faded.”

“Well, I guess that makes it realistic!” the girl beamed at her. “Hey, I hate to beg and all, but can I borrow your phone? My car broke down coming over the pass, I coasted as far as I could, but no dice. I just need to call a repair truck and maybe a cab, since this thing’s a rental.”

“We don’t have a phone here,” Rose said. “And our cell phone reception-“

“- sucks, I know.” The girl sighed and looked back at the long drive. “I know this sounds psycho, but could you drive me somewhere? I just need to get over to the next town. I’ve got a map,” she said as she started to rummage through her bag.

“We don’t have a car,” Rose said, her teeth gritting together. Did vampires have it this hard? If she ever met one, she’d be sure to ask how they lured unwary travelers inside. “Won’t you come in?” she tried.

“You don’t have a car?” the girl asked as she stepped through the door, not noticing as Rose slammed it shut.

“The car’s in town at the moment,” Gavin lied smoothly as he walked out of the breakfast room wearing the perfectly tailored blue coat he’d worn the first day he’d been human again. Rose liked the coat. It brought back found memories of a time when she didn’t know what happily ever after meant.

“Okay. Um, well, do you guys mind if I hang out here? I can pay admission if you take credit card.”

Rose looked to Gavin for help.

“No need to pay! Usually groups book the castle for exotic vacations, but this us our down season.”

“And the boss won’t let you wear jeans? Geez, what a curmudgeon.”

“Indeed…” Gavin fumbled then picked up his lines again. “And what is your name?”

“Em, actually, Emina, but everyone calls me Em.” She dropped her lap top bag and looked around. “This is a gorgeous place, just like a fairy tale castle, you know?”

“We try,” Rose said. She left out the bit that they were trying to forget, but, you know, to each his own. “Where are you from, Em?”

“Hmm, oh, America.” She blushed. “The accent gives me away, doesn’t it? I know some German but it comes out like that… this…” she said, switching languages and mangling the German terribly. “I speak much poor.”

“Thankfully, we speak English just fine,” Gavin said wryly.

“Come in,” Rose insisted. “You can stay here until the car gets back.”

The girl smiled. “That’s so kind of you. I hate to impose. Just shove me in a corner, I can write.”

“You’re a writer?” Rose nearly squealed with delight. “Really? You write books?”

“Um, yes? Is… is that wrong?” The girl looked around to Gavin in confusion.

Gavin shook his head. “No. We like writers.” He smiled, showing his teeth, but the girl didn’t pick up the threat. “What do you write?”

“Horror. And some urban fantasy.”

Rose considered that. Well, it wasn’t perfect, but hopefully she’d finally get to die.

It took two years for the book to get published. Rose loved the red rose dripping blood on the black cover. She flipped through, and laughed at the dialog on page two fifty one. She sauntered down to the dungeon, kicking aside the remains of some forgotten bride who had rented the castle back in the forties.

“Are you down here, Em?”

“Yes.”

Rose heard the little writer whimper. “I’ve been reading the book.”

“And?” Em scuttled to the back of her dungeon cell.

With a wicked smile Rose flipped open the book to the offending page and read, “Help me! The crazy princess has me chained in the basement! Somebody rescue me! I’m off of route seven! In the big castle! Bring guns!” Rose tsked. “You aren’t chained, dear. I would never chain you. And you can’t complain about the food.”

“Wedding cake for two years?” Em snarled. “I hate wedding cake!”

“Try eating it for a few centuries!”

Up the stairs she heard the wooden door shatter. Commandos dressed in black stormed down the stairs.

“No!” Rose shrieked. “No! Em, stop it! Change the book! You don’t want this kind of happily ever after! Save yourself!”

Gun fire felled the demon princess.

Em smirked and pulled a hidden chapter from under her straw mat. A ruggedly handsome hero stepped in to take her away. “Cross-genre epilogue, B****, the author always wins.” 

Edge of Time

“Children!” Heather snapped. “Do not put holes in the fabric of time!”

IT ISN’T A PROBLEM The landlord said in leaden tones.

She gave him a dark look.

He coughed and ran a hand through his curly ginger hair. “Sorry.”

“You need to get a new hobby. Imitating Terry Pratchett’s Death character doesn’t suit you.” Heather reached down to scoop up her youngest. “Look, the roaches, when will you have that resolved?”

“Next week at the latest,” he answered promptly.

She’d heard that one before. “Who’s latest? Yours or ours?”

Something in her look hinted that she wasn’t going to play games, or maybe he finally decided to grow up. “Yours. Definitely yours.”

“Good.” The house wasn’t what she’d expected, but it worked. After the funeral she needed somewhere to go. Some place away from the city and well meaning friends who asked inconvenient questions. Away from her husbands co-workers who dropped by to say hi, and then dropped hints about beautiful women and being alone.

On the Internet site the house had looked like a good deal, big yard, a commute that wasn’t to far, scenic views. Although she really shouldn’t have thought a view of 1795 was a typo come to think of it.

Elsa reached her hand through the window trying to grab the coattail of George III.

“No, Elsa, do not play with time.” She looked around for her dead husband. “Justin?”

He floated down through the ceiling. “Yes, dear?”

“Who’s cooking dinner tonight?”

“I can.” His kiss on her cheek was a cold breeze. Elsa hopped into his arms. “I fixed the upstairs windows, we shouldn’t have any more Templar knights falling in.”

Heather blushed. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t walk in on me doing yoga. I was in a twisting pose and I think he thought I was dead.”

“And a ghostly husband probably didn’t fix matters.” He paused, staring behind her. “You better go find your son.”

“My son?” Heather gave him the LOOK.

“Your son is presently in 2112.”

“Oh mercy! Not again. Remind me to call the landlord tomorrow. He advertised a timeless classic, not a time machine!”

That night, washing electric colors out of her son’s hair, Heather had an idea.

She climbed into bed next Justin. “Sweetie, you know how I said I wanted to go back to work?”

Justin closed the universe he was currently building and nodded. “Yes?”

“Well, maybe we could open a bed and breakfast…”

Adam, Be A Star

Adam, stardom is just a click away.

Adam stared at the computer screen, fingers trembling on the touchpad. Should he do it? He stroked the enter key. Louise had sent the link to him, recommended it even. But now that it came down to it, could he actually bring himself to accept?

He leaned back in his chair and screwed up his face. Being a star would solve a lot of problems, that was certain. Louise had only been a star for a week, and look at her: married to that famous singer, wealth pouring out her ears, fantastic mansion in the tropics – and of course, every night, she joined the Heavenly Host in their trek across the night sky.

Brilliant.

She hadn’t stopped smiling since.

And now, here, right in front of him, was an opportunity to do the same. He’d received one of the very precious, very limited invitations to stardom. And he was going to accept it.

Of course he was.

He hit enter, grinned broadly and stretched in satisfaction. The computer screen flashed silver then black as it processed his application. Stars began to dot the screen and within seconds the view zoomed through the universe, finding a place for Adam, the newest star.

He sighed and pushed his chair back to go grab a drink while the system found a place for him.

#

He’d have screamed, if he could – but in the daytime, no one would believe him and in the night time, no one could hear him as he circled the Earth thousands of light years away.

The computer virus had sucked him right into the machine, digitally editing his exterior before hurling him out into space, then creating a holographic substitute for him on earth. 

And then it had sent the email.

Every now and then Adam bumped into someone else who, like him, had become a star. He had to admit, the glow was lovely. But he’d have preferred it if there was altogether less glow and rather more conversation.

Another flare; another human shunted into space in a ball of flaming gases. The sky around him blazed. There couldn’t be many left to go.

#

Frank frowned as he peered at the computer screen. He leaned over to cross check what he saw in his high-powered, completely-legal telescope and frowned again. There were definitely more stars showing up in the online starmap than there should be.

He grabbed his phone and dialled. “Hi, Ben? Have you been messing about with the system again? I told you to leave it alo—“ He cut off at Ben’s earnest assurances that he hadn’t logged in since last week. “Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you don’t touch it anymore, okay? ...No, there’s nothing wrong. Go back to sleep.” 

He dropped the phone back on the desk, still staring at the screen. If Ben hadn’t been messing around, who had? 

Frank zoomed in. Louise Fischer? What kind of name was that for a star? And Steven Brayburn? Seriously? It was like whoever had hacked the starmap was trying to make it obvious or something. 

A word registered in his subconscious, but before he had time to figure out what it was, an email notification popped up. 

Adam. Hmm, was that the word he’d just seen? Absently, he scrolled across the starfield while the email loaded. Ah, there, just above star Louise on the screen: star Adam Litchfield. Frank grinned. Sneaky bugger. The email was probably him gloating.

Frank switched over to read the email. “Frank, be a star!” he said, reading the subject heading. “Oh, sure, Adam. I’d love to be a star. Nice one.”

He opened the email, found the link. Still grinning, Frank clicked.

#

The virus would have smiled, if viruses could. In fact, it probably would have licked its pointed fangs if it had had them. As it was, it had to settle for a quick zip up and down the nearest circuit. Very soon, those pesky humans would be off its planet for good, and all would be right in the world. It waited until Frank had been processed, then sent the next batch of emails from his account.