Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“You understand me?”

“I understand all tongues.” The great being heaved a deep breath as it spoke. I saw no tremble other than breath upon its lips, and I knew not how it spoke.

“You have not eaten me.” It was an obvious statement, but it was all I could think of.

“I am not hungry, and you have been polite so far,” it said. “I hope that you do not begin to bore me, though. One need not eat to silence an annoyance.”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “I come with a request, o great one.”

“Spare me your flattery,” the beast said again. “I will hear your request, but mind that you do not ask too much. Many have come and done the proper obescience only to ask too much and then balk at the price.”

“I wish only to pass through your wood unharmed to the Crystal Grove beyond.”

“Hmph. Then why not do so? Passage is free to all those who do not annoy me.”

I chose my words carefully. “There have been…others…who have not returned.”

“I have eaten or slain many of your sort,” was the reply. “Some had the misfortune to meet me hungry. Others asked for impossible favors. Still others returned having disturbed the Grove, tracked by its defenders. None of those I can abide.”

“Allow me to pass through unmolested, and bear one hence who is pursued,” I said.

“Ah, now that is more of the sort of request I have become used to.” A pause. “Bring me a fitting repast, a thinking being to consume and so build my legend. If you do this for me, I will not only allow you passage, but I will block your pursuers, whoever they be.”

I gasped. “A…thinking being?”

“As I say, many balk at the price I demand. If you see fit not to provide it, that is your concern. But if you appear before me again, or walk more than an arrow’s shot deep in my woods, without what I ask…I will slay you and set your body out to rot, so that my purpose will be accomplished anyway.

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When they came upon the settlement, it was only ashes. Dead men lay where they had fallen, and those few homes that remained were empty. The Nomarch of Ament had taken the surviving inhabitants of Khaset, presumably as slaves or trophies of war.

“This is inexcusable,” said Zau. “We must write to the Pharaoh at once, to inform him of this barbarity.”

“Why bother?” said Apis. “The pharaoh is a useless old fool. He married the great-aunt of Ament to his second son.”

“That is not a license to murder,” Zau replied.

“It is when the pharaoh sits about playing with his favorites and doing nothing to restrain the nomarchs,” Apis said. “He is too busy dallying with his favorites like Sasenet to challenge someone upon whom his power rests.”

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“Bring them forth.”

The cultists shoved John and Mary forward, bruised and bloodied from where they’d been torn from their station wagon.

“Bow before the Gourd God!” one of the cultists snarled.

“Why have you come to this place?” cried the apparition in the center of the field, a pumpkin-headed man in a scarecrow’s vestments that was not consumed by the flames that encircled it.

“We…we just wanted directions,” John whimpered. “We were going to Gatlinburg and got lost.”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” said the Gourd God. “You get back on 33 and follow it east until it meets up with I-32. Just make sure you get off at Exit 185, or you’ll get caught up in construction.”

John looked around, confused. “Can you…can you write that down?”

“Sure.” One of the cultist’s eyes glowed and they scrawled out the directions, in their own blood, on a page torn from a holy book.

“T-thanks,” said Mary.

“Hey, don’t mention it,” said the Gourd God. “I’m sorry about the kids roughing you up, they have a little more passion than sense sometimes. Safe travels!”

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Skewer of Hogs
This rapier was used to cook pork on a spit over campfires, and was legendary for allowing meat so skewered to retain its juciness. Only works on white meat.

Light in Shining Light
This spatha glows brightly in the presence of bright light. The brighter the light, the brighter it glows. In full sunshine, looking at the blade can cause temporary or permanent blindness.

Scourge of Pinkies
Any stroke to an opponent’s limb that lands will unerringly hit, and sever, an unarmored pinkie finger. Armored fingers are often merely broken by the blow. If the opponent has no pinkies, like a yakuza, the sword behaves as if it is dull and useless.

Katana of Kumquats
This blade cuts through fruit effortlessly, but can only cut an opponent if they are behind the fruit. Its wielders took to keeping satchels of apples to throw at enemies and hope for the best.

Wallblade
Do you want a hole in your wall? Wallblade will cut it. Do you not want a hole in your wall? Wallblade will cut it anyway.

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“All right,” Myassa said. “You come to an open space in the dungeon. What do you choose to do next?”

“I check for traps,” said Angela. “My rogue sneaks forward. On the ceiling.”

“Okay, roll for traps, roll for sneak, and roll for ceiling.”

Angela’s dice rattled. “That’s an 18 for ceilings, a natural 20 for stealth, and…a 1 for traps.”

“Ooh, bad luck!” Myassa said. She flipped the pewter miniature representing Angela’s character, Florthiel the Furtive onto its back. “You fall off the ceiling, and onto a trap. It triggers a paralysis dart, and you fall to the ground unconscious.”

“Dangit!”

“BUT you’re so sneaky that no one sees where you land,” Myassa added. “You’re basically paralyzed and invisible.”

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“The mega-pigeon! The mega-pigeon! The mega-pigeon returns!”

The birds fluttered about excitedly. Surely, the long-vanished mega-pigeon, largest and strongest of pigeon-kind, would lead them back from the brink of destruction.

A dodo emerged from the summoning circle. “Hey there!” it said. “How’s it going?”

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The rules stipulated that no competitor or any of their agents could interfere with the racing pigeons. But it also held that birds lost due to “accident, predation, or misadventure” were disqualified from the prize purse.

So the problem facing Rotelli was, basically, how to do a 32-bird hit and make it looks like an accident. He’d had challenges before working for Carmine, but he quickly decided that this job was for the birds. But that six-figure payday was just too much to turn away.

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“Tell me,” Schmidt said. “How did you get your automatic car to drive itself so well?”

“That’s for me to know,” Ellen said. “And you not to know.”

She returned to the garage where the Silver Torpedo was sitting idle. Opening the control panel, she revealed a pigeon strapped in to an old pigeon-guided bomb control.

“Mommy’s little chickie did good today,” she cooed. “Who wants some nummy seeds, huh?”

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“Roberto’s a nut,” said Giovanni. “Just sits up there all day with his birds.”

“He is a nut,” agreed Angelo. “But cut him some slack. He got hit real bad during the war. Krauts cut off his whole platoon and he lost most of his guys.”

“Fine, fine,” Giovanni said. “But what’s that got to do with a bunch of smelly birds?”

“Pigeons saved his life,” replied Angelo. “The carrier pigeons got word to get them relieved. I guess Roberto’s just trying to give something back, you know?”

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Fayne Island was named after an obscure British fur trapper, and remained one of the largest unsettled islands in the Great Lakes until a community of Mennonites moved there in 1801.

The Mennonites, originally from lower Michigan, were worried about temptation and influence from the world outside their sect. So they moved their entire small community to the island to set up a self-sufficient settlement in what was then the frontier.

Harsh winters and stony soil made for a very difficult time, and the Mennonites found themselves increasingly unable to farm for a living by the 1840s. Eventually, at a contentious meeting, they decided to solicit outsiders to trade for materials they could not make themselves and for food in years when harvests were bad.

By 1860, a small trading community of non-Mennonites had formed, and it grew rapidly. The first non-Mennonite buildings outside the docks were laid out in the 1870s, and by the 1880s the Mennonites were a minority on Fayne, with many having left the faith and others moving to join less tiny religious communities elsewhere. A small number of Mennonites remain, isolated and on cool terms with the rest of the population.

Fayne had become a popular summer destination by the turn of the century, and many of the main buildings date to that time. The Golden Gardenia Hotel dates to 1897, becoming a favorite of those who couldn’t afford other island hotels like the Grand on Mackinac or who simply preferred a cozier atmosphere.

The end of the lake trade in the 1950s and 1960s badly hurt what had become Fayne Township, and the island fell on hard times with many closures and a loss of population to the mainland, a trend that continues to this day. Though the economy improved in the 1990s, and the Golden Gardenia was saved from demolition, it is a far cry from the salad days of the late 1800s.

Contemporary Fayne Island finds itself at a crossroads. The population is rapidly aging, and many of the young people are moving away. While still relatively popular, tourist attractions like the Gardenia make residents worry about an influx of outsiders that could wipe away the township’s uniqueness. Many older residents are very outspoken about making the island another tourist trap for “fudges” a la Mackinac.

To open itself up to the world and possibly lose its uniqueness, or to remain isolated and possibly dwindle into nothingness–those are the options confronting Fayne Island in the 21st century.

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