Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“Approach.” The voice was beyond cold, like two blocks of glacier sliding over one another.

“Elder sentient ice,” the supplicant said. “I would like something it is in your power to know.”

“I know all that has touched this ice in my millennia of existence,” was the reply. “Ask.”

“What was the CO2 level 27 million years ago?” the supplicant asked. “Was it over or under 300 parts per million?”

“Uhh,” the elder sentient ice said. “I thought you were going to ask a question about a wooly mammoth or an ancient frozen sword or something.”

“Nope,” the supplicant said. “It’s all climate questions. Do you know the answer, or do I have to get the core borer?”

“Oh, I know it! I totally know it. The answer might just, you know, take a minute or two.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

“Should I be worried that wizard hat is wearing another, smaller, wizard hat?” said Su.

“No, no,” said Mungus. “It’s just Hatta.”

“You say that as if it explains everything!” Su cried. “I don’t know who Hatta is!”

“Hatta is a sentient wizard hat, of course,” Mungus said.

“And how did it get to be sentient? That sort of thing doesn’t just happen!”

“Retsopmi the Mage created Hatta by accident, okay?” Mungus sighed. “Is it really that important?”

“Well, if ‘Retsopmi the Mage’ created this ‘Hatta’ by ‘accident,’ why didn’t they ust uncreate it then?”

“Because it’s a magical sentient wizard hat and it’s quite capable of defending itself!” Mungus cried, exasperated “But it’s proven itself a very useful ally.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

“Look, it’s the only way to heat anything up while we’re stuck here,” Nex said.

“It is a microwave that has been used for who knows how long reheating who knows what in a convenience store,” Xak replied. “No.”

“I’m sure they cleaned it. They’d have to if a Denebian used it. Come on.”

“You use it then,” Xak snapped. “You heat your food up in that plague microwave and watch your body’s chemical bonds dissolve in the throes of Dinobulan flesh-eating bacteria, while I’m happily starving to death.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

Uncle Harvey had kept a log of incidents in his disco during its glory days, good and bad, and in preparation for the reopening Chris had been reading them aloud to Sam while the latter was working. Sam was slightly annoyed, seeing as Chris preferred to work in monklike silence, but wasn’t about to argue the point.

“Looks like in 1981 we have a bunch of notes for something Harvey called the Disco Triceratops Incident,” Chris said. “First in April, then again in June, with three in July.”

“Disco triceratops? Is that like a disco duck?” Sam asked.

“I dunno, but a “Pat” is repeatedly mentioned, so I guess they were the disco triceratops, or something?” said Chris. “Pat showed back up again. Wanted bygones to be bygones. Reminded Pat of disco trike. Pat apologized again. Remained firm. Felt sort of like letting Pat back in, but remembered last time. Never again.”

“Whoa,” said Sam. “Mysterious noodle incident stuff. What do you think it was?”

“Costume thing, maybe?” Chris replied. “Maybe a rhinestone triceratops jacket?”

“Now THAT would be a find,” Sam laughed. “Let’s hope Harvey confiscated it.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

“We will take you to The-really-surprisingly-safe-castle,” said Lord Mungus.

“Wait, what’s wrong with the castle?” Maiden Su’Gnoma said.

“Nothing wrong with it,” Mungus replied. “It’s really quite safe.”

“It’s just…” Su said. “The name The-really-surprisingly-safe-castle seems a little specific, like they’re trying to hide the fact that it’s not very safe.”

“Su, it is a very safe castle. Built on bedrock by Retsopmi the Mage and hand enchanted stone by stone with spells of protection and shielding.”

“Then why call it The-really-surprisingly-safe-castle?” Su said. “Why not ‘Fort Impregnible’ or something?”

“Because Retsopmi the Mage was really bad at naming things!” Mungus snapped. “He named his ultimate magic wand the Very-powerful-spell-stick! Now are we going to the castle or are we going to wait for another wave of abductor harpies?”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

“Oh great pizza sage,” Peter began. “I wish to order the perfect pizza for my gathering, one which will please everyone.”

The pizza sage, seated upon his great stone pie, replied without opening his eyes. “Order multiple pizzas, my son, one half-pizza for every guest who expresses a strong preference and an additional half-cheese as a contingency.”

“Uh, yeah, I don’t want to do that,” Peter said. “I want to order ONE pizza.”

“Describe to me your friends’ preferences, and I will tell you the perfect order,” the pizza sage said evenly, eyes still closed, with no sign that he was upset after Peter rejected his firest suggestion.

“Okay, so I like classic pepperoni and cheese, but Tandi is a vegetarian, Cooper is a vegan, Alf is a pescatarian, and his girlfriend Britney is a Republican who refuses to eat vegetables or cheese substitutes.”

“Holy shit, boy,” the pizza sage said, evenly, eyes closed. “There is no pizza that has ever existed or will ever exist that can fulfill those criteria. You need to go to a taco bar or something.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

The rub is that no one either inside the village or out thought to question why O’Doul persisted in carrying a rotten and inedible potato. They each assumed, wrongly, that it was a simple meal that had spoiled and just another sign of his sad fall from grace since the accusations.

What no one understood or heeded was that O’Doul was a man both brilliant and utterly vengeful. In seeing the response of his town, his home, to the accusations, he had broken. He had vowed that, if the town would not warm him with friendship and brotherhood, it would warm him as it burned to the ground.

Not literally of course. He couldn’t afford, in his destitute state, the fuel required for a good arson, and it would be traceable. Instead, he had acquired a blighted potato from Kilkenny and carefully exposed it to the seed potato stores that the town kept. Up to that point the blight had largely spared them, but the subsequent crop failed utterly, as did the next. O’Doul’s revenge—which could not be traced back to him, at least not in an official capacity—was so complete that within five years the town was barely a village, having been so denuded of people that abandoned buildings and roaming livestock outnumbered the living.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

“I have figured out,” Jerd proclaimed, “how to make waffles.”

“Oh, please, share with us,” said Nacluv. “Considering you’re fed the same mush as the rest of us.”

“Happily,” Jerd said. “For the batter, simply grind up a Type 2 nutrient cake and mix with water. I’ve got the exact ratio written down here if you want to try it. That will approximate a true waffle batter.”

“Of course,” said Nacluv, eyes rolling.

“Then, a pair of standard metal boot treads, fresh from the sterilizer,” Jerd continued. “They can go right back in afterwards, too, making cleanup a breeze.”

“And to cook it?” Kowe said, smirking.

“Put the unit in a plasma conduit during a purge cycle. Clean, even heating means a perfect waffle. You can even use this schedule that I made up to determine the proper purge cycle for the waffle consistency you like. I prefer crispy, so I use Cycle 8.”

“Most important question, now,” said Kowe. “What about syrup?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part,” said Jerd. “There is a small amount of sugar syrup in Extract 32a. Just keep boiling it and you’ll eventually get a very viable syrup equivalent.”

“Sounds like you have it all figured out then,” Nacluv said. “Congratulations.”

“Not quite,” sighed Jerd. “I still need to find a good plate, fork, and knife. Those latter two are super-contraband.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

Katsuhiro Sato, the famed mangaka and creator of the “Multipage Multiverse” quadrilogy, left specific instructions that his personal effects and spaces were not to be disturbed after his death. Therefore, after his untimely passing in a car accident, his family did not disturb his suite of rooms in the family home for 8 years. Eventually, though, in search of items for a charity auction, his daughter Miyoko attempted to put her father’s items in order. A locksmith was retained, as virtually all of Sato’s furniture had been fitted with locks, and eventually they all had to be drilled out.

Inside, they found none of the sketches or foul papers that they had expected. Those, it seems, had all been sent to Sato’s archive or destroyed, going by the number of paper scraps found in his fireplace. Nor was there any correspondence, as Sato had switched entirely to email in his later years.

Instead, each drawer that was drilled out and opened was found to contain…fish. A variety of fish, from tilapia to goldfish to trout, and all of them real. They had been carefully prepared using a variety of taxidermy methods to remain stable, and it seemed like Sato had experimented with a number of processes before deciding on a combination of flash mummification and lucite coating. A number of receipts were found for the purchase of fish and their subsequent treatment by a concern on Hokkaido, but the company could provide no clues as to the purpose of the fish. Sato had been polite but terse with them, paying generous bonuses but inviting no questions.

Ultimately, Miyoko donated the fish to the Emperor Emeritus Wing of the Ichthyological Institute, where they remain as the Katsuhiro Sato Collection. One fish was eventually auctioned for charity, and admirers began leaving fish on Sato’s grave as a sign of respect for what was clearly a very important, if private, pursuit for him.

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!

“For decades, stamp collecting was THE big hobby. Ever since the King of England started doing it, and you know how people get about royal trends.”

“But no one does it anymore.”

“Right. People realized that you can just buy stamps, and collecting is too easy and pointless. So as old people died, their stamp collections were worthless and got thrown out. As such things do, like sought out like as it drifted into the cosmic sargasso sea, and we wind up with the Swamp of Stamps, a vile place filled with pulp, glue, saliva, and shattered dreams.”

“I’ll say. The stench of glue and spit is…pretty overwhelming.”

“But if you want the proper stamp to use to send your transdimensional letter—and more importantly, you want it for free—this is THE place to look.”

• Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!