Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

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!

“Hello, Bronner’s Reality Glitch Repair, with 24-hour emergency service, this is Shelley speaking, how can I help?”

“Uh, hi, Shelley. I think I might have a reality glitch and the 911 dispatcher said to call you.”

“Okay, we will see what we can do. Can you describe the glitch in question?”

“Um, it’s my…couch. It’s hovering in midair, about three feet off the ground, I guess? It’s kind of crooked, I haven’t measured it.”

“All right, that sounds like it might be a Level 2 quantum gravity glitch, but I’m going to need some more information. Has the couch been altered in any other way?”

“Yeah, it’s…um…curly now.”

“Curly?”

“Yeah, like a dog of a person’s hair? It had kind of a bouclé or synthetic lambskin.”

“Oh dear. That is going to kick us right up to a level 6. Please keep your distance and stay on the line, I’m going to transfer you to our mobile unit.”

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

The no longer mild-mannered atomic physicist Bann Brucer, the Transcredible Bulk advanced angrily on Captain Numerica.

“ME…CRUSH…YOU!”

“Hadn’t you better flee?” said Captain Numerica’s partner Siren Woman.

“Hell no.” Captain Numerica, with the power of ALL numbers, walked over and pushed the Transcredible Bulk on the shoulder. The creature went down like a ninepin.

“Wha…?” Siren Woman said.

“The Transcredible Bulk’s size increased, but not its mass,” Captain Numerica said. “That would be a violation of the laws of physics. So even though it looks tough, it’s got the same mass as mild-mannered physicist Bann Brucer—that is to say, a real pushover!

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

Written by a court poet identified only as “The Gourmand” in the later Zwei dynasty, the Onion Cycle is a series of works perhaps best described as a short story cycle but more often characterized as a novel. Each new section of the work (variously glossed as a “chapter,” “book,” or “stanza”) contains an element of the previous work—a character, setting, or situation—but tells a largely independent story that nevertheless shines light on the previous part of the tale.

For instance, Stanza VII in the Earlham translation is the story of a thief, Lee, attempting to recover a valuable gold chain stolen from him by a rival. Stanza VIII is the story of the kingpin Poe and his struggles with running his criminal enterprise, but readers also learn that he stole the gold chain with the intent to bribe an official with it and pin the blame on Lee.

In this manner, the 108 surviving parts gradually move toward more and more important figures in society and themes. The final story, now lost but repeatedly reconstructed from context clues, reportedly featured the Emperor as its central character, in defiance of social and legal norms of the time.

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

An old proverb holds
Some noodles did fret
About who would go first
When they would be et

They wanted it so
Felt their destiny lay
In a hungry man’s mouth
Or so they say

The debate went on
Becoming quite uncouth
About who would go first
Past palate and tooth

In the end they decided
What they knew all along
One noodle leads
The others follow strong

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

“This is the letter I was telling you about, Postmaster.” Lila held out a letter with tongs in his direction. It was old-fashioned, seemed to be made of vellum and folded in on itself rather than in an envelope, and most importantly seemed to be dripping a reddish substance despite being sealed with actual sealing-wax.

“Mail cannon bleed,” Postmaster Chapman said. “It’s probably just water-soluble ink.”

“Small creatures keep being drawn to the bl—the liquid,” Lila said. “Cockroaches, spiders, even that one rat Smith has been trying to catch. They just come out and lap it up. I think we should call someone.”

“Call who? The hospital, to test it for bloodiness? No, put a ‘return to sender’ on it and be done with it.”

“And…keep it here? Overnight?” Lila said, nervously.

“We’re the post office, Lila. We handled that pallet of manure someone tried to ship to the governor. We can handle one letter. And mail does not bleed.”

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

The first sighting of Jesus in Vitruvian County happened in 1848, during the Great Awakening, when an image of Christ reportedly appeared in a melting snowdrift outside of Mule Butte. Thousands made a pilgrimage before the effigy melted, though no photographs were taken due to the landowner’s insistence that it would be “unholy.” The second such sighting occurred in 2024, at Randall’s Bodega in Brass Hoop.

A patron found a “mangled” bag of Doritos on a store shelf there, likely the result of a factory error, and convinced Randall to let them have it for half price. Inside, though, they found a malformed Dorito with what the anonymous customer asserted was a perfect and diving image of Jesus in the medium of corn and nacho powder. A video and stills of the incident soon went viral, and Randall immediately purchased the bag from the customer on the spot for $100 plus a second, pristine, bag of Doritos.

The fervor soon escalated as Randall put it on display in his bodega, using it to drive business while also listing it on eBay for $10,000. The situation soon became complicated, though, as Frito-Lay, the manufacturer, claimed that any such sale was a violation of their rights and that they could and would reclaim the chip by refunding its full purchase price of $1.75. A spokesperson said that the image “proves beyond a doubt that divine providence smiles upon Frito-Lay LLC GmbH and its affiliates and subsidiaries” with the chip slated for a “place of honor in the Frito-Lay Snack Museum.” A spokeperson for the state attorney general immediately countersued, claiming that a law from 1853 gave the state “right of first refusal to acquire any and all religious artifacts and icons;” claiming eminent domain, they attempted to seize the chip themselves.

Events culminated in a standoff between Randall and a private security firm he had hired, Frito-Lay lawyers and members of the same security firm that they had hired, and a detachment of state police. Through a chain of happenstance that is not entirely clear to this day, Randall’s Bodega was burned to the ground, three people died, and the chip was lost.

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

“Welcome to the SPOGGY NOODLE!” the waitstaff cried as Sir Bellamy walked in.

“Uh, hi,” said Bellamy. “Thanks. Never been to a Spoggy Noodle before. Uh, table for four.”

“It’s SPOGGY NOODLE,” a waiter said. “You have to say it in all caps. Seat yourself and someone will be right with you.”

“Ooookay,” Bellamy said. He took the corner booth, his full plate armor rattling, as Squigs the gobbling roguelet, Harrier the helf cantripist, and Grug the horc heavy metal bard filed into the booth, each taking a menu.

“So…is this a chain?” Bellamy said. “I feel like this is a taven chain, but I’ve never seen a SPOGGY NOODLE before.”

“They used to have a Sproggy Poodle in The Slouch,” said Squig. “But it was more of a dive bar.”

Harrier shrugged. “Lots of taverns want you to think they’re a chain. If they manifest it in their level of service, they think it’ll become real.”

“Grug?” said Bellamy, noticing the horc studying the menu carefully. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ll try the groi fas, whatever that is,” said Grug. “Never heard of any of the things they serve before. It’s like someone who once saw a picture of a fast food tavern trying to draw it from memory.”

Bellamy paused, thoughtful. “Hm.”

“Mimics?” Squig said.

“Yea, I’m thinking mimics,” sighed Harrier. “All right, get ready for the booth to try eating us. I’ll get a fireball ready.”

“Shame,” Grug said. “I was looking forward to a meal where we weren’t on the menu.”

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

We pumped the water underground
Sipped at oil with freckle spoons
Ignored the rumbling earthquake sounds
And called our bounty a boon
Frackle spoon in other hands
Now we watch the planet roil
Fragmenting precedented times
Pumping storms instead of oil

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