Faces on a Plane

She looked at me over the back of the airplane seat, her eyes weighing me with all the wisdom of her seven years. I made a face. Those eyes widened and the girl disappeared, only to reappear a moment later and smile when I made a new face. It became a game. Whenever she popped her head back over the chair to look at my next face or show me one of hers. I switched to scary faces. First she pretended to be scared, then she mimicked me. She started simple, but her scary faces soon became sophisticated, even expert.

When it was time to put up seats and trays, I'd just delivered a real fright, something I'd learned after an errant football displaced my jaw. I could tell she was impressed. She looked sidelong at her parents, then gave me the face.

It was all I could do not to scream. I don't remember clearly, but I think I managed to wave goodbye. It was all I could do to wave goodbye.

I was the last to disembark. I needed to know I wouldn't see her — see that — again. Except I do, every night in my dreams.

Catch Him by Midnight

Ansgar dodged between two adults, ignoring their curses. He ducked behind a pile of hard-framed luggage stacked by a cabin. In the cabin, a man narrowed his eyes at the boy. Ansgar grinned and ran off. A moment later, a red-haired girl of the same age ran past, laughing. Turning a corner, Ansgar threw open the door into the aft dining room. Instead of going through, he ran halfway down the stairs to the cargo hold. He stifled giggles as Eilish neared, then chased after his false trail. With a wide grin, he ran down into the hold and hid behind a crate. He hoped she'd pick up his trail soon. It was cold with the cargo, and running was warmer than hiding. Not that he'd let her get too close. If she didn't catch him by midnight, in twenty minutes, he'd win a kiss. He wanted to win, and he suspected that Eilish wanted him to win, too.

He heard a rumble from somewhere else on the ship, then the floor shook him to the ground. Ansgar climbed back to his feet and resumed waiting. He was looking forward to what came next. Another fascinating evening on the Titanic.

Through the Sluggish Traffic

"C'mon man, hurry!" Jaxon crossed the busy city street through molasses-quick rush-hour traffic. Jason hefted the heavy bag of recording gear and followed. They'd needed months to put it together: scrounging money to buy or rent equipment, wheedling friends and teachers to borrow anything that was available, and skipping school. They'd get in trouble, sure, but they'd be legends. It was the chance of a lifetime. At least the chance of high school. Same thing.

Jason weaved through the sluggish traffic. He was halfway across when a honk and the shriek of metal on asphalt turned him around. A motorcycle squeezing between the cars had flipped somehow. The rider wasn't moving. Jaxon yelled at him to come on. Someone in a Lexus yelled for someone to pull the bike and biker to the curb so he could get to work.

Jason had taken first response classes. He knew what a bad idea that was. He knew the ambulance would take forever in this traffic, the police would demand paperwork, and he would never have another chance to shoot this video.

Ignoring Jaxon's yells, Jason knelt by the rider and pulled out his phone. "Help is on the way," he said.

The First Tooth

"What does the Tooth Fairy do with the teeth?" Ollie peered into his older brother's mouth, now less one front tooth. "She makes a throne," Harry said. "The first tooth from every kid goes into the throne, and sitting on it gives her power."

"What power?" Ollie's eyes were wide.

"Flying and invisibility. Also, she can turn other teeth into smaller fairy soldiers, but not the ones in the throne." Harry dragged a stool into the kitchen.

"Why not those teeth?"

"Because they're the ones that give her power. Duh." Harry stepped up and rummaged through a drawer.

"Oh." Ollie looked down. He might have been contemplating the statement, teeth, or marshmallows. It was anyone's guess.

"Ollie."

He looked up. "What?"

"We need to get some of that power back from the Tooth Fairy."

"How?"

"We build our own throne. We just need some first lost teeth."

Ollie's eyes lit up with thought. "Where do we get some?"

"I'd use my first lost tooth, but she already has it. But you haven't lost any teeth yet." Harry lifted the pliers. Ollie screamed. A moment later, I was there.

And that's how I stopped telling kids the Tooth Fairy was real.

Thirty-two Days

"My name is Grundlesmasher, and I'm a monster." She loomed over the podium, at least twice the height of a human, as the group chorused "Hello, Grundlesmasher." "It's been thirty-two days since I rent anyone." The assorted monsters applauded, and she described her struggle. When she finished, they applauded again as she returned to her heavily-reinforced seat. Illyria the succubus stood. "Thank you, Grundlesmasher. Who wants to go next? Carl?" The vampire demurred. "Medina?" The medusa shook her head. "How about our new member?"

A thin, pale man walked to the podium. "My name is Vernon, and I'm a monster."

"Are you sure?" someone called.

"Please, Dargoth the Abomination," Illyria said. "We accept everyone here."

"It's been zero days since my last murder." Vernon grinned. "I've killed indiscriminately, and set traps for people who come to help."

"You live on their blood?" Carl asked.

"Uh, no." The group murmured. "What? You're all like me."

"We're not like you," Medina hissed. "We have natural urges!"

"So do I!"

"But you're not fighting them," Illyria said.

"So? You call yourselves monsters. You're nothing. Just—" Grundlesmasher ripped him in two barehanded. She looked abashed.

"Sorry," she said. "Should I go again?"

They applauded.

When I'm Not Here

"Whose is this?" Alicia held up a gauzy, lilac blouse by the scruff like it was a misbehaving kitten. Germaine took a bite of his granola bar and wrinkled his nose. "'Snot yours?"

"No, it's not mine. Does this look like it fits me?" She held it out by the shoulders to show how it couldn't possibly. Alicia glared. "So where'd it come from?"

"One of your friends, probably?" He took another bite of granola.

"You think my friends are leaving their clothes behind our bed?" Her voice crescendoed.

"I don't know what you do with your friends when I'm not here." He grinned. Her mouth opened in disbelief, and she threw the blouse in his face. When he pulled it away, she was storming off. "Babe, I'm not cheating on you! Honest!" But the door slammed and she was gone.

###

Germaine stopped at Bonita's desk. "Thanks for the shirt."

She took it and looked at his face. "I take it she didn't leave you?" He shook his head. "It's just a matter of time, then the apartment's all yours." She quirked an eyebrow until he slapped a wad of twenties on her desk. She smiled. "Let's talk makeup stains."

Some Great Gift

She looked out over the pit. It seemed to go down forever, girdled by a stairwell four broad men wide, and even so the stairs were miniscule to the eye even a third of the way around the circle of the pit. The sword was cold in her hand. It wasn't pretty, the edge nicked in a hundred places and the flat gouged with scratches. Grip tight, she looked up. Below her, oil lanterns lit the stairs, a futile effort to light the pit's vast, empty darkness. Above, that light shone dully off the latticework gate that kept them all safe from the monsters above.

Up there, her father had died, and one of his partners had brought back his sword. As if it were some great gift and not a reminder of what the man had preferred over raising his daughter. And that he expected her to follow his footsteps up those unlit steps into ancient tombs and reanimated horrors.

She watched the sword tumble down into the pit. It vanished in moments, but she could feel it falling away from her, like chains. She would live her life, not her father's. The lights of the stairwell warmed her.