Short tales from The Valley of the Trolls
Natalie was born in Enoch Bunch’s trailer bed, a-way pas’ midnight, under a rare third moon in chill October. Or maybe she was left there. Continue reading
Deep in The Wood
family
Giant Change
Hugo, as a young one, as seen by Kittelson
Hugo was unhappy. He’d been left in the tree swing too long. The swing, his favorite, hung from a branch of the biggest Douglas fir on Heffinger Mountain. A snack, a nap, a swing in the sack, and he’d be a happy boy all day. Continue reading
Free Woman
It shimmered in the oven: double the fruit, delicate lattice work across the top, pattern broken once by carefully cut leaves, light glaze over the whole thing. She smiled, satisfied. Continue reading
On Tap? Root Beer
It was a dark and stormy night, and the World War I Flying Ace, long since retired, having worked on his Great American Novel all morning and all afternoon, had finally reached the final page. Continue reading
Rites of Spring
Drizzling rain and snow for three days straight had left Sonja aching and weary to her bones, trying to keep the household on an even keel, and her own sanity mostly intact. Continue reading
Magic for Everyday
Source: Rawpixel LTD/Flickr
She picked at her cuticle, her nail scraping at the skin that had grown terribly hard and calloused, and now extended like a unicorn’s horn, on her middle, tallest finger. “That’s prophetic,” she thought wryly, giving the side-eye to her boyfriend. Continue reading
Mother Loaf
Well, at least he’s happy.
I wasn’t expecting a visit from my teenaged, road-working son, but here he is, leaning into a half-eaten, torn-into loaf of walnut-wheat bread, butter disappearing quickly. His bent arms are long enough to eclipse the entire side of my kitchen table, effectively blocking me out. Yes, of course I fed my kid. You always feed your kid. They never completely grow up, not in your eyes. Continue reading
Valley of the Trolls 