Tales

“The logistical problem with Places of Power has nothing to do with their supernatural propensities… it’s the tourists. You see, Places of Power — where the invisible streams of magic flow into our world — are often located at scenes of profound natural beauty: ancient trees, timeworn hollers, peculiarly-shaped rock piles,

It’s been a long drive. A drink sounds pretty good. You eye the eclectic assortment of tap handles. You imagine yourself a connoisseur, so you always look to try something local wherever you go.

The small town of Harvest, Okla. is abuzz with arguments and assertions about the nature of a strange power pole that has appeared downtown. We’ve likely already offended half our readership by claiming the pole appeared rather than having already existed, but we stand by our impeccable investigative journalism.

Trouble treads carefully. They know what will happen if the other Reapers catch them here. There’s too much at stake, they think to themself. I have to keep the dream alive. The risk is worth it. Crawling to the top of a shallow rise, Trouble looks over the swaying

Sergey stares unblinking at the ghostly figure hovering outside the spaceship’s porthole. A frustrated expression creases the woman’s translucent face. She gestures again: pick up. For some unknowable reason, Sergey’s thoughts drift into the past, to a time before he set sail — he sees a child, wise

Sergey awakens in a strange place. Conflicting smells of smoke and petrichor saturate his nostrils. He looks up at a giant spire, the creation of some ancient civilization. Beside him drifts the ghostly woman he saw in The Void. Are you okay? She seems to say, without speaking. Sergey merely

“I’ll do better in the morning.” The mantra sounds out over and over, simple and harmless, yet with the undercurrent of a desperate wish. Sergey stares, unblinking, at the white-slick pristine ceiling. Mornings mean little in this place. It’s been three hundred eighty-five standard days in The Void.

Caliban backs away into the twisted facsimile of Greenwich Village, losing sight of whatever creature is pretending to be Antwohnette. “Why are you trying to abandon me, Caliban?” A voice behind him asks. Caliban slowly turns around. Standing in the middle of the street, one arm crossed to hold her

Antwohnette… the name sounds so familiar, like the memory of dream you can’t remember. The young woman’s extended hand emerges from shadow, a harsh line of darkness slicing across her wrist. “Caliban, come. We’re looking for a new home. I think we may have found it.” Home.

Caliban slinks through nighttime city streets — a warped facsimile of Greenwich Village. He stands a full story high, only remaining concealed due to his black fur which seems to absorb any light that touches his frame. How did he get here? Was he supposed to be this large? Wasn’t

We now turn our attention to western Oklahoma, to the small town of Harvest. Something catches my senses… a storm is rolling in. An intruder approaches. Something important is about to happen. Let’s hold here for a moment and see what transpires… We are thrilled to officially announce The

The setting sun glints through the windows of the Dino Station. The door opens. A rush of sound and air sweeps in — behind the counter, Claire Crowley senses a coming storm. Harvey Jones, a regular, stands slack-jawed in front of her. Something had happened. Something was wrong.

No one knows from whence this baleful being came, nor what his true name might be. What we do know is this “man” travels with sinister intent. Eye-witnesses have described him as “sharply-dressed” in a three-piece suit, his barren skull often adorned with a porkpie hat. Facts about the creature

Deep in the hollows, Arka goes deeper. From the looks of everything, she suspects no Stone Dweller has walked these paths since the time of her ancient ancestors. At first, it’s nothing but a faint breeze. As Arka steps to the mouth of a pitch-black cave, the breeze becomes