Stories from the countryside, presented by Derek Nacre.
A fast talking farmer tells Derek about his neighbour John's increasing collection of beehives, and what this collecting lead up to.
Stories from the countryside, presented by Derek Nacre.
A fast talking farmer tells Derek about his neighbour John's increasing collection of beehives, and what this collecting lead up to.
No, I won’t stop you, I couldn’t if I wanted to. I know how you Cryptid researchers work. You’ll just find a way around, you always do. Can’t see when a line of tape is for your own safety and not just there for shits and giggles.
Both of them jumped when a loud bang followed by a cheer came from the pub further down the street.
“A little early for a party,” Lewis commented as he craned his neck to get a better look outside. What he saw nearly had him drop Alice out of his arms. “Look at them!” When Adalynn joined him, her spatula clattered to the floor.
“Holy shit…” she whispered.
—
A short vaguely inspired by the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
Hidden between the cracks of our world, is a different world. A world protected by powerful wards and secrecy spells. A world of magic. But even more hidden, lurking in the shadows of the magical world, is the magical underground.
Uncaring of the laws of both the mundane and magical governments, people gather to sell illicit substances, trade knowledge of harmful magic, exchange exotic animals, and most importantly; to sell books on the cheap.
Somewhere, unbound by the laws of time and space, exists a wishing well. You probably haven’t heard of this well, but not because it’s a secret. It’s just that most people who encounter it aren’t around to tell the tale.
A story written far too late at night
Have you ever wondered how a fifty-foot Basilisk could decay until only its bones were left in less than five years? Not even a bit of skinning hanging off?
Well then, you're in the right place! Because I know who stole the meat!
Dear Apothecary,
A month ago my husband Augustine purchased a bag of mushroom seeds from your store. He was delighted at first, and the mushrooms grew fast and looked surprisingly nice, the latter of which I was most happy about.
Now, Augustine would write you himself, but he is currently weeping in his office. The mushrooms will not glow, he informs me.
Pig was Ana’s escape from her dreams. Flimsy and deflated, the stuffing compacted by years of squishes and hugs, pig was always there for her when she woke from those terrible nightmares. Where her dreams were filled with dread, flashes of pain, dizzying movements, pig was pure comfort. Always the same, reliable, in her control.