The time is 12:40am December 21st.

“I wish Gabs was here,” Juliette sniffled.

“We all do luv.” Jen pulled her eldest closer, Dave in turn gripping his wife’s shoulder in support.

They hadn’t used the car, it wasn’t worth the hassle, and the memorial after all was less than a kilometre from Bond Acres, near the junction with the main valley road. They weren’t the only ones headed there, the events of that night nearly a year ago affected a lot of folk in Dernau and round about, the memorial being unveiled today a physical reminder of that. So it was that they joined the subdued procession of townsfolk heading to the ceremony.

 
 
"Well girl, they'll be here any minute," I said to my cat Cleopatra, who sat lazily between presents under my modest tree.

I walked into the kitchen, checked the oven.

While waiting for the annual visit from Santa, Anya witnesses a near-accident with the old man and his sleigh. Only quick magic can prevent a disaster — but with what consequences?

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Special Dedication:
Grandmother and I would like to thank Elrod for his efforts at bringing our stories to life. We've used a bit of magic to help inspire his tales of our special park and people. We know things haven't gone well for him this past year. Perhaps a bit of Christmas magic will help restore his happy spirits and free his wonderful creative imagination to continue writing (and hopefully more of our tales!)

Merry Christmas to all!

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Note from Elrod: One morning near Christmas, years ago, I found this story on my computer. I claimed to the group that I didn't remember writing it - naturally, no-one believed me. Was it Anya and Grandmother channeling their magic through my computer, or through sleep-writing, as a gift to me and the group? All I know is that I believe in Christmas magic, then and now. Merry Christmas, Happy Hannakuh, and Seasons Greetings!

Ellen always told me that I needed to manage my temper. Oh how I wish I had learned to listen to her.

Beth was confused, hurt, and somewhat angry at her mother's strange remark. She did not have very long to ponder what it could possibly mean as the priest walked in starting the long funeral. Beth had an excellent view of her Grandmothers coffin. It was a symbol really since her grandmothers ashes were inside and a picture of her when she was much younger was on display over the coffin.

Dottie’s bad day - A Jaci and Dottie story

This is the first TG story I ever wrote, back in the 80's and originally posted it to a BBS called Feminet. It's apparently been floating around the web for some time and it was suggested I post it here. -- Ed

Synopsis: A man struggling to pay child support goes to Bikini Beach with a friend to cheer him up. That night, while out partying, he ends up in an amateur strip contest, and after winning, wonders if there's a way to use Bikini Beach's magic to catch up on his child support.

(This is a repost of a story that was earlier posted to Fictionmania.)

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My name is Vincent J Wiggs. I know it sounds corny for a last name but that is really what it is or was. That's gonna take me a bit to explain. Alrighty then, first off I come from a family of witches. Magic really does exist and I have known about it all my life. There is a problem with that though. Magic comes at a price it is not free.

Antepenultimate

This is Part 2. Read 'Preantepenultimate' first.

The last thing I remember was walking into my cheap apartment after a rowdy night with the guys. This is pretty much the same as every other night when one goes to a university in which your parents are paving the way for you. I was to graduate from university in another month or two. My grades were all top scores, which is kinda hard to not get when your two apartment mates have been various tutors in the subjects you were taking. My only escape from the horrid life dictated by my parents before I was even out of the crib was partying.

A warning this one is a little dark.

Jennifer (Jenny to friends)Wauwatosa, nobody could ever pronounce it correctly which is why the girls commonly referred to her as Ms. W or Ms. Wawa it was just easier, was walking down the school hallway on her way to the staff room for a much needed cigerette when she passed by the door to the girls washroom. She later couldn't say what it was that alerted her but she sidestepped to the door and opened it onto a scene of chaos.

He snuck in the door just before the bell rang. He knew everyone was looking at him, but he just headed for his seat. He was about to sit down when the Voice of Doom came from the front of the room.

"George Watson, come here at once!" Sister Maria's voice wasn't loud, but it carried.

Reluctantly, he walked to the front of the classroom and stood there as she looked him over. Sweater, blouse, skirt, knee socks and Mary Janes. His hair in a high ponytail, and the light makeup on his face. His school pack still hung from one shoulder as he'd not had time to set it down at his desk.

"We can't have this. Report to the principal." With that Sister Maria scribbled a note, folded it and handed it to him.

He could feel everyone's eyes on him as he walked to the door of the classroom and headed for the office.

Having gotten some nice comments -- and thank you those who did comment -- on my Arabian Nights tale, "Rebel Chieftain", I decided to post a tale of another knight, Sir Ansolm, this time, as told by a medieval jongleur (jester).

A quick caution: this story contains an "on-camera" rape.

Its been 5 years since I left my family. It seems so much longer to me though. But that was the only way I could survive. It all started before I was born, actually even further than that if I understand the family history. It started with a feud over a stupid pig. A pig have made its way over the fence of some family yard into a neighbors yard and ate their turnip patch.

Burger Queen.

by

Angharad