Posts Tagged ‘child protagonist’

spooky image of warped silhouetted hands

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Cast of Wonders 662: It Grows Back

Show Notes

Artwork adapted from an image by Nick Magwood from Pixabay


It Grows Back

by Grant Collier

When Billy was four, a tall construction man’s arm broke beside the street. Billy was dog-walking with Mom, and the tall man was there, and the big block of cinder—it fell with a cronk, thudding onto the man’s arm, which was too-tall now, and pulsing, with an extra elbow that went the wrong way. The man screamed, and Billy screamed back—their voices touched, and that turned Billy’s arm to jelly, too, and made the butterflies inside him try to lick their way out with their little mouths. He looked away, but the tall man with the too-tall arm was still in his thoughts, and he couldn’t get him out.

It happened for years, mostly when Billy slept. There were long, dark hallways, and the too-tall arm man would be there, and he would shuffle at Billy. Not quickly: he knew Billy couldn’t get away. The hallways were too crooked (like an arm), and they never bent the way Billy expected. The man just shuffled slowly, until Billy turned a corner, and he was out of sight, and then he would scramble fast to get close, and coming around the corner he would have even more arms, with even more bends where there should be none. (Continue Reading…)

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Cast of Wonders 626: Bokrug and the Boy (Staff Picks 2024)


Bokrug and the Boy

by Liam Hogan

“You know we don’t care?”

“Yes. You’ve said.”

It wasn’t much of a beach. Estuary mud, littered with debris from both river and sea. A hulking, concrete sewage outlet, that only discharged at the minimum recommended distance from land when measured at high tide. Betwixt and between, neither ocean nor shore, even the seabirds avoided the area, as Samuel Pelsey trudged through the boot-sucking sludge, half-heartedly poking a stick.

No more than a giant step behind, the Great Old One lurked. Against the grey sky, reflected by the grey sea (or was it the other way around?), foregrounded by grey mud. The eldritch horror’s powerful limbs and webbed feet were better suited to the conditions than an eight-year-old’s short legs and hand-me-down, but still-oversized wellingtons, one of which had long ago sprung a leak, the cracked and weathered seals not up to the pull of the thick mud, rank water oozing in with every second step and soaking his doubled up socks. His jeans were turning the same dismal grey, caked layers that would only flake off when next he went to put them on, there being little point in being washed until the “holiday” was over. (Continue Reading…)

sinfully delicious chocolate cake

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Cast of Wonders 609: Devil’s Food

Show Notes

Image by Dennis Wilkinson


Devil’s Food

by E. M. Dasche

Tristan was not what you might call a traditional evil sorcerer.

For one thing, he didn’t quite look the part. Most evil sorcerers do not wear Star Wars backpacks, or shoes that fasten with Velcro, or short-sleeved button-downs tucked into belted-up shorts.

For another, most evil sorcerers lived in exciting, exotic places. Brimstone castles with ghouls for guards. Ice palaces with magical moats. Underground crypts and catacombs crawling with spiders and slithering, slippery things. Most evil sorcerers do not live on cul-de-sacs, in the stumpy roots of suburbia, surrounded by kids on scooters and corgis on leashes and middle-aged men on put-puttering lawnmowers.

Lastly, and most importantly, most evil sorcerers could cast spells. Tristan could not. Not while anyone was watching, at least. (Continue Reading…)

image of a dark haired boy's head in profile, overlaid with flecks of mud

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Cast of Wonders 601: Bokrug and the Boy


Bokrug and the Boy

by Liam Hogan

“You know we don’t care?”

“Yes. You’ve said.”

It wasn’t much of a beach. Estuary mud, littered with debris from both river and sea. A hulking, concrete sewage outlet, that only discharged at the minimum recommended distance from land when measured at high tide. Betwixt and between, neither ocean nor shore, even the seabirds avoided the area, as Samuel Pelsey trudged through the boot-sucking sludge, half-heartedly poking a stick.

No more than a giant step behind, the Great Old One lurked. Against the grey sky, reflected by the grey sea (or was it the other way around?), foregrounded by grey mud. The eldritch horror’s powerful limbs and webbed feet were better suited to the conditions than an eight-year-old’s short legs and hand-me-down, but still-oversized wellingtons, one of which had long ago sprung a leak, the cracked and weathered seals not up to the pull of the thick mud, rank water oozing in with every second step and soaking his doubled up socks. His jeans were turning the same dismal grey, caked layers that would only flake off when next he went to put them on, there being little point in being washed until the “holiday” was over. (Continue Reading…)