Free Short Story - changed every season (solstice and equinox) - Thanks for your interest!
I’d intended to post one of my stories from Somewhere South of Cinquo (“Pearl”, which involves Winter Solstice and Christmas), but last week I saw a license plate that said “Mae”. A prompt from the universe ;-D So here’s the rest of Mae’s story - a bit late because I had to write it, LOL. Happy New Year!
Early Christmas Morning on False Key
by
Kathleen Spalding
Wrapped in wonder and a warm blanket, Mae gently pressed her foot against Father Mulkay’s porch floor and took comfort in the chair’s soft motion. Rocking chairs -- one more new experience packed into this Christmas Eve night. She’d asked to sit outside and enjoy the stars with her temporarily human eyes, but found it impossible to look away from the three swaddled infants sleeping contentedly in her arms.
Father Mulkay left his congregation of shape shifters singing “Silent Night” on the lawn and climbed the porch steps. “Well, this is a Christmas Eve service I’ll never forget. How are our little miracles?”
Doc Pritchard answered, “Strong and healthy. I wasn’t needed, but I’m glad I’m here.”
From a chair beside Mae, Gladys said, “I’m glad you were here, too, Doc. Always good to have a second opinion.”
So human. Mae inhaled deeply, studying her newborns’ faces, committing their tiny features and smells to memory. “If I take them back to the ocean, they’ll become octopi like me.” Mae knew she was repeating herself. She didn’t care.
Gladys, the manta ray shifter who’d helped her through tonight’s surprise birth and everything that followed, answered with a calm and patient voice. “That’s what usually happens. If you take your babies with you, they’ll be like you.”
May drew in another ragged breath. “They’ll live in the ocean and die in a year or less, after they mate.” Just like she’d been about to, but instead of laying eggs in her underwater lair and guarding them until she starved to death, she’d given birth while in human form on the shores of False Key.
“That’s right, honey,” Gladys said softly. She cleared her throat. “If you leave ‘em on land, they’ll be mostly human, like they are now. If you take ‘em with you, they’ll be octopuses like you, able to shift when the veil between worlds thins. Or they might turn out like me, shifting when they want and living where they please. It’s rare, but anything’s possible.”
Or they might get eaten as soon as they enter the water. That was quite possible, too. Her babies could live for many, many years as humans on land, but the thought of leaving them threatened to crush her. But if I don’t mate again, I won’t die. Then I could shift during FantaSea Fest and next Christmas Eve. “If I come back to False Key, will I see them again?”
“We’ll make sure to place them with a family who’ll agree to that,” Father Mulkay assured her. “And the church will provide for their education.”
Mae reached out a finger to stroke soft, tiny cheeks. Tears streamed down her face. Shadows cast by the porch light faded. She looked up and watched the last stars disappear in dawn’s early glow. The finger tracing the lines of her babies’ cheeks transformed into the tip of a tentacle. She was shifting back. She couldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried. “But will you love them? Will they know I love them? That I was ready to die for them?” She shuddered as her body shrank.
“Yes, but please come back when the veil thins, and tell them yourself,” Gladys whispered. Gladys, Father Mulkay, and Doc Pritchard each caught an infant as Mae slid off the chair and down the steps. Silently, they watched her crawl across the lawn and then the beach before she disappeared into dark waves tipped with the burning gold of a new Christmas morning.
The End
Previously (from last year’s False Key Christmas Eve story, in case you want it for reference):
Christmas Eve on False Key (2018)
by
Kathleen Spalding
Seeing the depression beneath a staghorn coral, Amph swam up so slowly, he barely flexed his tail. Perhaps Mae would be asleep. She’d been working hard on her lair, getting it ready for her eggs. The young clownfish pushed the thought away, knowing Mae would never leave her eggs once they were laid, not to play, not even to find food. It was the octopus way.
A tentacle grabbed his tail. Orange and white scales flashed as Amph flailed in the shallow water.
“Gotcha!”
“Mae!” The juvenile clownfish relaxed. “I thought you’d be inside.”
“Thought I’d catch a quick snack.” Mae chuckled. “Don’t worry, I don’t mean you.”
“Good. Are you coming to False Key tonight?” Amph squeaked.
Mae released him. “Yes. I’d love to see all those stars and listen to the merpeople’s carols, and get Father Mulkay’s blessing, too.”
Amph swallowed hard, remembering someone in a similar situation saying last rites instead of blessing.
***
Breaking waves roared against the shoreline, and Amph’s father shouted, “Remember to be careful. You won’t float on land; if you lose your balance, you’ll fall.”
“Okay, Dad.” Amph had observed many objects drift to the ocean floor, and couldn’t imagine why falling was dangerous.
Then a wave slammed him into the rough sand. He tumbled. And TUMBLED! He was growing somehow, stretching and reaching with elongated fins for anything solid. And then he was there, sitting on the sand in the tropical moonlight with sea-foam all about, watching other sea-creatures transform before his eyes, their bodies growing or shrinking to become humanish air-breathers.
For a moment, Amph panicked when air, not water, filled his lungs. Then he took another breath, and another, tasting familiar salt in the air. A breeze tickled his orange and white skin, summoning goosebumps, while sea-foam bubbles popped on the sand around him. He experimented, opening and closing his mouth, and popped back.
“Amph! What do you think?”
He turned toward the feminine voice. “Mae?”
“One and the same.” She grinned. She had teeth!
Amph reached an appendage to his own mouth and felt the hardness beneath his lips. Then he stared at his appendages and wiggled the thin bits at their ends. “Look, Mae. Tentacles!”
Mae laughed and held out her hand. “Those are fingers. C’mon. Mass is first, then the picnic, then we can play.” Her eyes were close together in a small head that moved on top of a short, slender stalk. Beneath that, her body was round and taught.
Standing, Amph came up to Mae’s shoulder. Her hand was warm and strong in his. They wobbled up the beach to stacks of towels and clothes, giggling as they adjusted to gravity’s new strength, mesmerized by a bright, man-made star perched over an open structure of wood and palm fronds.
***
The story of Christ’s birth, which Father Mulkay had read eloquently, was the topic of conversation at the picnic.
“Virgin birth? Only having one kid is the miracle,” a cuttlefish shape-shifter joked.
Amph and Mae raced by with the other kids, ignoring both conversation and feast. Acclimated to moving on land, they played tag in the moonlit churchyard.
Amph dodged “it”, but switched direction too fast. He slid, fell, and felt a sharp pain in his elbow. Warm blood trickled down his arm. As one, predator shifters turned their flat eyes toward him. A thought clanged in his mind and he froze. I AM the feast. I AM the feast!
A woman wearing a flowing cape lumbered toward Amph and dug through her bag. “Don’t you worry, this happens every year. I’ve got some bandages... Hmm, now let me see that elbow. Yup. That’s a good one.” She squirted some liquid onto Amph’s scrape and taped soft gauze over it. The crowd exhaled, and drifted back to their conversations.
“Oh!” Mae said, clutching her bulging belly. “Oh!” Her eyes widened.
“Oh my goodness!” The woman whipped her cape off and laid it under Mae’s feet. “Here, lay down.”
A small, wriggling bundle dropped from Mae’s body as she bent down, and then another, and another!
“Oh my lord, look at these babies!” The woman crooned at the three newborns squirming on her cloak.
Mae got on her hands and knees to gaze at them. A tear gleamed on her cheek. “I got to see you,” she whispered. Then she frowned. “They don’t look like they can take care of themselves. I’ll die now. What'll happen to them?”
The older woman cleared her throat. “These are False Key babies. Get ‘em back to water, they’ll be your kind. Leave ‘em here, they’ll be most like humans, but you ain’t gonna die, honey. You were in human form when you gave birth, and I don’t think you’ll lay eggs when you get back to the ocean.”
Mae looked at Amph and Amph looked back at her in wonder, and in utter, selfish delight. Mae wouldn't die, as her kind always did after guarding their eggs until they hatched. His friend would live!
The End
Early Christmas Morning on False Key
by
Kathleen Spalding
Wrapped in wonder and a warm blanket, Mae gently pressed her foot against Father Mulkay’s porch floor and took comfort in the chair’s soft motion. Rocking chairs -- one more new experience packed into this Christmas Eve night. She’d asked to sit outside and enjoy the stars with her temporarily human eyes, but found it impossible to look away from the three swaddled infants sleeping contentedly in her arms.
Father Mulkay left his congregation of shape shifters singing “Silent Night” on the lawn and climbed the porch steps. “Well, this is a Christmas Eve service I’ll never forget. How are our little miracles?”
Doc Pritchard answered, “Strong and healthy. I wasn’t needed, but I’m glad I’m here.”
From a chair beside Mae, Gladys said, “I’m glad you were here, too, Doc. Always good to have a second opinion.”
So human. Mae inhaled deeply, studying her newborns’ faces, committing their tiny features and smells to memory. “If I take them back to the ocean, they’ll become octopi like me.” Mae knew she was repeating herself. She didn’t care.
Gladys, the manta ray shifter who’d helped her through tonight’s surprise birth and everything that followed, answered with a calm and patient voice. “That’s what usually happens. If you take your babies with you, they’ll be like you.”
May drew in another ragged breath. “They’ll live in the ocean and die in a year or less, after they mate.” Just like she’d been about to, but instead of laying eggs in her underwater lair and guarding them until she starved to death, she’d given birth while in human form on the shores of False Key.
“That’s right, honey,” Gladys said softly. She cleared her throat. “If you leave ‘em on land, they’ll be mostly human, like they are now. If you take ‘em with you, they’ll be octopuses like you, able to shift when the veil between worlds thins. Or they might turn out like me, shifting when they want and living where they please. It’s rare, but anything’s possible.”
Or they might get eaten as soon as they enter the water. That was quite possible, too. Her babies could live for many, many years as humans on land, but the thought of leaving them threatened to crush her. But if I don’t mate again, I won’t die. Then I could shift during FantaSea Fest and next Christmas Eve. “If I come back to False Key, will I see them again?”
“We’ll make sure to place them with a family who’ll agree to that,” Father Mulkay assured her. “And the church will provide for their education.”
Mae reached out a finger to stroke soft, tiny cheeks. Tears streamed down her face. Shadows cast by the porch light faded. She looked up and watched the last stars disappear in dawn’s early glow. The finger tracing the lines of her babies’ cheeks transformed into the tip of a tentacle. She was shifting back. She couldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried. “But will you love them? Will they know I love them? That I was ready to die for them?” She shuddered as her body shrank.
“Yes, but please come back when the veil thins, and tell them yourself,” Gladys whispered. Gladys, Father Mulkay, and Doc Pritchard each caught an infant as Mae slid off the chair and down the steps. Silently, they watched her crawl across the lawn and then the beach before she disappeared into dark waves tipped with the burning gold of a new Christmas morning.
The End
Previously (from last year’s False Key Christmas Eve story, in case you want it for reference):
Christmas Eve on False Key (2018)
by
Kathleen Spalding
Seeing the depression beneath a staghorn coral, Amph swam up so slowly, he barely flexed his tail. Perhaps Mae would be asleep. She’d been working hard on her lair, getting it ready for her eggs. The young clownfish pushed the thought away, knowing Mae would never leave her eggs once they were laid, not to play, not even to find food. It was the octopus way.
A tentacle grabbed his tail. Orange and white scales flashed as Amph flailed in the shallow water.
“Gotcha!”
“Mae!” The juvenile clownfish relaxed. “I thought you’d be inside.”
“Thought I’d catch a quick snack.” Mae chuckled. “Don’t worry, I don’t mean you.”
“Good. Are you coming to False Key tonight?” Amph squeaked.
Mae released him. “Yes. I’d love to see all those stars and listen to the merpeople’s carols, and get Father Mulkay’s blessing, too.”
Amph swallowed hard, remembering someone in a similar situation saying last rites instead of blessing.
***
Breaking waves roared against the shoreline, and Amph’s father shouted, “Remember to be careful. You won’t float on land; if you lose your balance, you’ll fall.”
“Okay, Dad.” Amph had observed many objects drift to the ocean floor, and couldn’t imagine why falling was dangerous.
Then a wave slammed him into the rough sand. He tumbled. And TUMBLED! He was growing somehow, stretching and reaching with elongated fins for anything solid. And then he was there, sitting on the sand in the tropical moonlight with sea-foam all about, watching other sea-creatures transform before his eyes, their bodies growing or shrinking to become humanish air-breathers.
For a moment, Amph panicked when air, not water, filled his lungs. Then he took another breath, and another, tasting familiar salt in the air. A breeze tickled his orange and white skin, summoning goosebumps, while sea-foam bubbles popped on the sand around him. He experimented, opening and closing his mouth, and popped back.
“Amph! What do you think?”
He turned toward the feminine voice. “Mae?”
“One and the same.” She grinned. She had teeth!
Amph reached an appendage to his own mouth and felt the hardness beneath his lips. Then he stared at his appendages and wiggled the thin bits at their ends. “Look, Mae. Tentacles!”
Mae laughed and held out her hand. “Those are fingers. C’mon. Mass is first, then the picnic, then we can play.” Her eyes were close together in a small head that moved on top of a short, slender stalk. Beneath that, her body was round and taught.
Standing, Amph came up to Mae’s shoulder. Her hand was warm and strong in his. They wobbled up the beach to stacks of towels and clothes, giggling as they adjusted to gravity’s new strength, mesmerized by a bright, man-made star perched over an open structure of wood and palm fronds.
***
The story of Christ’s birth, which Father Mulkay had read eloquently, was the topic of conversation at the picnic.
“Virgin birth? Only having one kid is the miracle,” a cuttlefish shape-shifter joked.
Amph and Mae raced by with the other kids, ignoring both conversation and feast. Acclimated to moving on land, they played tag in the moonlit churchyard.
Amph dodged “it”, but switched direction too fast. He slid, fell, and felt a sharp pain in his elbow. Warm blood trickled down his arm. As one, predator shifters turned their flat eyes toward him. A thought clanged in his mind and he froze. I AM the feast. I AM the feast!
A woman wearing a flowing cape lumbered toward Amph and dug through her bag. “Don’t you worry, this happens every year. I’ve got some bandages... Hmm, now let me see that elbow. Yup. That’s a good one.” She squirted some liquid onto Amph’s scrape and taped soft gauze over it. The crowd exhaled, and drifted back to their conversations.
“Oh!” Mae said, clutching her bulging belly. “Oh!” Her eyes widened.
“Oh my goodness!” The woman whipped her cape off and laid it under Mae’s feet. “Here, lay down.”
A small, wriggling bundle dropped from Mae’s body as she bent down, and then another, and another!
“Oh my lord, look at these babies!” The woman crooned at the three newborns squirming on her cloak.
Mae got on her hands and knees to gaze at them. A tear gleamed on her cheek. “I got to see you,” she whispered. Then she frowned. “They don’t look like they can take care of themselves. I’ll die now. What'll happen to them?”
The older woman cleared her throat. “These are False Key babies. Get ‘em back to water, they’ll be your kind. Leave ‘em here, they’ll be most like humans, but you ain’t gonna die, honey. You were in human form when you gave birth, and I don’t think you’ll lay eggs when you get back to the ocean.”
Mae looked at Amph and Amph looked back at her in wonder, and in utter, selfish delight. Mae wouldn't die, as her kind always did after guarding their eggs until they hatched. His friend would live!
The End
