Feast of Shadows

by Ashley Kim

Ashley Kim is a champion for women, blending years of digital marketing experience with her passion for helping female business owners embrace their online presence and thrive. She’s also a fiction writer, crafting stories that celebrate resilience, humor, magic, and the emotional experiences that make up life. When she’s not working or writing, Ashley enjoys time with her family, her fluffy Doxiepoo, and cozy backyard fires, no matter the weather.

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It’s rude to bring a friend to dinner without telling the host. It’s even worse if they smell like a musty cellar and have maggots dropping out of their sleeves. 

I glance around the candle-lit table at my other dinner guests, taking a moment to freak out internally. What the hell went wrong with my Samhain “Silent Dinner” ritual? 

My eyes land on my mother. When living, her face held a perpetual scowl, but in death, her brow is smooth and her mouth is lifted in a gentle smile. She smells like lavender and her eyes are warm with peacefulness. 

All the work I put into hosting this dinner is worth seeing her smile, but I can’t help but feel like I did something wrong. Usually, with a Silent Dinner, you light candles and set extra plates of food at your table in honor of loved ones who have passed on. It’s a symbolic ritual that lasts through dinner and then you’re done. 

The problem is that mine is less symbolic and more real, as in …  they are actually here. In the flesh. Or some version of “flesh.” I gulp and shift my gaze over to my dad. Yikes. 

He’s missing an eyeball, leaving me with one cloudy eye to look at and one dark eye socket to avoid looking at. His face is in various stages of decay. I can see through the gaping, rotten holes in his cheeks to his blackened gums with missing teeth. He smells like an earthworm who just crawled out of the wet ground, and I almost shit my pants when he smiles at me. 

And this isn’t even the worst part. The worst part is the guest sitting next to him. I reluctantly look over at our dinner guest, while my parents’ proud faces are still turned towards me. His skin is gray, like a mole. He’s tall with lanky arms and legs. His clothes are loose fitting, which is unfortunate, because of the maggot problem.

“So, Mom and Dad,” I shift the conversation to my parents and try not to stare at Dad's empty eye socket. “What’s it been like for you after death? How are you doing?” I really want to ask why they are actually here and why Mom looks like an angel and Dad looks like a horror movie extra. And who the hell is this other guy? 

Mom puts her napkin in her lap with an elegance she's never possessed before. “Oh honey, it's been wonderful. Right, Roger?” 

Dad freezes, his hand an inch away from his mouth, realizing the attention is now on him.

“Dad! Were you going to eat those?!” The squirming maggots in his hand slide off, their bodies plopping onto the table. 

“Darling, things are different now.” 

This is too much.  

“And who's your guest?” Maggots fall out of the guest's mouth now as he grins wide at me. His steak tartare is covered in white squirming bodies. 

“Who, honey? It's just your father and I.” Mom looks like she's about to put her hand over mine, but the Earth rumbles, wobbling our chairs, and she grabs onto the table instead. The candles blow out. 

Except one.  

The one candle left highlights the gaunt features on the stranger’s face. His eyes are bottomless pits of despair pulling me into a thick sea of freezing cold hopelessness. Pain settles across my shoulders as anguish fills my body. 

Using every ounce of strength I possess, I pull my gaze from him to glance at my parents. 

They’re gone. 

What the hell? 

“Who are you?” My voice shakes and my hands tremble. Maggots and worms now cover the entire dining room table, some dropping to the floor. Each breath I suck in tastes like I’m being buried alive.

My heart drops to my feet and my throat swells shut as he leans forward, his unruly midnight hair catching fire from the candle flame. I can’t breathe. I keep my eyes locked on his. His hair glows from the orange flame creeping across his scalp.

“My name is Trials and Tribulations.” His voice sounds like gravel under tires. “But to answer your question, I am you.” 

Panic squeezes my lungs. 

“You came to Earth wanting to overcome trials, learn how to be strong in the face of tribulations, and face your fears. I’m the obstacles, the tribulations, and the fears.” His hand snakes out to grip my wrist. “You want to be strong and survive anything. Well, I’m anything.”  

His long fingernails are covered in dirt, and I can now see the maggots aren’t just falling out of his clothes, they are climbing out of lesions on his skin. “If you’re going to be strong enough to survive hell, then you need a hell, and that’s me. The more you seek light, the more darkness you create. I’m the darkness in your story. You created me and I am the you that you’ve hidden deep inside yourself.”

Ripping my hand back, I finally suck in air. “No.” 

“Yessss.” He stares down my hand in awe, the one he just held, and I look down, too. My hand is now a gray color, with deep gouges in my skin filled with maggots bubbling up from within. I feel their wriggling on my skin and their soft bodies sliding off my hand as they crawl out. “I've been wanting to meet my creator.” He gently strokes my hand like a lover. “Thank you for inviting me tonight.” 

Transfixed by horror—horror I created?—I continue staring at my hand until he speaks again. “Tell me, what dark things have you spoken into existence lately?” he asks with the reverence of someone who’s just met his god.  

I have so many of my own questions, I ignore his. “This ritual was for my parents. How did you show up? Where did they go? Why are you here?”

He smiles like I’m a middle school student in a doctorate course. “Were they ever here? What were you thinking when you started the ritual? Are you sure you didn’t ask for me?”

Did I ask for him? Did I ask for darkness? No. I asked for more light. Our eyes connect and I can tell he knows I just put it all together. 

“Yes, my love. You asked for your parents, seeking the light you used to feel around them. But don’t forget that with light comes darkness. And it’s my turn.”  

His turn? 

Suddenly, I know what I must do. Slowly, I stand and take a step toward this stranger. I pull back his chair so I can face him, looking over his hair which still smolders from the candle flame. I take in the awfulness of his gaze and the maggots falling off his skin. I straddle the chair and lower myself until I’m in his lap. I slowly wrap my arms around his neck and pull my body close to his. He lets out a soft sigh, like he’s home. I sit there, listening to him breath against my neck, holding my darkness to me. I watch my skin turn gray. I hold on tighter until maggots cover my skin, too. I can feel them sliding down my back under my shirt. I continue to hold him like two lovers who have just made up after a fight. I hold him until the world turns black and the sound shuts off. Until my body is no longer and my mind is put to rest. And still, I continue to hold on.

***

I wake on the floor of my dining room, the morning sunlight shining through the widows. I stare at my ceiling fan spinning in lazy circles like my life didn’t just change. My skin is back to its normal state—full of freckles and sun spots. My dining room shows no signs of my guests from the night before. I lay on the floor feeling … nothing. Numb. 

Am I disgusted with myself? Am I proud of myself? Does it matter? I have no judgments. There’s no need to judge when you’ve embraced everything that makes you want to close your eyes and hide. I’ve accepted the fate that comes with this new knowledge. I’ve embraced my darkness, knowing it’ll be a constant companion because I will keep pursuing the light.

Squirrel Cakes

by Layton Smith

Layton Smith lives in the suburbs with his beautiful girlfriend and floofy dog. He enjoys chess, electronics repair, and shouting at birds.

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Aren’t children wonderful? Their gullibility and fragility remind me just how tentative life can be. Their guileless smiles and unrestrained laughter transport me back to my own childhood, filled with endless summers spent exploring the woods around my home—a time when everything felt new, and adventures awaited in every glen. Truly, children are a blessing.

One day, two kids—maybe five and seven—approached my door. The poor souls! They claimed their father, a lumberjack, had abandoned them in the woods. Cold and hungry, they approached my house. It looked to their simple gazes to be made of candy and sweet bread.

They must have been very lost indeed to end up at my door. Have the elders forgotten that I am out here? Do they no longer tell my stories around the fire? No matter now, the children are here and there is work to be done.

“I can see you are hungry, but we can’t eat my house because then I would have nowhere to live! But I know a recipe for a special treat called squirrel cakes. Do you kids know what squirrels like to eat?”

“Acorns!” they exclaimed. I patted their heads, praising their cleverness.

“Now go find a big oak tree and bring me back some acorns so I can make you a special treat.”

With a full heart and a twinkle in my eye, I prepared for their return. Once we gathered all the ingredients, we ground the acorns and drizzled the meal with honey. We molded the meal into cakes and waited for them to dry near the fire. The younger one shaped her cakes like little squirrel tails, and I complimented her creativity.

As they savored their cakes, their laughter filled the room, a sweet melody in the evening’s quiet. They offered to share their cakes with me. Delighting in their innocent joy, I replied with a hearty chuckle, “No, squirrel cakes are only for children.”

I made a pallet in front of the fire and watched them drift peacefully off to sleep. But as the night wore on, their coughs grew harsher, mingling with retching sounds that echoed in the stillness. Blood trickled from the little one’s chin, pooling on the floor.

I stroked their backs and said, “There there, my little squirrels. It will all be over soon. Try and get some rest.”

By dawn, the children lay silent, their breathing stilled, their bodies pale and motionless. I sat in my chair, gazing at them, their once-vibrant faces now serene.

Sunlight filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over their still forms. A hunger rose within me, a yearning I could no longer ignore. They had brought such joy and magic into my home, and now they lay before me, still and beautiful.

I admired my windfall with a full heart. I will eat and return to some semblance of my former self. No longer waiting for prey to blunder into my web. Soon I will go out and hunt.

THE END

A Wizard’s Revenge

by G.C. Byrne

G.C. Byrne is an award-winning author and military veteran whose passion for storytelling began in childhood and evolved from hobby to career. He brings a unique blend of life experience and imagination to every story he writes. Byrne is based in Texas with his wife, Rachel, and two dogs, Hazel and Reggie, where he continues to craft stories that captivate readers throughout this dimension. 

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Vengeance is best served without mercy. 

Solara remembered her fallen master’s last words as she watched her killer dismount his horse. The stable boy rushed to lead the horse, and Solara caught a glimpse of a shiny gold object under the killer’s cloak as he handed the reins to the boy. It was Eclipsa, Solara’s enchanted scepter. 

A fire ignited inside Solara. He must have stolen it when he killed…

“Vexor,” she called out. 

The man stopped in the muddy street. “Leave this place, girl,” he said. “You’ll only find death here.”

“Then I’ll give the bards something worthy of singing.” Solara extended a cupped hand, pointed at Vexor’s back. A ball of glowing green energy emerged inside her fingers and shot from her palm. 

Vexor turned, pulled the scepter from his belt, and deflected the green ball. He countered with an orange ball of energy that Solara dodged, and a kick to the stomach that she did not. 

Solara rolled to her left to evade Vexor’s next attack. She entangled her legs between his own and brought him to the ground. The two grappled in the muck until Solara mounted Vexor. 

She saw an opening and snatched a dagger from her boot. This is it, she thought, I’m going to kill you now, you bastard. She raised it high and brought it down with all her strength. Vexor blasted Solara in the chest with his orange energy, before her blade made contact. She somersaulted twice and came to a hard stop, face down. She remembered being kicked by a horse, as a child, and related the impact to that memory. The air left her body.

On his feet, Vexor watched Solara squirm in pain. “I know you,” he said. “I know who you really are. And this —” Vexor held Eclipsa before Solara, and displayed it as if he were a child showing a prized toy to a friend for the first time. The gold shimmered and the red gem shone a bright blood red in the setting sun’s rays.  “This is not meant for you. Your master should have warned you of its power.”

He stood over her and raised Eclipsa to the sky. “And who else can wield it.” The red gem that topped Eclipsa’s shaft shined bright, and it summoned a golden bolt of energy from the clouds above. Vexor pointed Eclipsa at Solara and the bolt struck with a boom.

The energy crackled through every fiber of her body and exited into the earth surrounding her fetal form. She cried out in agony. 

Vexor hit her with another bolt. 

Solara rolled onto her stomach and bent her knee to stand. Vexor kicked her from behind, knocking her over. She rolled onto her back.

Vexor raised Eclipsa once again with both hands. He didn’t summon a bolt. Just old-fashioned barbarism.  

Solara opened her eyes to witness her fate. The sight of her family’s treasured enchanted scepter poised to end her ignited her instincts, and she kicked Vexor’s feet from underneath him before he could complete the motion. 

Vexor’s back hit the muck. He unsheathed a small dagger with his off-hand and lunged at Solara, prone beside him. 

She rolled out of the dagger’s path. The blade buried itself into the mud. She kicked Vexor in the face, giving her a moment to make it to her feet. Solara cupped two hands and conjured a green ball in each. She merged them and hurled them at Vexor.

The green ball slammed into Vexor’s chest, sending his body sliding. Vexor heard his opponent begin to yell as he made it to a knee. 

Solara flexed her body and sent a wave of green energy throughout her muscles, healing the damage caused by Eclipsa’s magic. “I will have what is rightfully mine,” Solara said, sending another green ball at Vexor, which he deflected with Eclipsa.

Vexor countered with more orange energy that Solara dodged and deflected as she closed the distance. They each exchanged blows of magic and flesh until Vexor sent Solara through a small wooden house. 

She stood, shaking off her daze, and ran around the house to catch Vexor off guard, peeking into her entrance hole. She blasted him with green energy. 

He tumbled until a cart full of wheat stomped him. 

Solara staggered to Vexor’s limp body. She kicked something covered in mud. It was her dagger. She picked it up and walked to her master’s killer. She stood over him, looking at the unconscious scum who ruined her life and realized she didn’t give a flying fuck if he was awake or not when she killed him. 

Solara gripped the dagger, brought it over her shoulder, and jerked downward.

Vexor raised Eclipsa and blasted Solara away from him. “Lessons not learned,” he said.

Solara turned onto her back to see Vexor already on his feet. He raised Eclipsa to the sky, and a golden pain enveloped her body. 

He hit her again. And again. Then once more.

Solara lay in a pit of dried, crusty earth. Golden smoke rose from her convulsing body. She extended her left arm in an attempt to conjure magic.

“A futile action,” Vexor said, as a tiny green sphere emerged in Solara’s palm. He summoned another golden bolt. 

Solara thrashed side to side as the magic scorched its way into her body. Her agonizing cry jolted the nearby livestock as tendons seared off her bones. 

The bolt dissipated. Vexor took in the blistered, swollen woman at his feet. Shaking his head, he knelt by her shoulder and poked her bright red, inflamed arm with a finger. Her skin burst open when he applied pressure. She yelped as white and clear fluids seeped out from the wound. “You seem to be in great pain,” he said and clicked his tongue. “I told you to leave this place, but you didn’t listen to reason. Just like your master when my father told her of Eclipsa’s true power.”

Solara noticed a small dagger tucked into Vexor’s boot. Immense pain engulfed her body as she pulled her fingers from the charred earth. Blood leaked out from her gritted teeth as she used every last bit of strength to bend her elbow. Can… still…

“She killed him.” Vexor’s lips trembled with hate. “I watched from the pigsty, hidden from view, as she pried it from his dead hand.”

Solara’s pinky made contact with the dagger’s pommel. If only… fight.

“Now, you’ll see the face of vengeance…” Vexor slapped Solara’s hand away from his dagger. “Witch!”

A golden bolt immediately struck Solara. Then another. And another. And another. 

Vexor continued to call down Eclipsa’s magic until Solara’s screaming morphed into gurgles, and her violent squirms were reduced to faint twitches. He took in what was once a formidable opponent, but only saw a helpless girl struggling to find her last breath. He called down the magic without mercy one more time. 

The world froze, as if time itself fled from its post. A voice, in pain, bellowed from the heavens. “Nooo!”

“Why’d you pause it?” Johnny said. “I’m about to win.”

Johnny’s younger brother, Tommy, sat beside him. Tommy’s face was red, and he gripped the controller so hard his hands trembled. 

“Because you always do this,” Tommy yelled. He threw the controller down. It bounced off the carpet and landed near their father’s recliner. “You always win. I don’t like it.”

“Well, get better. That’s what I did.”

“You cheat! You’re a cheater!” Tommy jumped off the couch and stomped into the kitchen, his bare feet slapping the floor.

Johnny sat on the couch, dumbfounded by his brother’s reaction. What a baby, he thought. I never reacted like that with my friends when I lost.

Johnny thought more about that concept and realized his brother was much younger than he was when he began playing Magic Combat. Johnny, being the oldest, also never had an older sibling who beat him into a fit, like the one he’d just seen.

Then Johnny had a thought.

He walked into the kitchen. Tommy was facing a wall with his arms crossed. Tommy saw Johnny and turned the opposite direction, using his whole body. 

Johnny smiled. “You’re really mad at me, aren’t you?”

“You cheat,” Tommy said, still facing the wall. 

Johnny opened the refrigerator and took two cookies from a container. He closed the fridge and moved the cookie into Tommy’s vision, over his shoulder.

“No,” Tommy said. 

“Come on.”

“No.” Tommy stomped his foot. 

“What if I show you some of my moves?”

Tommy turned around, smiling from ear to ear. “You’ll show me how to beat you?”

“Sure.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, offering the cookie again. “I promise.”

Tommy grabbed the cookie and took a large bite. The boys grinned at each other and raced to the couch for a rematch.

THE END