Dee Moyza

(Originally posted on October 22, 2019)

What a Nuisance, What a Waste | 2,717 words | Fantasy
The scorpion was already dead when Carmen found it, a tiny gray-green corpse on the linoleum, its tail stretched out behind it, its deadly instrument laid down like a weapon in surrender.

Still, the sight of it frightened Carmen, not because of the power and danger inherent in its form, but simply because it had gotten in. It had breached the barrier between her and the wild, come into the space where she was the most vulnerable, the space where she thought she was safe.

And if the scorpion had come in, what else might?

She called the exterminator, keeping a wary eye on the scorpion the whole time she was on the phone, seized by the irrational fear that it might spontaneously reanimate and come directly for her. The exterminator was nonchalant about the entire matter, removing the dead scorpion, checking the area for more, then treating the outside of the house. He was leaving as Carmen’s husband returned from work, and stopped to fill him in on the situation.

“So,” Carmen’s husband said, shutting the front door behind him, “I heard you had an interesting visitor today. Where was it?”

“Kitchen,” Carmen answered, a shiver running through her at the memory.

“Already dead?”

“Yes, but —”

“Huh. The last treatment was still working, then. But I guess it was about time for another.”

“Still working? Jim, the scorpion was inside. The treatment isn’t working if it doesn’t keep things out.”

“But it was dead. It must’ve picked up some of the residue on the way in.”

“How can you be so calm about the whole thing?”

“Because it comes with the territory, literally. Once you get out of the city, things like this happen.” Jim sighed. "You know that. And it never used to bother you before."

"That was when things stayed where they belonged. Us inside, them outside.”

“And that’s the case, most of the time. That little guy you found just got lucky — well, maybe not so much, considering the poison got him, anyway. It was a fluke, nothing more.” Jim reached out and pulled Carmen close. "But I know it can be unnerving. What do you say we just avoid the scene of the incident for tonight and go out to eat, instead?"

Despite her uneasiness, Carmen smiled. "That sounds like a very sensible plan.”

She couldn’t help glancing into the kitchen, however, in search of another intruder. There was rarely only one.

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(Originally posted October 5, 2018)

The Spellcaster's Wife | 838 words | Fantasy
Her approach is heralded by an uneven gait, one foot dragging slightly in the gravel of the roadbed, and by the clinking of the multitude of little bottles she carries. Not long afterward, she crests the horizon, a woman who is not really old but whose body has been broken down before its time, carrying a large box made of varnished wood with gold latches, an ill-tempered dog with a mangy black coat at her heels.

She had a name, once, but it has long fallen into disuse, even by her, and thus been forgotten. Instead, those who recognize her – and they are few, for she is prudent about keeping always on the move – call her only the Spellcaster’s Wife. In so doing, they refer to the great magician of the age, Horatio Cain.

Talented and handsome, with hair so dark it shone blue, Horatio had as strong a draw toward the company of women as he did toward his magic. He met his wife while she mixed potions for a traveling medicine man, and, seeing she was docile and plain and not likely to make a fuss while she made his dinner and washed his clothes and while he spent evening after evening with a bevy of willing beauties, he married her. But, one day, while practicing for a show, something went horribly wrong, and Horatio magicked himself out of existence.

Her source of income gone, his wife was run from their home by the landlord, and learned to survive on the road, selling her potions in the towns she passed through.

And so it was today, when she settled near a stump beneath an old tree and set her box atop the stump, opening it to reveal row after row of tiny bottles filled with colorful liquids and labeled such wondrous things as "Love," "Confidence," "Power," and "Wealth." In front of the box, she propped a hand-painted sign, faded by the sun and warped by the rain, that read simply, "Take what you need."

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(Originally posted on October 26, 2019)

You Keep Me Warm | 1,899 words | Fantasy/Horror | WARNING for blood, animal death, and animal predation

In summer, she was shorn, and in winter, her wool was worn, and Lady would come to say, “Thank you; you keep me warm.”

It had been that way for years now. How many, though, the sheep could not tell, for she was not a bright creature — nor did she ever claim to be — and had never learned to count. But she knew that when the sun got too warm, Farmer and Lady would corral her and the other sheep, and, one by one, strip them of their old wool.

She’d been frightened the first time, staring at those metal shears, but once she was let back into the field and felt the warm breeze against her skin, she knew Farmer and Lady had done her no harm.

She always felt a swell of pride, too, whenever Lady thanked her, having spun her wool into a peculiarly colored coat of her own.

And so, the sheep lived, her life marked by the seasons, punctuated by the birth of lambs and the loss of her wool. It was a peaceful life, and, knowing no other, she was content.

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Soulmate | 883 words | Fantasy

(Inspired by prompt 47 on this page.)

Arlene slid the books into a bag and extended her hand toward the woman for payment. As the woman counted bills into Arlene's palm, Arlene noticed the band of dark pigment around her left ring finger, a sign that she had found her soulmate, the other half of the star that had twinkled out when she’d come into this world.

"Ah," Arlene said, "congratulations."

"Pardon?"

Arlene pointed to her own finger, bare as the day she was born. "Had you known him long?"

Realizing what she meant, the woman looked at her hand and sighed. "Hardly a minute. We were waiting for a bus. He said hello, we chatted about the weather. I didn't think to look at the moment, but by the time I'd reached my stop, the band was fairly dark."

"Lucky lady."

Another sigh, this one accompanied by a shrug. "That's what everyone says. But it's been two years, and I'm still not sure I understand what they mean."

"And I could say the same of you. Aren’t happy? He's your other half!"

"I suppose I'm happy, in the sense that I'm neither anxious nor downhearted. But life is so different now, and I've yet to entirely adjust." She gave a small, sad grin, and took her bag, but made no move to leave.

"Of course it's different. You're no longer alone." Arlene smiled. "I guess it must take some time to get used to. But it only gets better, that's what everyone says. Think about it. How did you feel before, if you can remember? How did you feel the day before you met your soulmate?"

"Complete." No hesitation, no uncertainty. "I was myself, my own person, complete. My accomplishments were my own, my desires my own, my time my own. I knew who I was and where I stood in the world. Now, I'm not a person, but a half. A half of a unit, of something larger, of something that doesn't always gel.

"My husband is a good person, and we have an amicable relationship. But never, in twenty lifetimes, would either of us have chosen the other as our life's partner, had we been free to do so. Just because we're made of the same star, just because our hearts are constructed similarly, doesn't mean our minds are."

"But the will of the heavens is absolute," Arlene said, frowning. "The stars know what they’re doing, they know what is best for you, for all of us."

"Best for us? Or best for them? Because all they've done with me and my husband is put one of themselves back together, forcibly, with pieces so warped and changed by life that they hardly resemble one another anymore. Like two puzzle pieces, painted very differently -- though the pieces fit, just barely, the design they create makes no sense at all." The woman thought for a moment. "Suppose the stars continue this way, forcing their children together for their own sake, regardless of whether those children fit. What will the next generation look like, act like, think like? Who will they be but confused shadows, seeking nothing more on this earth other than their missing piece, to the detriment of the everything else they could become?"

She laughed. "No, the stars know nothing, except greed and fear of the dark. They do not wish to burn out, so they use human lives as kindling."

Arlene said nothing. She looked down at the till and brushed away a tiny scrap of paper.

"But maybe it's just me," the woman continued, her tone soft now. "Perhaps I'm just an ill fit for life itself, the daughter of a renegade star. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. I'm certain your soulmate will make you feel complete and fulfilled." She adjusted her grip on her bag and moved toward the door. "I've rambled far too long, and burdened you with my displeasure. Please excuse me, and pay no heed to what I've said."

An impossible request. The woman's words floated through Arlene's mind for days, chipping away at the foundation of her belief in the world and the heavens, her conviction that everything always turned out exactly as it should.

These thoughts clouded her vision, and muted her dreams. She shelved books and performed transactions by rote, hardly registering the words and faces of customers that passed through the shop. One must have been different from the rest, however, his presence marked by the same strain of stardust present in herself. For when she woke one morning a week later, having finally shaken the pall of the woman's story, she looked down and saw it: pale, but undeniable, a tiny band of color creeping into the skin on her left ring finger.

She sighed and bit her lip. The moment she'd anticipated for so long had arrived, but instead of the joy she'd imagined feeling, her heart was seized with trepidation. Who was he? When would he return? Would they get on well from the start, or would it be a struggle?

She set aside her reservations and began getting ready for the day. Whatever happened, there was nothing she could do.

The will of the heavens was absolute, after all. The stars knew what they were doing.

Didn't they?

Decree | 999 words | Fantasy

The silence had begun gradually — several fewer voices lifted in praise, a smaller pile of offerings at the altar. Ephine had not worried, then; power shifted, beliefs wavered, but they always came back to her. Always.

However, when she awoke on her feast day and wandered the quiet halls of her celestial palace, she grew troubled. Strain as she might, she could not catch the sound of a single voice singing her name. The balcony railings were not festooned with flowers, as they should be, by now. And the altar, that beautiful work of alabaster and gold, stood bare and cold. No offerings, not even a copper coin, not even a meager crumb.

What had happened? Had they truly abandoned her?

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