“So what do you call this act?!”

“The Aristocrats!”

The only thing about being a ghost is that it makes it hard to pick up clues. That’s why Draco carries my bowling trophy. 

Ann Adair
President and Co-founder
Thinkamingo Inc

By the way, we will be launching an updated Rory’s Story Cubes® App in December that will offer the expansion sets as in-app purchases.

Rory, of Rory’s Story Cubes®

He looked down at the bodies.  One, covered in a white sheet, with two holes cut out.  A classic, a ghost.  The other two were much more elaborate, a large dragon.  It must have taken weeks to create a costume that good.  There was a trophy beside them, covered in blood.  He could just make out part of the inscription, saying, “Costume Contest Winner”

One of the forensic techs was looking over the scene with a magnifying glass.   With some tweezers, something shiny was lifted for inspection, put into a bag. “Looks like there are fragments of another costume here.”

“Another costume, but no other body.”

The tech nodded.

“Looks like somebody…”  He pulled off his dark sunglasses.  “…was dressed to kill.”

On one such trip, I ventured down a road I had never seen before – its streets were of cobblestone, dusty, and hard on my tyres. The people on the street, too, were different than those I was used to seeing; men with bowler hats and pin-striped suits talked with women carrying parasols. Young men hand-cranked gramophones while old men shooed them away decrying their racket-making machines. 

As I toured the street, I saw a man with a white, curly moustache standing in front of a pet shop. He smiled broadly as I got off my bike, and walked in. 

“Goldfish are only a penny today, young man” he said.

I smiled and shook my head. “I’ve nowhere to put it on my bike – I don’t have a basket.”

“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t want to carry it anyway. I suspect you’re heading to the fair. Rumour has it they’re offering rides in a hot air balloon! How’s about that! I may just close up early, see what all the hubbub is about!”

I thanked him, and ran out of the store. Looking around, I could see the hint of the fair over the tops of the low buildings: the arc of a ferris wheel, the smoke from the concessions stand, and a hot air balloon – red with gold stripes – that looked over the town. 

I pedalled as hard as I could towards what was certain to be the best day of my life, but try as I might, I couldn’t get there. A dead end would stop me, a street would abruptly turn.

Finally, as I pedalled down one particular alley, the lights of what was most assuredly the fair became brighter – and not a minute too soon, for the night was rapidly approaching. But I soon realized that the lights were not from the fair, but from streetlights, from headlights, from storefront signs. The cobblestone had given way to pavement. I had come back to where I had started.

As I rode home, I kept looking back. Maybe I could see the balloon once more, if only to prove to myself that it had really been there, but it was too dark.

I think of that day and that ride often, even now. If only I had gotten the chance to go up in that balloon, to look down on the world that may have only ever existed in my mind.

He was the only sign of life I’d seen in days, and I’d brought him with me from the shelter.   He started as a friend, but the truth was, he was starting to look more like a next meal.  Poor Edgar, but I’d gone through the rest of my food.  Maybe giving him that name was bad luck. 

It was the snow that did it.  Killed everybody, everything it touched.  Every living thing on Earth, for all I knew.  I don’t know how… melt it and it turns into normal, drinkable water, the kind I’ve been drinking for days.  But I knew that if I just landed my balloon and stepped outside of the sealed compartment, I’d be dead in seconds, unless I covered myself head to toe.  Edgar the First, the human Edgar, taught me that lesson, when he risked a supply run on his old bicycle, that went perfectly until he came back, removed his gloves, and absently brushed a few flakes off with his hand.   

Edgar the Second was his, originally.  I never learned the fish’s original name, but I thought I should take him along as I tried to find some place the snow hadn’t fallen. 

If I couldn’t find one?  Well, I still had a gun, and a single bullet. I stared into the end, hypnotized by the concentric circles, and almost loaded it, deciding to give Edgar the honor of being the last survivor. 

No.  Where there’s life, there’s hope.  I took a deep breath, reached back for Edgar’s old turntable to play another record and went back to looking out the window. 

Let me play you a song on my old LP,
‘Bout a fish in a hot air balloon
Rising up to the peaks from the dry valley
While the updrafts whistled this tune.

See, the fish would toll in its big glass bowl
‘Til its water got mighty stale
But up by the peaks many storm clouds roll
And they drop their snow and hail.

When the paper girl brought the daily news,
That fish called through the glass,
“Please take me, miss!  For I’ve got the blues
And I want to head to the pass!

For if I can rise toward stormy skies,
That snow would be mighty fresh
And my water be clear like your blue eyes!”
That made her smooth the mesh

On her bike’s panniers, to make fishbowl fit,
And together they wheeled away
To the verdant plain where fires were lit
And helium held sway.

Into the basket, cushioned in straw,
The bowl sat mighty still.
When the ballast dropped, the paper girl saw
The fish rise up that hill.

And oh! That snow ambrosia was!
The fish knew naught so nice.
But its ecstasy was brief, because
Its water soon turned ice.

And also, card games

Brainstormer & Virtual Art Director are also fun in this regard. 

B