Bonus Story Archives

Encounters with Fumes

Bonus Story, Fantasy / M Pax / July 21, 2026

A short story from the Rifters Universe…

The morning sun cascaded through the revealing windows encasing the showroom and the sparkling Model Ts. Harvey Pike took a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating aromas of tires, leather, metal, and fuel. The fuel was especially heady.

“Can’t get enough,” he said to only himself, clutching the lapels of his tweed blazer and bouncing on the balls of his feet. The showroom and the cars gleamed, flaunting themselves like unending hope.

With his sleeve, he buffed imaginary imperfections from the fenders of the three cars, which had the purpose of attracting the most unconvinced cowboy. The tires gleamed, and the curves of the bodies glinted, waiting to be chosen.

When satisfied with their condition of absolute perfection, he stepped through a door in the back to enter the new addition—an alluring bay serving as a place to detail sold cars, repair them, and refuel them.

The test model gleamed like the future in the dim dawn light, calling to Harvey like metal shavings to a magnet. His hand caressed the hood as he ambled past to pull the garage door open. With practiced pulls, he worked the chain to roll it upward. Morning light flooded in, assaulting his sight, fluttering his eyelids.

A puff of morning fog rushed in, surprising him, and he stumbled back a step. When he blinked, only the sun and the dry desert air of midsummer greeted him from outside his shop.

“More of Settler’s charms.” He wasn’t convinced the town was promising or charming. The area hadn’t proven itself to him yet. He had moved here a few months ago at the behest of the county commissioner, Cordelia Swit. She was a formidable woman to whom it was impossible to say no, and she had dangled prospects and profits like an endless horizon of new cars.

He returned to the Model T and flipped up the front seat to unscrew the lid on the fuel tank. He pulled a thin wooden stick from a repurposed umbrella stand and inserted it into the fuel tank. When he pulled it out, he used a rag to catch any wayward drops and took it to the garage entrance for more light, observing that the tank was mostly full.

No one had stopped in for a test drive yesterday. He frowned, hoping today would unfold with a stronger whiff of bounty. Hand on his hip, surveying the landscape, he considered looking into adding a Packard and placing it prominently in the showroom window. Certainly, such a car would attract more interest and a few weak knees.

“It’s better than a horse,” he said to the empty streets. “You don’t have to shovel poop or worry about stepping in it.” A cow in a nearby pasture mooed. Harvey sighed and approached the barrel of fuel sitting on a reinforced crate next to the car. Wood shavings covered the floor under the crate to catch any drips and leaks.

He inserted the line into the gas tank and pushed the pump twice. Fog thickened, obscuring the car, and the cool morning air exploded with heat, raking across his skin like flames. He dropped the fuel line and stumbled, crashing on the floor beside the barrel of fuel. He was thankful he hadn’t knocked it over and stained his immaculate floor.

The heat on his left arm flickered his attention to it. Still engulfed in the thickening fog, the sleeve of his blazer heated to scorching. Smoke traveled up his sleeve, inciting his shoulders to emit more smoke, enshrouding him in vapors.

Jumping to his feet, Harvey shimmied out of his blazer and leaped away from the thickening mist, scraping it from his arms. The mist clung to him, to the car, feeling solid, becoming a presence as concrete as the Model T.

“What in all tarnation?” He stared, then peered closer. The foggy entity shoved at him, spinning his senses. He fought to stay with the car, to get inside, to move it out of danger.

The solidified fog took up more and more space and had a sheen like the moon. It reflected his panicked expression, distorting his precisely groomed hair into something unruly and squirming. Harvey gasped.

Racing down the road were the town’s newspaper editor and the rodeo star. Harvey had never seen people run so fast. He waved at them, yelling for help. The two of them rushed inside, and, with heavily modified revolvers drawn, they charged the solidified fog. The fog didn’t budge from engulfing the Model T and churned like gathering storm clouds. Susan yelled orders at Thomas and fired one of the revolvers, discharging a ray of blue energy.

Harvey had never seen revolvers with so many gears and so much brass. Before another heartbeat passed, Cordelia Swit arrived. She grasped him by the arm, her fingers biting into his flesh, leading him away. “Come along, Mr. Pike. You’ve been overcome by gas fumes.”

“What?” He blinked at her and found himself on the walkway leading to the front door of his house. His quaint two-story Victorian was conveniently located right behind his business. “How?”

“Good thing Susan and Thomas happened by.” Cordelia’s hard gaze bore into his thoughts. “On their way to work,” she added. She wore a smart dress that mimicked a man’s suit and revealed the curve of her ankles. “Susan summoned me.” Her lips pursed. “Also on my way to work.”

“Doesn’t Thomas work out at the Burke’s ranch?” He stared at the ground, trying to stop his dizzy thoughts. His eyes followed the laces up Cordelia’s shoe.

Harvey’s mother had nothing but disdain for the new fashions. “Exposing their ankles,” she’d pshawed. “Next this generation of trollops will want everyone to see their calves, and there will be no feminine mystique left.” His mother had come to America from England with her mistress and had very decided opinions for a woman who spent her youth in service. Cordelia reminded him a lot of his mother.

His gaze diverted from Cordelia’s scandalous ankles to the scene inside his garage—Susan firing some strange revolver with a blue light at the solidified fog, yelling commands at the champion bronc rider. Thomas dodged and wove, whacking the fog with a rod made from obsidian.

Cordelia tugged at Harvey. “It’s a hallucination.”

Thwack. Huff. Szzzsss. Thwack.

Susan and Thomas didn’t let up until the smoke lifted, and the mist faded. The Model T broke Harvey’s heart. It was bereft of paint and shine and hope, and the barrel of fuel had vanished. He opened his mouth, then shut it before one sound could tumble out.

“Fumes,” Cordelia repeated. The rim of her hat and its feathers flapped in the cool wind traveling down from the mountains.

“Th-the automobile. M-my beautiful automobile. Th-the paint.”

“Science has been proven fumes can be very corrosive.”

His senses quit swirling, and he scrutinized her. “The barrel of fuel? What’s going on, Mrs. Swit?”

“You can’t repeat a word of this. Ever. I brought you to this town and helped you establish your dealership. There are plenty of young men who want to get into the business of cars, Mr. Pike.”

“Threats?”

“Not intended as harsh as it sounds. Forget this, or come work with us, Mr. Pike.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Work with you? How?”

“Keeping secrets and defending the world. Do you really think the world could handle this truth?”

The truth pulsed in his mind as something more elusive than it had been thirty minutes ago. He pressed his lips together, frowning at his maimed Model T. The attack had been so brutal and violent. The poor automobile would never be the same, and he wouldn’t be able to sell it. “I invested everything I have into this dealership and moving to Settler.”

“If you keep quiet or choose option three, you lose nothing.”

“Only self-respect.” He inhaled deeply. “I suppose it’s to you I swear this oath?”

“It is. Come to my office this evening, and I’ll get you started.”

“Susan knows? And never wrote a word in the papers? The biggest story of the ages?” Hands on his hips, he shook his head. “This is a lot to swallow, Mrs. Swit.”

“This barely touches the surface, Mr. Pike.” She nodded and left.

He watched her stride across the road toward the county building with its stirring spire, which assured the townsfolk Settler was a place of promise. Harvey was no longer sure what types of promises those were.

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Broken Trees

Bonus Story, Fantasy, New Release / M Pax / June 23, 2026

A free short story from the Rifters universe…

The soft gold-tinted light of predawn pushed up over the horizon, shading the darkness of night in softer echoes of gray. Millicent pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, half running toward town. Where the trees stopped, she paused, scanning the streets of Settler, Oregon, for movement, listening.

Her partner caught up beside her. The town’s force and undisputed leader, Cordelia Swit, daughter of the town’s founder. “Everything looks quiet. Not even the cows are stirring.”

“As we know, Cordelia, looks can be quite deceiving.” Millicent ran her hands over her hair.

Cordelia’s mousey-brown bun had become unraveled, and she swept her hair out of her face, frowning at Millicent. “Not a hair of yours out of place. Not a one. That new hair bauble of yours is really doing its job.”

Millicent held her chin up. “I have an entire box of French pins. I’d be happy to show you how to use them. Put my hair up yesterday at seven in the morning, and it’s still perfect.” She let her hand drop and caught Cordelia’s dark gaze. “We have other things to discuss besides hair.”

“You mean our visitor last night.” Cordelia shrugged. “Most likely, no one noticed.”

“The screaming that howled like something straight from the underworld and the loud thrashing that seemed to surround the town? Unlikely.”

“Cover story is it must be a cougar.”

“A cougar tore up trees in a mile long path?” Millicent shook her head and chuckled softly. “We’ll have to do better than that.”

“What sage suggestion do you have?”

“A phenomenon of weather would be better. Not even war made that much racket.” She stepped out from the trees. I must hurry before Henri and her babies wake. She’ll ask questions I can’t answer, and I hate lying to kin.”

“Swear her into the Rifters.”

“A young woman with tiny children and another on the way. I would never suggest such a thing. Besides, she won’t be here much longer.”

“You sure you want such a thing? You’ve missed having Henri around since her husband dragged her off to Shaniko.”

“I miss her and love having this time with my grandchildren. With all my heart, I would beg her to stay, but Oliver must go where the work is. And her life is with her husband now.”

“He could make a go of it here at your store, and I have grand plans for this town. It’s a shame your son-in-law doesn’t have a pioneering bone in his body.”

“It’s a new era, Cordelia. He has skills.”

“Rebuilding a house is not a unique skill in these parts. Why didn’t he want to partner with you in the store?”

“He has his own path to follow. When you have a family of your own, you’ll understand better.” Millicent left her young friend where the road split and hurried to the center of town, the largest settlement for more than a hundred miles in every direction She slid off her shoes and tread lightly to her two story Victorian behind the general store, keeping to the darkest pockets of shadow, slipping between the narrow alley between the general store and the telegraph office.

Curtains covering the windows of nearby houses remained closed. Chimneys didn’t smoke. Not a thing stirred. Millicent sighed and stole through her front door, shutting the door without a sound.

“Mama, where have you been at this hour? And why are you carrying your shoes?”

Millicent braced herself to circumvent the answers she couldn’t provide as much as she wanted to, and slowly turned, smiling at a close replica of herself. She and her daughter had the same thick, sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes, the same straight nose and long cheeks.

Her hand on the small of her back, Henri’s narrowed gaze was fearsome for someone so young, for someone who had never known war, for someone who didn’t know monsters existed. “Well?”

Millicent steeled her resolve. She had never imagined having to lie, to having to keep a part of her life such a huge secret. “Just needed some air is all.” She hung her shawl on a peg by the door. “Bad dreams and memories. You know, Henri.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t talk about, Mama. Were these related to your war years or losing Papa?”

“The feelings are no different. Now, why don’t you go sit. I’ll get you and the kids some breakfast.” She placed a hand on her daughter’s growing belly. “Including this wee one.” Bending, she whispered to her coming grandchild. “Can’t wait to meet you, child.”

Henri’s hand moved to rest on Millicent’s head. “None of this explains your shoes. Are you going to work all day at the store in filthy feet?”

“I twisted an ankle on an errant pebble and didn’t want to risk a fall.”

“You need to be more careful at your age.”

“I’m not decrepit, Henrietta. My goodness, what opinions you have.” She straightened, finding it hard to meet her daughter’s gaze. “Any word from your husband?”

They hobbled together to the kitchen, leaning on one another, tired for different reasons.

“Not at this hour. Post doesn’t come for hours yet.”

Millicent helped her daughter into a chair and went over to the stove.

“It’s ready to light,” Henri sighed. She shifted, about to get up. “I was going to make pancakes.”

“Don’t you dare get up. I’ve made breakfast for more years than you’ve been breathing, my girl.” Millicent lit the kindling and stoked the fire. She set on the kettle, then mixed batter while waiting for the flames to settle into a more even heat.

“Was it really bad dreams that sent you out into the night?” Henri rested her head in the palm of her hand, blinking blankly at Millicent.

“It always is.” Truth lived in the shadows of those syllables. Not enough of it. She couldn’t hold her daughter’s gaze and set the griddle on the stove surface, then went into the root cellar to retrieve the bacon. Within minutes, its fragrant sizzle filled the house and roused the grandchildren from their sleep.

Nettie and Ollie stood in their warm pajamas, rubbing their sleepy eyes. Millicent left the stove to smother both their cheeks with kisses. “Morning, darlings. Hungry?” They both nodded. She returned to the cellar for the fresh milk and poured them both a cup.

“I could have done that while you’re cooking,” Henri said. However, she made no effort to rouse herself.

“If you move from that chair, I might have to ground you.”

“Mommy is in trouble,” Nettie giggled. “Will you paddle her, Gramma?”

“She’s too tired.” Henri pulled Ollie onto her lap. “You’re gramma didn’t sleep. I’m safe.”

“Oh.” Sounding seriously disappointed for a six-year-old. Nettie climbed onto a chair. “Did you try counting sheep, Gramma?”

“There’s nothing for you to worry over, sweetie.” Millicent transferred the bacon onto a platter and started the pancakes. The first four were split between her grandchildren. She set them on plates with two strips of bacon, placing the plates in front of her grandchildren.

“I could read you a story tonight.” Her big brown eyes followed her plate as Henri took it to add fruit and a dollop of syrup.

As much as Millicent wanted to cuddle up with her granddaughter and exchange stories tonight, she was on rift duty again. “Maye tomorrow, Nettie. I have quilting circle tonight.”

“Is that tonight?” Henri’s face looked hopeful, then fell. “I’ll stay with the kids.”

“Next week, we’ll switch places.” Millicent put a full stack of four pancakes with bacon in front of her daughter. “Eat up.” She made two more for herself and joined her family at the table.

“Do you want help at the store today?” Henri sipped milk from her son’s cup.

Wanting a break, Millicent wanted to say yes more than any other answer. “Nettie will be help enough.”

“Nettie?” Henri’s nose crinkled. “She’ll be underfoot, Mama.”

“You need the break.” She ate quickly, then readied herself and her granddaughter for a day of work. Nettie bounced beside her as they strode through the alley to the store. The back of the house and the store faced each other.

“This will be so fun, Gramma.” She twirled in circles on the wooden walkway and almost twirled into the road.

Millicent grabbed her arm, keeping her on the sidewalk. “You will be an enormous help to me today.” She pointed at the horses and an approaching stagecoach. “Mind the road, Nettie.”

The child quit bouncing and twirling, her expression becoming more serious. “I will be a good worker today.”

Stifling a laugh, Millicent unlocked the door and let Nettie in ahead of her. “I’m sure you will.”

The store was long and narrow, the wooden floorboards worn smooth by years of boots and dust. An iron stove sat in the front corner, never warm enough in winter and stubbornly clinging to its heat in the summer, its black pipe rising up through the ceiling, the backbone of this community.

Beside the stove, the counter ran the length of the store, gleaming with polish and with a brass cash register perched near the center. Behind it, shelves climbed the wall in orderly rows: glass jars of penny candy, tins of tobacco, folded bolts of cloth, and small apothecary drawers labeled in careful ink—liniment, camphor, quinine, iodine.

The air carried a unique perfume that was a mix of dry goods and medicine—coffee beans, soap, burlap sacks, the faint sharpness of alcohol, and herbs. Light filtered through tall front windows, catching dust motes drifting slowly, having nowhere urgent to be.

Millicent went straight to the stove and swept out the ashes. She lit a fresh stack of kindling, then fed in the logs once the fire took. Despite the calendar pointing to July, Settler still held onto a chill. She handed Nettie a clean rag. “You can start by cleaning the lower shelves here behind the counter. If you need help removing and rearranging the goods, speak up.”

“Okay.” Nettie smiled with glee and set to work.

Millicent had just cleaned those shelves yesterday, but keeping Nettie behind the counter would keep her out from underfoot of the customers.

The child hummed happily, her little hands carefully clearing shelves before cleaning them and the goods. Nettie took forever to put the goods back where they belonged, but she arranged them prettily. Millicent let her be and tended to the bolts of fabric arranged on a table on the other side of the counter.

“A hard day’s work should help you sleep tonight, Gramma.”

Knowing her grandchildren would be safe from what came through the rift, would have Millicent sleeping soundly on her next night off. Tomorrow. “You’re learning well. When we decide to take good actions, they lead to good results.”

For a moment, Nettle paused. Her distorted expression questioned Millicent.

“Fancy grownup words for you’re right.”

“Say it again? I want to talk just like you.”

Flattered, Millicent obliged her granddaughter. The bell over the door chimed, stopping her in mid sentence.

Emmett Doty strolled in, tipping his hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Fisk.” His plump form and round face suited his pleasant manners and demeanor. He was always smiling, and his blue eyes always held a twinkle of good humor and mischief.

Millicent smoothed the bolt of fabric she had been fussing with. “Good morning, Mr. Doty. You’re up early this morning.”

“Did you hear that awful racket last night? Sounded like something was attacking and dying at the same time.”

For a fraction of a second, she smelled the monster again, the ozone and fresh pine sap torn from the trees, like the forest had been split open. Her fingers tightened their grip, folding into a fist, crumpling the muslin. Pressing her lips tightly together, she smoothed the new wrinkles. “I did not.”

“Maybe that’s what woke you up last night, Gramma.” Nettie smiled at Mr. Doty. “She had trouble sleeping.”

“You should set that apothecary to use on yourself, Mrs. Fisk. You have complained of this ailment more than any other.”

“It needs no concern, Mr. Doty.” Thankful the topic had changed from the racket in the woods, she managed a warm smile. “What can I do for this morning?”

“First, you can call me Emmett like I asked. Second, I’m in need of a refill.” He held up a kerosene can. It dangled precariously from his finger. “Master Scamp knocked it over this morning.”

Millicent reached for the can. “Goodness, I hope you cleaned that up well. Or your entire house will catch fire.”

“Got a few buckets of sawdust from the mill first thing.”

“Good, good.” She went to a barrel at the opposite end of the store, as far away from the stove as was possible. “Fill it?” she asked.

“Please.”

“I don’t suppose you punished Master Scamp? You let him get away with too much.” The new pump on the barrel of kerosene made refilling Emmett’s can less of a chore.

“He’s a joy, Mrs. Fisk. Loneliness is often worse than the war. But then you know. What a happy turn in fate that Henri and her children are with you for a while.”

Her hand faltered on the pump, and she shifted her weight. “I doubt Henri sees the loss of her house in a brush fire as a happy accident.” She handed him the filled kerosene can.

His gaze held hers, and he wet his lips. He had that look, the look of a man about to invite her to dinner or worse, offer a scrap to her weary heart. She would never be able to tell him what went on in the woods or fully give him her honesty. The man deserved no less, and a relationship not based on truth was doomed before it started.

Keeping this town safe could be an awful burden, but they were all still alive. That would have to be enough. “Nettie, please ring you up, Mr. Doty.” She hurried into the small storage room, leaning against sacks of flour, taking deep breaths.

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Crossings and Thresholds

Bonus Story, Fantasy, Science Fiction Books / M Pax / May 19, 2026

A bonus story from the Rifters universe…

Darkness wrapped its fingers around the last dregs of day, pulling down the sun, leaving behind bruising colors that faded into black. Cordelia Swit sat on a fallen log with her best friend in the woods. Before them rose two obsidian pillars in a small clearing among the pines.

The pines in the high desert of Oregon didn’t grow into the impressive towers as the forests to the west in the Cascades to the coast, but their tops teased the descending night and welcomed a chill more associated with winter than early July. It would be another week or so before warmth elbowed its way into the hours after sunset.

Cordelia huddled with Dottie Hessler, her best friend, under a quilt. The two of them wore bearskin coats, knitted mittens, and scarves, but it wasn’t enough to chase away a case of the shivers. Dottie pulled out a canteen and two cups, placing them on a boulder in front of them. Before she could poor the steaming contents of the canteen, Cordelia stopped her.

The heady aroma of well-brewed coffee hit Cordelia’s nose, and she sighed. “It will get cold too fast in the cups.”

“You’re right.” Dottie took a sip and handed the canteen over. Her usually prim curls were stuffed under a hunting cap she had taken from her father. The earflaps were down and tied under her chin so they’d stay down. Where Dottie was fair and light and giggly, Cordelia was darker, coarser, more brooding.

Dottie had said that’s why there were such good friends, because they fit together like salt and paper, like light and dark, like teasing and serious. This held true as Settler grew and more people occupied the town. Each of them always knew what the other needed and never shied away from providing it.

Cordelia sipped cautiously without flinching at the soft pinch of scalding coffee on her lips and tongue. Feeling something other than bone-boring cold was welcome. “Too bad it can’t stay hot until morning.”

“Now there would be an invention. I don’t suppose our resident genius blacksmith could come up with something?”

“We’ll bring it up at the Rifter meeting tomorrow.”

“Let us have nothing to report.” Dottie sent her wish out into the universe, and as her words faded, the obsidian pillars sizzled into life. Blue fingers of energy licked up their sides, reaching into the sky, then arching in toward each other to form a circle. She set down her cup and clutched at Cordelia’s arm.

Cordelia stood to face whatever monster was about to set foot on their world, clutching a sword in one hand and a club in the other. With a deep breath, Dottie mustered her courage and took the club, brandishing it over her shoulder.

The blue ball of light intensified and expanded. Cordelia brandished the sword. Dottie leered.

“Monsters not welcome here,” Dottie yelled, her voice growling, wrapping her nerves in armor.

Cordelia snarled too, her grip tightening on the hilt of the sword.

A spark of yellow, like the ember from a fire, flitted out from the rift and landed on Dottie’s boot. She reached down and brushed it off, jolting as her fingers brushed over the ember.

“You shouldn’t touch it,” Cordelia warned too late. She grabbed her friend by the shoulders and jerked her upright. “Are you okay? What happened?”

The glow from the rift cast a hellish hue over Dottie’s skin and her mouth hung slack-jawed as if she had entered the realm of phantoms.

Cordelia shook her. “You’re scaring me.”

As suddenly as the rift opened, it closed. Dottie blinked and laughed. “Well, that was quite the rush, my friend.”

“What happened?” Cordelia furrowed her brow.

“I have the same question for you.”

“Let’s get you home and rested.”

By the light of the endless sprinkle of stars overhead, they picked their way through the forest to their homes.

The next day, Cordelia toiled at washing the bedding, taking the sheets out of the kettle that had been sitting overnight, schlepping clean water from the lake, rinsing and rinsing again, scrubbing on the washboard, rinsing again, and she had just finished ringing out the sheets. She kept one eye on the position of the sun and swiped the sweat from her brow. When the sun started to lower, the Rifters would meet at the blacksmith’s and go over what had happened last night and how to adjust their guardianship of Settler and their world.

Taking a deep breath, she stood still for a moment, letting the cool breath from the far-off Cascades caress her heated face, asking her body for a second wind to get the washing hung on the line. Before she had finished her brief rest, she heard the pounding of feet on the dirt road passing by the house.

“Cordelia!” a frantic voice called.

She fluttered open her eyelids and squinted at Gregory Hessler racing her way. The heat of day didn’t stop the chill from entering her blood. Mr. Hessler didn’t run, didn’t’ become frantic. Without him saying a word, she knew something was wrong with Dottie.

Cordelia left the washing and dashed off to meet her neighbor. “What’s wrong?” she huffed when they were close enough to speak.

“Dottie. It’s Dottie.” He panted so hard he could barely speak. He grabbed her hand and dragged her toward his ranch with him. “You have to come. Please.” His cracking tone cracked Cordelia’s heart.

Before they reached the Hessler’s ranch, they ran into Dottie. She skipped toward them, twirling, and squealing in off-key notes. Her hair whipped wildly around her face, and her dress was on backwards.

Cordelia stumbled to a halt, feeling the blood drain from her face. “Get the others, Gregory.”

“What happened last night?” His eyes welled and demanded an answer from her.

She couldn’t look him in the eye or her best friend. “I don’t know.” She swiped a tear off her cheek. “I wish I had a better answer.”

“I do too.”

“I’ll stay with her. Get the others.”

Dottie’s eyes glowed with an eerie light and a purple aura haunted her as she laughed and twirled. Dottie blinked, and the aura and glow in the eyes faded. Her expression twisted. “What’s happening?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Cordelia reassured her friend.

Gregory Hessler ran off faster than Cordelia could form an apology. She said it to Dottie instead. “I fear you’re not quite you, dearest friend. I’m so sorry I didn’t keep you safe.” Worse, what if whatever had happened to Dottie spread to the rest of the town?

Taking a risk, Cordelia took Dottie’s hand and led her back to the house. “I promise to do better. I promise my life and soul.”

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Wanted: Those Who Don’t Fear the Dark

Bonus Story, Fantasy / M Pax / April 21, 2026

A story from the Rifters universe…

More houses, more streets, more neighbors graced the lands upon which the town of Settler had been founded in Central Oregon. When Cordelia had first arrived with her brother and mother in 1888 to join their father, she had been so young she didn’t know the meaning of much and only two other families had joined them that first year. Wooden buildings dotted the landscape where there was once just scrub and trees. A few wagons rumbled down the streets, and horses slapped their impatient tails at hitching posts.

Nestled inside the remains of an ancient super volcano, the town was picturesquely set between two placid lakes warmed with the residual energy of the volcano. It’s crumbled crater walls cradled Settler from some of the harsher winter storms, but not all of them. Snow remained on the craggy peaks, and the Cascades in the distance were still entirely white, showing no indication that summer would begin in a mere month. Cordelia was hardly ready.

Her paps built additions to the house like a man possessed. The newest upside-down room made her dizzy, and she couldn’t get him to stop. Neither could his best friend Chuck. Since the loss of her mother, he hadn’t been as coherent. He got worse when baby Wallace died. The baby had no chance without a mother to fight for him. Cordelia had only been six, the town wasn’t populated enough to help out, and her father had been incapable of caring for the infant.

Tragedy aside, the worst part was the rift would open on the summer solstice, and her paps couldn’t be trusted to keep the town and the world safe. Not anymore. She and Chuck had discussed it in length, and he had insisted she take over.

Between the summer solstice and fall equinox every year, the rift opened and brought the potential of monsters visiting Earth. Her father, Chuck, and some of Chuck’s tribe had quietly sent the monsters away every summer. This season, Chuck’s people had been moved away and her father wouldn’t leave the house. Her older brother, Rick, rarely tore his attention away from his guitar long enough to be of any use to her. He just sat in the pasture, singing to the cows. She feared insanity ran in the family and hoped she hadn’t inherited the gene.

She had left the house with the sole purpose to recruit Rifters, people who would watch over the rift with her. Sure, her brother would be at her side, but she didn’t see how his songs could back her up if push came to shove.

Her first stop was the ranch next door. The simple one-story structure had been painted a pretty yellow and had the most inviting porch. The ladies of the house lived here all year round, but Mr. Hessler spent the winters boxing in San Francisco and Portland to supplement what his ranch produced. He generously offered lessons to the townsfolk and didn’t discriminate between young or old, or man or woman. His philosophy was that everyone should know how to defend themselves.

A man with the physical rigor of a rancher and boxer would make a great guardian out at the rift. Cordelia had it in her mind she would not leave until he said yes. When the Hesslers had moved in, his daughter, Dottie, had become fast friends with Cordelia. It was from Dottie that Cordelia had heard Mr. Hessler had returned from San Franciso.

While still walking down the road, she spotted him in the fields with his horses. He was trying his hand at taming wild mustangs this year. She watched him chase the herd around the pasture, never getting any closer to any of them.

“You’re going about it all wrong,” Cordelia advised from outside the flimsy fence, trying to tame the flyaway brown strands escaping her bun.

“Get in here and show me.” He tossed the rope to her.

Cordelia grabbed hold of her brown skirts and slipped through the slats of the fence. “I’m happy to oblige after all those boxing lessons, Mr. Hessler.”

“Too bad Chuck had to move. I could use his wisdom.” He had sandy brown hair and blue eyes like his offspring. Cordelia often envied their blue eyes, but knew she was better off with her sensible brown pair.

“You have me. I’m enough.” She picked up the rope and walked to the middle of the field, setting her sights on a young mare who didn’t have a foal and wasn’t about to foal. She sat down and talked softly to the horses. Sometimes, she whistled and sang. Mr. Hessler brought her lunch and a bucket of apples. “Do you have any books?” she asked. He returned a while later and set The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens in her hands.

“Pardon me for saying so, Miss Swit, but you don’t seem to be accomplishing anything. The horses are ignoring you.”

“Which is a good thing, Mr. Hessler. If they were paying me mind, they’d probably be running away.”

“Okay, I see what you’re getting at. Should I stay?”

“If you sit quietly and don’t scare off the herd.”

“Fair enough. Good thing I brought another book.” He pulled The Three Musketeers out of his pocket. “I brought the Dickens back for you.”

“For me? You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

“You’re Dottie’s best friend and my best pupil, Miss Swit.”

“Call me Cordelia, please. Let’s not treat each other so coldly.”

“Excuse me if I slip up now and then, but I’ll do my best to oblige, Cor-Cordelia.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you come by for a boxing lesson? I know it wasn’t to teach me horse taming.”

“Hm, yes.” She squinted at the sun before settling her gaze back on him. “I need recruits. Folks not afraid of the dark. Folks who would be good in a fight.”

His eyes widened. “For what purpose? You don’t seem the brawling type, Miss…, er, Cordelia.”

“This town has a deep secret which Paps has kept since he founded this town in 1888.”

“The weird blue lights in the woods in the summers?”

Her eyes widened this time. “How did you know?”

“I don’t know what the lights mean, but most of the town has witnessed them. Chuck’s explanation of the volcano sometimes letting off some steam satisfied most.”

“But not you.”

He shook his head.

“You’re right to be skeptical.” She explained the rift and the potential for monsters.

“You can count me in, and Dottie will want to be part of it. You’re taking on women, aren’t you?”

“I don’t discriminate Mr. Hessler.”

“Call me Gregory.”

“Doesn’t seem proper, Mr. Hessler.”

The young dun mare came up to Cordelia, snuffled her and the bucket of apples. She held one out to the mare. “You’re a beautiful dear, aren’t you.” The mare let Cordelia touch her before trotting off. “You behave just like this until the horses start to trust you, then you move on in the training.”

“Will you come by when I’m ready for the next step?”

“You can count on it. The dun mare will be mine, by the way.”

“I’d have it no other way.” He scratched the back of his neck. “If you’re looking for more recruits, I have a few suggestions.”

“No worries, I have the matter well in hand.

“You always do.”

She left the ranch for the outskirts of town and the blacksmith’s shop. A half open sort of barnlike building, the shop was as utilitarian and straightforward as its owner. Langston Quarles was in many ways as dark as his anvil, and Cordelia appreciated his serious manner. His coal-black eyes didn’t glance up from his work when she walked into his shop.

“What ken I do ya fer, Miss Swit. It be coming up on evening time.”

“I wouldn’t dare keep you from Edna’s supper. No worries, Mr. Quarles.” If there was on person in this town who was as formidable as Cordelia, it was the blacksmith’s wife. “Is Edna keeping herself well?”

“You know. You just had tea will her last week.”

“Fair enough, I’ll not delay my reason for coming any further. I admire your ingenuity with your inventions and creations. You already are a great service to the town, but you could be even greater.”

“How so?”

She told him about the rift and how she needed help with keeping Settler and the world safe. “Will you join me in this endeavor, Mr. Quarles?”

“If you’re so lucky as to procure Edna’s say so, I will.”

“I will stop by your place and ask her for tea.”

“I want to help, though. So, you know where my feelings sit on the matter, but I won’t defy my Edna.”

“Nor should you.”

“She’d make a great addition to the group,” he suggested and returned to hammering on a panel of metal.

Following through, Cordelia popped by the Quarles’s home and invited Edna to tea the next day.

Edna had her dark hair pulled back with a scarf wrapped around her curls, which had a mind of their own. She bounced her young son on her hip. “It’ll have to be before lunching time. You’ve more town business to discuss?”

“Yes, I promise it’s more interesting than discussing infrastructure.”

“I look forward to it, Cordelia. Evening meal’s on the fire. If it burns Langston and my baby boy go hungry.”

Cordelia had no intentions of lingering. Interfering with Edna’s schedule would make her the subject of the woman’s ire for years. Cordelia didn’t need the drama in her life. She went home and tended to her own family, her father and brother.

The next day, she dressed in her fine blue dress and arranged a hat over her more carefully arranged hair. Edna demanded and deserved the respect of making an effort. She strode into the middle of town and inside the bakery, which also served as a tea café for ladies. Cordelia selected the quiet table in the corner and placed the order for a pot of tea, two cups, biscuits, butter, and honey. Edna abhorred too much of a fuss.

She walked in less than a minute later, dressed in her fine burgundy dress to rival the best fashions in San Francisco. Decorative combs slicked back her dark curls and rolled them into a charming updo. A delicate face with cute features belied by the force of her nature.

“Good day, Cordelia.” She sat down and removed her gloves. “Did you order the tea? Today, my time is limited. Langston has to ride out to Pronghorn to deliver an order of nails. What do you need me to accomplish? And for the life of me, with all these souls in this town, why are we the only two who can get anything done?”

“Excellent question, Edna.” Cordelia fell quiet as Bernard set down their tea and biscuits. She waited until he disappeared into the back kitchen before revealing the rift and the proposition she had made to Edna’s husband.

“He knows what’s good for him by telling you to ask me before he answers, but you should have come to me first, Cordelia.”

“I considered it in earnest but wanted to know whether he was interested before coming to you.”

“The courtesy is noted. Thank you. I’m keen to join you too, but not yet. When my boy gets old enough to watch over the babes, I’ll start up with you then.”

“Your offer is generous.”

“It’s no offer, it’s a desire. We make things happen, Cordelia. You make this happen for me. Now, I must go.” She hadn’t touched her tea before gliding out the door. Heads turned as she strolled by. Between her beauty, poise, and demeanor, Edna was a vision few could ignore.

Across the street, the general store had a steady stream of customers. Cordelia knew this hour of the day was one of Millicent Fisk’s busiest. Cordelia enjoyed her tea and biscuit, then another cup of tea. The general store grew quiet. She asked Bernard to box up the biscuits and stepped across the street.

Besides a general store, Milicent Fisk was the town’s apothecary. She had been a nurse in the War Between the States and tended to the folks of Settler as gently as she had once cared for soldiers.

“You need another tincture for your paps, Miss Cordelia?” Millicent wiped her hands on her apron. Her graying blonde hair was neatly piled on top of her head. Her eyes, which were a nondescript shade of brown, scoured over Cordelia, perhaps looking for health issues. “How did he fare with the last one?”

“No better, Millicent.”

“There are others we can try, but they’ll make him dopey so that he sleeps a lot.”

“I’m not sure we’re there yet.”

“Your too young to be shouldering all these troubles.”

“When you were my age, you were tending to severely wounded men in a war.”

“Like you, I’m a doer.”

“You’re also one of Mr. Hessler’s best students. All of your talents I could sorely use.” She told Millicent of the rift and her forming a group of protectors.

“Count me in by all means.” Millicent crossed her arms, leaning back against a partition, hiding her herbs and ingredients. Some accused her of being a witch. The ignorant always accused intelligent women of such nonsense.

“We’ll meet up at Mr. Hessler’s ranch in two days to begin training together.”

“What sort of training will we do?”

“Learning not to scream at monsters.”

Wanted: Those Who Don’t Fear the Dark Read More »

A House With Two Stories

Bonus Story / M Pax / March 17, 2026

A bonus story from the Rifters universe…

Cordelia hardly knew what to think of the Oregon Territory, which was mostly fir trees and volcanic rock. Winter had been long and harsh. Here it was July, and the mornings were brisk enough to require her to wear two shawls. She would have preferred to wear the bearskin coat, but her mother said it wasn’t proper with new families coming to town.

Snorting out some porridge with a laugh she couldn’t fully contain, Cordelia gulped down some lukewarm rosehip tea to wash down her breakfast and her mirth. Her mother didn’t care for frivolity.

However, there was no one else in Settler to see whether Cordelia wore a proper coat besides Chuck from a nearby tribe who had taken a liking to Pops. Sometimes Chuck brought his wife and children around, which hardly added up to a town. Most times Cordelia believed she, her brother, and parents lived in the world alone.

Wiping her mouth, she also removed the grin from her face. “Do the new people have kids?” she asked brightly.

Across the table, her brother ate his porridge in two bites and finished his tea in one long draught. “Thanks for breakfast, Mams,” he said. Robust and tall for his age, Rick took after Mams with a lot of red peppering is brown hair.

“P. Rick,” their mother inhaled with a disapproving air. Maybe the frown came from the hair coiled tightly atop her head. Her swelling stomach was more likely. Mams was always tired and feeling poorly lately, taking away the usual hints of amusement that usually graced her face. “Eating that quickly is hardly civilized. The steer will still be in the pasture ten minutes from no.” She loomed over him and grabbed him by the ears, turning his head one way then the other. “You could use a more thorough washup. Behind your ears is filthy.” Scrunching up her face, she let go of his ear and thoroughly wiped her hands on her apron.

Getting up from the table, my brother stood as tall as his nine-year-old body would allow. “Calling someone pee isn’t civilized. I am Rick. Just Rick. And I’m just going to get dirty again. I’ll washup later.” He grabbed a beat-up guitar hanging on a peg by the door and ran outside.

Cordelia hid her giggle behind her hands.

Mam came over to Cordelia, smoothed her brown hair and examined behind her ears. “You’re a good example for your older brother, and I’m glad you’re already consuming your meal like a lady. Mostly.” She handed Cordelia an apron. “We’ve chores and baking to get done.”

“Can’t I go help with the herd?” Cordelia preferred working outside and had put on her worn gray dress for that purpose.

“May, it’s may not can. And no, you may not. Despite our surroundings, I will raise you to be a lady. If you ever return to the more refined world, I do not wish for anyone to wag their fingers or tongues at you.” Her face softened while her hands supported the small of her back. “I need the help. Will you not stay inside and help your poor mother?”

Doing her best to hide her disappointment, Cordelia finished her breakfast and donned the apron. Without being asked, she washed the dishes and dried them, swept the floors, and then helped her mother knead bread.

Her mother’s swelling belly made some chores more difficult for her. However, Cordelia wasn’t any better equipped as a six-year-old to lift and carry things. She got inventive and stole a wheelbarrow from her father’s worksite. The grand house they lived in was still only partially finished. Household chores were accompanied by the sounds of hammers, saws, and men’s gruff voices. Well, two men. Chuck had come to assist Pops again.

Beautiful planks of buffed cedar graced the floors. Plastered boards comprised the walls. Mams had chosen a stately blue to paint the rooms downstairs after reading the color was fashionable in the fine houses back East. Later, she confessed she would seek out cheerier colors once Pops was done with the house.

During the lull between chores and lunch, her mother went to rest. Cordelia snuck up the stairs and watched her father and Chuck erect another wall. Once the second floor was completed, the family would sleep up here, and she’d get her own private room instead of sharing with Rick.

After getting her fill of construction, Cordelia skipped down the stairs and went out to the cow field to find her brother. Rick preferred hanging out with the cows over the sheep. As usual, he sat on a fallen tree and strummed his awful guitar. Sometimes he sang to the cows.

“They make for a poor audience, P,” she said while settling on the log beside him. She was the only one he let get away with calling him P. “With how their legs bend and having hooves instead of hands, they’ll never be able to clap.”

“Sometimes they stop and listen,” he answered. “That’s good enough.”

“You should give more of your time to the sheep. They must feel lonely.”

He laughed. “They’re in a flock. They don’t get lonely. Besides, they have the dog and the donkey to keep them company.”

Cordelia squinted across the meadow at the sheep. “You think so?”

“Don’t you worry.” He smiled kindly at her. “Girls don’t need to know about ranching. I’ve got it covered.”

Her gaze shifted to the sky. “When the sun is straight over, lunch will be on the table. You should come in early and wash up to please Mams. She’s been so tired.”

“Her stomach keeps swelling. Do you think she’s sick?”

“She won’t talk about it.”

“What’s for lunch?”

“Chuck brought some fish. There’ll be bread and stewed greens too. I was going to go look to see if there are any more wild strawberries for some berries and cream.”

Rick licked his lips. “Maybe you can help me with the sheep after lunch.”

“Maybe.” She smiled and scampered back into the house before Mams missed her.

Cordelia wasn’t allowed to help with the sheep after lunch, and there was no sign of the new families her mother had mentioned at breakfast. Once dinner was finished, the family retired to their seats in front of the fireplace. Mams and Pops sat in matching upholstered wingback chairs. Cordelia and Rick sat on the hearth made of rocks quarried from the area.

The fire crackled warmly on Cordelia’s back. She faced her parents, waiting for Pops or her mother to begin a story. Her father puffed on a pipe while Mam rested her eyelids.

“This is a story about a great secret in the woods,” Pops started. He wore his dark brown hair in the current style, and his blue eyes twinkled. Despite making a profession of making a living off the land, he had a sophisticated air, as if the land worked for him.

“In these woods?” Cordelia asked.

“No, just in any forest.”

This was going to be one of his wilder tales instead of a recounting of life events. Cordelia liked the stories about his and Mam’s younger days better, but any story was welcome.

“In the forest, a person can find survival. There’s food, shelter, fuel, and companionship.”

“Companionship?” Rick laughed. “Like make friends with animals and birds?”

“Trees are friendly too,” Pops said. His mouth quivered with amusement. “I met one the other night.”

Cordelia glanced out the window. Trees surrounded the house. “What do you mean?”

“The tree walked up to me and bowed. Chuck said it wanted to pass us and take root on this world, but it couldn’t be allowed.”

“Did it talk?” Cordelia studied her father. He didn’t make the knotted expressions he usually did when making up a story.

“It spoke in a sort of music. I have no idea how Chuck understood it. But he didn’t seem like himself. Now off to bed before the trees come alive and come to get you.” Pops chuckled and ushered them off to their room.

Rick was asleep as soon as he lay down, as always. Cordelia’s mind churned. Talking trees? At night?

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, then the front door softly shut. She peered out the window. Her father strolled into the forest. She had to see this singing tree. Grabbing her bearskin coat from the coat tree by the door, she trotted after him. A worn path led out to the mountain of shiny black rock. Chuck met her father there, and they proceeded to a small clearing with two shiny black pillars. The two of them perched on a boulder and stared at the pillars.

Cordelia hunched behind a bush. She had to see this tree. The night grew darker and colder, and she was glad she had taken the coat instead of the shawls. As she blew on her hands, blue light ignited around the two pillars. The light danced like lightning, growing brighter and larger until it formed a ball. Out of the ball came a bulky creature with a bulbous head and green eyes that sliced through the darkness like lanterns.

Gasping, Cordelia left the safety of the bush. She wanted to meet the creature who had appeared like magic. Maybe its magic could make Mams better and less tired. It had quills and patches. Patches of what? She inched closer, reaching out a hand.

Pops roared and snatched her up. Chuck shoved the creature into the blue light. Both disappeared, and the night became still once more.

“That didn’t look like a tree,” she said to Pops.

He carried her with all haste through the trees and back into the house. “You are never to come out there at night. Never.”

She had never seen him so angry. He pulled off her coat and grabbed her shawls off the coat tree. Then he grabbed all the coats and shawls took them with him into his and Mam’s room.

Sleep was impossible. Cordelia mulled over what she had seen and could make little sense of the sphere of blue and the fanciful creature. In the morning, Mams rushed into Cordelia and Rick’s room and packed their belongings into a trunk.

“What are you doing?” Cordelia rubbed her eyes and frowned. On the verge of tears her chin quivered. “I’m sorry, Mams. So sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

“You and Rick were invited to Aunt Wilma’s for the summer. You’ll have so much fun.”

Pops strode in and dragged the trunk out to a waiting wagon. Chuck held the reins, and the horses stomped restlessly.

“I don’t want to go,” Cordelia pleaded. “I’m sorry Pops.” She wasn’t sure what she had done wrong.

The wagon lurched forward, and her parents turned their backs. Rick put his arm around her while she struggled not to cry.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I followed Pops out into the woods last night.” She told him what she saw.

“The devil is here?” Rick glanced nervously around the valley that had become home. “We should have stayed in Missouri.”

“Why would Mams and Pops stay here in danger?”

“No danger,” Chuck assured her. He word his long dark hair pulled back and had the looks and build like a prince in some of Cordelia’s story books. “Your Pops needs time to make your Mams well. That’s all.”

The wagon lumbered west then north, rolling over rough roads for hours. The hours turned into days. Cordelia wondered if Aunt Wilma had gone back to Missouri. This trip felt like the one that had brought them to Oregon.

“I wish I could take it back and not follow Pops,” she whispered to Rick. “I’m sorry.”

When they reached a grand river, the road became wider and smoother. Civilization sprang up with houses and shops and businesses. Chuck dropped off the two of them in front of a fancy, lacy house painted the prettiest yellow.

Aunt Wilma ran out and gathered Cordelia and Rick in a hug. “Welcome, welcome.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” Cordelia said.

“Of course. Your mother needs her time, and I had promised I would have the two of you for the summer.” Piles of blond curls adorned Aunt Wilma’s head, and she wore a fashionable gauzy dress in a yellow to match her house.

Cordelia’s brows knotted. She had no idea what her aunt meant. “Is Mams illness something we can catch?”

“No. Don’t worry, child. Her illness is completely curable.” Aunt Wilma patted Cordelia’s back and showed her to a room decorated with pink frills “You’ll share with your cousin, Rachel. Go get washed up, then come find me in the kitchen.” She dragged Rick off down the hall.

Instead of just a bucket and cloths, there was an entire bath chamber in the house with a clawfoot tub and a marble washstand. The water was still cold, however. This town by a formidable river was hotter than at the homestead, so Cordelia didn’t mind.

After cleaning up, she found her clothes unpacked on the bed. She changed into her nicer blue frock. The armoire was open with space for hanging and some empty drawers pulled out. She put away her things and went downstairs to the kitchen. A woman Cordelia hadn’t met was making biscuits.

“Have a seat,” the woman said. She was pleasantly plump with the rosiest cheeks.

“I can help you bake the biscuits,” Cordelia offered, searching for another apron.

“The cooking is my job. Are ya trying to put me out of work?” She wiped her hands on her apron before grabbing a knife to chop some pickles. “I’m Mrs. Lewis.”

Minding her manners, Cordelia curtsied. “Cordelia Swit.”

“Have a seat, Miss Swit.”

Before Cordelia was settled in her seat, Mrs. Lewis set down a platter of pickles, cheese, radishes, and cucumbers. “The first batch of biscuits will be just a few more minutes. Then you can assemble your own biscuits by putting what you like on them.” She nodded at the brimming platter. Before Cordelia could form a reply, butter was set down, a dish of chopped tomatoes, and a glass of lemonade.

“Don’t be shy, Miss Swit. You must be parched after your long journey.”

Cordelia sipped the refreshing lemonade. Before she knew it, she had drained the glass. Mrs. Lewis promptly refilled her glass.

A cleaner than usual Rick entered the kitchen and joined Cordelia at the table. Hot biscuits were placed on their plates and the feasting began. Cordelia ate until she thought she might puke. Rick ate until the platter was emptied.

They spent a happy summer running in the garden with their cousins and exploring along the river. They ate lovely meals and enjoyed baths in the tub. Aunt Wilma and Uncle Horace pampered the both of them. Sometimes Aunt Wilma looked incredibly sad. When packing them up to return home, she finally revealed why.

“I want to tell you this before you get home, because I feel the shock will be too great. Between now and then, you’ll have some time to adjust to the idea.”

“What do you mean?” Cordelia asked.

Her aunt relayed the most awful and perplexing news. Their mother had left for heaven, and they would never see her again. Cordelia didn’t believe her and remained silent the entire trip back to Settler. Rick often wept beside her, but she wouldn’t cry for what couldn’t possibly be true.

When they arrived, Chuck took their trunk into the house. The house had changed and had two full stories now. Inside, she and her brother were greeted by a confusing maze of hallways and doors. Chuck guided them through many doors to the stairwell. Upstairs, Cordelia found a new kitchen and hearth. A baby wailed in a cradle, and her father sat beside the babe with his head in his hands.

Finally, Cordelia realized her aunt had told the truth. The house felt wrong and empty and sad. Her father’s sorrow permeated every board and nail. His eyes glanced her way but didn’t focus for long.

“Wallace is your responsibility now.” He got up and left without a hello.

Cordelia stared after him.

“Make it stop crying,” her brother begged, tears soaking his cheeks.

Cordelia had no idea what to do, but she went and picked up the baby. For a few moments she sobbed with the boys, then determinedly wiped away her tears. Her gaze fell on Chuck. “Can your wife come and teach me?”

He nodded.

She carried the baby to a desk under the window and penned a note to her aunt and another to Mrs. Lewis. Surely, these ladies would have the best advice for her.

Rick searched the pantry for something to nibble on and came up with a hunk of stale bread. “This house is a little crazy.”

“It’s like Pops erased Mams.” Cordelia handed her baby brother to Rick and went to heat up the kettle. Some weak rosehip tea to dip the bread in would make it more edible. After they ate, she’d make fresh bread, and she and Rick would map every inch of this crazy house. She’d not let her father shut them out.

Her attention drifted out the window and into the woods, wondering how much of a part the secrets in the woods had played in the changes. The forest hadn’t kept Mams safe, but Pops had said, a person could find survival, food, shelter, fuel, and companionship.

She tightened her hold on Wallace. She would make sure this town and her family thrived.

A House With Two Stories Read More »

In the Summer of 1888

Bonus Story / M Pax / February 24, 2026

A short story from the Rifters universe…

The Oregon high desert was desolate and cold. Charley breathed on his cupped hands to warm up his fingers. The sun was as brilliant as on a summer day, but the warmth barely kissed the air on this frigid June morning. Oregon hadn’t gotten the message summer would start in a matter of hours.

Charley wished he had more clothes to wear and stared at the hill walling off a greener world inside. He pulled the hand-drawn map out of his pocket. The map rested inside a handwritten journal with drawing and a poem.

As near as he could figure, he was in the right place. The landscape fit the map and the poem, which had led him here. However, he didn’t see a town. A single wisp of smoke snaked from the shores of one of the two lakes, but one fire didn’t signify a town.

Charley read the poem again.

Within the caldera’s jagged ring,
Two mirrored lakes like secrets sing.
Between them rises a silent cone,
Black glass flows guard the hidden stone.

Beyond the barren, brush-strewn land,
A town awaits your seeking hand.
Where life renews and shadows fade,
The world reborn in a blue sun’s shade

A mysterious ‘NT had sent the journal’ in New York. How this NT had known where to find Charley puzzled him and this odd little book was sent. A twig snapped behind him, and he whirled.

Beside a tree as thick as a town stood a man, who was obviously native. Perhaps NT had sent Charley to a tribal village to be slaughtered, to exact revenge for his crimes. He’d done his time in San Quentin and had only been released a few months ago. He hadn’t yet adjusted to the fact his debt to society had already been paid.

“Hello,” the man greeted Charley. “I’m Chuck.”

“Chuck?”

“Chuck the Indian. That’s what Patrick calls me.”

“Who’s Patrick?”

“The founder of this town.”

“I don’t see a town.” Charley wiped his dust-laden hand as best he could on his travel-logged clothes and held it out, introducing himself.

“We have the same name,” Chuck laughed.

“I suppose we do. Where is this town of Patrick’s?”

“Mostly in his head,” Chuck replied. “He’s not around today, anyway. Won’t be back for a week or so. Went for supplies.”

“Okay. So, there’s not a hotel or anything?”

Chuck laughed some more.

Charley took that to mean no.

“Let me show you the town,” Chuck offered. “You should see it, then we can share some lunch.”

“I have got no food.”

“Don’t worry, Charley. I’m going to take care of you.”

Trusting people didn’t come naturally to Charley. Not after the war, not after the loss of so many brothers, not after the double-crossing by a certain ruthless company, not after the life he had built himself based on lies. He wanted better, wanted a fresh start, wanted what the poem promised; a renewal and rebirth.

Chuck guided Charley through the trees to the lake where a couple of tents were set up and where the fire burned. Charley helped prepare a rabbit and some wild vegetables. Chuck talked a lot and was companionable.

While they feasted, Charley answered Chuck’s questions about why he had come to Settler. “I won’t lie to you, Chuck,” he said, licking rabbit juice from his fingers. “I came in hopes of starting over, of reinventing myself.”

“What are you running away from?” Chuck scooped up grilled wild onions and carrots, placing them on top of a chunk of rabbit before devouring the morsels. “To become something else means you’re leaving something behind.”

“A notorious past,” Charley confessed, unsure why he spoke so much truth to this stranger. “If my past actions keep haunting me, I can never become the man I want to be. And may I say, you speak remarkably good English.”

“Traders have been around these parts since my ancestors’ time,” Chuck replied, “and I hang out with Patrick too much. Your people are awful, but I see we need to learn to live together.”

“My people are terrible,” Charley agreed. He noted the start of a house not so far off. “Patrick’s house?”

Chuck glanced over his shoulder. “I won’t help him build it. His wickiup for his bride has to be made by his hands. If he fails, they won’t come. Which I’m okay with.”

“I understand. Do you want me to leave too?”

“You were led here, and I’m curious why. Stay a bit. Get some rest.” Chuck nodded at one of the tents. “Use Patrick’s tent.”

“It’s barely noon,” Charley said, glancing up at the sky.

“What does time matter out here.”

“Very well.” Charley ducked into the tent and sank onto the cot. He’d been sleeping on the ground for weeks, and his old bones sighed into the soft comfort. His freedom was everything, though, and he’d deal with achy bones the rest of his days if it meant he’d never be behind bars again.

When his eyes next opened, dark had descended, and it was colder. Shivering, Charley left the tent for the fire. The fire was down to embers, and he could hear Chuck snoring in the other tent. With a stick, he stirred the embers and added fresh kindling. When flames shot up, he added a log and patiently waited for the log to catch before adding another.

He wondered at the time, pulling his coat tightly around him and inching closer to the fire. Peering in the pot, his stomach rumbled, but the rabbit and vegetables were gone. Disappointed, Charley sat back on his heels and took out the little journal, reading over the poem again.

Not so far off, a brilliant burst of blue exploded in the forest. The light kept burning with the oddest flames Charley had ever seen. He stuck a nearby branch into the campfire and lit a torch before making his way through the trees toward the blue light. Using skills he had learned as a scout during the war, he snuck through the forest without a sound, making his way to the blue light.

In a clearing, a circle of blue light danced in the center of it. Charley gaped. “What in all the West…” He circled the clearing, eyeing the blue light.

Chuck appeared beside him. “I’ve seen things walk through that thing.” He didn’t whisper.

“Shh,” Charley said.

“If anything intended to come through, it would be here by now.”

“What kind of anything?”

Chuck shrugged. “Gods, monsters. I’m not sure. But the blue circle opens sometimes in the summer. My ancestors tell stories about it.”

“Opens?”

“If gods and monsters come through, they come from somewhere, Charley.”

Charley put out his torch and placed one foot in the clearing. He remained unharmed, but a strange feeling emanated from his chest. The feeling vibrated and clutched onto him. Without thinking, he found himself in front of the blue circle, reaching out a hand.

He felt a shove against his back and stumbled into the light. The Oregon high desert disappeared, and he swirled in a dark fog sometimes erupting with blue lightning. A blue man floated beside him.

“You’re special,” the strange blue man with long silver hair said. “You’re destined for great things. Your wish for a new start has been granted.”

The fog pulled and pushed at Charley and suddenly dissipated. He found himself back in a forest in the dead of night. They pointed lights at him that didn’t emanate from fire. He shaded his eyes and squinted, trying to get a better look at them.

“He doesn’t look much like a monster,” one said.

The other approached, a clean-cut sort of man barely past his teens. His hair was cut in a style Charley had never seen, and his clothes were odd too. His boot poked at Charley. “This is as close to human as I’ve ever seen.”

“I am human,” Charley said. “Where am I? Is this still Settler?”

“Still Settler,” the first one mocked. He had much darker hair and a thin mustache. “As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to somewhere else. Look, one moment I was at my campfire, sharing a meal with Chuck when this blue light burst in the forest. The light’s gone now and I’m in a forest again, but I’m not sure it’s the same one.”

“You talk a lot,” the mustached one said

“Educated English too,” the clean-cut one said. “Culver, check out his clothes. Those are positively vintage. Beyond vintage.” The strange handheld light roamed over Charley. “Maybe he is human.”

“Don’t be supposing anything, Wald. Human or not, he’s a thing from the rift.”

“I’m aware, and I won’t forget.” Wald’s boot nudged Charley again. “You got a name?”

Charley thoughts swirled, and he swallowed the rising panic. Here was his chance to start over, to be someone else. His brain drew from his birth name and from his notorious name. Tipping his hat, he smiled. “The name is Earl Blacke.”

In the Summer of 1888 Read More »