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The townspeople look on in disbelief as a ginormous UFO descends from the sky. “We were hoping to find intelligent life on your planet, but no luck so far. So, now we move on to plan B: invade Earth.” “Or”—the mayor lifts a finger—“I have a better idea.”
He would have gotten away with robbing the world’s largest bank if it weren’t for those meddling kids. A sudden glint catches his sight as the keys to his handcuffs stick out of the officer’s pocket. Should he take the chance, or wait for a better one?
Same gnarled plants, same mannequins, same recipe for fake blood—same everything! But then I spot a “Danger! Do Not Enter” sign on a chained door with an unlocked padlock. Inside: a darkened room, empty except for a porcelain doll sitting inside a glass box.
Twenty doves from a hat, fireworks from a wand, a rabbit from nowhere—this magician is amazing! Now he drapes a cloth over a caged lion and reveals an empty cage. The magician and his assistant turn to look directly at me. They’re smiling for the crowd, but visibly worried. Something’s wrong.
“Sire, I’m so sorry to interrupt. The princess was involved in another kidnapping.” The room falls uncomfortably silent. With a shaky breath, the king squints his eyes shut, hoping this is a nightmare. “Reginald…whom did she take this time?”
Bailey University always found a way to cheat—deflated balls, oiled courts, paid referees. I grip the football tight, dig my feet into the turf. And then I look up at my opponent. No one is going to win the bet this year. Before me…is me.
“Your wish shall be granted. But first, you have to make a decision.” I swallow the lump in my throat—I didn’t even graduate high school! The genie looms over me. “My riddle is…which was created first: the chicken or the egg?”
It only takes a moment for the transformation to complete. His dark-brown eyes turn piercing yellow as his fangs glisten under the full moonlight. His demeanor quickly changes to piqued interest as I pull out a tennis ball. “Who wants the ball? Do you want the ball?”
The hero trudges to the villain’s throne room—all comrades fell in battle, his sword is dull, his body bruised. Never has he seen such cunning strategies and burning determination. With a struggling push, the doors creak open. “Hello, Father,” his nine-year-old daughter greets with a sinister smile.
“This is the tenth time I’ve caught the guy sleeping on the job! Tenth!” The manager’s color drops from his cheeks. “You couldn’t let it go any longer?” Seeing the usually chipper demeanor replaced by fear made the clerk stay silent. “Mr. Henry—you didn’t wake him, did you?”
“I saw your sign—‘FISH FOR SALE.’ I want to get a fish.” The old man’s face lights up with glee. “Oh, yes! We just got it in.” “‘It’? Aren’t all of your fish for sale?” “Oh, there’s only one fish for sale. It ate them all.”
A teen furiously types a code, breaching firewalls like fighting a fortress with a dull Level 1 dagger—but they’re getting close. Finally, they do it. They type a command: “Initiate ‘Lump of Coal.’” “You should have gotten me that pony, fat man.” They smile before hitting Enter.
“I’m just so sick and tired of you lying to me!” “About what?” “About you being my mother! About me being adopted…” Silence fills the room. “Okay…You’re right: I am not your mother. But, sweetie—you weren’t exactly ‘adopted’ either.” “What do you mean?”
“Yes! This plan is foolproof,” the wolf mutters, snuggling into Grandma’s bed. As someone knocks, he calls, “Come in.” “Sure, Grandma! And look who I found along the way!” Red opens the door wider to unveil the uninvited guest.
“The steak was too cold, I didn’t get my drinks in a timely manner!” The waiter feigns a smile. “How about you bring me your manager?” She flings the receipt. He was truly surprised she left a tip at all—and what she wrote for the tip: “Please help me.”
When you picture a funeral for your twelve-year-old sister, you imagine the obvious bunch: parents, grandparents, friends, a pastor. But a four-man Italian mob coming to say a final farewell to their “boss” was not what I expected.
I look at my aunt’s torso—slightly see-through. I ring the doorbell. “It’s all right, Auntie. It’s not your fault you died and turned into a ghost.” “Little Jimmy! What can I do for you?” “I was wondering if I could get my aunt’s brownie recipe back?” My aunt crosses her arms. “She killed me for it.”
“I’m sorry, sir—in order to save the country—no, the world—you need to choose one.” The president looks down at the mahogany desk, the fate of the world resting on a silver platter: a gray pill, a rainbow pill, and a glass of tap water.
“Now we need the notes ready for Mr. Bryce.” Charlie gulps. “Sir, I can’t work with Mr. Bryce—we have a strained working relationship, and I can’t handle their insistent micromanaging any longer.” The call fell into a straining silence. “Do they know I’m already on the call?” Mr. Bryce asks.
Victor pins the bartender to the damp, concrete wall. “Tell me, Frankie! Who told them?” “I swear, Vick! I didn’t tell them!” He wasn’t lying—Victor knew when Frankie lied. “I’m sorry, Vick, but I don’t know.” Victor slowly turns to Frankie. That was a lie.
“And now, on to the finals!” Peter hesitates before picking up his fork—that grand prize is as good as his, despite his stomach feeling like a water balloon about to burst. The nuns set pans of cookies, pies, and breads in front of the competitors, all sharing one ingredient in common: pumpkin.
“It’s time you know the secret ingredient to my Upton Soup. People travel for miles and wait for hours just to get a bowl.” Scanning the prep table, I was hoping to see a unique vegetable or a tin of spices. Nothing could prepare me for the horror that was the secret ingredient.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to cancel your appointment. Whatever you have in there tried to bite me.” The woman scoffs. “You’ll be just fine! Let me take him out for you to see just how sweet he is.” “Ma’am, wait!”
Perseus steadies his breath—with the bronze shield of Athena, he can see Medusa without turning to stone. Movement flickers in the shadows. He tightly grips his sword. “Hello?” Medusa calls. “Is someone there?” Athena forgot to tell him one important detail: she is blind.
“Any last tricks, sir knight?” The villain smirks. The knight grins arrogantly, pulling out a small vial of glowing yellow brew. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The sorcerer steps back. “Where did you get that?” “I mean…you’re not wrong, but it certainly won’t give you the results you expect.” “Works for me.”
“We only have three bags of coffee grounds left. I swear we had at least twelve in here last night.” She notices the new girl has gone pale. “How many did you put in?” The newbie points to the instructions—a splash of syrup makes the “3 bags” look like “9 bags.”
“It’s not real. It’s not real,” poor Cindi mutters under her breath. The shadow takes form into a large, towering monster as it slowly rises. The anxiety causes her stomach to produce a low, rumbling growl. “Oh, no…No, no, not now!”
“What flavor would you like? We have Simples, Delightfuls, and—” “I’d like the ‘Premium,’” the customer interrupts. The owner’s smile falters. “Who recommended that one, son?” The man lifts the brim of his pinstripe fedora. “Rogers.” The owner takes out a key and unlocks a secret compartment hidden under the ice cream cooler.
“The guy that just walked in—the one with the red baseball cap?” “Oh, you mean Brad?” “That can’t be him,” she whispers. “Why’s that?” “Because I saw my boyfriend stab him to death last night.” I stare back at her, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, what?”
One second, we’re riding on an airport tram. The next, we’re violently thrown off balance as it screeches to a halt. A fierce sound reverberates within the tunnels—eerie, unearthly, so low we could all feel it rumble within our chests. We then hear the intercom click, cutting off the conductor’s screams.
Rebecca groans—just an intern, why did she have to deliver the bad P&L reports to the CEO? She turns the golden knob. She wasn’t expecting the CEO and his managers hunched over a children’s play table, sitting in kid-sized chairs, having pretend tea with teddy bears.
The sirens rush toward the abandoned sailor like a pack of piranhas, their claws digging into his leg. “Wait, wait, wait!” he loudly pleads. The hungry sirens pause—they seemed to like playing with their food. “I have a much better offer than myself as your next meal.”
“Hello, Jonathan.” Startled, the boy drops the wrapped present he snuck from under the tree. He sees an unmistakable red suit with a white beard. “Santa?” “Yes. And I’ve come due to a problem on my list. Yours came to 50.0000 percent nice and 50.0000 percent naughty.” “So…what does that mean?”
My eyes are dry and red from bracing a category 2 hurricane. My skin is cracked from surviving an F3 tornado. And now I sway, my knees quivering from a 5.5 magnitude earthquake. “Your next trial: survive thirty minutes in a NESIS Category 4 blizzard. After that, one trial stands between you and fifty million dollars.”