© Plume de Noom 2026

Trigger warnings: Dear friends, please note that these stories contain death, violence and possibly sexy times

The Librarian © Plume de Noom 2026

Davis watched the lazy fall of spring petals to the concrete pathway where they were churned into slush by the heavy boots that passed through. In the gutters, the last remains of a once-pristine snowfall slumped down the drain.

He tilted his face up to the dark sky overhead and breathed out, enjoying the bright cloud he made around himself as people stepped around him on the path. He walked to a different rhythm with a sharp smack from his cane sounding right before his left foot landed.

Cars whined over the bridge on their way to various chores, passing uncomfortably close to Davis, but his smile remained. Over the field there were intermittent rumblings from a rugby game in full swing. As he passed the odd collection of stores, he heard the little cafe’s till chime as patrons prepared for the day with various forms of hot caffeine, the slightly acrid burnt smell hitting his nose. He glanced briefly at the window of the news agent next door where a mother held a screaming, red nosed child while another trilled about cheap candy, and Davis’ eyes fell on the window briefly, which now sported yet another missing person’s flyer. He paused for a moment to touch the face of an angelic young man, before he continued on his path.

It was a long ten minutes to get to the library, but when he arrived, he was rewarded with a tidy, quiet afternoon. Taking up his usual position, he steepled his arms on the counter and let his elbows take his weight as he watched a few kids scurry around the Children’s Corner, while their kneeling parents furtively hushed them and contorted themselves to collect the various items the small ones chose to liberate and scatter under the shelves.

Davis chuckled. “Little devils.” He shook his head, thinking of the challenges he’d have in a few hours time when the store was due to close and he had to excavate lost books and other items the parents had missed from obscure places.

“Bye Davis.” Claude waved cheerfully as he walked out wrapping a scarf around himself, and simultaneously unhooking his badge from the loops in his thick jumper, “I hope lockup goes well!” He called over his shoulder without breaking his stride.

Davis lifted his hand to Claude’s back.

Another hour passed, and a large parcel was delivered - the books Davis had requested on behalf of the regulars; including a few things they’d asked for, and things he thought they might enjoy and even occasionally, things he thought they really ought to read.

He settled the pack behind himself, ticked through his list of tasks as he watched the different groups filter through; the young lady who had recently finished school and was now wearing shiny black shoes, a longer skirt and sporting a fresh haircut spent some time in the business aisle picking up books and putting them back on the shelf while her eyes flitted repeatedly over to the high fantasy section.

Ben mumbled to himself as his finger pressed into the creased spines of travel books, giving each blue line a moment of his time as he worked to decide which to take home with him today.

The trio of grandmas who were locally adored but who considered themselves to be menaces, fluffed their way in on a breeze of hard perfume and inhaler medication. They undid themselves from their heavy leather jackets with liberal profanities and stalked past the front desk and over to the good soft chairs in the back corner, where they nested themselves in with groans, ready to have another haughty argument about art or politics in barely hushed tones.

Davis glanced at the clock and rubbed the outside of his left leg, and reluctantly stationed himself on his bar stool, where he cold stretch his straight leg out awkwardly to the side. He was just contemplating making a cup of hot lemon when the front door whistled open.

Davis turned, giving it his full attention.

It wasn’t uncommon to have another misguided old couple enter for directions or information. The town was beautiful, and every year, people saw a picture of the charming white mountains and gabled houses and mistook it for a possible holiday location, before they realised that it was soulless, shabby, and offered nothing warm or friendly for people passing through, with no romantic cabins or quaint restaurants.

Davis slowly stood, his eyes fixed on the newcomer, and worked to quickly smooth away the frown on his forehead with some effort.

A long red hooded cloak covered the strangers body and face. Matching gloves in a shade darker encased long fingers The stranger wore thick, square-rimmed dark glasses with side visors, the type Davis had only seen worn by geriatric driving instructors.

The only uncovered aspect of the stranger that Davis could make out was an expanse of very pale skin, with a large nose and overly large lips.

The stranger had a soft, smooth gait, and seemed to have a glamorous air, despite the heavy camouflage and bulky, awkward glasses. As they got nearer, Davis realised that the stranger was painfully large, reaching much more than a head taller than even Claude.

Davis murmured a greeting, and the stranger nodded while passing the front desk, heading straight for the photography aisle.

It took everything in Davis not to stare at the newcomer, and given the light duties left for the day, that was a near impossible task. Even the regular flock stretched their necks over the tops of aisles, or cast their eyes furtively toward the photography section, the whites as stark as blank pages, before they ducked their heads. There were many surreptitious glances over to Davis as well, before those eyes returned to study their books.

A book hit the floor, snapping Davis’ attention to the aisle, where a lowered head scrapped out hushed apologies while furtive fingers pushed the large tome, carefully home on the shelf.

Davis rubbed his straight leg again, his mouth as thin as a page, as he tried not to think of the sin that had just been committed. He sighed.

The stranger stayed for a long while and touched little, moving through the library almost silently, but the air felt strange and tense. Even the light from the stained-glass window appeared to be just a bit dimmer than it had been a few hours ago, before the stranger had arrived. Davis absently rubbed his straight left leg and continued to watch the stranger out the corner of his eye while he entered numbers into the computer.

Finally, the stranger decided on their prey: a black and white French architecture book.

Rather than taking a seat, they stood, the book splayed out on their gloved palm, with the edges of the delicate pages exposed to the hard ceiling lights. From his angle, Davis noticed that the stranger’s bent neck was unnaturally long, and the face seemed almost poised to strike above the book.

A young man who had been wandering down the aisles aimlessly, ended up in the same aisle as the stranger. When he realised his mistake, he did a double take, made a startled noise, and hurried away from the aisle.

Davis swallowed and clutched hard at the barcode scanner. Davis processed the stack of books in front of him one by one, giving the task none of his usual attention.

He noticed that the stranger rarely turned the pages, instead seeming to devour every detail, despite the hard barrier of the dark glasses that looked from the side more like twin TVs set in the stranger's face.

An age later, the stranger seemed to glide to the front desk, with the spine of the book in their clutches and the pages hanging limply down.

Without saying a word, the stranger put the book down in front of Davis.

Davis’ eyes travelled down the long gloved fingers, counting not three but four knuckles, and he fumbled, almost dropping the barcode scanner, before he recovered and smiled up at the monstrous stranger.

A library card slid across the table. It was a small, tatty thing belonging to a Mrs Mona Willowsworth of Pain Lane—allegedly.

There were very few old families in town. Truth be told, there were even fewer new families, and Davis knew them all. Who else would take the time to visit the newcomers, to welcome them, and offer what solace and connection the library could offer but Davis himself?

‘Willowsworth’ was not a name that belonged in his town, and Pain Lane was on the industrial side, which was now stuffed with antiquated services that the town had no use for anymore, like the old cement quarry he had a habit of visiting on his days off.

Davis took extra care in processing the book, and engaged in some rare mindless chatter with the stranger about the recent snowfall.

With immense effort, he took the time to look up into the hood and smiled at the face that was as pleasant as an ink spill.

Blinking through the discomfort, Davis relinquished the book and removed his fingers before the stranger had any opportunity to make contact.

When the transaction was over, the stranger paused, the book in their grasp. It couldn’t have been more than a fraught minute, but it felt a few chapters long, and Davis rubbed a hand absently over his face when the stranger finally passed through the double doors, followed by many sets of eyes.

Davis shook himself and pulled out the wet wipes and hand sanitiser and tried to get back to his tasks.

Davis worked methodically through his list while keeping an eye on everyone present.

He enjoyed the finality of stamping the out-of-date books, and lined the edges up expertly, feeling the weight of their last final library attention before they left for some less scrupulous attention some other fettered place in the town.

Finally, his watch chimed the hour, and the regulars filed out, with a dip of their heads, or a word of thanks in the direction of the front desk.

There was little to nothing to tidy, but Davis took the time to make his way slowly down each aisle with his stilted walk, pushing the books back into a perfect neat line.

Before he left, he wrote a note for Claude:

I need you to investigate a Mrs Mona Willowsworth of Pain Lane. Someone took a book out under her name today. Could not match description. Likely theft. Book barcode 72664695.

Despite his best efforts, Davis didn’t sleep well. Every time he closed his eyes he was assaulted by images of the hooded stranger, and saw the furtive, fear-filled looks of the library’s regular flock, as their eyes trailed the stranger.

He started his next shift with a strong cup of tea, and worked hard to keep his attention to the many tasks he had to get through, but he ended up placing a book on the wrong shelf and spilling a container of pens before the first hour was through. “Jiminy Cricket” he muttered, and bent at the waist to retrieve those that had made their way onto the floor.

As the day wore on, Davis began to lower his shoulders and he glanced less and less at the front door. The weekday regulars filed in, and Davis imagined them leaving their many cares outside as they sank into the comfort the library offered.

The library was calm; the computer consoles chirped occasionally, the fans hummed in the air conditioning units, and a lone display magazine’s pages flapped under the fan outlet. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the easiest day. Miles Earnshaw shuffled up to the front desk at the start of Davis’ shift and produced a small book from one of the many pockets on his greasy overalls. He held it out to Davis and coughed out an apology while his eyes stayed fixed on the book cover.

Davis stifled a sigh and scanned the book. “Mr Earnshaw, I’m afraid this is overdue.”

The large man nodded and held up his card in penitence.

Davis’ lips curled up at the corner and he motioned a pat above the big man’s hands without actually making contact, “That’s very kind, thank you Mr Earnshaw.” It took Davis a moment to calculate the twenty four hour late fee and then he paused and waited for a moment after Miles had paid. “Mind you get some hand sanitiser. It’s not good for you to be exposed to so many germs.” Davis looked in the direction of the pump at the front of the store and teased a wet wipe carefully from the crackly plastic container under the front desk.

Miles shuffled off to the sanitiser station, hung his head and liberally doused himself, while Davis scrubbed the plastic cover on the book that had been given back into his care.

He’d only just finished scrubbing when a woman came in and troubled Davis with multiple requests for romance novels the library didn’t have, becoming progressively louder. She eventually left, muttering profanities as she went. After that, a very young person came in unaccompanied, chewing gum while their eyes darted around the large sanctuary like missiles seeking chaos.

Davis clutched the edge of the desk, willing peace to settle back over the library. He turned away, collected the special order he’d requested a few weeks ago, a large print book on classic car design, and processed it, gently coating it in protective plastic and branding it with the library barcode.

He called Miles back over and presented the book to him with a soft smile. Miles didn’t meet Davis’ eyes, but he did thank the front desk, and headed off to find a quiet corner.

The front doors whirred open, admitting the stranger again. Davis’ fingers turned white on the edge of the desk.

The stranger was dressed in exactly the same manner, and seemed to have grown even larger and more menacing than last time they’d come in.

Davis’ jaw ached he clenched his teeth so hard, as the figure approached and blotted out all the daylight that had warmed the space. With an effort, he presented a smile to the stranger, and graciously accepted the book back.

Davis’ sugary words were acknowledged with only a nod and another awkward pause.

The librarian hesitated, “can I help you find anything?”

There was a brief shake of the hooded head, and then the stranger slid down the aisles and off to a far corner, away from the other patrons.

Once again, the peace was shattered, and Davis rubbed absently at his stiff, leg, the straight line a mirror of the one between his eyebrows. The day dragged, and no amount of hot lemon or book organising seemed to be able to fix it.

Finally, the end of the day arrived, and the stranger presented another book to Davis at the front desk.

Davis gulped and looked down at the book: Design, Form and Function.

With the thud of his pulse so loud he suspected that the stranger could hear it, he paused and deliberately looked up into the darkness of the hood. He could feel the sweat gathering under his arms and around the back of his neck. His eyes were both drawn to stare into the monster’s face, and also desperate to rabbit away. The two stood there for a moment watching each other, lion and lamb.

Swallowing hard, Davis spoke with a dry mouth, “I didn’t take the time to welcome you properly yesterday. The truth is that your appearance is a little… startling.” Davis took a deep breath, tilted his head to the side, and look up at the strangers face, sharing softly, “You know, it’s hard to form connections with people when you can’t see their eyes.” He blinked, but maintained his focus on the inky face behind that dark pool of glass.

The stranger stayed motionless for a moment, and Davis blinked up, noticing as he looked at the stranger that some snow still clung to the edges of the skylight window.

The gloved hands slowly stretched out, and reached up to grasp the sides of the glasses, then pulled them off slowly.

Davis felt his mouth open.

Large, blood red eyes stared down at him. The pupils were unnaturally large, swamping the otherwise red globes.

Davis forced his mouth closed, and very deliberately blinked and smiled up at the stranger. “Lovely to meet you, Mona. I’m Davis, head librarian.”

The thick red lips pulled back to reveal startlingly white teeth, which were uncomfortably large and jagged.

Davis’ tongue was too big in his dry mouth, but he forced the next words out. “It’s good to have you here.” He blinked, but forced himself to smile up at the creature.

The monstrous stranger closed their mouth, but didn’t otherwise move for a moment.

There was a thud from outside, and Davis glanced out the window to see more snow slide from the roof to slap the path below, only a slightly lighter shade of dull grey than the concrete it landed on. The stranger quickly pulled the glasses back on their face, and seemed to retreat into the hood before slipping out the door, with yet another of his books.

It had been a while since the doors had whined closed after the last person left and Davis barred them, extinguished the lights with a flick of his wrist and pulled his long coat right up to his neck as he slowly retreated into the back room, dragging his straight left leg with every step.

The library was never silent, but it was quiet and peaceful, even amidst the chaos of the kids’ story time. The solace it provided to the people of this town was a prize he wasn’t about to give up so easily. The responsibility of his role weighed heavily on him. In the heart of the library, illuminated by just the monitor screens, Davis studied the security footage with eyes that barely blinked. The light from only the screens cast his face in shadows as he spent the next few hours clicking methodically and repeatedly through the different view points, studying every aspect of the stranger’s time in his sacred space.

“Yes. Yes. I see you.” He muttered to the screen, his lips so close he was almost touching the glass on the monitor.

The next day, Davis’ gait was more pronounced as he shuffled his way along the concrete faster than usual. He arrived well before his shift, relieving Claude, who was only too happy to relinquish responsibility to Davis, but still treated him to a raised eyebrow.

The library felt serene in the soft morning sun, with children hushing each other and the soft, studious sounds of deployed stationary from the older school groups.

An email was waiting for him:

Mrs Mona Willowsworth of Pain Lane is a verified member of the library and has an active card, recently acquired. No suspended holds, reported damage or fines recorded.

He cursed and rubbed his straight leg. “Drat. Maybe I need to teach Claude how to do a proper background check.” His words were soft and lost to the hum of the air conditioner.

The stranger chose that moment to enter the library.

Davis put on his smile and focused his eyes on 'Mona,' but his attention was actually fixed on the flock who were scratching through the aisles. Collectively, there was an inhale, and the people quieted right down, like sheep who know a wolf is hunting nearby.

“Good morning Mona.” Davis said, steepling his fingers on the front desk.

The hooded face turned to him, and inclined slightly as the stranger passed the front desk, but there was no other response.

The day passed painfully slowly. Davis worked to focus on his tasks, but he found it hard to shift his attention to anything other than the ominous presence of the stranger, situated just one aisle away. It didn’t help that the large dark glasses gave the impression that Davis was being watched.

The sun creeped across the sky light, and Davis finally took the opportunity to dim the lights, a gentle cue to the inhabitants that the time had come to leave.

Davis packed quickly and willed the people present to exit quickly in a group.

As he was shutting down the computer, the light above him dimmed. He didn’t have to look up to know the stranger stood over him.

He bent his mouth into a smile and swallowed past the lump in his throat. “No books today?” The many-jointed fingers stayed hidden in the depths of the cloak, which looked to Davis to be the exact colour of chopped liver.

The stranger slowly shook their head. The front door whirred shut after the only other person in the store left.

Davis looked into the strangers’ face, then his eyes darted away, “I’m always here if you need a friend.” The words were spoken quietly. Davis dipped his head down, unable to miss the large gloved hands with those extra long fingers that suddenly appeared, gripped the intimidating dark glasses and pulled them away from the stranger’s face.

A voice that made Davis think of like rusty drainpipes and dry leaves croaked out “I would like that.” Each word was enunciated, slow and low. It made the hairs on Davis’ neck stand on end.

The stranger opened their mouth, showing off the sharp, jagged teeth that made Davis think of a book with pages that had been torn out in anger. The stranger continued, “Would you have tea with me?”

Davis smiled and gave a single nod. With shaking hands, he wound his scarf around his neck, picked up his cane, and followed the stranger out.

Not thirty minutes later, Davis sat in an old, run-down kitchen. His palms itched as he held them out, just above the dirty white lace of the table cloth. He maintained amiable chatter about the season, while wondering whether the smell of kerosene and mothballs would ever come out of his clothes.

The stranger moved in a stilted manor, now somehow even bigger in the tired kitchen that was tucked inside one of the larger warehouses on the street.

The stranger placed the tea down in front of him, and carefully folded down into the chair opposite Davis.

Slowly, they removed the glasses and set them on the table.

Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Davis noticed little purple veins that dissected the overly pale skin. He had trouble not staring at the jagged teeth as the stranger spoke up, “I have a genetic condition.”

Davis nodded, a kind smile on his face.

“I know I make people scared.” Each word sounded like it was cracked and brittle. “Thank you for coming.” The overly large, dark eyes settled on Davis.

“Of course.” Davis murmured.

The stranger smiled again, before applying those perfectly puckered lips to the tea cup.

Davis hid his shiver and gingerly picked up his own cup.

“What a burden.” Davis added and rubbed his leg.

The stranger’s eyes followed the movement.

“Oh this?” He nodded down at his leg, “It’s nothing, just an old thing. Tell me about yourself, Mona.”

The stranger spoke, slowly and Davis gave his whole attention, listening to the story of a lost member of his flock who had moved away to seek medical help in the form of gene therapy and experimental processes which only worsened an already unwell body.

"I am seeking a quiet life.” Mona said.

“How hard that must have been for you.” Davis added. “Are you all alone here?”

The stranger nodded. “I am the last in my family.”

They sat for a quiet moment, and a gentle smile played across Davis’ face.

The stranger stood up abruptly and picked up the tea cups in shakey movements. .

Davis stood as well and took a step away from the table, towards the stranger. “How wonderful that you came back to find peace.” His words were as light as a quill and as comforting as the tea he'd just had.”

Mona shrugged and turned to look at Davis, but froze at the look on his face.

“This is a great day, Mona. A great day. I’m so happy we met, and I’m so happy to be able to help you find peace.”

Ripping apart the Velcro at his thigh, Davis exposed his straight leg, the pink, puckered tissue held together by a brace above and below the knee which supported a very large axe.

Davis liberated the axe, and in a fluid, well-practiced motion, and brought it straight down on the stranger’s head with finality.

It was over surprisingly quickly; there was a wet snick as the metal liberated a river of blood, a gurgled, raspy cry, and then Davis stepped back quickly to avoid getting his clothes messy.

He cleaned the axe and returned it to it’s place, retrieved his book, and left Pain street, his cane hitting the pathway and his white breath billowing out around him.

Finding a rainbow in the darkest night © Plume de Noom 2026

I smothered the sigh, sinking it back down into the ball of anxiety firmly tucked under my ribs. My drab cubicle walls press in around me, held off only by my monitors, but those look particularly bleak in ‘dark mode,’ not even improved by the bedazzling I gave them a month ago in a desperate attempt to inspire some creativity and perk up this hellish place.

I shift in my seat, wincing and pick up my frog-shaped mug with shaky hands, putting it to my lips only to find that it’s as empty as my head.

Something causes me to glance over my shoulder and I see her.

She'd been circling me for months, like a sexy vulture. Except that vultures probably weren't in any way sexy. They didn't wear low-cut silk tops that made you lose yourself imagining a perfect deep dive into that ravine, or have skin that made you think of the frangipani flowers back home, and lips that looked so sharp they might cut you.

I shivered, the nape of my neck captured as effectively with her eyes as if she’d grabbed me with talons. I’d never accuse her hands of being talons though, even with the perfect red nails.

"Are you finished yet?" Her words are deep and clipped.

Shaking my head, I glance up at her only briefly. I’ve got two more weeks to figure out this project, and I know I’ll beat myself up later for not saying that to her with a confident voice.

I hate her.

I wonder what her hair would feel like in my fingers.

She shifts, crosses her arms, and then uncrosses them. "Yasmin, I need to speak to you. My office please.”

My heart hammers a protest. I’d be lying if I said those words weren’t the start of every fantasy I had, but reality is a different thing.

She ducks her chin, and runs a manicured hand through her hair, which remains perfect and unruffled. "I've been putting this off."

I've never seen her like this, not even when Janice blew up the microwave with fish curry.

I realise distantly, that I'm holding my breath as I stare down at my springy rainbow laces.

"Your performance has been good, but you won’t be given a permanent contract. I'm sorry."

My mind focuses just long enough to really grasp the horror of the situation, then splinters, thinking about my debt, my resume, my fridge, telling grandma…

My heart sinks through all 17 floors and down into the basement where my busted old car waits, held together by zip ties and promises for future services.

Some garbled sound that was supposed to be a cool, "alright." Escaped my mouth.

Leaning against the desk, she crosses one perfect ankle over the other - the leg strength to be able to do that in 6-inch heels is something I finally feel numb to. The only thing I want to be wrapped in now is a blanket.

My eyes well up and I don’t know how we end up at my desk.

She continues to talk to me, but I can't take in anything.

There isn't much to pack up on my desk, and she's there, holding out to me my frog mug and fluffy pink pencil case, which are such a stark contrast to her marble perfection.

On the way down to the car park, the elevator mirror lies, showing me as so much bigger, showing us at equal eye level, while she takes up all the space.

It takes clicking on my torch to find the key hole for my car and I sink into the musty interior and fall . I'd worked so hard to keep this job, discarding parts of myself to fit into that grey cubicle. I wrap my arms around myself, desperate for something to other than the cracked steering wheel. The hurt feels bottomless and anger

has me gripping my sides harder. This was my last chance. There are no more options after this. My mind reels, and I realise I didn't even know why.

The rumble of an engine shakes me from my thoughts, and I look up to see the dark, sleek sedan stop in front of my car, blocking me in. She sweeps out and with a graceful click, closes the door. She looks down at me through the open driver door window, a bare-faced statue of an unfeeling goddess.

I’m a mess of snot and pain. This woman has taken everything from me, leaving me empty, my files deleted, my brain reformatted. I half whisper, half cough the words out, “I’ve worked so hard. Why do you hate me?”

Her eyes go wide. The word stills for a moment, and she slowly leans down, her finger tips graze the edge of my wound-down window and her head fills the frame.

She stares at me, and when she speaks, her words are breathless and deep, “Beautiful girl, I could never hate you.” She leans through the window, so there is only a few fingers of space between us, “You are exquisite and so talented."

Before I have time to process the words, she plants the most tender kiss on my lips.

“I hope you can forgive me in time.”

It feels like it’s gone before it even happened, and I sit, trying to make sense of everything as I watch her sleek car pull away, streaks of yellow light on the shiny surface.

I look down at my hands and see a business card for our competitor and a small hand-scrawled note:

I sent him your online portfolio and he’s expecting your call.

Demand a 30% raise over your current salary. At least.

My number: 063629552

© Plume de Noom 2026

© Plume de Noom 2026

It was too late to be messing around on back roads, and the chief was pissed. “God damnit.”

He loosened his hands from the death grip on the steering wheel, unhinged his foot from the brake pedal and pulled a hand through his hair.

Nothing moved outside, and he didn’t waste time before hauling the rifle out from behind his seat and simultaneously popping the safety off as he stepped out of his car.

His eyes were as thin as the road ahead and he swiveled his head, left and right twice before he noticed what had caused the huge dent and the constant, angry stream of hissing steam.

It was the only thing that proved he hadn’t dreamed up the tall monster that had appeared from above, he almost thought, and careened into the side of his car, as if it had been aiming right for him.

His narrowed eyes catalogued everything; the loose scoria at the edge of the road, the angle of the hit, the wind direction, the surrounding pine spires, pointing like black arrows to the crescent moon above.

On a nearby ridge, a wolf howled, and the chief huffed through his moustache.

The one intact headlight was enough to see that there was nothing in front of the car, but the chief didn’t have the luxury of assuming the best and carrying on, especially not in his highly unusual town. He shook his head, thinking about the week he’d had. The circus never came to his town for a reason.

His boots crunched around the car as he made a sweep of the area, but it was only when he lifted his chin that he noticed something a good few hundred metres down the road.

Swearing into his moustache, the chief slipped his torch under his rife grip and jogged down to investigate, his boots keeping a heavy but tidy rhythm along the road’s edge.

Whatever it was, it was large and dark and it appeared to be moving about as much as a cow on the grill.

Chief managed to maintain his usual expression behind his impressive moustache and eyebrows: tired and unimpressed. The ability to show such stoicism was hard won over a lifetime of overexerting his cortisol reserves in conversations no gentleman should find himself in, but despite that, his heart hammered in his throat as he squinted hard at the mass on the road.

He swept his torch over the creature and it stopped on what appeared to be the backside of a fur-covered human wearing fairy wings.

His boots closed the distance on the costumed person, and without inspecting much further, the chief reached down and felt for a pulse in the black fuzzy neck.

It was thick and slow, but it was there.

“Son, can you hear me? Son? I’m Chief Ranshaw from the County Police Department. Can you tell me your name?”

Without stopping, the chief began working on autopilot, checking the young man for injuries.

Large black eyes stared sightless up at him, and the chief complained bitterly into his moustache about ‘substances’ and reckless young men who ran into cars at the dead of night wearing silly costumes, but his voice wobbled.

Eyeing the distance between his patrol car and the victim, the chief took off, lumped himself into his cruiser and backed up near the young man with a foot that was shakey on the gas pedal.

Securing a towel around the young man’s upper body, he rolled him into a sitting position and hauled him onto his feet. The young man leaned hard on him, making the chief, who was by no measure small, feel suddenly unsettled.

With the torch sitting on the uneven road, angled up towards the young man, the Chief could finally see his charge properly.

The young man let out an explosive hiss from between his teeth and the muscles that he had on display tensed visibly. The chief looked up and away from the very revealing costume.

Despite his strength, the chief had definitely pulled something in his lower back in the short time it had taken to secure the young man in the back of his cruiser.

He looked into the rear-view mirror and through the bars that divided them, “Son, the local hospital is an hour and a half away. I can take you there now, but I’m concerned about what you’ve got in your system. Is there someone I can call? Somewhere I can take you where you’ll be safe?”

There was no response, and the chief pulled his hand through his hair again. “You’ve made some dangerous choices tonight, and I think it might be safer if I take you back to my house, if you’ve got nowhere better to be. I’ll get the local doctor to come take a look at you, and in the morning, I’ll take you to the hospital and then to the station so we can get this mess squared away. Does that sound OK?”

The figure in the back wasn’t clear in the hazy interior light, but the chief could make out his black furred features well enough to see that they didn’t change. If anything, the young man seemed to be staring at the little light in the car’s ceiling.

He didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive, and when the chief opened the door, he didn’t move.

“Concussion.” The chief muttered, closing the door and making his way up the uneven flagstone steps to his cottage.

Doc picked up on the second ring and was around in record time, his faded yellow Bronco tucked tight behind the chief’s cruiser, in a way that was sure to please the neighbour’s gossip pool.

Sure enough, a scurry of motion and a glimpse of wrists at curtains told him he’d guessed well enough, but he shook his head, keen to clear it.

While he was old, Doc was thorough in the way people had forgotten to be.

Small towns being what they were, Doc was a steady weight in his life, managing his ageing mother’s deteriorating health, his occasional stitch ups, and any corpse needing some surety about their end to provide those left behind with a bit of peace.

He’d seen the man take care of a person, even when they were cold and done with being in this world.

There was a trust the chief didn’t place in many that this man had won a long time ago.

Doc pulled a dented gold watch out of his pocket, and fiddled with the winder, squinting down at it under the soft porch bulb. “Been seeing too much of you around lately, Chief and now you’ve got me making late-night house calls. What’s all this about?” His words were gruff, but they held no hit, and he opened the back seat of the cruiser and leaned in without waiting for an answer.

It wasn’t long before he emerged. His face was blank, like he’d just been asked a straight question he couldn’t find an answer to. After a moment he said, “Need help with the lifting.” He motioned with his chin, wiping his hands on a rag.

Moving the large boy was challenging. He was able but unsteady, and probably more of a hassle awake. His concussion had him reaching for the porch light as they passed, and despite the situation, a corner of the chief’s mouth turned up.

That was a thing he’d read about, people needing to go without bright lights after a hard hit to the think tank. He made a note to turn only the soft sitting room lamp on.

They left the young man in the main room after the doc had administered a few drugs for pain relief and a muscle relaxant to prevent the tremors that kept appearing.

“Not a talker.” Doc shook his head and removed his corn pipe from his pocket, going through the motions by feel alone, his eyes fixed on the chief.

The men shared a small smile.

Doc turned to study the street and huffed. “What is happening in this town, Ranshaw?” He tapped his pipe absently on the stainless sink edge, before making his way out to the porch.

The chief followed him, enjoying the scent of pipe smoke. It reminded him of his grandfather, sitting late into the night around a camp fire, listening to stories of the strange beings that used to walk the world before cars and fences and disposable pens.

“It isn’t looking good, Doc.” He was careful to keep his voice low. “We have thee young ones gone now. No leads, no family situation that makes sense of any of it, no ties between them.” He shook his head, trying to dislodge the images stuck there from the riverbank a few days earlier.

She’d been a nice girl, Lauren. A good baker and kind to dogs. Nobody deserved the end she’d got. Diced up like meat for the stew pot and so far gone the work for the team cleaning up was easier.

The Doc hid behind his pipe, his eyes taking in the soft glow of the nearby houses, likely cataloguing the history of each family in blood samples, moles on skin and awkward conversations about passing urine into plastic receptacles.

“I don’t want another one, you hear. Find this monster, and put a stop to it.” His voice was pure tobacco smoke rough, and the chief followed the puff with his eyes as it dissipated, hoping it carried the words like a prayer.

With that, he took off, scratching another white line in the faded yellow back door of his Bronco by winding his way too close to the maple sentry in the driveway.

The chief blew out a breath, shook his head and headed back inside.

© Plume de Noom 2026

"Yes, yes I do accept the terms. I’ll sacrifice my body and let you manipulate me all you want.”

Candy could feel the gentle sucking, rolling motion of the alien’s tentacles as they wrapped around her body which was stripped bare and exposed on the metal bench under the hard white lights of the space ship.

She whimpered, feeling her nipples harden and the alien moved closer, his proboscis moving over her neck, as his giant, knobbled-

Maude woke up with a start, sat bolt upright and launched her precious e-reader over the side of the bed. Her alarm screamed at her and she swatted at it a few times, trying to hit the button with a hand that wasn’t yet connected to her brain properly.

She blinked down at the e-reader on the floor which proudly displayed the cover of her current read in black and white: In Ship-Shape for a Probing by Mika Amros.

The monochrome took nothing away from the image of the saucy looking, earthly heroine who was gliding up into a space ship looking not unhappy about the situation.

She grimaced, muttered a “cheese and crackers” and prepared for the day after hastily wrapping her e-reader in her pyjamas and stuffing the bundle deep under her pillow in a well-practiced manoeuvre.

She glared into the mirror and scraped her brown hair—now liberally littered with white streaks—into a severe bun, then finished up by smearing sun screen over her face with her whole hand.

She turned away from the mirror for a moment, paused, then turned back and indulged in a minute of self-pity; the softness on the backs of her arms seemed to be spreading like a seam that was being let out of an old garment. Then she began pulling at the lamentable brownish spots on her forehead and the back of her hands that had appeared as if she were an apple that was getting a bit past it’s time in the fruit bowl.

She sighed, tipped back the dregs of her coffee and then aggressively brushed her teeth, with complete disregard for anything the dentist had pointed out eight years ago at her last visit about hard brushing and gum recession.

It was barely half an hour later that Maude was making her way past the large blue and yellow arch that led to the hardware store with the keys in her hand.

This was the best part of the day. She pressed the button firmly to roll up the massive security screen and inhaled deeply, welcomed back by the familiar smell of potting mix, assorted cheap plastic and the tang of copper, so thick in the air that seemed to almost settle on her tongue.

The old girl was looking pretty decent at the moment, with freshly cleaned windows that reflected the early morning sun, and shiny lino, thanks to Derek’s work the night before, still unspoilt by the heavy tread of work boots and dog paws.

Maude’s watch bleeped that she had only five minutes before her shift officially started, and she headed straight upstairs to make a cup of tea and clear the residual dishes that tended to linger in the staff sink.

It was an important day. They had only one week to go before the CEO came down from the flagship store.

The managers would all be a little frazzled, of course, and after blotting away the last of the soap suds from her hands with a threadbare tea towel, she took a moment to jot down a note in her diary to pick up some baking supplies so she could put together a tray of iced buns to have ready for everyone on Monday morning.

She worked through three more cups of tea that morning as she progressed down the list of tasks that needed her attention.

Slowly, staff filtered in, and the noise increased. Computer bleeps, automatic doors rumbles, and the store speakers were eventually added to the mix, blocking out the smaller sounds of bolts being dropped, steel toe caps hitting bottom shelves and the low rumble of coffee orders being placed in a Monday monotone.

A small brunette with a messy bun and an oversized cardigan that was not work-appropriate all but skipped up to her in the aisle. “Morning Maude! How’s my favourite person?”

It was a classic Ellen greeting. She had the ability to make everyone and anyone feel good. She was still tying her apron on when their manager walked down the aisle. Ellen quickly picked up a few bolts and began scanning the shelves in a very obvious fashion.

Mike didn’t look up from his tablet, “Morning Maude. Ellen.” His eyes only briefly surfaced to rest on Ellen before dropping back to his device.

He ignored their responses and wandered out the aisle and down another. Ellen flicked her ponytail. “I bet he’s checking on me again to make sure I’m on time.”

Maude shot her a look. “Well, to be fair, it is half an hour after when you were supposed to have started.” She added a smile to soften the words.

Ellen dropped all the bolts into an empty slot, wiped her hand on the canvas apron and gave Maude a cheeky grin. “The kids were away and I just had to finish my book. I’ll tell you all about it at lunch tomorrow.” She gave Maude a wink. “On a separate note, what do you think of fan fic?”

Maude gave a half a shrug. “I don’t know much about fans. I did ask a few years ago to go on that course, but air conditioners seem to be the thing now.”

Ellen groaned, “No, not literal fans. You work too hard, Maude. I mean the book kind.”

Maude glanced around to make sure they were alone.

Ellen continued on, oblivious as usual, “Fan fiction is stuff written by fans of the book. I’ll send you some.”

Maude stumbled over her words and flapped her hands in front of herself. “No, no. Please don’t. I don’t even read those popular sorts of books, so it wouldn’t even make sense.”

Ellen smiled at her in the most angelic fashion. “You don’t? What a shame. I guess that means that you missed the tentacle twister scenario in the fourth chapter of the new release from Ember Martinegro.” She waggled her eyebrows, “The Captain’s Quest for Chest.”

Maude turned very quickly back to the shelf and intently studied the 23mm galvanised bolts, but Ellen had already seen her face, and threw her head back and laughed.

With that, Ellen took off, hips swaying down the aisle as she called out sugary greetings to the customers.

Not half an hour later, when Maude had almost finished sorting the bolts section, she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched.

Sure enough, a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed her worst suspicion: Ping. As the half-brother to the store’s owner, Ping felt entitled to ‘pop in’ on a regular basis and demand discounts.

He stood there wearing dark glasses and a smug smile.

Maude’s skin crawled, and she had to work to keep the smile painted on her face. “Hello Ping. I’m not in your way am I? Do you need any help finding anything?”

He made a low “mmmmmmm” sound, that had Maude wanting to hurry off and take a shower.

“Just watching you work, Maudy.” His smile was proof of the importance of dental care.

Maude struggled to maintain her professional, friendly demeanour. “Well, if you need anything from the store, just let me know.”

Ellen sauntered past the end of the aisle arm-in-arm with Denise, and the both drew up short when they saw Maude talking with Ping.

Denise did nothing more than pierce him with her customary glare, but Ellen made some vulgar kissing impressions and winked when Ping’s back was turned.

Maude turned to the bolts for a second, closed her eyes and stuffed down another sigh.

It didn't get easier, dealing with the attentions of someone like Ping, no matter how practised she was at dealing with his behaviour.

He stepped forward, lifting the Matrix-style dark glasses and fixed them on top of a sparse layer of white hair. “Have you watched that show I told you about? Ultra-old UFOs?”

Maude smiled, “I’m not one for watching much TV.” She turned resolutely back to the bolts, and began inspecting the threads, hoping for a large gap she could crawl into to escape the situation.

“You should. It’s good for you, TV. Gives the brain lots to think about.” He huffed. “Not much for a woman to think about in a job like this.” He drummed his hand impatiently on a shelf, and cast his eyes along the shelf before he turned back to her and resumed his staring.

Maude felt confident that the sigh she let out was too long and slow to be recognised, as anything other than a deep breath, and kept her focus on the bolts.

Someone had bust open a bag and removed just the nut from one of 10 M6s. She pulled her price console from her belt and printed a discounted label for the little box, pinching the edges of the sticker and folding it neatly over the sides so it looked smart on the shelf.

The store jingle sounded around them, and she noticed out the corner of her eye that Ping was looking up at the speaker and smiling.

He shuffled closer, “I’m not supposed to share information about this, but I’m responsible for a pretty large amount of advertising.” The look he wore reminded Maude of her neighbour’s ancient smooshed-face cat when it caught a half-dead bird that one time.

He tipped his forehead towards her, and looked at her from under his eyebrows “I think you know what I mean.”

Maude worked hard to smile briefly at him before focusing again on the bolts, hoping she could find another busted box to fix.

Through the store speaker system the radio DJ rattled off the news headlines in a tone that was far too cheerful. Maude found herself glad to have the distraction. There was something about an arms deal bust and a missing spacesuit, before Ping once again got in her way. He crossed arms, “Not everyone has the advanced technology I have, and I’m always willing to be a helpful guy and cut a good deal to save a certain store some money.”

“Is that right?” Maude reached up on tip-toes to lift a heavy box down. The bolts rattled inside and she felt a pang of guilt. She knew she should get a ladder, but that felt like a waste of time on a day like today. If she followed health and safety advice, she’d be here for the next hour and while the idea of having to close the aisle and kick out the inhabitants did appeal, Ping would literally follow her around and she knew she would then hear about it for the rest of the day from her colleagues.

Ping, who seemed not to have noticed that Maude had been inching away, moved closer to her again. His shirt said “Lone Wolf” and Maude wished he’d live up to his shirt’s promise.

Ping was still talking at her, and Maude made a mental note to contact Ekino in procurement to discuss the packaging of the bolts. Moving away again on the pretext of reaching for another high-up box of bolts, Maude realised Ping was again invading her personal space. He smelt like melted plastic. She threw a quick smile his way,not wanting to be accused of being antisocial to a ‘customer.’ It hadn’t yet happened, and she wasn’t having Ping ruin her stellar reputation.

“Well, that’s settled then. I’ll pick you up from the store and you can come back to mine.” He lifted his belt and tried to settle it slightly higher on his belly. “Bring you back to the love shack.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Maude almost dropped the 16 kilogram box she’d just pulled off of an overhead shelf onto her head. “Ahh. About that, Ping. I appreciate the kind-”

“No need to thank me, old girl, I’ll take good care of you, don’t you worry.” He puffed out his chest, and in doing so, puffed out his already expansive belly, making the grubby white singlet ride up.

Maude turned back to the shelf and casting her eyes up to a particularly heavy box, directly above her head.

She let him talk for another few seconds, then turned back and put her hand up to him. “Ping, please. I’m not coming to your house.” She shook her head for emphasis.

The look he shot her was not so affable all of a sudden. “I’ll look after your modesty, if you want to play it like that, you can trust Ping, old girl.”

Maude smiled at him, “I know I can trust you, Ping, which is why I’m saying no. I’m not looking for any romance right now. I’m glad business is good for you, and it’s good for us too, at the moment. I’ve got a lot to do.” She looked pointedly down at her hands, which were filled with assorted bits of metal.

Ping rolled his eyes, “Back to you playing hard to get, are we?”

Maude fought with everything she had to keep the smile on her face.

👾

The next morning passed in a similar blur of customer service and organising.

It had barely hit ten before her manager rounded the corner, looking unusually messy. “There you are, Maudy.” He gave a lopsided grin. “Just the person I was looking for.”

Maude smiled. “Good morning Mike, how are you? How are the kids?”

Mike’s eyes scanned the shelves absently as he patted her on the arm, “Good, good. Let’s have a chat in my office, hmm?”

Maude swallowed and allowed him to lead her back to the top floor.

Mike had been the store manager for two years, and was generally well tolerated.

Maude kept up a cheerful chatter about the improvements in the store’s layout and the success they were having with getting the younger team members to correctly label the shelves.

Mike made a noise of agreement, while he waved at a few people and then threw out a ‘morning’ to another as they passed.

The windows in Mike’s spacious office had that special tint that allowed him to look out across the office without people being able to see in.

It made the back of Maude’s neck itch.

He looked at a few things on his computer screen for a moment, a deep line dissecting his brow as he clicked absently. He then took a deep breath, and seemed to gather himself before turning to Maude.

“Maude. Maudy, Maudy, Maudy.” He gave her a very brief smile while he spun his pen in his hand. “You have been such an incredible asset to this store.” He shook his head and looked out through his fancy glass windows. “You have no idea the troubles and challenges we’ve faced recently, and having such a valuable worker like you has made all the difference.”

Maude shifted in her chair, and smiled. “I just do my part in this ‘big family.’ ” She used air quotes and gave a little strangled laugh, then wanted to kick herself.

Mike continued to look out over the store, and either ignored her reference to his favourite saying, or missed it entirely. “It’s a tough one, Maude.” He shook his head again and she felt a bead of sweat gather on her top lip.

He sighed, “The store is doing well, but costs are higher than ever. We’re not in a position to give out raises at all.”

Maude’s face began to hurt from holding the too-big smile. She couldn't help but think about the six dollar packets of screws that held exactly six. The same packets people kept returning because they consistently lacked thread on some of the screws.

“…But, for an exceptional worker like you, exceptions must be made.” He glanced back at her and that smile appeared again before immediately falling off his mouth. “I know you didn’t get anything for the past 2 years, but I’ve petitioned hard and you’ve got a one point five percent raise this year.”

Maude began thanking him, but he held up his hand as he continued to look out across the store. “We have to do what we can for our best workers. Speaking of…” he rubbed the thick layer of stubble on his chin.

“We also wanted to give you a special end-of-year gift. I know it’s a bit early, but sometimes I think it’s good to get an early treat.” He winked at her and presented her with an overly large box.

“There will also be a morning tea just for you, and you’ll get a certificate for long-service, I just wanted you to know that was coming up right after we’ve got the CEO visit out of the way.” Mike gave half a chuckle, “Crazy to think that you’ve been here longer than anyone else.”

Maude stumbled over her words, thanking him. Unsure whether she should take the package and herself off or stay to unwrap it. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, she carefully but quickly peeled back the sticky tape and pulled the large box out. Inside was a coffee-table book on interior design.

It had the look of something from a store that sold candles that were more than twenty dollars. Maude made appropriate appreciative noises, and Mike watched her, and gave her an indulgent smile that lasted a whole few seconds.

He leaned forward, “Maude, there’s something else.”

She carefully placed the book back, and mirrored his forward lean. Was this it? Was she finally getting an assistant manager position?

He sighed, “having the CEO come down is a lot. The team is stretched, and we can no longer afford to have the cleaner and polisher come in. Would you be willing to go above and beyond, and sort out the tiles in the cafe area? We need them looking good, and nobody has the attention to detail you have.”

Maude’s shoulder’s sank slightly, but she gave a brief nod. “Anything for the ‘family.’ ” Her voice sounded a bit odd and she cleared her throat, not wanting to seem ungrateful after receiving a gift and a raise.

Mike was looking at his computer screen again. “Good. That’s a big relief, thank you.”

Maude waited for a moment, unsure if now would be an appropriate time to discuss some of the ideas she’d had for improvements in the store.

He looked up from his screen and gave her a very pointedly look.

She made a hasty exit.

👾

A few hours later, she made her way to the cafeteria, after hastily pulling a jumper over her uniform.

Ellen had wasted no time and already had a pile of food in front of her.

When Maude was settled, Ellen resumed ripping up the muffin in front of her, like it was cardboard destined for the recycler. Maude tried not to stare at the neglected pieces.

Ellen grinned at her. “So… Ping. Did he ask you out again?” She leaned forward.

Maude hesitated. “Uh. Yes.”

“Did he start talking in third person again?”

Maude cringed, as the guilt rolled through her and hoped it would stay between them. “He, uh. Yes, he did.”

Ellen covered her mouth with her hand in a false display of modesty as she cackled.

After a moment she recovered, “What is that, do you think?”

Maude shrugged, and allowed herself a small smile. “No idea. I wish he’d give up, though. It makes me feel bad every time I have to say no, and it’s getting harder.”

Ellen’s eyes sparked.

“To convince him, I mean.”

Despite Ellen’s pushing, Maude wouldn’t give up any more details about her interactions with Ping.

Ellen eyed her for a moment, swallowed a large piece of muffin, and asked “So, there’s no chance you have any interest at all…”

Maude had to fight for a moment to regain her composure. “No. No, he’s very much not the sort of man I’d spend my time with.”

Ellen shot her a filthy grin, “Well, that’s fair. I do know the sort of man you’d be into.” She winked pointedly, and Maude, not for the first time, almost regretted the unlikely friendship she’d made with this shame-adverse young woman.

“Have you read the third book in the Take Me series, you know, To The Moon?”

Maude rubbed the back of her neck and quickly glanced around.

Ellen carried on destroying the poor muffin, “I mean, like, I don’t really get it, because an ovipositor puts eggs in a place, and our young heroine is an earth girlie with fallopian tubes. Don’t they do that? Is that a double up on processes?” She waved a piece of muffin around “I mean, whatever, I’m still into it, but it does sound like using a forklift to move boxes when they’re sitting on a conveyor belt.” Her voice was high pitched and naturally carried so that a good few people around them in the cafe section almost definitely made out what she was saying.

Maude’s eyes became wide with a silent plea for Ellen to stop, but Ellen just smiled in response giving her shoulders a cheeky little shrug.

“Oh, don’t worry, Maude, nobody knows, or even cares.” She tossed a small piece of shredded muffin in her mouth and proceeded to tell Maude in great detail about another book she was reading, “Anyway, it’s supposed to be sexy because he’s Scottish and has all the cool things, castles and shit, you know? But the thing I find really hot, is that it’s written the way Scottish people talk. Or at least how the author thinks Scottish people talk, and I don't get the impression they've met any Scottish people.” She threw up her hands, “I’ve got no idea what’s going on.”

Maude smiled at her.

Ellen leaned in, her brown eyes extra wide, “Think about it, a hot man and you don’t even know about the dumb stuff he says and does, because you can’t make any sense of it.”

Nerinda who worked in the gardening section didn’t look at them from her place in the line just a few metres away, but Maude saw the woman’s very brown cheeks lift in a smile.

Ellen beamed. “So I’ve decided that I’m going to Scotland, and you’re coming with me. We’re going to get laid - and I mean the proper kind of laid, not the weird alien ovipositor kind.”

Nerinda’s face was turned completely away, but her pandanus earrings jiggled slightly as her shoulders shook in a way that could only be laughter.

Maude flinched, “Ellen!” She reprimanded her friend with a look and then motioned to the queue. She tucked a fuzzy piece of hair that had come out of the bun behind her ear. “I think you taking a vacation to Scotland is a lovely idea. Maybe pass it by Mike now, so you can make sure the roster is sorted before you book your tickets.” Maude smiled at her friend, “And I appreciate the gesture, but… things are different for me.” She motioned between them. “I’m well past looking for a bit of romance.”

Ellen snorted around another mouthful of muffin and waved her comment away. “God, Maude. Nobody is too old for romance.”

She didn’t say “Not even you.” But it felt like it hung in the air between them, and Maude tried not to wince at the words.

Maude wondered if it was their personalities that were so different, or whether it was the actually quite significant age gap between them.

Or maybe it was the fact that Ellen had three young boys? Perhaps after incubating so many human beings, your sense of propriety is warped and you end up wearing through all your shame?

Whatever it was, Maude was secretly grateful for it and was regularly amazed by Ellen’s ability to engage on various romantic topics. She did, however, decide that Ellen was getting too bold and that future chats should be had well outside of work.

It was Ellen who had started popping romance books into Maude’s bag one day. The books had become increasingly more filthy, and Ellen refused to stop, even when Maude had begged.

Maude didn’t know whether it had been boredom or a cruel sort of curiosity, or perhaps Ellen saw something in Maude and knew a kindred filthy romantic when she saw one, but she didn’t stop. She seemed to know that Maude was taking them home and devoured them under her duvet after turning out the light. The next day, she’d shove the offending book in Ellen’s locker with a note reiterating that she wasn’t reading them and wouldn’t start any time soon.

Then, one day, Ellen had outdone herself by providing some extremely erotic science fiction which had left Maude a blithering mess. Ellen had walked into the staff room before their shift started to find a red-faced Maude shoving the book back in her direction the moment she’d come in.

“That is disgusting filth. I can’t believe someone would-could. How could someone come up with that?! What is wrong with this Mika Amros person?”

Rather than honouring the effort made by Maude to disguise the lascivious alien affair with a hastily crocheted book cover, Ellen had burst out laughing, pulled the cover off to display the nasty, sexy alien art, and proceeded to pepper Maude with questions about the plot. "Whole new meaning to ‘juicy’, isn’t it? What did you think about the alien laboratory?”

Maude had turned redder than the fire extinguisher near the door, and had worked hard to hush Ellen before realising how futile that was and instead hurried out of the staff room with an excuse. From that day onwards, nasty alien books regularly made their way into Maude’s bag.

That was, until Ellen had introduced her to e-readers.

The end of the day finally rolled around, and Maude went straight to the back of the store to give the tiles a bit of a freshen up.

There was nothing waiting for her back at her apartment at the end of the day. It was too late for Ellen to drop over with a bottle of cheap wine, as she occasionally did. She’d be busy with her young family, cleaning milk bottles and filling baths.

In her own little apartment, there was a floor to mop and some dishes waiting for Maude to put them away, but that could all wait.

As she scrubbed, she looked back over her career—if you could call it a career.

One industrious day had turned into another, until they bled into a blur that had sucked all the other colour from her life, so that it too was appropriately company branded yellow and blue.

She told herself that it used to be different, that it was worthwhile when she’d started. It was a new thing to have a woman in a hardware store. She’d earned each and every stripe, tempering herself in the forge of this store, improving under the many blows that had been dealt to her.

Over time it had become both easier and harder; the men were certainly kinder now, but then, everyone was as you got older.

She scrubbed harder at the many plain white tiles and focused for a moment on her fuzzy shadow. At some point along the way, the new recruits had stopped shooting her jealous looks when she received praise, and despite giving everything she had, the managers acknowledged her less and less.

Everyone was just nice, and a bit distant.

Sure, she could look again at the different job options on the internet, but that always left her feeling a bit sad and guilty for some reason. Job adverts didn’t want someone who could advise on the best stain remover or cut a key well, they wanted things like ‘creative software installation technician managers’, or ‘rubric advancement clinician placement candidates’.

Maude had read an article about the importance of applying for jobs even if you weren’t 100% right for it, but she’d just be laughing stock if she turned up to those interviews.

She wished for the umpteenth time, that she could be more like Claudia from The Mound of Venus series. A small smile formed at the corner of her mouth, thinking about how Claudia would deal with Mike.

If Mike had asked Claudia into his office, she’d have swished her hair, stood in front of that window he liked looking out of so much, and told him to pay her more. She’d even walk out without taking the silly, overpriced book.

Maude scrubbed even harder at the floor as the smile slid off her face. The mottled back of her hands were a blur as she went back to mulling over her situation, her mind running through the same grout-grooved paths.

The worst of it all was that at some awful, point she still couldn’t put her finger on, it had become OK for teenage boys to call her ‘love’.

The lights flickered overhead, and Maude leaned back to looked up at them only to be hit by an aggressive wave of vertigo.

She gave a wobbly yell that was half caught at the back of her throat as she tumbled backwards, landing hard on her lovely clean tiles.

There was a deep rumbling through the store she could feel through the thick soles of her safety boots.

Bottles skittered off the shelves nearby and clangs resounded through the aisles like a bad orchestra warming up as metal tools, ceramic gnomes and packets of lawn fertiliser tumbled down.

Nearby, the barbecues wobbled into each other and the metal screeched, leaving jagged scratches on the fancy black paint.

Just as quickly as it started, it all stopped.

Maude got to her feet feeling queasy and clung to the cafe bar nearby.

The lights had resumed their unflattering bleak white light, and other than the surprisingly few items that were on the floor, there was no other indication that anything had happened.

Dusting her hands on the back of her cargo pants, Maude walked to the front of the store, mentally cataloguing the damage as she went.

Maude realised she was in no state to drive home right away, and after all, needed to catalogue the damage the earthquake thing had done.

She made herself a cup of tea in the chipped mug she still favoured, a Secret Santa gift from definitely not Erin, that had 'Out of this world' printed on it, with a picture of David Duchovny. She ran a hand over her face, poured in a small measure of milk, then, after a quick glance around the room, added another dollop before putting it back in the fridge which had a strict sign about the 'Responsible use of tearoom supplies' printed in large red letters.

Maude carried the mug to the front of the store, pressed the button to raise the roller doors, and stopped with the mug halfway to her lips, her eyes bigger than any of the pot plant saucers the store offered.

The roller door meandered up slowly, exposing more and more black nothingness on the other side of the glass entryway. Maude tentatively took a few steps forward and rubbed her eyes.

It wasn't the black of a dark night that greeted her, it was a black like she'd never seen before. The sort that swallows colour and feels as though it isn't safe to touch. As she watched a burst of light trailed by, then another.

Fireballs.

Maude rushed to the front door, or where the door should have been, only to find that it was more black nothingness.

She all but dropped her mug and rushed to the emergency exit at the other end of the store, but it was sealed, the door and wall flowing seamlessly together.

She rushed into the garden section, and found that there was an odd filmy barrier keeping out more of the empty blackness.

Maude’s legs barely held her as she rushed back to the front of the store and pushed

the button to close the roller doors, locking the nothingness outside.

She made a brief detour to the snack aisle then marched back upstairs, leaning heavily on the handrail, made a second, much stronger cup of tea, climbed into the largest empty locker and ate three chocolate bars before falling asleep.

© Plume de Noom 2026 - The author does not give permission for this text to be used by A in any capacity..