“Someone in this room is a murderer,” the grandmother declared, pointing her finger out and sweeping it across the room. “They’ve put a strong sedative in one mug, a fast-acting poison in another, and a slow-acting poison in a third. Now, I put it to the Hero to solve one murder, prevent another, and wake the sleeper. But as the Hero is herself the sleeper, it falls to the Sidekick to save.”
Read More Mystery of the Murderous MugMy daughter and I stared at the machine.
“I like that it’s black,” she said. “And those designs are so cool. There’s so much detail. Why doesn’t ours look like this? I might even use it if it looked like this. Wait…” She turned to me. “Do you think it still works?”
I peered at the machine sitting on the kitchen table, the sewing machine that I had inherited from my grandmother almost fifteen years ago. Long before Selma was born. I hadn’t laid eyes on it in all that time (even the few times I’d moved, I’d kept it packed away or covered). And before that, I’d never seen it at all.
Read More A Sewing Machine From 1919Once upon a time, a town that sat nestled near the foot of a mountain, surrounded by forest
evergreen, ran out of food and fuel in the midst of a deadly winter. They were not poor, the people of this town. They were not foolish with their provisions. The winter had just lasted far longer than any in the realm had expected. Every season of that year was winter. Many perished.
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