Skip to main content

The Home of Gifts

*In 2015, I wrote a short story called "The Home of Gifts." Bewildering Stories published it in October of that year in Issue 641. Here's a small taste and a link to the full story:

The last few days had been long, and all Mark Sands wanted to do was finish his report and go home. He sat alone looking over the same notes, hoping somehow that he'd missed something, and tried to ignore the fire in his back.

You believe me, don't you Mark? The question echoed through Mark's brain a hundred times, and the old man's face beamed at him. In twenty years of detective work, never had he been taken in by a lie. That's why the report wouldn't write itself. He could tell, with faultless accuracy, if someone was telling the truth. Yet, how could anything the old man said be true?

So Mark went back to the day he had met him. He laid the facts out one by one. They always told the truth no matter how cold.

*Visit Bewildering Stories for the rest of "The Home of Gifts."

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cottonwood

Let me tell you the story of this tree. It's around 7 years old--I know this because I pulled it out of a crack the first spring it popped up. I was walking with some students along the sidewalk, their chatter filling the air, and I spotted it: 3 or 4 sets of leaves waving like a mini flag right next to a car tire. It had rained a day or two before, so when I gently pulled on the trunk--which was more like a twig--it came up easily, roots and all. "What are you doing?" One of my students asked. "Saving this tree," I said. We headed inside to find a cup of water, and I explained just how I intended to save the tree. "It's dying." I assured them it would live. I explained--again--that if I left the roots in water and later planted and soaked it, it had a good chance. "It's dying." It's over seven years later, and every once in a while I remind one of the students with me that day that the tree is still alive. I've replanted it a

Silliness Solidifies Relationships

On February 8th, I posted an introduction of sorts called "Toward a Manifesto of Silliness." Every week since then I've written about silliness, mostly as a way to meditate on and answer the question: What makes silliness important? My family and I talked it over, and here are our answers: "Silliness is a Sign of Joy." "Silliness is Important Because We are Silly." "Silliness is Just Fun." "Silliness Helps Bring Balance." Thinking on and writing about those answers helped this last silly answer grow -- I had an idea at first, but those initial answers shaped how I thought/think about silliness. It was a suspicion that began the day my youngest son and I played our game of nothing. Remember? All this began with nothing. Try to imagine: First, we sat side by side, the whole room bright from the sun. Soon, he draped his arms around my neck, and because of the faces we'd been making, laughter took over. His brothers were close by,

A Return to Silliness in a Song

Some time ago, I wrote about silliness  (and more recently here ), but I come back to it because I need it--and because I can't help it. Nothing is quite like the pressure of Self Importance, and I'm so much more likely to snap at you when, clearly, my agenda is The Agenda. So, let's try something. I'll set my agenda down if you will. Deal? I'll even set mine down first--there; it looks so much smaller on the floor, doesn't it? Now it's your turn--for we've made a deal, and we have a song to sing. Please, silly songs don't work all that well when our arms are weighed down. Good--I know you feel better because I do, too. Now for the song. It's called "A Song Best Sung to Little Ones," and it goes like this: Wiggle your toes and scrunch up your nose-- Yes, like that--for you have them! Your toes And your nose, now what do they knows? How to wiggle and how to scrunch! "And what of my stuffy bears? What of Their noses and wiggledy toes