Category: Fiction Factor

The main drag in Oglesburg Tennessee – White Oak Parkway –snakes through the heart of the Great Smoky Mountains. The businesses that line it, framed by countless trees jutting from the summit, are typical of many tourist towns.

There’s a confectionery shop, Sugar South, that allows customers to lean in and see how the candy is made. After munching on free samples of chocolate and caramel delights, those with a sweet tooth are convinced to buy more by the sack full.

The Old Tyme Baking House cookie kitchen opens at 5 a.m. each day, and the smell of gingerbread spices the early morning air.

A clothing store, Tennessee Stylin’, offers everything from sweatshirts adorned with the smiling face of a friendly black bear to Come Ogle At Oglesburg and Oglesburg: A Place For Carryin’ On Then Marryin’ Long novelty tees.

And of course, moving past the drop-in restaurants and mini-museums means being accosted by the frenetic young man promising three nights and two days of luxurious lodging if you’ll be so kind as to listen to his 90-minute infomercial for the condos located just on the outskirts of town.

There is plenty to do and see in Oglesburg, and the constant parade of families means entrepreneurs are eager to set up shop.

One of the newest and more popular stops is Fanny and Flossie’s Family Figurines. The modest storefront features colorful caricatures of Fanny and Flossy, the sisters who own and operate the curio shop. Once inside, though, guests find themselves marveling at miniature plastic replicas of people and places that are exacting in their depiction.

Stores that allow customers to play dress up while posing for sepiatone photos in saloons and dance halls remain popular, but this is a step above.

Newlyweds, families – anyone – can have their images recreated in 1/8 scale thanks to what Fancy and Flossy call their “Miniature Memories Machine.”

“How y’all doin’?” Fanny asked, her southern twang greeting a young couple who wandered in from the busy street. “Where ya from?”

The young woman smiled broadly.

“Columbus, Ohio,” she said. “I’m Sally and this is my husband, Frank. We’re on our honeymoon.”

“Well, bless your heart,” chimed in Flossy. “Might not want to say it too loud, though. People in these parts are still mad about y’all kickin’ our hind ends in that football game last year. I’m just kiddin’ – everybody comes to Oglesburg to have fun. And Fanny and me don’t care much for sports, anyway.”

Sally leaned down and carefully examined the displays; the figurines were incredibly lifelike.

“This is amazing,” Sally said, pointing to a  creation that featured what appeared to be a mom, dad, two young children and their labrador retriever standing in front of a fountain. “The hair on the dog is incredibly realistic. If I’m careful, can I touch it?”

“Go ahead,” Flossy said. “It’s plastic so it ain’t gone break.”

Sally ran her hand over the dog figure.

“Wow,” she said. “I half-expected it to be fur but, yeah, it sure feels like plastic.”

Fanny eyed Frank and winked.

“I bet your bride would be real impressed if you bought her a figurine of you and her all cuddled up in the Smokies,” she said. “All you have to do is step into our studio and then our Miniature Memories Machine can have your figurine ready in a week to 10 days.”

Frank looked at Sally and shrugged.

“I dunno,” he said. “I mean, these figurines look fantastic, but I doubt we could afford it. Something this realistic can’t come cheap.”

Fanny shook her head.

“You’d be wrong, young man,” she said. “Does $20 sound like too much?”

Franks eyes widened.

“Are you serious?” he exclaimed. “You could do a figurine of us for just $20?”

“Oh, honey,” she said. “We ain’t in this for the money. Flossy and me just love seein’ people happy. And with our low prices, we can make a lot of people happy. Just consider this our Honeymoon Special, special-made for you two lovebirds.”

Sally and Frank looked at each other.

“It’s a deal,” Sally said. “So, what do we do?”

Fanny pointed to a door leading to a back room.

“Nothin’ to it,” she said. “We have all kinds of backgrounds in there, and all we do is put you in front of one – I think the fancy term for it is a green screen – take your picture, and run it through our Miniature Memories Machine. Why don’t you two go on in there and get ready? There’s a ticket you need to fill out in there with your address so we’ll know where to send your figurine, and there’s a book with all sorts of backgrounds to choose from. And the best part? You don’t even need to pay us right now. You can just send your money when you get your plastic likeness … we want to make sure you’re completely satisfied with it. We’ll give you a couple of minutes to decide, and then we’ll be right in. Just close the door once you’re inside, if you don’t mind.”

Sally and Frank walked in and shut the door behind them. Flossy waited a moment, eyed the door, and pulled a small wooden wand from her dress pocket. With a short wave of the instrument she shouted, “Stasis Permanentus!”

She opened the door to the room and it was empty, except for the Miniature Memories Machine.

The square contraption hummed and clicked, and in less than a minute a 1/8 scale figure of Sally and Frank standing at the entrance of the Great Smoky Mountains was produced.

Fanny eyed the art and gave a thumbs up.

“Another good one, sister,” she said. “Another real good one. Looks just exactly like ‘em.”

“It should Fanny, since it is them,” Flossy said with a chuckle. “But I can’t take all the credit. When you combine witchcraft and a 3D printer, well … it’s magic.”

The soup kitchen at the recreation center on Redemption Avenue was especially busy two weeks before the Thanksgiving holiday, and Nate Raimi was spooning out his vegetable medley special just as fast as he possibly could.

“How’s it going, buddy?” he said to the bearded man whose shaky hands were holding a Styrofoam bowl. “I threw in some navy beans in this batch, and I think it might be the best soup we’ve had in a while. There’s bread and tea over there on the table … and feel free to come back for seconds. Or thirds.”

Two years earlier, Raimi had met with an official from the World Metahuman Clearinghouse in hopes of getting funding for a project designed to help him spread compassion throughout the world.

Working under the not-so-secret identity of “Compassion-Nate,” his superpower was setting off a chain reaction of empathy to all those he encountered. Unfortunately, the WMC not only refused his request for a grant, but he soon learned the group wasn’t interested in his brand of heroism.

A world full of compassionate people would lessen the need for superheroes, and that was bad for their business. Thus, some of the more cut-throat officials were determined to stop him – by any means necessary.

Despite the threat, Nate still did what he could, and bringing a bit of hope to people who had little or none was why he spent much of his time as a volunteer.

Yet, while serving those in need took up a good bit of his time, he was also learning all he could about Clancy Orion.

Orion had become an internet sensation when he prevented a drunk driver from hitting a group of children at a playground. The social media world dubbed him “Captain Hysterical” after he claimed his ability to crumple the front end of the vehicle and stop it cold was due to high adrenaline, or “hysterical strength.”

Nate discovered that was not the case. Orion was actually an extraterrestrial from the planet Wolf 1061c who had been on earth for a decade. There was a significant number of superheroes who feared he was the vanguard of an imminent Wolfian invasion, although Nate was not among them. He looked for the best in people – human or alien – and Orion’s actions suggested he was here to help rather than harm.

Captain Hysterical was an observer, perhaps, but not an occupier.

Today’s immediate concern, however, was feeding the hungry, and assisting Nate in that endeavor was an old friend, known in crimefighting circles – appropriately enough – as “Old Man.” O.M., as Nate calls him, had gained a bit of notoriety when he apprehended Professor Purloin at Rickman Plaza back in 2023. However, he was quickly forgotten as Spectacular Man and Frau the Fearless dominated headlines with their flashy uniforms and over-the-top theatrics while catching more colorful villains.

Older people often go unnoticed, which worked to his advantage, but it also meant Old Man found himself on the outside looking in lately when the world needed a hero.

With his services no longer wanted, he showed up every weekday at the soup kitchen to lend Nate a hand. Of course, his guise made him look more like a customer than a volunteer – a ragged Jaxon cap, blue and red flannel shirt, and polyester pants pulled up almost to his nipples.

“Hey, O.M., do you mind going back to the kitchen and checking on the soup?” Nate asked. “We’re getting near the bottom of this pot.”

Old Man nodded.

“On it. I ever tell you about the time I used a can of minestrone to stop a grocery store robbery?” said O.M., whose rambling stories would often throw evildoers off their game and allow him to take the upper hand. “Rascal walked in and pulled out a pistol while I was on aisle 5A – that’s the soup, rice and beans aisle – so I grabbed a can of low sodium minestrone, took aim, and clocked him right in the noggin. He went down like one of them Jenga towers and I moseyed on over and kicked his weapon away. You remember what I told the police when they showed up?”

Nate chuckled.

“I do … but you’re gonna tell me again, anyway.”

“I said to the officer, I said, ‘The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a can of soup.’ He got a chuckle out of that. And you gotta admit … it’s a dang good line. Probably shoulda copyrighted it now that I think about it. Superheroes need a catchphrase.”

As O.M. made his way toward the kitchen the feeding line kept forming, and Nate noticed a smartly dressed woman walk through the front door.

Maisie Petra was well-known around the rec center. She was a homicide detective and could often be seen cruising through the neighborhood, one that she had grown up in and still cared for.

What wasn’t well-known was that she was also Violet Femme, a crusading hero who often clashed with the sinister Havoc Club. She had actually worked with Old Man on a few jobs, but her encounters with Nate had mostly been “off the clock” and informal. He provided a shoulder to cry on when her crimefighting partner, Yellowhammer, was killed, and the two had stayed in touch ever since.

On this afternoon, however, she had some business to discuss with the man furiously ladling soup.

“Care to try my special, detective?” he asked.

“I know it’s delicious, but I had an early lunch,” she said. “When you get a minute, though, I’d like to talk to you about something. I understand you have some information I might be interested in hearing.”

Old Man was just coming out of the kitchen with a huge pot of soup and lit up when he saw Maisie.

“Hiya, kid!” he chirped. “This ain’t a raid, is it? If so, you’re too late. Poker game broke up more than an hour ago.”

Maisie laughed and, after O.M. put the soup down on the serving table, walked over to give him a hug.

“You taking care of yourself, Old Man? I see you’re still a fashion plate.”

O.M. pulled his pants even higher.

“Never needed a fancy costume,” he said. “Just gimme some thrift store britches and a bad guy to bamboozle, and I’m raring to go. Anyway, I overheard you saying you need to talk to Nate … forgot I had my hearing aid set on supersonic.”

O.M. grabbed the ladle from Nate.

“Go talk to your girlfriend,” he said with a wink. “I got this.”

Maisie and Nate stepped toward the back of the rec center and he produced a thumb drive.

“This has everything we know about Clancy Orion,” he said.

“Lots of interesting stuff on there. I guess for our purposes, though, the headline is that he can only eat tomatoes.”

Nate handed the thumb drive to Maisie.

“Please keep this between us, Maisie,” he said. “I’ll let O.M. know. Oh … and I’ll be in touch about Thanksgiving.”

Maisie waved at Old Man as she left, and Nate returned to take control of the soup ladle.

“Well?” O.M. asked.

“Well, I let her know he can only eat tomatoes, which changes our meal plan a bit,” Nate said. “But, we’ll make it work.”

O.M. gently patted Nate on this hand.

“You’re a good egg, my boy. You think he’ll accept your invitation? If I was him I’d be a little paranoid, especially with everything going on at WMC … and the world.”

Nate nodded.

“I’m pretty sure he knows who we are and knows our intentions. I hope he comes … he’s lightyears from home, and Thanksgiving can be a tough time. I hate to see anybody spend it alone.”

These characters were featured in earlier flash fiction pieces. In case you forgot them, here are links to their origin stories.

Compassion-Nate

Old Man

Death of the Yellowhammer

Captain Hysterical

The offices of Hell hadn’t changed much over the millennia. Oh, there was occasionally a new coat of dark red paint on the walls in the reception area, and the black light that illuminated the room would have to be replaced from time to time when it burned out from the thick humidity.

But it was always smoky and stuffy, always smelled of sulfur, and Jack O’Lantern had dropped in more times than he could remember.

Sometimes known as “Stingy Jack,” O’Lantern was a legend – a legend who was such an odious character that Heaven wouldn’t take him and Hell didn’t want him. His relationship with the Devil was complicated by the fact that had screwed over the Prince of Darkness more than once. His betrayal prompted Beelzebub to condemn him to roam the earth between the planes of good and evil, meaning there was no spot for him above or below.

Still, every decade or so, Jack would travel to Hell’s corporate headquarters in hopes of finding work and, ultimately, admission to Hades.

“May I help you?” asked the receptionist standing behind the window (her name tag read “Marcy”).

“Yes, I’m here to see the Devil.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m just a walk-in. He’s quite familiar with me, though.”

Marcy produced a clipboard with a sheet of paper and ball point pen attached to a chain.

“Please sign on the first blank line,” she said. “And list the time.”

Jack scribbled down his name and handed the clipboard back.

Marcy looked it over and smiled.

“Oh, wow … Jack O’Lantern,” she said excitedly. “So, you’re the guy that invented the Halloween pumpkin?”

Jack shrugged.

“Well, yes and no,” he explained. “The Devil and I have this convoluted contract where he can’t claim my soul, so he gave me an ember to guide me through the unknown. At first, I put it in a hollowed-out turnip and used it to see in front of me, but then I realized no one took me seriously. People would say things like, ‘Look … there’s that wanker with the candle in the turnip … let’s pelt him with jagged rocks,’ so then I put the ember in a pumpkin. At first, there was just a small round hole in it to let the light shine through, but then one night I got bored and decided to carve out a face, just for the hell of it. I called it a Jack O’Lantern Glowing Pumpkin and tried to patent the name, but there was so much red tape involved I finally gave up. I guess it’s public domain now.”

“That’s a shame,” Marcy said. “Anyway, what brings you in to see the boss today?”

Jack placed his pumpkin on the floor and leaned on the shelf in front of the window.

“Look, he and I have had our differences,” Jack explained. “Without going into all the details, I’m a bit of a dick and tricked the dude twice. Once I turned him into a silver coin, and another time I trapped him in an apple tree. Needless to say, he was not amused. You can learn more about it on Wickedpedia. But here’s the thing … I’ve well and truly learned my lesson. I’ve been wandering aimlessly since the 17^th century, and there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t regret what I did to Ol’ Scratch.

“Could you just buzz him and tell him I came here to apologize – and to find some work? I’m getting pretty desperate and I’m willing to do just about anything. I’d be happy to spread disease, start forest fires, create a new reality show … whatever he needs. And I realize I have to prove myself, but I just need a chance. He’s evil, I’m evil – we should do evil together.”

Marcy winked.

“Lemme go check with him and tell him what you said. A disco-themed cruise liner caught fire and sank early this morning, and that put him in a really good mood.”

So Jack waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity for a man doomed for eternity, Marcy emerged from the Devil’s office.

“I think he may have something for you, Mr. O’Lantern,” she said excitedly. “Boss said he needs you in Washington, D.C., where you’ll be working with Texas Senator Ted Cruz.”

Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes and as he knelt down, he sobbed gently – cradling his glowing pumpkin.

At long last, he had finally made it to Hell.