“How’d you get that shiner, Angus?”
“I visited a haunted hieland castle at the witching hour to ken what haints wear under their sheets.”
“A ghostie hit you?”
“No-o-o. In the near darkness, I lifted the wrong hem… I discovered the laird of the manor wears nothing under his kilt.”
John H. Dromey was born in northeast Missouri. Although he has some Celtic roots (in Ireland and Scotland) he does not wear a kilt.
While I explore the famed Loch Lomond, an insect darts over my head, and whispers. “Hello, mortal.”
It’s a she: wings and tiny antlers. “Am I crazy?”
“No. You entered a haunted zone.”
“You’re a ghost, then.”
“Only sprites and water fairies, here.” She whistles softly. “And I’m your guide.”
Russell Hemmell is an alien from Mintaka snuggled into a (consenting) human host. His fiction has appeared on Gone Lawn, Not One of Us, Strangelet, and elsewhere. See more at earthianhivemind.net.
I met him by the loch.
“If you ever meet a kelpie,” he said, “never look it in the eye.”
I stroked his hair. It was black and wet. When my fingers stuck there, his eyes pinwheeled. Long, equine lashes.
In a vortex of thunder, we began our riverbed descent.
Lisa Beyt recently relocated to Edinburgh which has fuelled a fascination with Scottish beasties. You can find her loitering on Twitter