Metaphysical Furniture

  Fireflies by Michael Creese Day 11 – Murphy There's a reason people say all dogs go to heaven. Nobody ever says all accountants go to heaven. Or dentists. Or assistant regional managers. Dogs earn the benefit of the doubt. They forgive quickly and love unconditionally. And somehow manage to convince us that throwing the same tennis ball three hundred consecutive times is not only reasonable, but the highest purpose a human being can aspire to. If there is a flaw in the universe, it's that dogs don't live nearly long enough. Jason and Rebecca Collins family had lived on Willow Lane for almost twelve years. Along with their mortgage they had acquired two children, Cody and Carson. And one golden retriever named Murphy. He'd died three summers earlier at the respectable age of fourteen. The Collins children had buried him beneath a flowering dogwood in the backyard with a tennis ball, a faded blue collar, and what Rebecca described as "an unreasonable amount...

  Chasing Fireflies by Follow Themoonart Chapter 10 – The First Warning There's a difference between danger and consequence. A thunderstorm isn't dangerous. Standing beneath the tallest tree in the county while holding a metal rake is. The ocean isn't dangerous. Choosing to wade into a rip current when you can’t swim is. People have a habit of blaming places for decisions they made inside them. By Saturday evening, I'd begun wondering whether the Firefly Hours were dangerous or not. The oldest resident on Willow Lane was a man of eighty-six years named Arthur McCreary. A retired high school principal and widower, Arthur lived alone in the only ranch-style house that predated the subdivision by nearly thirty years. Developers had simply built around him. His house sat stubbornly among the McMansions like a man who'd refused to wear a necktie to a black-tie dinner. The paint was peeling. The porch sagged. Something resembling a vegetable garden occupied most of ...

  Finse and Jonsey's Night of Fireflies by Sonja van der Wijk Day 9 – Not Ghosts People are surprisingly confident about ghosts. Some believe they're restless souls needing pass to the other side. Others insist they're nothing more than wishful thinking from the living who miss their loved ones. Dr. Calico Verde says a ghost is a consciousness that has lost its future. Personally, I've found certainty to be one of the least useful tools in an investigator's kit. Ghosts, if they exist at all, should know they're dead. Whatever was happening on Laurel Lane didn't fit that description. Harold Whitcomb still worried about trimming his hedges. Ben still challenged Tommy to bicycle races. A little girl still wished for a puppy every evening before blowing out six birthday candles. None of them behaved like people trapped between worlds. They behaved like people who still belonged to one. Just not this one. Saturday morning, I arranged my notes on a white...