"There's no place like home," I said under my breath, chuckling. I picked her up.

  Everything went black and I felt like I was falling. Light came back before I had time to scream.

  I wasn't in my room.

  It was Grandma's apartment. Isabelle's cabinet was in front of me, where it usually was, open, and I was holding Dorothy-Isabelle.

  "Emily! I told you not to—"

  Grandma. Alive.

  I turned to look at her, and the look on my face must have spoken volumes.

  "Oh. I see," she said quietly. "I see." She took Isabelle from me and placed her back in the cabinet and latched it.

  I burst into tears and threw my arms around her.

  My mother and father acted like Grandma had never died. She explained that Isabelle would no longer change every day until she died again, and then it would start up once more, since the doll would then be mine. I decided I would pass Isabelle onto one of my grandchildren as Grandma had done with me. As she was fond of saying, the bond between a grandparent and grandchild creates a special magic all its own.

  Grandma lived three more years, three years of happiness for both of us. And indeed, Isabelle went back to her old tricks.

  About the Author

  Born and raised in western Connecticut, Ronald Linson now lives in New York City. He writes mainly science fiction, fantasy, and horror, but has been known to dabble in other genres as well. Current projects include a young adult fantasy and a Lovecraftian "shared experience" collaboration. Previous Mannison Press publications include the Minibooks Time Served (2020), Agent of Change (2020), and Overworked: A Legal Fiction (2019) with Deidre J Owen. His short story "The True Nature of Swimming Holes" was included in the anthology Little Girl Lost: Thirteen Tales of Youth Disrupted (2019). Many of his other short stories and poems can be found for free online.

  Smashwords profile here: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ronlinson

  10. A Rattle Tale

  Gary Clifton

  "Papa, look what Hombre found out on the San Antonio road!" Amy Smith called out. Excited, she barely managed to rein up Star, the smallish Red Bay mare her parents had given her for her ninth birthday. She stopped just short of her father's fired-up blacksmith forge.

  Hombre, the huge black half-Newfoundland who belonged to local Texas Ranger Henry Paul Brannigan, trotted up, panting in the blazing 1887 late Summer Texas heat. Each day, when Brannigan rode into town from his ranch six miles north, Hombre followed. He spent his days sleeping in the shade of a huge live oak tree on the Uvalde County Courthouse grounds, enjoying the many friendly pats from citizens and children who passed by. When little Amy rode her pony outside the immediate confines of the town, he instinctively followed, ready for any affection Amy might show if she dismounted for any reason.

  Any threat to his nine-year-old pal Amy would instantly transform the friendly giant to one hundred thirty pounds of savage assistance. A week earlier, Amy had stopped amidst some scattered mesquite trees to answer nature's call. It was late Summer, when the diamond back rattlesnakes common to the area wanted only to lie in what shade they could find and remain undisturbed. Amy had narrowly missed stepping on a six-foot specimen which immediately coiled with deadly intensity. Hombre seized the monster behind its head and tore it to shreds. When Amy told her parents of the incident, and Bear Smith and Ranger Brannigan saw the blood on Hombre's head and muzzle, they rode out and confirmed what had happened. Amy was never to ride again unless Hombre was part of the trip.

  "Whoa, sweetheart." Her father, the town blacksmith and city marshal, dropped his hammer and reached out. A native of New York City, William "Bear" Smith was husky, quick to smile, and wore his usual battered derby atop a full head of red hair. A dirty bandage on his left hand was evidence that blacksmiths were prone to injury.

  He took the small bundle from Amy. It was a doll sewn of some kind of animal skin, and for hair it had two rattlesnake tails stitched onto the head, trailing down the back like pigtails. "Good grief, the rattles are still intact inside the snakeskin," he said.

  "Can I keep it, Daddy? Please, please. I'll call her...I'll think of a name. Please."

  Bear handed the doll back to Amy. He unsaddled Star and led her into a stall at the rear of his shop. "I don't see why you couldn't keep her. Wonder how this got so close to Uvalde? Apaches range far to the west and Comanches have never come this far south. Amy, let's take a walk."

  With Amy hurrying to keep up, Bear strode across Main Street to Ranger Brannigan's office in the basement of the Uvalde County Courthouse. Brannigan, robust and a half-head taller than Bear, turned the doll in his hands. "Gotta be either Apache or Comanche. Bear, you know, Conchita over at the bakery was kidnapped from her village in Mexico as a child and grew up among Comanches up north. What say we walk over and see what she thinks?"

  They crossed over to Conchita's bakery. Hombre joined the parade.

  Conchita turned when the two lawmen and small child entered. "Oh, Señores Brannigan and Smith...and little Amy," she exclaimed boisterously. "I have fresh sweet rolls coming out of the oven. Sit and have one." Both men declined, but Amy burst out, "I'll have one, Ms. Conchita." Outside on the boardwalk, Hombre barked a request of his own.

  After providing Amy and Hombre sweet rolls, Conchita examined the little figure. "Comanche. Made by a medicine woman. Comanches claim this little thing, with the rattlesnake pigtails, has great magical power. How did...?"

  Bear said, "Hombre accompanied Amy on her ride today and found it in the brush."

  Conchita said, "Probably carried this far south by coyotes. Please don't believe anything about magic. It is just a Comanche myth." She handed it to Amy.

  "What should I name her?" Amy asked, chewing on her sweet roll. The roll Conchita had tossed to Hombre had disappeared in a single bite.

  "Perhaps 'Nadua,'" Conchita said thoughtfully. "It means 'someone found' in Comanche."

  Brannigan paid for two sweet rolls, thanked Conchita, and the group went their separate ways.

  Later that evening, as Bear, Amy, and Bear's wife Mary sat down to supper, Bear unwrapped his bandaged left hand. "It's quit hurting."

  Mary scolded, "Bear, couldn't that wait until we leave the table? Well, never mind, there's no burn there. You're getting like an old grandpa, bandaging a trifling little wound."

  Bear looked up, soberly surprised. "Mary, that was a severe burn. What's this about, I wonder?"

  Amy, with Nadua squeezed on the chair beside her, piped up, "Nadua healed It, Daddy. Maybe she's magic after all?"

  Bear smiled. "Yes, of course, sweetheart." He looked sidelong at Mary. "Well, maybe it was only a flash burn. Sure did hurt like the dickens, though."

  After midnight, a local merchant banged on the Smith's door. "Marshal, somebody has broke into my hardware store. Took a Winchester, a Colt, and a couple boxes of ammunition. Neighbor saw 'um ride outta town to the west."

  Bear immediately sent the merchant out to Brannigan's ranch for help and saddled up his black mare. As he rode West toward Brackettville, he heard the woof of Hombre overtaking him. He reined up and Brannigan, atop his big bay gelding, Buck, soon joined him and Hombre. The healed burn was still on Bear's mind, but in the urgency of the moment, he turned to the chase along the pitch-black road.

  The next day, Amy was up early. "Mama, school starts tomorrow. Can me 'n Star take one last short ride? I won't get out of town."

  "It's 'Star and I,' honey. I guess it'll be okay as long as you stay close. Daddy's gone with Ranger Brannigan. I'll help you saddle Star. But you stay in town, hear? Hombre is with the men."

  In fifteen minutes, Amy was trotting Star around Uvalde. In fifteen minutes more, she decided that as long as she didn't ride too far, Star would enjoy a short ride beyond the city limits. In another fifteen minutes, she was well out of sight of the last building in Uvalde, headed East. The weather was beautiful, and the ride grew pleasantly longer.

  She never saw the wild, disheveled man rush from the roadside brush until he had a firm grip on Star's bridle. Quickly, another dirty, ragged man appeared from the roadside and dragged Amy off Star.

  The first man looked Star up and down. "Damn, Leroy, you ain't gonna get far on this little critter."

  "We get a few miles, then we can have time to steal a better animal. Meanwhile, drag that cute little red head into the brush. We might entertain ourselves a bit before we move on." He clapped a grubby hand over Amy's mouth to stifle her scream. The first man followed Leroy into the brush, leading Star. Amy held tight to Nadua as Leroy manhandled her off the road.

  Amy saw one worn out horse tied to a mesquite tree and another on its side on the ground. Although young, she was skilled with horses. The men had ridden the downed animal to death. Leroy said, "Let's see whut's under them duds, little queeny." He pawed at her blouse.

  Suddenly, the first man screamed, long and terrified. "Rattler, dammit Leroy, it bit me. Help me, bro!"

  Amy saw Leroy draw a Colt and fire wildly into the brush behind the first man. She ran back to the road and turned toward Uvalde, unaware of how far she'd come. She ran until near collapse before she chanced a look back. No one was following her. She stumbled into the roadside brush, blackness clouding her eyesight.

  Bear and Brannigan, Hombre leading the way, rode their tired mounts down Main street in late afternoon. "Bear, they went someway other than West."

  Then Bear pointed to the fifteen or twenty armed men milling around the courthouse. "Lotta turnout for a hardware store break in, Henry Paul."

  Mary rushed toward them, nearly lost in tears. "Bear, my God, Amy went out on Star this morning and she hasn't returned. We've had men ride all directions, but she's just vanished."

  Hombre darted to the East, nose to the ground. He stopped, turned back, and barked frantically before crossing the Leona River ford. Brannigan and Bear followed on tired horses.

  In forty minutes, they heard Hombre barking frantically ahead. Both steeled themselves for the worst. But standing at the roadside, hugging Hombre, Amy stood, clutching her doll.

  "Amy," Bear said, "town men have been out here lookin' for you all day."

  "I heard men, but thought it was the two who took Star and was afraid to answer. I didn't come out 'til Hombre found me."

  Suddenly, Hombre ran further East. Bear pulled Amy up onto his saddle and the men followed. In about a mile, Hombre had turned into the brush and again was barking. When Brannigan and Bear eased their animals into the brush they found a bizarre scene. Two dirty, ragged men lay on the ground beside a dead, emaciated horse. An exhausted plug horse was tied to a Mesquite tree. Star stood quietly a few feet away, munching on weed tips. A huge diamond back rattler lay dead near the plug horse.

  Brannigan got down to examine the scene. "Not a mark on either, Bear. But I betcha these are our two hardware store burglars. What killed them, do you suppose?"

  Amy, from atop Bear's mare, said, "That's the men who grabbed me. That one over there said he'd been bit by a rattlesnake. The other one, who was called Leroy, started shooting and I ran."

  Brannigan knelt back over the first man. "No rattlesnake bite. No mark on the rattlesnake. It wasn't shot. Both men and the snake show no injury."

  Amy said, "Nadua told me to run and she'd take care of me. She said she'd scare these bad men and that ol' snake to death."

  Brannigan looked up. "The doll?"

  Amy nodded, hugging the ragged relic.

  Brannigan said, "Not possible."

  Bear looked at his fully healed left hand. "Man, Henry Paul, I just wonder..."

  About the Author

  Gary Clifton, forty years a cop, has been shot at, stabbed, sued, lied to and about, and often misunderstood. Currently retired to a dusty North Texas ranch, he has about sixty short fiction pieces published with Yellow Mama, Broadkill Review, and several others, plus upwards of sixty pieces published by Bewildering Stories magazine. Mannison Press publications by Gary Clifton include his novelette Never on Monday (2021) as well as his western collection called Henry Paul Brannigan: Stories Worth Tellin' (2020). He has an M.S. in psychology from Abilene Christian University. To learn more about Gary Clifton's work, you can visit his website at www.bareknucklethoughts.org.

  Smashwords profile here: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/cpGaryClifton

  11. Inside an Empty Room

  Rachel Nussbaum

  Valerie Stover's house was dark, the lights off and curtains drawn. Floral arrangements littered the porch and were just beginning to wilt, petals landing on loose sympathy cards. Inside, the landline had been taken off the hook, concerned voicemails left unheard and unanswered.

  Hoarse sobs echoed out from behind the shut door of the master bedroom. It didn't get easier for Valerie—waking up, her tired mind remembering the nightmare that was her reality all over again.

  But this isn't Valerie's story.

  Inside the second bedroom—Emma's room—her toys had been adjusting to their new reality as well. Several of the more fragile figurines shattered themselves when the news came through. But others were built too sturdy for that, and like Valerie, they had to accept their nightmare.

  The worst thing that could happen to a toy.

  Valerie had only come by once. She stopped short of the doorframe, shaking as she stared into an empty room. The toys had all winced as she yanked the door shut, collapsing as she wept.

  As the days progressed, the toys coped by breaking off into smaller groups to offer support and comfort in their own ways. Emma's stuffed animals snuggled tight on her bed, keeping each other warm. Her collectibles on the shelves had formed a support group. The action figures were hard at work inside the closet, packing themselves away in a storage box.

  Finally, up in the cushions on Emma's window seat, sat her dolls in a half-circle. One of them had brought over Emma's light-up jewelry box, the dim light dancing across their artificial faces.

  "What will happen to us?" Alice whispered.

  The other dolls turned to look at her, and Alice pulled nervously at her yellow yarn hair.

  "It's not even been a week," Marjorie, an antique china doll admonished.

  "She's right," Crystal and Winter said in unison. "We should discuss this."

  Marjorie glanced over at the two identical ice skater dolls. One had been a Christmas gift from Valerie, the other from Emma's grandmother who hadn't realized it had already been crossed off the list. Emma had been delighted and declared they were twins. In reality, they behaved more as one person in two bodies.

  "It never hurts to talk," Violet, Emma's final doll said, clinging tight to her purring felt cat.

  Outnumbered, Marjorie lifted her chipped porcelain fingers, gesturing for the others to speak.

  "Sometimes we wondered what would happen when Emma outgrew dolls," Crystal and Winter said. "It seemed so far away."

  "What usually happens when a child...doesn't need their dolls anymore?" Alice asked.

  Marjorie couldn't fault Alice too much for her nervousness. Like the ice skaters, she had been purchased new. Alice had been a birthday gift for Emma from her best friend. They'd taken great joy in finally having finished the Lewis Carroll book together, despite it being ahead of their reading level.

  "Toys get sorted through," Marjorie answered. "Special ones get kept as decor or stored for future children. Ones with less sentimentality get given away."

  "Thrown away?!" Alice gasped.

  "Given away," Marjorie said. "Brought to thrift stores and the like. People don't like to make waste out of their old friends."

  "Is that why the action figures are boxing themselves up? To hide?" Alice asked.

  "I think they're mostly trying to stay out of Valerie's way. Cleaner floors with less reminders of recent playtime will make things easier on her."

  The dolls were silent for a moment, and in the quiet, they could hear Valerie's muffled cries echoing from down the hall.

  "Should we get in the box with the action figures?" Crystal and Winter finally asked.

  "Valerie would notice if we weren't in our usual place," Marjorie said.

  "At least that means we're special, right?" Alice asked, still trying to steer the conversation back to their fate.

  "It's different, though," Violet whispered. "Outgrowing a toy and...this. What happens to dolls when this happens?"

  The dolls looked to one another, but all eyes drifted to Marjorie eventually. Surely an antique as old as her would have some insight?

  "I've seen family die, but never a child of mine," Marjorie admitted.

  "Did you see what happened to their toys?" Crystal and Winter asked.

  Marjorie had been hoping she wouldn't be asked that.

  "Lots of things. Some toys were kept for sentimentality. Others were kept for years before being passed on to the children or donated. Some were sold right away. A few times, some were placed on graves."

  "Placed on the grave?!" Alice cried.

  "Alice! She was our child," Violet gasped.

  "And I loved her. You know I did. But I'm made of yarn. I'll be destroyed in the rain!"

  "It only happened a few times," Marjorie said. "Usually when a family member as young as Emma passes, either the rooms go untouched for quite a while before the toys are sorted, or everything is gotten rid of quickly."

  "Everything at once?" Crystal and Winter asked.

  "Reminders can hurt," Violet whispered.

  "If she couldn't stand the sight of us, does that mean she's already decided?" Alice gasped.

  "Don't get ahead of yourself," Marjorie chided.

  "But what if she donates us or sells us?!"

  "Being secondhand isn't so bad," Violet whispered.