The Inkwell presents: Night Shift

By The Inkwell

From the night shift worker to creatures who abhor the sun, the denizens of the dark have fascinated readers since the very beginning. They are our boogeymen and heroes, our mysterious stranger and the monster in the alleyway. But, like the sun-kissed, they have lives and loves and stories worth telling, and we wish to tell them.

The Painted Dragons - Street art not only livens up the neighborhood, but adds to it as well.
The Snowglobe - A little nighttime mischief brings an unexpected revelation.
Affirmations after Dark - Mysterious messages do not bode well in this house of the future.
Guard Duty - What happens after dark only the shadows can tell.
Something to Do with Love - Across the swamp he rides, to where silent love abides.
Rising Ashes - Proving worthy is never as easy as it seems.
The Paths We Take - What does one so timid gift to a lord?
Aurora Deus - Beauty up above hides much down below (Ever wondered why the lights are so bright?).
Lord Konstantin Vasylyshyn Zoltánfi‘s Housekeeper - Sometimes, curiosity can be the death of you.
Red Light - Every evening is the same, except, maybe, this evening.
Gone Fishing in the Dark - Being called up might not be the chore Grant expects it to be.
How Far We’re Willing to Go for Salvation - How far would you go to wash your past clean?
Ten - On the cusp of becoming a Grownup, Boo learns some truths.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Inkwell
• Release date: Sep 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005380519

The Inkwell

We are a writing collective founded on Discord that currently includes 20+ writers all helping each other on the climb to completed works.

Book preview

The Painted Dragons

Written by Ros Forbes

In a dusty corner of the attic, a little apart from all the other boxes, sat a crate. Below a label bearing the name 'Joyce' in a shaky hand was a dancing tomato with an overly cheerful smile. George knew he was never supposed to go through that crate, and seeing it, he bit his lip before looking away quickly. But not before Sally noticed.

You sure you don't want to peek? Just a look? Dad won't know; he never comes up here." 

Dad would know.

With the sort of exasperated sigh only a little sister could achieve, she continued, I don't think he'll get angry. Just because he doesn't want to look at it, doesn't mean that we can't. Then, before he could stop her she approached the box and lifted the lid. Huh.

What? George expected more fanfare; a burst of confetti or paint splattering Sally's pink blouse. From what he remembered of Joyce, she was eccentric, and her things had a touch of fey magic about them. It was enough to make her paintings come alive, a trait appreciated throughout their little town, but not enough to keep her from wanting to leave.

The last conversation he remembered between his aunt and his dad had been an explosive argument. Joyce had shouted that living in Achenberg was stifling her creativity, pointed an accusatory finger at her brother and left soon after in a clatter of paintbrushes and slamming doors. However, that didn’t mean he had no contact with her. She mailed Sally and him little hand-painted portraits of themselves on their birthdays, always with a little dragon somewhere in the picture. Surprisingly, she managed to capture what they looked like without seeing them since. He thought she was rather generous with how she drew him lately,though, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair in the company-standard cut instead of the long ponytail phase he tried during high school. 

But enough of the speculations, even if he always wondered why she never bothered coming home or corresponding with his dad. Peering into the crate, he wondered what was packed up so many years ago. Disappointingly, it was what he expected when he pulled away the old t-shirt with a splattering of rainbow stars covering the box's contents. Underneath were paints in different colours, all hand mixed, smelling faintly of meadow flowers and earth. He picked up a paintbrush, and ran a hand through the smooth bristles and across the J.L. initials engraved there. Then, unexpectedly, his hand brushed up against a little plush dragon colored a faded lavender and sporting silver, plastic scales, its dark, beaded eyes staring sadly at him. 

You think aunt Joyce did some magic on it? Sally mused, picking it up and holding it up to the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Hello, dragon, anyone in there?

But there was no sign of life from the toy, as expected. Joyce didn’t do that type of magic, Sally.

His sister sighed. How boring. But he must be lonely here. I'll take him down— At the look on his face, she rolled her eyes. Dad won't see him. He'll be camouflaged, won't you buddy?

Well, if you're taking something. 

It was a silly excuse but he wanted to see what would happen if he painted with Joyce's brush. Then, on another whim, he retrieved the small paint jar nearest to it, and slipped them into his pockets. Let's go.

Sally raised an eyebrow at his selection but all he did was shrug. Unable to get any attention from him, she addressed the plush dragon, Now, what should I call you?

Come on, he said, giving her a half-hearted push towards the ladder, and sighing at the list of names she began listing out.Don't you have school tomorrow?

He knew she would be wrinkling her nose at that question, and she responded by jumping the last few steps, landing with a heavy thud on the wooden floor. But instead of going to her bedroom and bemoaning her fate she headed to the window overlooking their front yard. The mischievous grin on her face when she turned concerned him. 

Look who's waiting for you! Sally laughed, tapping on the glass. "Is it Eliza?"

George had spent enough time painting the truck to recognize that obnoxious silhouette even in the dim evening light. I'll check. If it was work, they would usually call him, and he frowned irritably at his buzzing phone when he returned to his room to check. Hello?

Evening, George, d'you want to work some overtime?

There was nothing he despised more than overtime, but it was Eliza, and he couldn't help the smile spreading across his face at her voice. Of course. Give me a sec, Eliza. Next to him, Sally beamed.

Eliza did not specify he needed heavy gear, so he did not bother changing, simply grabbing the backpack standing in the corner. I'll know if you didn't go to bed, he admonished

Have fun with Eliza! Sally cackled, ducking away from his outstretched arms and the tickles he usually tortured her with for such cheek. Good night, George.

When he arrived at the truck, Eliza leaned over to open the passenger door for him. Entering, he wrinkled his nose. The truck had recently returned from the cleaners but the smell of salt and sulphur lingered. 

What've you got there? She gestured to his pockets.

Nothing much, he said evasively, refusing to blush at her raised eyebrow. What's the case then?

Noise and complaints about unwanted graffiti that always happened at night. She shrugged. I would think it would be some kids playing hooky, but they sent me a photo and it doesn't look like regular spray paint. Here, you look. She handed him the phone and reached for the gear shift. 

The photo was undoubtedly taken by someone wanting more to make a point than get a clear picture. Several were covered by the photographer's thumb, but those that didn't show swatches of paint, and what looked like animal prints. The paint covered sidewalks and driveways in swirling mandala patterns, elaborate circle-shapes similar to a nautilus shell. There were places where the circles were broken by whatever or whoever it was that painted it, and it wasn't a human hand or shoe print nor any humanoid fae creature he knew. 

A magical animal, then. George concluded, What do you think it is?

Something intelligent, she shrugged, which is why I figured we can talk to it. I suspect it's a witch's familiar, and all we have to do is explain politely that they can't do art in a suburban mom's home turf.

They were driving into the affluent section of Achenberg, the brickwork and corner shops replaced by more modern, painted houses and corporate supermarkets.

I hate what they've done to the art around here, Eliza mused, pointing out the window with a free hand, forcing him to squint to see where.

"I used to walk past this beautiful selkie in the sea but they've covered it up because ‘think of the children’. She rolled her eyes. I thought they were rather magical as a child. Who doesn't want to put on a coat and turn into a seal?"

He shared her sentiment, though he supposed it was more the way the selkies took off their human clothes to put on a sealskin that was of concern to children's eyes. That was just one mural though, there used to be plenty around Achenberg