“Oh! Mon amour!”
I rush to Pierre’s side as he hits the ground, head thumping hard against the concrete floor of the garage. I momentarily panic at the thought of it breaking open like a soft melon. But it doesn’t—people, it would seem, are sturdier than I remember them—and I cradle his head in my lap. Or, more specifically, the lap of my front hooves. I stroke his hair off his forehead, which is warm and much too moist, and lean my face close to his to make sure he’s breathing. When I feel a small exhalation from his nose, I give a sigh of relief and look over at his friend. Continue reading
The next chapter of Caribou Chronicles will be out on Saturday, November 25th, as opposed to this weekend. It’s going to be last chapter we put out before the holidays—Ben, Pierre, and the rest of the gang will be back in January, 2018—and it’s going to be an extra long edition to hold you over.
So stay tuned for the next instalment and catch you guys soon!
If you happen to be in the Montreal area and have nothing to do on Sunday, come by Chapters Pointe-Claire and grab a signed copy of Caitlin Marceau’s coauthored collection Read-Only: A Collection of Digital Horror. She’ll be there to talk about the book (written in collaboration with the talented M. Regan), to talk about Caribou Chronicles, and some really cool projects coming up in 2018.
The signing is going to be this Sunday, November 12th, from 11:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., and it should be great fun.
Hope to see you all there!
Josh made his way on the sidewalk, side-stepping and sliding through the slow throngs of people, passing jamming buskers by. He turned left and then right, continued for two blocks, then turned right into an alleyway dotted by shop and restaurant back doors. The garbage in the containers was baking under the hot summer sun, giving the air within the alley a humid smell of decay. Josh fished out a small piece of paper from his pocket, the newspaper ad his mother had cut out for him. Her message was clear: there be a job, go get it. The directions on the ad weren’t so clear. It said to get to this alley and look for door number 23. Josh walked up and down the alley without finding the door. He started to turn back, his shirt above his nose to buffer the smell of marinating garbage, when a man called to him from door 23. Continue reading
In addition to the main storyline which will be released weekly during July 2017 and fortnightly thereafter, we are planning a number of additional stories to add to the Caribou Chronicles world and give other writers the chance to showcase their talent.
We don’t want to restrict people by saying that they can’t include adult themes within their work, but we want to be clear to readers that any content with adult themes will be contained within this Caribou Chronicles: After Dark section of the website. So be sure to keep one eye on this page for further updates.
I’m sweeping a brush around the floors in food prep half-heartedly when Mike appears out of nowhere and pats me on the shoulder. I jump a mile.
“Sorry Fred, didn’t mean to scare you. Listen, if things don’t pick up soon, you can head off early today. There’s no sense in having more staff around the place than customers.” Continue reading
It takes a minute for me to register the pain between my legs, but once my body processes it, it’s like a small fire erupting through my groin and up my back. I cup my hands over myself as I crumple to the ground, making strange mewling sounds that leave everyone—myself included—uncomfortable. As I fall in a heap the rat thing—when did Ben adopt a rat thing?—smacks me hard over the head with the dull end of his spear. I try to cover my bits and my skull with my hands at the same time as the thing lifts his stick to smack me again. Continue reading
I reckon I make a pretty package, trussed up in spider webbing like a turkey for the table. Only my heavy boots are poking out the one end, and my long beet-red face out the other. Two-dozen quantlings and more are carrying me above their heads into the undergrowth, and I wouldn’t like that situation any day of the week, but these guys are the world’s worst mail couriers. By the time they’ve bounced me off a passing tree or dropped my corners into swampy puddles for the tenth time, I can honestly say I wouldn’t even hire them to do baggage handling at the airport. Continue reading
Normally there’s something beautiful about early mornings in the country. The quiet of the forest, the smell of the dew on the grass, and breathing in the crisp clean air while enjoying a hot cup of coffee. The idea of a warm drink out on the porch is especially appealing on such a cold-to-the-bone day, or it would be if I wasn’t still in boxers and a thin t-shirt from last night. There’s water on the porch from last night’s rainfall, and the wood is slippery under my bare feet as I walk to the edge of the top step. Continue reading
I ain’t one of those old men who’s afraid of new tech, and I’m proud to say that know my way around a smartphone with the best of them. But my phone is slippery in my hands with sweat and panic, and I’m swerving all over these country roads as I try to tap out Pierre’s number on the keypad. Not for the first time, I find myself lamenting the times when honest-to-goodness buttons were an actual thing. Continue reading