Author: eskaftun

Postcards: Beware!

eskaftun

Remember, patreon is the place to catch every postcard story I write from now on, starting at $3/mo. One per week! If you enjoy these, I hope you’ll hop over to patreon and subscribe.

Image of the Little Mermaid statue in København, with swans and twinkly lights.
Dear Erica,
In England, they say that all the swans belong to the King—but they never asked the swans. Humans rarely think of other species. In Denmark (where the “mute” swan is the National Bird), they celebrate a fantasy version of my people, in which one of us is unwise, helpless, mute. But we are none of these things. And the swans are on our side. They’re in all your parks already, protected and underestimated. The war between sea and land is coming, and though you are burdened with legs I love you still. Beware the swans, save this one who flies with my message. Meet me at the beach.
Love,
Ariel

Image of a picture-perfect snowy Alpine castle.
Dear Joelle,
If “Abra Cadabra Travel” offers you a “tiny vacation you won’t believe,” say no. At first, the castle was magical—snow sparkling like fairy dust against a backdrop of mountains, trees, perfectly blue sky. Then, a furious earthquake struck, followed by a blizzard. We tried to leave, but after a day’s hike, we hit an impenetrable barrier that curved up and around in every direction. We saw only our reflection in it, no hint of the world outside. We’re trapped in some kind of globe with no escape. The earthquakes and blizzards continue. Save yourself!
Dinah

Postcards: Misunderstandings

eskaftun

If you’re enjoying these, hop over to patreon to get every postcard story I write from now on, for as low as $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all.

Image of a hooded skeleton playing guitar.

My dearest Marilyn,
Meeting you was the highlight of my life. That a humble musician could play his way into the heart of such a beautiful traveler as your! When I played for you it was as if the gods above channeled their divine harmonies through my unworthy fingers.
It breaks my heart that you had to leave so soon. But I was cheered by your promise to come back for me once you prepare your home for our life together. I cannot wait. Yet I shall wait, until the sky crumbles if need be, for love such as yours.
Until you return, I will play my vihuela.
Yours eternally,
Daniel
Image of giant crickets held on a stick between two hunters.
Attn: High Command First Contact isn’t going well. We were prepared for the planet’s sapients to fear us. Since we can’t vocalize their speech or contort our digits into their non-verbal languages, we printed signs: “We come in peace,” etc. But we misjudged our relative sizes—although we’re huge compared to creatures like us on their planet, we’re not big enough to be seen as monsters. They see us as food. They captured all 8 members of the initial landing party and never even saw our (to them) tiny signs. What are your orders? Attempt peaceful contact again, or skip to the contingency plan? Hopper Team Upsilon-Nine

Postcards: Careful Who You Let In

eskaftun

If you’re enjoying these, hop over to patreon to get every postcard story I write from now on, for as low as $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all.

Image of polar bear on ice, surrounded by a bloody mess.

Dear Tara,
The puppies are growing up fast! Especially Bjørn; he’s MUCH bigger than his siblings and causes more mischief. I’m pleased at least one is thriving; I still don’t know what killed their poor mama.
Today I let them out to romp in the fresh snow, and boy did Bjørn get into something messy! I’d be mad if his self-satisfied smile wasn’t so stinking cute. I was so busy cleaning him up I barely noticed that the other puppies weren’t underfoot. They never came home! Tomorrow I’ll look for them, but for now at least I have my Bjørn to cuddle with. He’s a little bitey, but we’re working on it.
Love,
Ellie
Image of a sexy hitchhiker

Dear Sophia,

We were fighting in the car, as usual, when he pulled over for this hitchhiker that looked like a time traveler from an old-timey pinup magazine. Leans right over me, asks where she’s going. Ogles her legs. “Get in the back,” he tells me. He had that look on his face, that wild look, so I did.

Not two miles later he reached over and grabbed her thigh. Instantly he screamed and writhed in agony. The woman parked our car and then she … opened … like a hole in the universe. She ate him whole. And then she was a woman again, winking at me as she left.

It’s been a few days now. The shock is fading and I still don’t miss him. Thanks, hitchhiking monster lady!

~Rita

Postcards: Thanks a million!

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I have a patreon for these now! That is where you can see every postcard story that I write from now on, starting at $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all. If you enjoy these, I hope you’ll hop over to patreon and subscribe.

Image of a medieval fish wearing an Elizabethan collar and holding some foliage in the arm just in front of its dorsal fin.
Dear Aldrovandi Veterinary Clinic,
Thank you for operating on my fish. I was at my wit’s end with his soliloquizing; his rhymes were slanted at best and he was shaky on iambic pentameter. He’s quiet now, and the collar you provided keeps him from mouthing at the stitches. But they’ve opened up nonetheless—and an arm sprouted from the incision! Is this an expected side effect? He’s taken to grabbing whatever he can get his hand on and brandishing it like a sword, guarding it like treasure, or proffering it to other fish like a bouquet. He really is quite a strange fish. Any advice would be appreciated!
Best,
Philippa
Image of scale versions of the Kelpie statues in Scotland—large metal horses. A man is touching the snout of one of them.
Dearest Wizard,
It’s almost time. I couldn’t have done it without your spellwork to weld animating incantations into the metal. I’ve been tinkering with the beauties, building variations on a theme. My enemies think the two in the water are the largest. They think those and the “scale models” are the sum total of my “art.” No one knows how many kelpies I’ve raised. Gorgeous metal monsters of all sizes, who shall soon rampage and rid this island of my foes… and any unlucky bystanders. Consider this your warning: leave Scotland immediately.
With love and gratitude,
The Artist

Postcard Bonus: Spooky Visitors

eskaftun
Spooky image of a man with a headlamp backlit on wet, rocky ground
Dear Marta,
The ones who emerged looked enough like those who’d gone down that when they walked up out of the mine, grieving women fell into their arms. “Incredible that you’ve survived so long since the collapse!” they said, and didn’t ask how. It was only later that the oddness became apparent. How they stood a shade too upright. Spoke too precisely. Never seemed to blink. Their children were grown by then. The ones whose weird eyes didn’t blink quite enough. They’re in control now. Mayor, city council, all of it. It’s fair enough, we suppose. They’ve never said so, but it’s clear they’ve been in this land far longer than we have.
Best,
Lisbet
Image of a light shining up into the night sky from the center of Stonehenge
Dear Earthlings,
The transmission will reach you in several thousand “years,” as it must travel at the speed of light. Assuming my people aim correctly, this beam will traverse a straight line across the universe until it lands in the middle of your receiving ring, forming the connection that will allow us to visit your delicious planet. This message contains the instructions for constructing the ring. Make sure to build it to spec, because we very much look forward to m/eating you.
Your devouringted friends,
The “Aliens”

Want to read more of these? Visit my patreon!

Postcards: Learning through Travel

eskaftun

Exciting postcard news: I have a patreon for these now! That is where you can see every postcard story that I write from now on, starting at $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all. If you enjoy these, I hope you’ll hop over to patreon and subscribe.

Image of the head and torso of a skeleton, among other decorative bones.
Dear Liam,
For one moment, I knew the meaning of life. I learned it in a crypt. I went as a tourist: go see the ancient bones, weird art made by monks in god’s name. But then the lights went out. Sort of. I could still see. But the other tourists were gone, along with everything modern. It was the kind of quiet that’s loud, the only sound the creak of a skeleton turning his skull to me. He told me the secret that only bones can know. I carry it inside me now, deep inside, but I’ll only know it again once my flesh rots away. Isn’t that oddly comforting?
Yours eternally,
Cole
Image of a long-horned unicorn in a very small pen.
Dear Elizabeth,
Evolution is fascinating! Prize stags’ racks get smaller. Elephants are born without tusks. Same with unicorns.
Today, at the Queen’s Bestiary, we met the oldest living unicorn. 700 years old and horn at least 4 feet long! The younger ones, captured in the last few centuries, just have dainty twee little horns. Today we learned—fun fact—unicorns simply refuse to breed in captivity. Yet they live forever. Poor things.
One wonders what would happen if they mated in the wild. Over generations, would their horns grow long again? Or are those genes lost for good?
Wouldn’t it be interesting if a visitor left a pen unlatched, and some horny unicorns escaped into the nearby horse pastures? For science?
—A Scientist

Postcards: Passageways

eskaftun
Image of a very iced-over door alone in an empty field, with a small person in the distance
Dear Freddie,
Magic is cryptic AF. Worse than one of those escape rooms. The huldufólk who took Victor said we’d find him “through the door” that no key could open. It could be opened by performing “our people’s folk dance.” We tried a lot of different things, let me tell you, because we’ve got roots from everywhere—polka, hora, square dance, even flamenco. (We also tried a blowtorch to melt the ice; it weirdly didn’t work at all!) I’m actually mad that what opened that fucking door was Henry doing the YMCA. Anyway, you’re welcome. We got your boyfriend back.
Love, Neil
Image of a very narrow street lined with bright orange trees.
Dear Sarah,
Go see the foliage, you said. It’ll be fun. Until the car broke down on some back road. Google maps showed a repair shop ahead. I started walking, but I went the wrong way, and when I retraced my steps, the road looked totally different. More trees. Bigger ones. Leafier. I thought I was lost again until I saw my car, almost fully swallowed by the trees. I’d only been gone a few minutes. There are so many trees between me and this supposed repair shop. I’m running for it, but I think the trees are faster than me. If you don’t see me again, treevenge my death.
~Laura

I’ve finally caved and started a Patreon account for these! Subscriptions start at $3/month for early access to postcard stories, and every subscription makes me more excited to keep writing. Hope to see you there!

You can still buy one-off postcards here.

A Taste of Malmö

eskaftun

Eating, drinking, and decidedly not tasting our way across the city

Under the Disgusting Food Museum's logo, a circle with the word "yuck!" in it, are many yellow and red cans of surströmming.
A wall display at the Disgusting Food Museum shows a wealth of canned surströmming (fermented herring), which is one of the worst-smelling foods in the world.

My goal was simple: to eat kanelbullar for breakfast in Sweden. So what if we woke up that morning in Denmark? In Europe, countries can be shockingly close together. Like, say, separated by the narrow Øresund between the island of Zealand and the mainland of Sweden.

In my opinion, a day trip from Copenhagen to Malmö was a must. Part of it was the lure of pastries, but it’s not like Denmark is slacking in the pastry category. The real draw was the opportunity to utter sentences like “we took a day trip to Sweden,” and to add another entry to the list of countries I’ve visited.

Continue reading “A Taste of Malmö” →

Cryptid Corner, Episode Two

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Nordic Seducers

Welcome back to Cryptid Corner! Today, world-renowned cryptozoologist Dr. Veronica L. Raptor of the infamous Innsmouth Institute is here to talk about about creatures you might encounter in the Scandinavian woods.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

EMILY C. SKAFTUN: If you think Nordic cryptozoology is synonymous with trolls, you’re in for a treat today. Dr. Raptor is here to tell us about not one but two monsters—can I call them that?—inhabiting the wild north.

VERONICA L. RAPTOR: In this case, I’d say monstrosity is in the eye of the beholder. Or the attitude of the beholder, at least. If you are polite to huldrefolk, they can bestow on you great fortune. But if you are unkind…

Theodor Kittelsen, “Huldra.”
Continue reading “Cryptid Corner, Episode Two” →

Story alert: “The Wicks Whisper”

eskaftun
Cover of BCS issue 411, with a twisted tree against a greenish sky.

“It’s her. Sort of. It’s a rippling sculpture made of smoke, an eyeless silhouette with a hazy but intact suggestion of wings.”

Imagine you could talk to a dead person—but only once. Would you do it right away, when your grief and memories are fresh, so present they suffocate you? Or would you save that chance like a fine wine, growing dusty in a cellar maybe never to be uncorked? When you finally summoned them, what if their presence didn’t comfort as much as you’d hoped?

Check out my latest story in Beneath Ceaseless Skies! I’m delighted to be back in this terrific publication, edited by the stellar Scott H. Andrews. The story is available as text and audio (read by M.K. Hobson).

Want more stories? The full list is here.