Continuing on with the Viking theme, here’s an excerpt from a short story I’m working on, “There Are No Vikings in Montana.” Jill has been seeing some weird stuff recently, and now she thinks she’s seeing a Viking too. She’s finally confronted him.
“Who are you, and why are you following me?” I demanded.
He didn’t respond; the look he shot me implied this was a stupid question, that I should know the answer.
“Ever since the fireworks, when the world shuddered, for lack of a better word, I’ve been seeing stuff that shouldn’t be possible. I nearly ran over a chupacabra, a tree straightened up and waved at me, and now I’m being followed by a guy in a leather kilt and a horned helmet. No one else is seeing this, but I’m not making it up, I swear!”
“It was a dryad.”
“The tree; it was a dryad.”
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