Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #20 November 2015 | Página 44

Midnight
Visitors
by

Esther Olson

The woman yawned, removed her glasses, and
rubbed at her eyes. The night was growing late, and
she didn’t want to miss out on a few hours of sleep
before her son woke up. Reluctantly, she saved her
program, shut down her laptop, and headed to bed. A
quick change into her comfortable sleepwear and she
was ready for bed. She only hoped her muse would
be quiet enough to allow her to sleep, but she knew
better.

The life of a writer was never easy.

It didn’t take her long to fall asleep. However,
her eyes flew open at an unexpected sound, her breath
caught in her throat. Other than her son, she lived and
slept alone. So, who could be making such sound?
Frightened, but unwilling to be made a victim, she
reached for her glasses, slid them on, and slowly
crept out of bed. She paused only long enough to
grab a makeshift weapon—a metal folding chair—
and stepped quietly from her bedroom into the living
room.

At the sight before her, she froze mid-step,
dropping the chair, and blurtted out “Holy Hanna!”

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said a friendly
blond woman. The slant of her green eyes and the
headband indicated she was Illya, a healer elfmaid.
The writer recognized her as the features matched the
mental image she had painted in her mind for so many
years. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”

A fiery red-head snorted. “Illya! We meant to
wake her.”

The writer stammered, clutching both her
heart and the wall. She had to be dreaming. That’s
it, dreaming. There was no way she was seeing her
characters in the flesh, sprawled all over her furniture
and floor. How was it that so many were able to fit
in such a small apartment? As it was, there were so
many!

Scanning the room, she noted that just about
every character she conceived was present. There
was her half-elf, Steel, tragic and lovely; Grey, every
curve of her body sleek and sensual; Eliondir, dark
and demonic; Cat, tall and golden…. So many. She
marvelled at the moment. Then a thought occurred to
her, and she carefully scanned the room, slowly tilting
her head up. Against all laws of physics and science,
her ceiling was the same height—yet, Bahar, Lord of
Dragons was able to fit in the building.

“T-that...” The writer took in a shaky breath,
feeling faint as she beheld the dragon’s beauty. His
scales were like an abalone shell, so many different
colours combined into a being of perfection.

“Most gently, my friends,” the dragon rumbled
as he used his claw to lightly guide the writer to a spot
on the sofa. “It is much to take in.”

“In case you were wanting to finish what you
were saying,” the red-head continued, “yes, that’s
Bahar. Such a gentledragon.”

The dragon smiled toothily. The writer covered
her eyes at the sight of such enormous fangs. He could
swallow her whole and have no issue whatsoever. He
really was huge. Perhaps it was a mistake to write him
that way. “I’m dizzy,” she whispered.

Illya touched her shoulder, murmured, “It’s
all right. I can help
you… just breathe.”

The writer
opened her eyes and

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