Robert Finnigan walked into the plaza of the Bigmaul Building. He paused a moment before going into its bowels to marvel at how ugly it was: a rectangle of glass and concrete. He would hate to work here, but his wife was pregnant and Mr. Bigmaul was hiring junior accountants. Robert smoothed down his tie, summoned his courage, and marched inside to attend his interview.

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Izt the Wizard watched the Sun dip below the horizon as he did every night. It flashed its red hue across the snow-covered landscape beneath his tower, turning the fields and treetops of glittering, frosty diamonds into rubies. Despite watching the beautiful scene, his heart beat heavily in his chest because of the impending night and the inevitable visitor that it brought.

Sure enough, a few moments later the inspiration for his dread appeared. With a puff of acrid smoke and a wave of static electricity that made Izt’s grey hairs stand to attention like icicles along his arms, the demon Jubritt stood before Izt’s hearth that flickered with warmth.

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Wolfram walked into the tanning salon. The young man at the counter blinked at him, and Wolfram didn’t have to wonder why. While some babies were born hairless or with a layer of down that quickly shed itself, Wolfram was born with a permanent thick, hairy pelt. He could never be sure whether his parents were sadists or fools when selecting his name, though he’d gotten over it. Can’t blame your parents forever.

Here’s the clipboard. Please fill it out. Is this, um, is this your first time tanning?

Yes.

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Cyrus ambled out to his backyard, avoiding the piles of melted, black plastic that used to be boots. He sipped his coffee and watched the bright orange windsock hang limply from the pole. The morning sun had just crested the horizon and only a few purple clouds streaked the sky. Perfect conditions.

He set the coffee down on a small table beneath the windsock and picked up the laminated sheet tied to the windsock’s pole. With his thumb he erased the black marks on the sheet. He began to go through the pre-flight safety checks listed on the sheet, and made fresh black marks as he completed them. Fireproof pants, check. Fire resistant boots, check (fireproof boots didn’t provide enough cushioning). Blast jacket, check. Tying a bandana around his head to keep the sweat out of his eyes, he slid a shiny, full-coverage helmet over his head. Headgear, check.

The overall effect of his outfit was to make him look like a baked potato wrapped in foil.

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Two aliens came to earth, their ship hovering over a run-down diner in rural Illinois. It floated only a few inches over the sign, which simply read “Al’s Grub.” Its lights spun slower and slower as it came to rest beside a pickup truck that was half rust and half dust. The two aliens emerged. They were tripedal monstrosities, and except for their three legs they had tubes where there should be limbs and more tubes where there shouldn’t be anything at all.

Walking with their weird, lurching gait, they arrived at the bottom of the small flight of steps leading into the diner. The tubes, which had been langorously waving in the air, became frenzied. The patrons inside paused, with their cups of coffee or forkfuls of peach cobbler frozen halfway to their lips. They watched the aliens.

After a few moments, one of the tubes on one of the aliens began spinning in one direction, winding itself up into a tight corkscrew, and exploded outward, ripping the concrete steps away from the front of the diner and embedding them as a hood ornament in the grille of a bright red sportscar.

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T. Thomas Tardy, or John to his friends, was born a digger, spent his life a digger, and retired at the top of his digging game, leaving behind a resume that was full of holes and, when he wasn’t at the top of his game, gaps.

He purchased a small plot of land and had his own house built so that he could see the foundation dug. When the earth-movers showed up, he began to shout. You’re doing it wrong! That’s no way to dig a hole! I’ve seen mountains that were better holes that that one!

And John bounced the shovel operator out of his chair and dug the hole. Then he hired a second construction crew because the first one inexplicably quit, leaving him with a half-dug hole that led to the worst week of his life.

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