Kat Dehring
Bio
I am a Scadian, Rennie, Whovian,been to Tanis,Trekkie,Jedi,Hogwarts staff, Firefly crew,lives Shire adjacent,Has a coin for the Witcher,Knows the Tufa,hired Harry Dresden once, has my taxes done by a vampire accountant .
Stories (14/0)
Dave
Dave pondered just what to do with his night. He was bored and for the most part it was the sort of boredom that made ridiculous ideas seem like reasonable things to do. Dave had been in this city for too long a time. How many years had he lived in the brownstone in Brooklyn? Ten, maybe twenty years? No, it must have been longer than that. Dave realized he had purchased his home in 1930, he had spent roughly ninety some years here. He raked his long fingers through his jet-black hair just how long had it been since he was in the sky, feeling the air currents like fish might drift on the water. Roaming from room to room aimlessly his mind alighted on a new quandary, he thought about the woods, the mossy forest floor with the rich scent of growing things and pine trees rich with resins. He wondered how long it had been since he allowed his wild nature to overtake him.
By Kat Dehringabout a year ago in Fiction
Piloting, Pants, and Airships
"Miss Evangeline Forester, how do you plead?" The voice said in a bord drone of a public official as he shuffled papers and glanced fleetingly at the young woman. The woman didn’t answer the prosecutor but instead directed her statement to the judge.
By Kat Dehring3 years ago in Fiction
Nosferatu with a Box
Alexandros Papadopoulos regarded the box wrapped in brown paper. He wanted to shake the box a bit, like a kid trying to guess at a Christmas present. Instead, he sat in the cool night air and stared at the package. The porch light flipped on, blinding him for a second, and out stepped Tempe, his witch friend. She held a mug smelling of apples, and he asked, “Hard Cider?”
By Kat Dehring3 years ago in Fiction
A Pear, Witch, and Coyote
There was a trail of shrimp tails on the back porch, an empty container of cocktail sauce, and several empty wine cooler bottles with a half-gone bottle of rum keeping them company. A bucket of fried chicken was toppled, and a few pieces were eaten. The Tabby cat Morgenmuffel was doing his part by assisting in the clean-up of the shrimp tails by eating them. Hannibal the Samoyed dog declined to help with the shrimp tails, they were just not his thing. Hannibal knew his owner, the compulsion to live on leaves and that horrible tofu would be over as soon as her love affair with the vegan fire juggler came to an end. In the late evening with a text message, the summer romance was done. With a doggie sigh, nosing the chicken, Hannibal carefully selected a breast to eat, knowing that the bones could become lodged in his throat if he tore in and chomped down vigorously on the chicken.
By Kat Dehring3 years ago in Fiction
An Irish Shark
"The earliest fossil evidence for sharks or their ancestors are a few scales dating to 450 million years ago, during the Late Ordovician Period." The woman read from her clipboard in a voice that reflected that she had given this tour about a million times. The sharks swam lazily, apparently having heard the lecture, and were relatively bored too. The tour guide didn’t look much older than the high school AP Biology class that was at the aquarium. Most of the students who had a "Y" chromosome stared at the guide's chest or the sharks hoping that a vat of chum might drop at any moment to inspire a feeding frenzy. The rest of the students either stared at their phones or tried to pay attention.
By Kat Dehring3 years ago in Fiction
Cake, the Cadillac, and Delilah
"Delilah orders up" came a voice from the back of the diner kitchen. The waitress took the plates of fries and hamburgers and delivered them to the booth in the back. She smiled at the high school kids out on a Friday night. How long had it been since she squeezed into a booth and ate french fries and debated what movie to go see? A million years ago? Maybe three? She laid the bill on the table for them to divide up and pay for at the counter. She graduated High School in 1983 and it was 1988 now. Five years had gone by with a divorce, a kid and she already felt like a lifetime had passed.
By Kat Dehring3 years ago in Fiction
Two Sisters and a Barn
Benedicta Hicchecok held the notice from the township concerning her barn and sighed. Yes, the barn looked run down, and, yes, it needed repair, but she was no contractor and rather liked her deadly barn. It dissuaded people from getting nosey about what she had going on in there.
By Kat Dehring3 years ago in Fiction
Reality is for Suckers
When I was a kid, I wanted stories. I wanted tales of heroes who almost couldn't win and managed to do so. I wanted valiant dogs fending off werewolves to save their owner and friend. I wanted anything but the reality of living on Rt. 322 South Sunfield Highway.
By Kat Dehring3 years ago in Motivation
The Apocalypse is a Process
"The apocalypse is a process." Journal of Belinda Montgomery Those words stick with me. The author had been dead for a year when I stumbled onto her mountain cabin, while scavenging homes in the Carolinas. Since I had immunity to the sickness, I could walk through the sick-camps and not even catch a sniffle. I was the one in twenty people who almost dies from it, lives, and becomes immune. I didn't fear MERS 26.
By Kat Dehring3 years ago in Fiction
You can't always get what you want
So, as if I wasn’t busy enough trying to write my books, look after a veteran, deal with the death of my beloved bloodhound Zoey, the cards I hand paint and sell and I partnered with a friend to make a Tarot deck. Yes, I am too flipping busy. Amazingly busy for a woman who has no real employment and spends most of her day trying to figure out her side hustles and get her Veteran to the numerous VA appointments.
By Kat Dehring4 years ago in Journal