WFOL 2025

Devin, Vincent’s Chamber, a Coin

“You tell him!”

“No, you tell him!”

“Come on. I tell him and I’m grounded.”

Vincent laughed.

Devin glared. “What?”

“Grounded,” he chuckled out, sweeping an indicating hand around the stone-walled chamber.

Devin crossed his arms, sending a sour glance his way, one he couldn’t hold for long.

“Well,” Devin heaved. “He needs telling.”

Vincent trotted to the fish bowl on his desk, stirred the pebbles camouflaging their meager stash, brought up a quarter.

“I’ll flip, you call. Loser tells.”

The silver flashed in the candlelight.

“Heads!”

Devin caught the coin, slapped it down.

Both heads bent to the result.

Vincent, the Great Falls, a Broken Lock

He wrangled with the old lock he’d found. Heart-shaped … looking at it with a poetic eye. A key threaded on a leather lacing that fit and turned with no freeing result.

Definitely broken. He thought about flinging it into the water beneath the Great Falls.

But didn’t.

Catherine settled beside him.

“Let me try.”

She rubbed the key with sand.

The shackle responded.

“In Paris there’s a bridge. Lovers close a lock on the rail and throw the key in the Seine.”

“There’s an iron gate just beyond that rock outcrop.”

She rose and held out her hand. “Shall we?”

Joe, His Office, a Phone Message

Where was he?

Catherine paced Joe’s office, pausing only to cross and uncross her arms, to tap one foot. Minutes passed, each of the essence. They’d had a plan. This wasn’t it.

She closed the blinds, locked the door, prowled for clues.

His desk a mess, more so than usual. A bag of chocolate cheese nuggets open but nearly full, only a few spilling out over the blotter.

What’s this??

While You Were Out. A pink rectangle of paper, chocolate-crumbed, the secretary’s handwriting. A phone message.

No name given
2:00. The culvert in the park.
Step inside. I’ll be there.

William, Winterfest, a Hat 

William grumbled. Oh, he had a team of young folks clearing away the leftover Winterfest food. There was enough extra for days, but it had to be stored … properly.

“Making a final check.” he announced, pre-disappointment tinging his words.

The newest of the crew held a breath.

He dusted his hands, all business.

But it was the quiet he sought. The memories stored in the Great Hall.

“What’s this?”

On an empty table, a familiar brimmed and feathered hat. Winslow’s!

The tapestries rippled. A laugh shimmered with light.

“Pretty good feed bag you put out this year,” Winslow surely said.

Catherine, Father’s Library, a List

The letter she’d found in the poetry book haunted her. From Grace to her unborn son. The hint of others, written, stashed away somewhere for years.

Devin deserved …

She rose on one elbow. Stared. Stared hard. How could he sleep knowing …

He opened one eye. “Catherine?”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Her tone demanded only one answer.

“There’s a list” he began, glancing at the paper weighted on his writing desk.

She fought the covers and won, barefooting across the floor, crumpling the list to a throw-away ball.

“Change of plans. You. Me. Father’s Library. And no book left unsearched.”

Cullen, His Workshop, a Cupcake

The memory came in a dream. His grandma’s long table, on it a deep bowl carved from cherrywood, a rim so thin he could almost see through it to the magical forest from which he believed it came.

A great-uncle he’d never known had carved its perpetual bounty. Apples from walnut, bananas of spalted maple, pale pecan pears.

He woke up needing to … hold those things again and set to work.

“What’cha making?” little Samantha asked having wandered in.

“Forever fruit,” he replied, taking a moment to smile down at her.

“Can you make me a cupcake?”

And he did.

Laura, Her Apartment, a Journal

It was neither fair nor brave.

But telling seemed impossible and she couldn’t just show him.

He would be home soon.

A baby.

A baby she wouldn’t rear not knowing about Below. About Vincent.

Jerry had to know first.

In the six weeks he’d been at training, she’d written it all down in a journal. From her first memories of being found, growing up, learning to speak. Vincent … her teacher.

She couldn’t watch him read it. What if …

She left it in their apartment with a note of love and to meet her in the park at the doorway home.

Jamie, the Children’s Chamber, a Piece of Jewelry

“Jamie! C’mere, will ya?”

At the sound of her name, she skidded to a stop just past the children’s chamber … sauntered back through the archway.

“You called?”

“Yeah! Look what we found!”

She took the box Eric held out. The blue velvet covering – matted and stained – had surely once been plush. The hinged lid was balky and inside–

Jamie eyes widened … then narrowed.

“Have you been hanging out with Mouse?”

No, just Kipper ‘n me. We found it in an empty chamber.”

The wide, gold bangle untarnished, engraved. *For Grace, on your 18th*

“We better show Father,” Jamie said.

Mary, the Chamber of the Winds, a Map

She’d heard about this place, the Chamber of the Winds, though she couldn’t imagine it.

But now here she was

In the center of the soaring space, stories high, a spiral of archways filled with light above her …

It was dizzying, the choices of ways.

Buffeted by the unusual wind, she scuffed and faltered along, her shuffles revealing a mosaic laid in the floor.

A compass, its pointing arrow confident.

Her few steps hesitant … a sudden singing wind encircled her, whisking Sarah’s map from her hand.

Would she find her way home?