Calamity in the Cove

Yesterday, I asked some Twitter friends for writing prompts. I got a few answers -- everything from freewriting about the word 'conscious' to the following, a 500-word short story about a unicorn mermaid fighting cotton candy ninjas.

At first, I was like

...and then today, I took the plunge. I hope you enjoy!

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Calamity in the Cove

The Unicorn Mermaid Detective Agency was in trouble. Dire straits, ya might say, if you were an ‘80s kid prone to melodrama. The detectives’ horns were sharp. Their fins were shiny following a negative Yelp review about matte-finish fins “doing a disservice to the mermaid community.” The staff dressed in complementary scales and solved mysteries for the mythical populations who came to them for help. Still, the threat of The Cotton Candy Ninjas had come to Hardhorn Falls.

Aside from bipeds trolling the agency online, it had been a good year. The director, Samantha Finwell, however, was worried. News had been spreading fast on Twitter about the miscreants formerly known as the Spun Sugar Gang. No one saw them coming or going, but mischief was afoot. The library was the first victim. The formerly shelved books were strewn about. Patrons pawed through stacks of murder mysteries only to find one-time romance bestsellers now dusty and forgotten. Nonfiction was in fiction, newspapers were missing their funny pages, and the less said about the graphic novels the better.

The oddness continued: Cups of coffee in local java huts cried out for cream, but no one heard their half-and-half pleas. All the dairy containers had been emptied into the sinks. In ominous-but-super-cute cherry lipstick, someone had scrawled, “There’s MOO-re where this came from.” Three people in a row shopped at Target and left with only the things they had come for. The store’s surplus of soft blankets, candles, quirky knickknacks, and “just because” greeting cards went ignored. Right when panic really began to settle in, a Republican lawmaker voted in favor of women and gave a TED Talk about respecting a woman’s autono—ha ha, just kidding. But still. Things were fucked.

Sam took to Twitter for answers. @GoddessOfCandyStuff was the first to confirm the gang’s presence: “The Cotton Candy Ninjas are here,” she tweeted. “I heard they were last seen in Biloxi.” A link to the Goddess’ blog revealed that giant red bows had disappeared from the roofs of Lexuses on a recent Christmas morning. Pens were unchained from bank counters. Sweatpants were approved as Casual Friday wear.

“Be careful,” @Goddess warned. “You’ll never see them coming.”

Sam knew she had to do something to protect her town. A decades-long resident, she knew Hardhorn Falls like the back of her tail. She checked in with her fin-tor, Siren O’Shen, for advice. O’Shen was deep and mysterious. Sam thought it odd that her dear friend was single. Men were often drawn to her, as if mesmerized.

After her phone call, Sam sent her senior detective, Olivia Swimson, out to canvas the seaborhood. She tentatively scheduled a progress meeting the following Tuesday.

Tired but fueled by her mission, Sam poked her horn through the paperwork on her desk, looking for clues. All at once, the smell of something sweet and delicious caught her attention.

“Ooh yum, cotton can —“ she murmured before the lights went out.

It was the last thought she would have.

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