Story 1: A Strange Dating App!?

When Sarah recommended the dating app, I hadn’t expected anything unusual. After all, she met her perfect boyfriend through it, and he seemed, well, perfect. Still, her words echoed in my mind: “The sign-up process is a little strange, but totally worth it.” I laughed it off at the time, assuming it was just a quirky questionnaire or some odd algorithm.

Later that evening, curiosity got the best of me, and I downloaded the app, called Heartcraft. It was sleek, minimalistic, and simple—nothing too weird. As I filled out my profile, though, I noticed some of the questions were… unusual. Instead of the standard "What are your hobbies?" or "What kind of relationship are you looking for?" it asked me to describe my ideal partner in elaborate detail: appearance, personality traits, likes, dislikes, and even flaws. I shrugged and played along, filling out each field as best as I could, describing a man who was caring, adventurous, and full of life.

When I submitted the form, the app sent a brief notification:

"Thank you for signing up! Your match will be delivered shortly."

Delivered? I thought that was just quirky marketing. The next morning, however, I found a small cardboard box sitting on my doorstep. There was no label, no sender, just my name scrawled on the top in delicate handwriting. I hesitated, but ultimately curiosity won. I brought the box inside and opened it.

Inside, nestled in pink tissue paper, was a bizarre assortment of items: a small vial filled with a shimmering pink liquid, a single rose, and a piece of white chalk. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out to see a new notification from Heartcraft: "Follow the instructions to summon your match. Draw a circle on the floor, think of your ideal partner, and drink the elixir."

I stared at the screen in disbelief. Summon? This was getting too weird. For a brief moment, I considered stopping right there. But then I thought about Sarah and her perfect boyfriend. If this worked for her, maybe it could work for me.

So, I did as instructed. I drew a small, neat circle on the floor with the chalk, sat down cross-legged, and held the vial in my hand. As I thought of my ideal partner—the traits I’d described in the app—a tinge of excitement ran through me. Then, without a second thought, I uncorked the vial and drank the pink liquid. It tasted sweet, almost like strawberry candy.

There was a sudden, loud poof, and pink smoke filled the room. I coughed and waved my hand to clear the air. When the smoke dissipated, I saw him—a man, standing in the center of the circle. He looked exactly like I had imagined. He was tall, with dark, tousled hair, bright green eyes, and a warm, charming smile.

“Hello,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here for you.”

At first, it felt like a dream. He was everything I had envisioned—charming, attentive, and sweet. Over the next few days, we went on dates, he brought me thoughtful gifts, and he always seemed to know just what to say. But something about him felt... off.

He never seemed to eat much. When we had dinner together, he’d push his food around on the plate, but never take more than a bite or two. He didn’t sleep either. I would fall asleep, and when I woke up, he’d be sitting perfectly still, his eyes open, as though he had been waiting for me the entire time. And when I asked him about his past, his answers were vague.

“Where did you grow up?” I asked one evening over coffee.

He smiled. “Somewhere far away. It doesn’t really matter now, does it? I’m here.”

His responses were always like that—distant, like he had no real history.

Then, one day, I saw it.

I was walking downtown, running some errands, when I passed by a bulletin board covered with flyers. My eyes caught on one poster in particular. It was for a missing person. A man who had vanished weeks ago. His face stared back at me from the poster, his name printed in bold letters.

The face was identical to the man sitting in my living room.

My heart skipped a beat. I stood frozen, staring at the poster. There’s no way. It can’t be.

But it was. The same dark hair, the same green eyes. Except the name on the poster wasn’t the name he had given me. I felt my breath quicken as I tried to process what I was seeing.

Who was this man in my house? And what exactly had I summoned?

Story 2: Magical creatures showed up at my door

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as I sat at the table, savoring a perfectly buttered slice of toast. It was a quiet Saturday morning, the kind where the world seemed to move a little slower, and I relished every second of it. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound keeping me company. I had just settled in, planning to do nothing but enjoy the peace.

Then came the knock.

I frowned, glancing at the clock. It was 8:30 in the morning. Who would be knocking this early? I got up, still chewing my toast, and made my way to the front door. As I pulled it open, the sight that greeted me was… unusual, to say the least.

An elf, tall and slender, with pointed ears and emerald eyes, stood at the forefront. Beside him was a wizard, his long white beard flowing down to his chest, and he held a crooked staff that looked like it had seen better days. Next to the wizard was a goblin, short and hunched, with green skin and a mischievous grin that showed far too many sharp teeth for my comfort. And then, to top it all off, a kangaroo, its head cocked to one side, eyed me with curiosity.

"Good morning!" the elf said brightly, his voice melodic and far too cheery for this hour. "We’ve come as requested."

I blinked. "Requested?"

The wizard nodded, adjusting his hat, which threatened to slip over his eyes. "Indeed. We received your invitation. A most curious one, might I add."

"I—what invitation?" I stammered, utterly confused. "I didn’t invite anyone."

The goblin snickered, nudging the wizard with a sharp elbow. "Told you it was a mix-up. She’s clueless."

Before I could protest, they all barged in as if they owned the place. The elf strode past me, gracefully avoiding the clutter of shoes by the door, while the wizard muttered something about “charm deficiencies” as he stepped inside. The goblin, not bothering with politeness, immediately made a beeline for the kitchen. And the kangaroo? It hopped in after them, glancing around my living room as if assessing whether it was a suitable place to lounge.

"Wait! You can’t just—" I started, but it was too late. They were already making themselves at home.

The elf was inspecting my bookshelf, his delicate fingers trailing over the spines of novels. "Ah, I see you’re a reader. Fascinating selections. No tomes of magic, though?"

The wizard had plopped himself into my armchair, tapping his staff on the floor with an air of authority. "Do you have any tea? Or perhaps something stronger? A wizard's thirst is not easily quenched."

In the kitchen, I could hear the goblin rummaging through the cupboards, muttering about the lack of "proper goblin fare." The clatter of pots and pans indicated that he was having no trouble helping himself to whatever he found.

The kangaroo, meanwhile, had positioned itself on my couch, its large tail draped over the edge. It stared at the TV with mild interest, its ears flicking occasionally as if waiting for someone to turn it on.

I stood there, dumbfounded, trying to process what was happening. "I didn’t invite you!" I repeated, louder this time.

The elf turned, his expression serene as if my protests were nothing more than background noise. "Of course you did," he said, pulling out a scroll from the inside of his tunic. He unfurled it and held it up for me to see. "It’s all here. Clear as daylight."

I squinted at the parchment, trying to make sense of the elaborate calligraphy. Sure enough, it was addressed to "The Elf, The Wizard, The Goblin, and The Kangaroo." My name was scrawled at the bottom in a handwriting I didn’t recognize.

"I didn’t write this," I said, shaking my head. "Someone must be playing a prank."

The goblin snorted from the kitchen, emerging with a sandwich in hand. "Does it matter? We’re here now. Might as well make the best of it."

The wizard raised a bushy eyebrow. "If the lady didn’t summon us, then who did?"

The elf tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps it was fate. Invitations aside, we are clearly meant to be here. The signs are all there—look, the weather, the timing, the… um, alignment of energies."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but before I could protest further, the kangaroo let out a low grunt, which I took as a signal of agreement with the elf.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Alright, fine. You’re here. But what do you want from me?"

The wizard leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We’ve come to embark on an adventure, of course. And you, my dear, are the chosen one."

"Chosen one?" I repeated, incredulous. "For what?"

"To lead us on a most daring quest!" the goblin said, chomping down on his sandwich.

The elf smiled, his eyes twinkling. "It’s all in the invitation, but worry not. All will be revealed in time."

I stared at the motley crew standing in my living room. An elf, a wizard, a goblin, and a kangaroo. In my house. Claiming I had invited them on some sort of quest.

This was going to be a long day.

Story 3: The 3 little brothers & big bad wolf

Being the eldest of three brothers, even by two minutes, has its perks. It puts me in charge, which means I call the shots. My brothers, Benny and Lou, they look to me for guidance, and together, we run this city. Not legally, of course. But where’s the fun in that?

The year is 1927, and Prohibition is the best thing that ever happened to us. When the government outlawed booze, they handed us a goldmine. Over the past few years, we’ve built an empire from the shadows, and our speakeasy, The Three Little Pigs, has become the place to be. Wealthy patrons, corrupt politicians, and even a few cops on the take, they all come through our doors, eager for a taste of the forbidden. And we’re happy to oblige—for a price.

The name—The Three Little Pigs—was a joke at first, something some two-bit paper boy coined when he saw the three of us together. We figured, why not lean into it? We adopted the moniker, slapped it on the sign out front, and watched as our reputation grew. We became the most dangerous men in the city, not because of our size or strength, but because we knew how to play the game. We were smart, ruthless when needed, and we protected what was ours.

But staying on top isn’t easy. There’s always some hotshot who thinks he can take us on. We’ve had our share of challengers, from small-time crooks looking for a quick payday to more organized gangs trying to muscle in on our territory. None of them lasted long. We made sure of that. Benny’s got a way with numbers, Lou’s a crack shot, and me? Well, I’ve got a mind for strategy. Together, we’ve made a meal out of anyone stupid enough to try.

Until now.

Lately, there’s been whispers. Whispers of a man named Frank “The Wolf” Corozzo. Some call him “The Big Bad.” A guy like that doesn’t get a nickname like ‘The Wolf’ for nothing. He’s been moving in on speakeasies across the state, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. One by one, rival operations have folded under his weight, either by bullet or by fear. Now, word on the street is that he’s got his sights set on us. On our city. On our speakeasy.

I can’t let that happen. We’ve worked too hard, come too far, to let some outsider take it all away.

I sit at the round table in the back of our speakeasy, tapping my fingers against the polished wood. Benny sits across from me, casually flipping a coin in the air, while Lou leans against the wall, cleaning his gun. They’re waiting for me to speak, to tell them what the plan is. We’ve always had a plan, and it’s always worked. But this time, there’s something different in the air. Something uneasy.

“You think this Corozzo’s as bad as they say?” Benny asks, catching his coin mid-air and looking at me with that sly grin of his.

I shrug, playing it cool. “Doesn’t matter what they say. No one’s ever been able to take us down, and I don’t see that changing now.”

Lou snorts from his corner. “Yeah, but this guy ain’t like the others. He’s methodical. Calculated. Doesn’t just show up guns blazing. He’s... patient.”

“And?” I raise an eyebrow. “So what? We’ve been patient too. We’ve been watching. We know he’s coming. We just gotta make sure we’re ready.”

But even as I say it, I feel the tension tightening in my chest. I’ve heard the stories about Corozzo. He doesn’t just kill you; he dismantles you. Piece by piece, he takes everything you love and burns it to the ground.

I stand up, pacing the room. “We’re gonna fortify the place. Make sure every corner of this joint is locked down. No one gets in or out without our say-so. Benny, you work the numbers. Make sure we’ve got enough cash on hand for bribes, payoffs, whatever it takes. Lou, keep the boys armed and ready. I want men at every door.”

“And you?” Benny asks, his grin fading into something more serious. “What are you gonna do?”

I stop pacing and look him dead in the eye. “I’m gonna pay Mr. Corozzo a visit. Let him know exactly who he’s dealing with.”

It’s risky, but we didn’t get where we are by playing it safe. Frank “The Wolf” Corozzo may think he’s untouchable, but he’s never gone up against the Three Little Pigs. And in this city, we don’t get huffed, puffed, or blown down.