Fantasy Magazine, Issue 86 (December 2022) by Arley Sorg

Author:Arley Sorg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Adamant Press
Published: 2022-11-27T19:40:28+00:00

©2022 by Jennifer R. Donohue.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer R. Donohue grew up at the Jersey Shore and now lives in central New York with her husband and their Doberman. She works at her local public library where she also facilitates a writing workshop. Her work has appeared in Apex Magazine, Escape Pod, Fusion Fragment, and elsewhere. Her Run With the Hunted novella series is available on most digital platforms. She tweets @AuthorizedMusin.

Sturgeon Moon Jam

Jennifer Hudak | 1000 words

Once a year, during the Sturgeon Moon, a house appears off Seven Mile Line Road in the heart of Chickasee County. Native grasses surround it, thick and tall, protecting the house and its sprawling kitchen garden from view. The being who lives inside the house calls herself Helga Tillinger when she manifests here. The body she chooses is that of an unremarkable woman with salt-and-pepper hair. She wears loose, drab clothing and sensible shoes. This form renders her as close to invisible as any other she’s tried.

The Sturgeon Moon coincides each year with the Chickasee County Fair and, cloaked as Helga Tillinger, the being wanders through the animal pens, observing outrageously-feathered chickens and floofy bunnies and long-haired goats. She samples kettle corn and pulled taffy and fried pickles. She gazes at the prizewinning cross-stitches and quilts and embroidered doilies. She walks slowly but steadily through the fair, blending in with the crowd as this unremarkable female body is uniquely able to do.

Then, she reaches the preserves.

Oh! The preserves! Lined up in clear jars, they shine in every color imaginable, from pale grapefruit marmalade with suspended chewy slivers of peel, to smooth Concord grape jelly that’s a blue so deep it approaches black. Some of the flavors are outrageous with flowers and spices and bits of herb. Some of them let a single fruit shine in all its sweetness and depth.

The being who calls herself Helga Tillinger wishes she could plunge a digit in each jar and lick it clean. She wishes she could chat with the judges who purse their lips and prod their tongues against their cheeks with each taste. She wishes for sweetness and color.

When the fair closes, Helga returns to the farmhouse and spends the rest of the night cooking jam. In the kitchen garden, she grows blueberries and strawberries and raspberries and blackberries. She grows rosehips and lavender and rosemary, and chiles for a touch of spice. In the house’s ancient kitchen, she experiments with flavors and textures. She leaves some preserves chunky, while others she strains smooth. While the preserves cook and gel, she sterilizes jars in boiling water and, once the jars are full, she plunges them back into the water to seal. It’s hot, steamy work, at the end of which she has a row of jars full of preserves that no one but she will ever eat. It would be much easier for her to bring the fruit back home with her once the Sturgeon Moon sets. But easy is not the point.

Last year, after many

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