A few years ago, I wrote a short story about a magical teashop as an excuse to experiment with AI image generation. In the end, the story itself turned out rather well. The images, however… less so.
This holiday season, I’ve written a second magical teashop story and, once again, illustrated it with AI images. This time, though, I’m under no illusions about my talent or luck when it comes to AI image generation.
So please don’t judge the writing quality by the images. They are doing their best.
*I used generative AI to help draft the introduction above, but not the short story itself, aside from light proofreading.
The Teashop On The Longest Night
My black lace-up boots clicked on the pavement, and my long skirts swished around my ankles as I walked by the trendy shops near the university. Vintage clothes, unique gifts, and exotic restaurants. I adored this street, even though I couldn’t afford to live in this area. I dwelled in a crazy house that my friend Kiera and I found while driving through the countryside. A Victorian monstrosity with Hitchcock-meets-Wuthering Heights vibes. Perfection. We divided up the ten bedrooms and two baths between our friend group. Sometimes the lights flicker, and we like to think it’s a ghost.
I inhabited the attic space – I like to call it the garret, as some consumptive, Bohemian artist might live in. It’s cold AF, but the space makes my goth heart bloom. I spend my hours huddled by the round attic window, with my glovelettes on, wrapped in a great shawl, as though I’m one of the Brontë sisters scribbling her stories, when, in fact, I’m coding.
But I miss being in the world. The pulse of the city. The people watching.
I had spent the morning helping decorate the gaming shop where Kiera works for their annual Solstice party. I’m going to be Krampus again this year! It’s become my thing. I had spent all the months leading up to the party designing my latest Krampus iteration. And I had been up for the last two nights, creating my horns and robes. I think this year’s costume is the best yet. I was so excited that I posted endlessly to my Tumblr tribe as I assembled it. Meanwhile, Kiera baked bread, and our roommate, Ian, stomped through the woods behind our beloved Victorian would-be haunted house, searching for a Yule log.
Sadly, such intense solstice preparation cost precious sleep, and I still had to stay up until the new dawn. It was part of the Solstice celebration.
I really wanted to vape.
But I gave up vaping. Going on three weeks and five days. Almost a month! I can do this. I can do this. I’m doing this.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that the urge would pass and … Oh, a tea shop!
Distraction works too.
I had seen this place several times before, but I never went inside. But today the neon welcome sign seemed to burn brighter through the foggy, drizzly, perfect day, humming, as if to whisper, Come inside, mortal soul. Rest thy burdens.
I turned the old knob, and my entrance was heralded by the tingle of tiny bells.
Dear Goddess!
Love at first sight. This is absolutely going to be my new favorite place. I had a feeling.
There was stuff from every era crowded into the space, but the overall effect was cozy and nostalgic, not cluttered. Minimalistic midcentury modern chairs blended with bombastic Victorian cabinets stashed with vintage teacups. I adore old teacups. Hence, the lovely teacup tattooed on my left forearm. And Billie Holiday’s voice floated on the air, quietly singing, “April in Paris.”
I was the only customer! I felt like Alicia—my real name—in Teashop Wonderland.
There were some Formica tables—1950s diner vibe. But I chose the rickety wooden table in the corner with a single votive candle. The last customer had left a book by the sugar packets. I picked it up, yelped, and dropped it immediately. Holly’s Home For Holidays. In one magical month, Holly inherits a bed and breakfast, finds a dog, and falls in love.
Just no. I set the book on the neighboring table.
There was a musical tingling sound. I raised my head. This female vision of Betty Page bangs, a shimmery red silk kimono, and impossible heels like towers emerged through a threshold of hanging beads.
“Your look is amazing,” I blurted. “Just stunning.”
She didn’t respond in kind but tugged at her glorious bangs. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m a little distracted today. My cat—my cat is—there was an accident.” Tears, blackened from eyeliner and mascara, began to drip down her cheeks.
I jumped from my chair and rushed to put my arms around her. “I’m so sorry. How awful.”
She hugged me back. Her body was soft and oddly hot, like a heating blanket.
She sniffed. “I’m sorry,” and withdrew from my arms.
“Oh, no apologies. I would be a basket case if any of my cats were injured. I would just stay curled in a fetal position, sobbing. Yes, I’m dramatic. No apologies.”
“So, you understand.” She tossed her arms around me, hugging me again. “Let me get you some tea. I just blended some. It helps me while I wait to hear. It’s lavender, dark chocolate with something special. A delightful secret.”
“Yes, please. I love delightful secrets!”
She pulled back and looked at me. Her eyes flashed. I had read about flashing eyes in books but had never witnessed it. But her orbs definitely flickered.
She clomped to the back. I sat again and studied my wrist where two of my cats are tattooed. The plan was two cats, but I found three kittens abandoned by a gas station. So five now. I needed to add the new kittens to the tattoo.
She returned, holding a vintage floral tray with a dainty floral teapot and cup. “I’m sorry, I was upset. I’m better now. I just. My cat is my family.”
“It will be okay,” I said quietly, even though I didn’t know if it would be. But it’s what I like to hear when my world is in scary turmoil. The words soothed.
She set the teapot on the table. “I think you will really like this tea. It has a kind heart. Like you.”
There was a ringing. Like the old-fashioned phone my grandmother had on her wall. “That’s about my cat,” the woman said and rushed to the back.
“May her cat be well,” I said, sending healing thoughts into the universe on this solstice, and took a sip.
Oh, my Goddess!
What lush happiness. I drew another sip. The magnificent stuff seemed to turn the world into a beautiful blur of sound and lights. Like when I was five, and my mother pushed me on the merry-go-round at the park. Around and around. Laughing.
Then blackness.
I opened my eyes, expecting to see a wonderfully crazy teashop. Instead, I was facing a door adorned with a homemade cross-stitched sign that said, “Holly’s Bed and Breakfast. Welcome home!”
Huh?
The doorbell rang—an electric chorus of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” echoed around me. Through the beveled glass, I saw two figures in Santa hats, waving.
I opened the door because it seemed like the thing to do.
“Merry Christmas!” cried two kindly middle-aged people—obviously, a couple—who can be described as wholesome Midwest clad in Lands’ End.
“Um, Happy Solstice,” I responded.
What was going on? Was I dreaming?
Oh, wait! I get it. I was tired, and I didn’t see that it was that kind of tea shop. The delightful secret was THC.
Which is cool. But a warning would have been appreciated.
“Let us put these under the tree for Santa,” the woman beamed, holding up a beautifully wrapped box with an enormous bow. The stuff of Pinterest holiday boards.
“Okay!” I stepped aside and let them enter.
I followed them into a living room, where it looked as though Father Christmas had vomited a holiday wonderland. It was totally Insta-worthy—if Santa’s home was your aesthetic. Santa figurines, pillows, throws, and wall art everywhere.
A miniature village and connecting transit system were housed beneath one of the trees—as there were four with different themes. There was a teddy bear tree, a huge pastel balls tree, an angel tree, and a teacups tree (Okay, that one was not terrible.) And garland. Draping every possible thing. No escaping it.
The couple placed their lovely presents under the tree by the train depot. As they were removing their puffer coats, something seemingly horrible happened: a vape pen fell from one of the pockets. It clattered on the floor. The couple’s mouths dropped in horror.
“Oh, dear,” the woman said. “I wish you hadn’t seen that. Filthy thing!”
“It’s Tobie’s,” the man said, his brows lowered with consternation. “We caught it on him. He’s trying to fit in at school. You know how it is. Joshua promised to talk to him.”
“You know how Tobie just worships Joshua,” the woman waved her hand.
I don’t know Tobie or Joshua, but I’m guessing they were the two boys in the family portrait knitted into the couple’s matching Christmas sweaters under the name “The Johnsons.”
“I’ll – I’ll take the vape pen,” I said and quickly snatched it up, pretending to be appalled.
“You are so talented, sweetie,” Mrs. Johnson said, looking around. “Look at all you’ve done!”
“I did this?” I replied as if I had been falsely accused of murder.
“I can see why our Joshua snapped you right up when you came to this town with your city ways.”
“Me? Joshua?”
“He always fell for the talented cuties,” Mr. Johnson said.
Cutie? Honestly, he didn’t have to be insulting.
“I can’t wait to see how you decorate for the wedding.”
“Wedding?”
At that moment, a door opened and a man, beautiful and yet painfully unattractive at the same time, entered from the back, holding a plate of cookies. He wore khakis, a plaid shirt, and an apron with a blinking red reindeer nose poking out. His chestnut hair was neatly barbered at the neck and swept across his forehead. Those were the unattractive parts. Also, the cookies of Santa’s beard piped with icing were quite appalling. But his eyes–those were stunning—like looking into puddles, seeming infinite reflections of gray, stormy skies.
At his loafers’ heels was a super adorable French bulldog. The dog ran to me, tail wagging, eyes bright.
Aww! I scratched his side as he squirmed in delight. “Aren’t you a sweet baby. Yes, you are! Look at you!”
“I see you left the office early,” Mr. Johnson said.
“It was an easy spay this morning,” he said.
“So, you’re Joshua. And a vet,” I said. “These are your mom and dad.”
He looked at me oddly. “Ummm, yes. We met at my office when you accidentally hit Ernest, here with your rental car,” he gestured to the dog. “Are we playing a Christmas game?”
Never mind that. I had hit a dog! I felt terrible, even if I was tripping, and Ernest was an illusion. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I scratched the dog. He looked up at me with those adorable buggy eyes, very healthy and very smitten.
“Our Joshie is the best vet in town,” the woman said. “The best.” Her eyes widened, and she held up her hand. “Oh, did you see where I posted your engagement picture on the newspaper’s social media? So many comments.”
“Mom!” Joshua blushed. I didn’t realize guys could blush. I thought it was something that required two X chromosomes.
“I couldn’t help it. You two are so adorable. Just the perfect couple.”
She held up her oversized phone. And there was Joshua, his arm around my shoulder, looking at me, entranced. Except it wasn’t me … yet it was, in some Twilight Zone way. Joshua, my Twilight Zone version, and Ernest were posed beneath a decked-out tree, all clad in matching candy-cane sweatshirts—yes, that included Ernest, who was adorable in his.
Then, “Oh, My Goddess!”
I looked down at what I was wearing and then rushed to the mirror above a side table. In between the icicle stickers, I saw tacky prom night meets gaudy Christmas. I was in a glittery red ruffly horror (In the bad sense of horror), and my hair! Gone were my shiny, flowing locks of Dark Academia. I had blonde streaks with those casual curls, only achieved by half an hour with a hot wand. I wore rhinestone Christmas-tree earrings and a necklace of miniature blinking holiday lights.
“This is all a trip. This is all a trip.” I tapped my heels together—they were red like Dorothy’s. So, I thought I would try. Unfortunately, I didn’t beam back to Kansas or the teashop.
When was I going to come down? What if I never came down? What if I had screwed up my brain and I was stuck in this tinsel-ridden hallucination?
“My dear, are you okay?” Mrs. Johnson asked, concerned.
“I need a moment.” I fled, rushing blindly to the front door. Outside, the frigid wind bit my cheeks and batted about the blow-up of Santa’s sleigh and reindeer parked on the lawn. I held the vape pen to my lips.
Did vaping while you were tripping count? Wouldn’t that be like vaping in a dream—it didn’t really happen?
The door quietly opened. I turned to find Joshua approaching, his gorgeous eyes clouded with worry.
I hid the vape pen behind my back. I don’t know why. It seemed in character.
He held up his hands. He had lovely fingers. You could imagine them gently caring for a wounded animal. “I know, perhaps I was rushing things. It’s just… when I saw you, cradling Ernest in your arms. I knew you were right for me.”
I gestured to my person, who was trapped in a red glittery hell-dress accessorized with blinking miniature lights. “This is right for you?” Because if it is, you are so wrong for me.
He looked at me. Really looked at me. His eyes plunged into my soul. “Yes,” he whispered.
I shivered. Not in a scared way—but with dizzying attraction.
Without thinking, I drew a vape.
“Are—are you vaping?” he asked, surprised, and mildly horrified.
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to stop.”
“I can help you.” He rested his hands on my shoulders. “I can support you. You’re not alone.”
“Look, I don’t need support. And I don’t know what is happening. For instance, I usually have tattoos of my cats on my wrist. And a teacup on my arm. And this is way more color than I wear and way fewer earrings and bracelets.”
He tilted his head. “Usually, you wear tiny pearl studs, pink cashmere sweaters, and a thin gold bracelet.”
What?!
I held up a finger. “Ah, okay, I know what’s happening. My soul has been swapped. My friend Kiera is into the occult. And this can happen, she tells me. My soul got put into Small Town Holiday Barbie’s body after drinking the tea. And if I don’t come down from this trip, we’re going to need to do a ceremony with a salt circle or something.”
He studied me. “It’s okay if you’re going through some things. I’m here for you. We’re a team. I love you.” Those eyes, they broke me.
I didn’t care if the nose on his Rudolf apron was blinking. It’s like when I found my cat, Catlister Crawley, wet, matted, and abandoned by a dumpster. When I had looked into his scared gold cat eyes, I saw the beautiful cat inside him. I saw him purring in my lap as we watched all the Conjuring movies at Halloween with a big bowl of buttery popcorn. I saw him sitting by my feet as I sewed my Renaissance Festival costumes.
I knew he was special.
I knew.
I don’t know what happened. I’m usually not into kissing strangers. Even if I am engaged to them. But this wasn’t IRL. So, I leaned in and gently brushed his soft, warm lips. He sighed. There was an enormous, luminous star in the night sky. I swear I saw it before I closed my eyes and melted into his kiss.
And then things were spinning again. Round and round on the merry-go-round, descending into blackness.
I opened my eyes. Before me was the empty teacup.
The laced tea had worn off in the middle of a delicious kiss! I touched my lips as my heart still raced.
No.
By the powers of Hecate.
I needed more tea! I wanted to go back to that kiss. That delicate, trembling, soul-drenching kiss.
The doorbells tingled, and the teashop door opened in a rush of cold air, sending in a splattering of dead leaves.
And there he was. Joshua.
Except he wasn’t. This version wasn’t neatly barbered. His wild and windblown chestnut hair flowed to his shoulders. Even though it was brutally cold outside, he wore only a dark gray sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up, revealing a tattoo of a French Bulldog. Ernest! That’s Ernest.
He held a cat carrier.
The teashop owner rushed forward in her perilous heels.
“Oh, Shamash! My baby. Is he okay?” She looked at Gothic Joshua with worried eyes.
“He’ll be fine.” Gothic Joshua had a rich, reassuring timbre. “I had to do a few stitches. He’ll need to take antibiotics and wear a donut to keep from bothering the wounds until they heal. It will make him mad, but it’s only for a few days. Just let him rest.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” The tea shop owner grabbed a fluffy blue cat bed from the corner. “Here, let’s put him here. He likes to watch the door.”
Gothic Joshua knelt and gently removed a fluffy black cat from the carrier, still subdued from surgery. “There you go, little buddy,” he said, placing the cat on his bed. He scratched the kitty’s throat. “You are a brave, good boy.”
The teashop owner waved to a table, “Let me get you some tea. I have a very special blend.”
“I’ll just purchase a bag to go, if you don’t mind. I’m going to the Solstice party at …” He trailed off. His eyes—those infinite pools reaching across time and parallel universes—landed on me.
“You,” he whispered. He tapped his chest. “I know you.”
I shivered, feeling as though I were blooming inside—beautiful flower buds popping open beneath my skin.
“I’m Krampus,” I whispered.
The End
I’ve also written two short holiday horror vignettes. They’re not for everyone, but if you like your holidays with a little tingle at the edges, they’re there.
