Serum Run
A fantasy microfiction
The bed’s wooden underbelly scrapes my back. I pray silently: Grant speed to the Amaroq hounds.
Outside, a shadow flits through moonlight.
The villagers called Birk a warlock; I thought it foolishness.
Not anymore.
Not since Birk’s potion spilled, blackening his veins, sharpening his teeth to needles.
Not since his illness spread, its touch turning villagers to wraiths.
A messenger fled across the tundra with an Amaroq sled team, seeking a cure.
But now, I don’t know how many villagers remain.
The sudden whisper of wood and snow – the door opens.
Guide the messenger, I pray.
A floorboard creaks; a raspy growl rumbles.
Then, from the town’s edge, where the fields meet the icy mountains, come distant howls –
The baying of Amaroq hounds.
Since these microfiction pieces are so much shorter than my usual posts, I’ll share a little bit about what was going on in my mind and my life when this story came into being. If you’re just here for the fiction, that’s totally fine! But if you’re bored and want to read a behind-the-scenes ramble, feel free to read on.
I enjoy participating in NYC Midnight writing competitions (if you like putting random story elements together on a tight deadline, definitely check it out!), and that’s how I ended up with the following prompts:
Genre: Fairy Tale and/or Fantasy
Action: Hiding under a bed
Word: Cure
I had 24 hours to put a story together…and it just so happened that during that 24-hour period I would be making a six hour road trip to Waco, Texas, with three children under age five, to help take care of my mom after her surgery1.
If you’ve never driven through Dallas during rush hour, I can tell you, IT IS NOT FUN. And, no matter what time we leave our home, we always seem to wind up making it to Dallas just in time for every other person in Dallas to start driving to or from work.
As we neared Dallas, my husband and I switched spots so that he, who is by far the calmer of the two of us under pressure, could drive through the horrible traffic. I informed my kids that Mommy needs a little quiet time, put in my headphones, and pounded out the story as fast as I could while taking breaks to combat motion sickness.
When I finished, I had about 300 words.
The maximum word count was 100.
But by that point we were almost to our destination, so the merciless word-cutting would have to wait.
My saving grace, and the only reason I was able to punch out the piece so quickly, was because I already knew the story.
I have a weird fascination with the 1925 serum run to Nome, Alaska. Remember the movie Balto?2 About sled dogs bringing medicine to a remote town? Just me? Okay.
Well, it’s based on a real event in which a very small Alaskan town ran out of its diptheria antitoxin just as an outbreak occurred amongst the town’s children. There was a very dramatic sled dog relay that carried fresh antitoxin across almost 700 miles of punishing Alaskan wilderness in the middle of winter to save the children.
That was the first place my mind went when I saw that I needed to include the word cure in my story. I just needed to adapt it for a fantasy setting. What if the illness wasn’t diptheria? What if it was something a little more…supernatural?
I knew that I would be pressed for time to complete it, so I let the story percolate while I took the morning driving shift. Then, as soon as I got in the passenger’s seat, I was ready to spit it all out on paper.
That night, when my children were in bed and my mom was propped up in bed with mounds of pillows, I cut out the vast majority of the words I had thrown into my laptop. But I just couldn’t get it down to 100 words.3
Then, in a last-minute rescue, in walked my dad, a former newspaper editor. After one read-through, he pointed out several places, which seemed obvious once he showed them to me, where I was being unnecessarily wordy. With his help, I finally whittled my unwieldy first attempt down to 100 words.
I submitted the story with about five minutes to spare.
Thanks, Daddy!
She’s doing great now!
Balto, the lead sled dog of the final team of the relay, became a canine celebrity and got much of the credit for the successful sled run, BUT it was a dog named Togo that led a team through the longest and most arduous stretch of the relay. Togo has a fascinating story and was basically the bravest and most brilliant dog that ever lived (#JusticeforTogo). Yes, I have very strong opinions about 1920s sled dogs. Don’t you?
This version is not exactly what I submitted for the competition. What I share here is 123 words because I think this story ideally needed just a little more than 100 words could capture.
I really enjoyed this story—beautiful writing (and I'm glad your mum was okay!)
Togo!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️