Picture this: Four books sat on a shelf and watched as a blob—a festive, bookish sort of blob—slogged inexorably forward. Toward them.

The names of those four books, in no particular order, were Gerald Barkley Rocks, Monsters at Dusk, Past, Present, Future., and Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane. They were siblings, and therefore prone to disagreements every now and then. Like now, for instance.

“Listen,” said Gerald Barkley Rocks, who was the oldest and therefore the de facto leader of the four. “I don’t know what that blob is or what it wants, but I’m just a book. And I’m a book about music, mortality, and to a lesser extent, cats. How the hell am I supposed to know what to do in a disaster scenario?”

No help there. So the other books looked to Monsters at Dusk for guidance. After all, Monsters at Dusk was a book about monsters. And isn’t a blob a monster?

“Werewolves,” said Monsters at Dusk. “Dream entities that feed off memories. Giant black birds that take people in the night. Those are the monsters I deal with. Blobs are above my pay grade.”

Maybe Past, Present, Future., then? It boasted fewer stories than Monsters at Dusk, but its name suggested wisdom. Perhaps the past could inform their present and offer them a better future?

“Look,” said Past, Present, Future. “If it was up to me, I’d be on the website getting downloaded by some kind, friendly reader looking for fun stories. Instead, I’m stuck here with you three schmoes about to get eaten by a blob. I’ve got nothing.”

“You think it’ll eat us?” asked Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane. It was the youngest of the four books on the shelf, and therefore inexperienced in the ways of predators and prey. “Maybe it just wants a hug.”

The blob, which was not an especially swift blob (or was perhaps an average-speed blob, since blobs don’t have legs to run with), finally reached the books. It slurped, then glurped, and also blurped (you know, blob sounds). Then it spoke.

“You four look tasty,” said the blob. “And I’m hungry. So here’s the deal. I’m eating all of you. If people want to read you, they still can. They just need to pay up.”

“How much?” asked Gerald Barkley Rocks. As the oldest, it felt obliged to speak for its siblings.

“I may be a blob, but I have morals,” answered the blob. “Just $4.99, baby. It’s a good deal.”

“Um, blob,” piped up Monsters at Dusk. “The thing is, I cost $4.99. So does GBR.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane. “I only cost $0.99.”

“I’m free,” Past, Present, Future reminded its siblings, “so I’ll stay out of this one.”

The blob was beginning to sense a generational divide amongst these books, but so be it.

“Look,” said the blob. “I’m a blob, and a blob’s gotta eat. Tell you what. I’ll only devour you for the month of December. People can get all four of you for five bucks. After that, they gotta buy you individually. Capeesh?”

“What are you?” asked Gerald Barkley Rocks. “An Italian blob?”

“No, punk. I’m the 2020 Holiday Book Blob.”

With that, the blob swallowed all four books into its gelatinous maw. And then it turned to you, reader.

“You want these books, pal? You got ’em. Just click below.”

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their cats, and their dog. He has written two books and numerous short stories, both published and yet-to-be published. He enjoys unusual narrative structures, multiple POVs, and stories that make readers laugh. For a free sample of Kyle’s work, subscribe to his newsletter.