David Castlewitz’s “Happy House Mirror” now in Rabbit Hole V anthology

I’m lucky enough to have my work included in The Rabbit Hole Volume 5: Just…Plain…Weird anthology along with quite a group of talented authors. I especially love the teaser

Welcome to the Rabbit Hole. On our fifth excursion into the warren of the odd, 37 authors lead us down their own little burrows of strangeness : an army of penguins, music that cures, aliens that communicate through old cartoons, images of the future that save, unwanted visions of the now, and, oh yes, it is raining lawyers. All have one thing in common, they are just…plain…weird.
Weird can be funny, weird can be sad, weird can be thoughtful, weird can be mad, but the one thing in common is that weird shares experiences you have, thankfully, never had.
Just be careful, all little bunnies are not nice, but they are memorable.

About the Author
After a long and successful career as a software developer and technical architect, David turned to a first love: writing fiction, particularly SF, fantasy, magical realism, and light horror. His stories have appeared in many anthologies and online as well as print publications. David lives on the North Shore, outside Chicago, where he enjoys long walks, the occasional bike ride, and other outdoor adventures.

How the stories came about?
This story grew from my looking at the large lithograph at the end of the hall in my house and thinking how it could absorb the viewer. It is a picture of a young woman sitting at the end of a bar, an image that reminds me of a place I went to several times in New York. The picture morphed into a mirror for story purposes. The salvage warehouse is based on a place I visited with my wife. From there, the rest is pure fiction, all of it made up from tumbling bits of images and ideas running through my mind. I distinctly remember putting much of the plot in place on a wintry day’s long walk. In fact, my walks often help me sort out issues and ideas.

The salesman’s question came out of nowhere, so Eddie ignored it and walked across the warehouse floor to where his wife, Irene, stood admiring an old loveseat, its dark wood polished to a high sheen and its upholstery restored to what it looked like in the framed photograph sitting on a sheet music stand next to it.
“That guy,” Eddie said, “asked me the weirdest question.”
Irene made a “hmm’ sound and pointed at the loveseat. It featured opposite seating, as though built so a couple could converse but not get intimate.
Eddie glanced back at the salesman, a youngster with long blonde hair in a ponytail, his hands in his baggy jeans pockets. His white tee shirt was emblazoned with the store’s logo: a pickup truck overloaded with furniture.


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