aurora borealis fiction

par Bill Tiepelman

Pinecone Dreams and Northern Lights

Deep in the frostbitten heart of the north, where winter wraps the world in silence and the auroras weave their ethereal dances across the heavens, there lies a legend told only in hushed tones around roaring fires. It is the story of the Pinecone Cabin and the curious woodsman who stumbled upon it one fateful night. Some say it’s a tale of magic; others claim it’s a tall tale spun by those who’ve had one too many swigs of spiced mead. But one thing is certain—it’s a story no one forgets. The Wanderer and the Pinecone In the early days of the longest winter on record, an intrepid wanderer named Bjorn set out from his isolated hamlet in search of firewood. Bjorn wasn’t the sharpest axe in the shed, but what he lacked in smarts, he made up for in sheer stubbornness and a love for improbable adventures. Armed with little more than a hand axe, a flask of dubious "antifreeze," and a questionable map scribbled on the back of a tavern napkin, Bjorn trudged through waist-deep snowdrifts. As the northern lights danced mockingly overhead, Bjorn swore under his breath. "By the gods," he muttered, "this better not be another wild goose chase. Last time I ended up with a goose that bit me." But just as he was about to abandon hope and retreat to his equally freezing shack, he saw it—a faint glow nestled within a massive pinecone. The Cabin That Shouldn’t Exist Bjorn blinked twice, rubbed his eyes, and stared again. There it was, clear as day: a tiny log cabin snugly cradled within the curved arms of a colossal pinecone. Smoke curled lazily from its chimney, carrying the unmistakable scent of cinnamon and roasting chestnuts. "This must be the mead talking," Bjorn muttered, taking a swig just to confirm. Nope, the cabin was still there. Driven by equal parts curiosity and cold-induced delirium, Bjorn clambered up the snowy pinecone like an overgrown squirrel. He reached the door and knocked cautiously. To his surprise, it swung open without so much as a creak, revealing a warm interior that seemed impossibly spacious. Shelves lined with ancient books, a crackling fireplace, and a table laden with steaming bowls of stew greeted him. A tiny, well-dressed gnome sat in a rocking chair, puffing on a pipe. A Gnome and His Odd Proposition "Ah, a guest!" exclaimed the gnome, his voice as chipper as a squirrel on its third cup of coffee. "Welcome to the Pinecone Cabin! My name is Thistlewood. Sit, sit! You look half-frozen and entirely confused." Bjorn, whose mind had officially given up on rational thought, plopped down in a chair and accepted a bowl of stew. "So, uh," he began between bites, "what’s the deal here? Magic? Hallucination? Some kind of elaborate prank?" Thistlewood chuckled. "You humans always think too small. This cabin is older than your oldest gods. It exists to shelter wanderers like you and offer them a choice: return to your ordinary life, or stay and learn the secrets of the forest." Bjorn’s brow furrowed. "What kind of secrets? Like where squirrels hide their nuts? Or how trees gossip about us?" The gnome smirked. "More like how to coax the auroras into writing your name in the sky, or how to grow an entire forest from a single pine needle. But beware, knowledge like this comes with responsibility—and a fair bit of mischief." A Life-Changing Decision Bjorn scratched his head, his pragmatic side warring with his innate love of chaos. He imagined himself as some kind of forest wizard, commanding the trees and impressing tavern-goers with glowing aurora tricks. Then he pictured his hamlet’s elders lecturing him about responsibility, and he shuddered. "Tell you what, Thistlewood," he said, leaning back in his chair. "How about I just stay for the stew and a few of those chestnuts? Knowledge sounds like a lot of work." The gnome threw back his head and laughed. "Fair enough, Bjorn. Not everyone is cut out for the magical life. But let me leave you with this—a small gift for the road." He handed Bjorn a tiny pinecone that glowed faintly. "Plant this when you’re ready for something extraordinary." The Pinecone’s Legacy Bjorn returned to his hamlet with a full belly, a curious trinket, and an even curiouser tale. He never planted the pinecone, but he kept it on his mantle as a reminder that the world was bigger and stranger than he’d ever imagined. As for the Pinecone Cabin, some say it still appears to wanderers in the snow, offering them a choice and a bowl of stew. And Bjorn? Well, he became the hamlet’s favorite storyteller, spinning his tale of the cabin into a legend that would warm hearts for generations. So the next time you’re out in the woods and catch a faint whiff of chestnuts and cinnamon, keep your eyes open. You just might find the Pinecone Cabin—and with it, a story worth telling.    Bring the Legend Home Capture the magic of "Pinecone Dreams and Northern Lights" in your everyday life with beautiful products inspired by this enchanting tale. Whether you’re looking to add a touch of winter serenity to your home or carry a piece of this whimsical story with you, we have the perfect keepsakes for you: Tapestry: Transform any space into a cozy winter wonderland with this stunning wall art. Canvas Print: Bring the warmth and glow of the Pinecone Cabin to your walls. Tote Bag: Carry a piece of the legend with you, perfect for everyday use or as a conversation starter. Shower Curtain: Start your mornings surrounded by the serene beauty of a winter escape. Explore these and more at Unfocussed Shop, and let the Pinecone Cabin’s charm inspire your home and lifestyle.

par Bill Tiepelman

Mysteries Under the Aurora Veil

The aurora whispered across the sky, bands of green and purple light weaving together in a spectral dance. Alone on the ice, Nathan stood mesmerized, his breath clouding in the cold night air, his eyes reflecting the surreal brilliance above. The frozen lake stretched endlessly, an ocean of ice under his feet, its cracked surface branching out in jagged patterns that glowed under the starlight. But it wasn’t the aurora or the empty, frozen landscape that kept him rooted in place. It was the face beneath the ice. He had noticed it first from afar—a dark shape under the lake’s surface, looming as he walked along the creaking ice. Curious, he’d drawn closer, only to find himself staring down at an enormous face, trapped and motionless, just beneath the fractured ice. Its eyes were closed, lashes rimmed with frost, its expression one of haunting stillness. But it was not a normal face. The skin was etched with cosmic patterns, veins that glimmered faintly, as if they held the very stars themselves within. The sky shifted again, a burst of emerald green illuminating the night, and in that light, the face seemed to stir, almost as if the frozen figure were breathing beneath its glassy prison. Nathan stumbled back, but his gaze remained locked on the face, his mind racing to make sense of the impossible sight. The figure’s eyes fluttered open slowly, revealing dark, glittering depths that reflected the stars above, as though the eyes themselves were windows to the universe. His heart pounded as those ancient, unfathomable eyes met his own. He felt a sudden, dizzying pull, a sensation as if he were being drawn into that endless darkness. He wanted to turn away, to run back to the safety of his cabin on the edge of the lake, but he found himself paralyzed, transfixed. He felt the weight of the being's gaze, pressing into his mind, stirring memories that weren’t his, ancient images of worlds and stars long forgotten. The Frozen Revelation With a deep, tremulous voice, the figure beneath the ice began to speak, though its lips never moved. The voice filled his mind, resonating within his bones, like a song vibrating through stone. The words were old, their meanings fragmented and elusive, yet Nathan understood them all the same. “I am the keeper of lost memories, bound by the ice, held beneath the veil of the aurora. For eons, I have watched worlds rise and fall, my eyes locked in slumber, my spirit shackled by cold and time. Those who look upon me are rare; those who listen, rarer still.” Nathan tried to speak, his voice a mere whisper in the vastness of the frozen lake. “Why… why are you here? Why are you trapped?” Silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then, the face's eyes narrowed slightly, as though pondering a question it hadn’t heard in eons. “I am here because I was made to watch, to witness the cycles of time and existence, to remember what must not be forgotten. Yet in remembering, I am forgotten. I am the memory of this world and others—a story carved into the bones of the earth, a watcher buried in the ice.” The aurora brightened, casting vibrant shadows across the landscape. In that otherworldly glow, Nathan saw images flash within the figure’s eyes—vast cities made of dark stone, crumbling under the weight of storms; forests twisted and overgrown, vines reaching like fingers toward an endless sky; civilizations extinguished, their names lost to the ice. He saw fragments of worlds he didn’t know, felt their despair as if it were his own. A Descent into the Abyss The figure’s voice continued, softer now, almost tender, like an echo from another time. “I have seen so much, and yet the world forgets. Each new cycle, new faces come and go. They look upon me as you do, then leave, only to be forgotten by time itself. I hold their memories, their fears and dreams, locked beneath this ice.” Nathan’s body trembled, the chill of the night seeping into his bones. “Why are you telling me this?” he managed, his voice breaking as the weight of those visions pressed down on him. The figure’s lips curled into a slight smile. “Because you are the first to listen. And for that, you have earned a choice.” A sudden crack echoed across the lake, and Nathan felt the ice shift beneath him. He watched in horror as fissures spread outward from the face, thin lines of black threading through the white frost. The lake was coming alive, moving and groaning as if it, too, held ancient memories it could no longer bear to keep hidden. “Stay,” the figure said, the voice slipping into a whisper. “Stay, and you may join the others beneath the ice. You will see the world as I do, bear witness to eternity, to lives that fade like winter breath. Or you may go… but know that you will remember me, and you will carry my stories with you, as a weight that grows heavier each night.” The Haunting Choice The aurora pulsed overhead, casting Nathan’s shadow long and thin over the face beneath the ice. He felt an overwhelming urge to let go, to surrender to the timeless void, to sink into the ice and let its cold fingers pull him under. A strange peace washed over him, a longing for release, for silence. But then he thought of the world above, the light of dawn he’d never see again, the feel of warm earth underfoot. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the icy air fill his lungs one last time. “I… I choose to go,” he whispered, though every fiber of his being fought against the decision. The face beneath him looked sad, an expression of profound sorrow crossing its cosmic features. Its starry eyes dimmed slightly, and for a moment, it looked as if it might weep. “Then go,” the figure murmured, its voice like wind over frozen water. “But know this—you will dream of me every night, and in each dream, you will return to this place. And one day, when you are weary of life and memory, you will come back, and the ice will claim you as it has claimed so many.” Echoes in the Night Nathan turned and walked away, his feet heavy, his heart pounding in his chest. The aurora flared one last time, a brilliant burst of color illuminating his path. He did not look back. But as he reached the shore, he heard the faintest whisper, a voice carried by the wind. “I will wait.” In the years that followed, Nathan found himself haunted by dreams of the lake, of the face beneath the ice, those dark eyes watching him, beckoning him back. Every winter, he felt its pull, the frozen lake calling his name in the dead of night. And each year, he resisted, though the dreams grew darker, the weight of forgotten memories pressing down on him until he felt he might break. One day, he would return. He knew that now. The lake had etched itself into his soul, bound him to the frozen face and its ancient secrets. One day, he would walk across that ice again, alone, beneath the dancing lights of the aurora veil. And when that day came, he knew, he would never leave.     Bring "Mysteries Under the Aurora Veil" Into Your World Embrace the haunting beauty and cosmic mystery of "Mysteries Under the Aurora Veil" with unique artwork pieces, available now in various formats. Whether you’re looking to add an ethereal touch to your space or carry a piece of the story with you, these products capture the surreal wonder of the frozen lake and aurora skies. Tapestry - Bring the story to life on your wall with this detailed tapestry, perfect for adding an otherworldly atmosphere to any room. Canvas Print - Own a high-quality canvas print of the artwork, capturing the scene's eerie beauty and deep, cosmic themes. Spiral Notebook - Keep your own thoughts and mysteries within this notebook, featuring the captivating image on its cover. Beach Towel - Take this mystical scene with you wherever you go, with a towel that combines practicality with stunning art.