05/24/2026
Albert and the Sky of False Stars
Deep within the twisting trees of Oddland Forest lived a strange little creature named Albert.
No one knew what Albert truly looked like beneath his heavy brown cloak.
Some believed he was a bat with long ears and tiny claws.
Others whispered he was made entirely of swamp slime and moss.
A few old crows insisted he had no body at all — only shadows stitched together with buttons.
But no one had ever seen beneath the cloak.
And no one ever would.
By day, Albert hid high in the treetops where the leaves grew thick and tangled. From below, travelers only ever saw two pale eyes peeking through the branches.
Then came the plop.
Albert would tumble from the trees directly in front of wandering folk and blow a tiny raspberry with his little tongue.
Most screamed.
Some fainted.
One mushroom merchant dropped an entire basket of soup.
Albert loved that one.
But Albert was not mean.
Oddland Forest had dangers far worse than a mischievous little forest spirit.
Far above the trees circled terrible things.
Great winged creatures with sharp eyes and sharper talons. Sky hunters. Nest robbers. Beasts that searched the forest floor for tiny creatures to sn**ch away.
The Shroomlins knew to hide whenever shadows passed overhead.
And Albert made sure those shadows rarely stayed.
You see, Albert collected things.
Not important things.
At least… not until they were needed.
Loose buttons from forgotten coats. Rusty bottle caps. Bent keys. Tiny bells. Marbles. Broken lockets. Thimbles. Shiny tabs from old cans.
Little trinkets no one noticed were missing until the moment they reached for them.
“Oh, where did that go?”
That was usually Albert.
Every evening, he carried his treasures deep into the forest canopy where the crows gathered.
The crows of Oddland were old creatures. Clever creatures.
Watching creatures.
Albert traded his shinies for information.
A silver button might earn news of a hawk circling nearby.
A blue bottle cap could buy warning of giant owls nesting beyond the hills.
And if Albert offered something very special — like a music box key or a perfectly polished marble — the crows would patrol the skies themselves, driving terrible flying beasts far from Oddland Forest.
That was how Albert kept everyone safe.
Well…
Mostly safe.
Because Albert did keep the really cool treasures for himself.
Hidden beneath the roots of a great hollow tree was Albert’s secret collection:
Hundreds of colorful bottle caps.
Drawers filled with mismatched buttons.
Tiny towers of shiny treasures stacked neatly in the dark.
Sometimes he would sit alone in his den, turning a favorite trinket in his tiny hands while his glow moths fluttered softly around him.
The moths were Albert’s closest companions.
They slept hidden beneath his cloak during the day, wrapped in the warm folds of fabric like living lanterns.
But at night?
Albert released them into the sky.
The glowing moths drifted high above Oddland Forest, blinking softly between the branches like floating stars.
Far below, little Shroomlins would gather in nighttime fields and point upward in wonder.
“The stars are beautiful tonight,” they whispered.
Only the oldest crows knew the truth.
Those weren’t stars.
That was Albert.
Watching over Oddland Forest from the trees.
