The Three Fates of Minnesota

           The time had finally come for the three best friends to get back together for the Minnesota State Fair. Runa had taken charge of organizing the whole thing, proudly dubbing their group chat “Mini Apple 2026”. She’d been buzzing for weeks about the brand-new 230-foot “America Wheel”, freshly painted for America’s 250th anniversary and towering over the fairgrounds like a patriotic colossus.

Yagalia whom was finishing her culinary arts degree in Chicago, was barely a three-hour flight away. K had been staying with his uncle in California, and after dealing with a hurricane ripping through the West Coast, he was more than ready to escape. The Great Minnesota Get-Together was just a day away, the annual melting pot where every type of person showed up – from the conservatives of Elk River to the progressive liberals deep in the Twin Cities, and all the neighboring suburbs and visitors that made the pilgrimage from out of state or internationally. For twelve days before Labor Day, this was the place to be.

           The evening before the fair, Runa decided they needed a three-way video call to finalize the itinerary. K had answered first.

           “K, my favorite little guy!” Runa smiled.

           “I’ve been counting the days for the Fair and you already know what I’ll say.”

            “yes, dahhh!”

           “We need to explore Minnehaha Falls!”

           “Okay, okay,” Runa interrupted. “Before we get into it, someone’s missing.”

           “I’ve been dialing Yagalia’s ass all day,” K said.

           “Finally, Yagalia joined the call – and her face looked like she’d been caught mid-crime. Sweat poured down her puffy red cheeks, her hair stuck to her forehead and the background behind her was pitch black. Runa and K immediately burst into laughter.

           “Caught you at a bad time,’ K snickered.

           “No, is fine!,’ Yagalia said in her thick Slavic accent. “I just come back from long jog, and you two assholes always choose worst possible time for video call,”

           Still muttering, she fumbled with her keys, opened her front door and trudged inside. She tossed her phone onto the bed and started changing. The camera angle slipped and Runa and K caught sight of Yagalia’s large bloated belly through a full-length mirror.

           Runa cackled. “Whoa! How far along are you?” she shouted.

           Yagalia froze mid-change, her eyes were wide. “Is water retention!” she barked.

           K wheezed with laughter. Runa nearly fell off her chair. Yagalia flipped them both off, grabbed her phone and jumped into her bed with a dramatic sigh. “Anyways,” she said, “I’m ready for fair tomorrow. And I swear to God, if either of you mentions my belly again, I’m going to force-feed you a pickle-pie until you explode.” 

           “Sounds like you’d like that more than us,” K smiled.

           “I just want to get the most shit-faced!” said Runa.

           “Ok, so what is plan, tomorrow,” asked Yagalia.

           “First things first, everyone will have a blast, obviously,” said Runa.

           “Can’t argue with you there, Boss,” said K.

           ****************

           The next day, Runa and Yagalia swung by MSP airport to pick up K.

“It’s so good to see you, guys!” K shouted, running toward them and practically launching himself into their arms, he was thrilled the gang was reunited.

“Look at you two! My favorite idiots, I could squish your faces off,” he said.

“If only you could reach, little man,” Yagalia teased.

Yagalia was the designated driver, and she commemorated the moment by turning on CarPlay and blasting Minneapolis’ most iconic musician, Prince. Runa twisted around in her seat, pointed an imaginary microphone at K, and he belted out.

           They didn’t head straight to the fair. First, they tackled all four floors of the Mall of America in Bloomington. Runa was immediately disappointed that the theme park inside had malfunctioned before she could get on a ride. Yagalia wasn’t impressed either; the food court felt bland and repetitive. She wanted something different. When she noticed groups of families wearing traditional Ethiopian robes, she decided to follow them, convinced they’d lead her to something more interesting to eat. Without warning, she disappeared, leaving Runa and K alone for an hour.

They grabbed Chinese from the food court and enjoyed it from the third‑floor balcony, overlooking the parking lots and highways. Runa spent lunch pointing out every unfortunate car accident she spotted and they had a full panoramic view of the craziness.

“Damn Minnesotans don’t know how to drive,” laughed Runa.

K shook his head, amused.

Twenty minutes later, Yagalia returned, she was full, sluggish, and satisfied. The three of them settled in and shared stories from their time apart. K pulled out his phone and scrolled through his gallery, showing off dramatic nature photography he’d taken in Japan with his expensive camera. Towering forty‑foot waves, typhoons, floods swallowing streets and all the destructive beauty he’d somehow always been present for. K had a talent for being in the right place at the wrong time.

Day two in Minnesota, the three woke up bright and early. K had already put on his fair outfit: black jeans with an open plaid shirt and his messy hair tucked under a baseball cap.

Yagalia braided her red hair into a long rope that draped across her short white crop top. Her skirt was heavy woven linen, patterned with geometric shapes and floral motifs that fully embraced her Slavic roots.

Runa wore all black, as always. From her eyeliner to her self‑chopped raven bangs, and the rest of her Goth clothes that made her look like a walking silhouette. If it weren’t for her jewerly she might’ve disappeared into her own shadow.

Inside, the three of them joined the large crowd of jovial fairgoers and immediately gravitated toward the live music and the shortest booze line.

Yagalia spotted a strange man staring across the venue.

She smiled and nudged K with her elbow. K smirked. “You have that effect on people. Everyone loves a redhead.” He shrugged and took a swig of his beer.

“Ahh!” Runa suddenly shouted. “The piglets!” Her face scrunched with excitement as she grabbed both of them and dragged them toward the livestock barns and the adoption center full of kittens and puppies.

“Oh hell no!” Yagalia resisted, planting her feet firmly. She stayed behind. She was wildly allergic and couldn’t stand the smell of animals as cute as she thought they were, her body disagreed. One whiff and she’d be gagging nonstop.

Yagalia headed towards the crowds instead, people‑watching while the smells of fair food tugged at her nose, the cheese curds, fried pickles, ube‑flavored cheesecake, and of course the rightfully famous Martha’s Cookies, where servers overflow your bucket with reckless generosity. She planned to sneak a few bites before K and Runa noticed.

“Hey! Yagalia, you said you’d pace yourself,” Runa called out. “No big meals until later, Girl. You need the energy to deal with our shenanigans.”

Yagalia rolled her eyes. She hated being the mom of the group, but Runa was right, she’d often fall into food comas. It was her curse: insatiable appetite, endless love for food, with zero self‑control.

“Besides, I need your help finding a water slide.” K said.

After Runa and K finished petting every animal on four legs, the three continued navigating across the park. They gawked at food stands, admiring the art exhibits, and browsing the Scandinavian trinket shops.

When K and Yagalia spotted a nitro‑frozen ice cream stand, Runa stayed behind at a bench, listening to jazz music drifting from a nearby stage. She giggled when the saxophonist’s instrument kept jamming because the sticky keys kept locking up mid‑song.

K and Yagalia returned a few minutes later, licking the custard‑smooth nitro ice cream they’d bought. They stopped short when they saw Runa holding the hand of a little crying girl.

“Guys, look how scared she is,” Runa said softly.

“Poor thing,” Yagalia murmured concerned. “Where is your mama and papa?”

“I don’t know,” the girl sniffled.

“Do not worry. We find your mama and papa, okay?”

“I’ll take her on the Sky Ride!” Runa said. “From up high we can spot her parents, and then I’ll call you guys to keep them in place.”

“That is stupid idea,” Yagalia said flatly. “First, we get nitro ice cream for you. Then we find your mama and papa. How does that sound?”

The girl’s crying eased into quiet hiccups.

“I agree,” K said. “Besides, you’ve got horrible luck.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Runa yelled, half joking.

They decided to split up and Yagalia would take charge of finding the girl’s parents, while Runa and K grabbed another drink and hung out near the musicians. K told Runa to fetch the drinks while he held the good seats by the stage.

“Fine,” Runa said, already plotting. She ordered K a pistachio‑flavored IPA just to watch him suffer.

But when she returned, K was gone and their seats had been taken.

****************

Meanwhile, in another building, K had been squirming tied to a bench.

 A blindfold covered his eyes, and he felt his wrists and ankles bound to a chair. Whoever grabbed him had dragged him into a storage room in the Education Building, where they held bakery competition displays, and student art projects.

“Let me the hell out of here!” K squirmed. “Runa, this isn’t funny!”

A voice answered, monotone, calm, speaking Japanese.

 K understood every word.

“I could feel you from ten-feet away,” the voice said. “The hairs on my arms stood up immediately. Like I had walked past death itself. I’d like you to know who was responsible for your painful death, my name is Mamoru.

“What? I don’t know you.”

“Well, you may be surprised to know… we are from the same village. The one

swallowed by the ocean all those years ago.”

K begun to laugh maniacally.

Mamoru stepped back, trying to compose himself, and refusing to show weakness.

“Let me out of here, Mamoru, you’re going to make things worse for you.”

Mamoru grabbed a ceramic art project an eighth grader had made and then smashed it across K’s head, knocking off his baseball cap and exposing the top of K’s head. It revealed a disturbing deformity. His skull had a sunken indentation — the top shaped like a human bowl, filled with disgusting green, murky water.

“Hey!” K hissed. “I know you’re shaking. But it’s okay. Fear will only ripen the taste of your ribs when I chew through them! I will count to ten.”

Mamoru exhaled sharply. “I’m going to need something stronger for you, yokai.”

He tilted the chair back to allow the water to spill from K’s skull. It weakened him. K gasped for air. Mamoru flinched; the smell of the water stung his nostrils.

He pulled a talisman marked with kanji and pressed it against the yokai, his human flesh began to melt away, revealing glimpses of his true form beneath: greenish, skin with pebble‑shaped scales like a turtle’s hide.

“Boss?” Van Aken stepped in wearing a sanitation worker’s uniform. He glanced at K who was now covered in blood and skin‑colored sludge.

“Any signs of a malfunction by the rides, Van Aken‑san?” asked Mamoru.

“Nothing yet…”

Mamoru sighed.

Another man walked in, it was Dr. Van Zandt, dressed in a security guard outfit.

“Mamoru, you’ve got the scroll. You should’ve gotten the information from him five minutes ago. Remember what he did to your village. Don’t show him mercy.”

 Mamoru pressed the talisman against K’s back. It fizzled, burning and bubbling his skin each time it made contact. K screamed but, the concert outside drowned him out.

K begged for a quick death and spilled it all: what the trio had planned, where they were headed, and where to find Runa.

Mamoru and the two professors hurried out, weaving through the crowd of fairgoers. Their eyes scanned every face, searching for the redhead as they moved toward the Ferris wheel to find Runa.

Runa had already been in line chatting with people by the time Mamoru and the professors had reached her.

 “First time?” she asked them.

“Yes!” a few couples answered.

“Adorable! The ride is just to die for,” she grinned.

Professor Van Aken approached her pretending to be security, “Miss, we need you to come with us to the office. There’s something we need to discuss.”

Runa looked down at his sanitation worker uniform. “What, did I forget to recycle?” She shrugged him away. “If you lay one finger on me, I’ll… scream.”

Van Aken froze. He glanced back toward Mamoru, who stood several yards away, and Dr. Van Zandt, who had positioned himself to block any escape route.

Runa flipped them off, waving her middle finger proudly at all three.

Dr. Van Zandt had reached his limit. He strode up to her, leaned in, whispered something in her ear, and walked away.

Van Aken hurried to him. “What did you say to her?”

“A secret,” Van Zandt replied.

“So much for this being a team effort,” Van Aken muttered.

The three men watched as Runa moved to the front of the line. She was next to board the gondola, but instead…she abruptly turned away and wandered off. She sat on a bench tucked against the corner of a building trying to massage away a migraine.

The men approached and stood before her. She tilted her head up. “Who the fu…are you people,”

Dr. Van Zandt stepped forward. “How many innocent people did you force into collisions yesterday, just to satisfy your selfish need for entertainment? Do you know an elderly man is still in the hospital recovering?”

Runa snickered.

“Where the fuck is the bone witch?” The Dr. said.

Professor Van Aken drifted toward the Ferris Wheel to inspect it.

“Don’t stand too close to that!” Dr. Van Zandt shouted.

A sudden metallic groan cut through the air. Van Aken spun around just as a twisted shard of metal shot out from the control panel.

Dr. Van Zandt leaned close to Runa’s ear again but, she drove her knee into him.

Then screams erupted from the top of the Ferris Wheel as it began spinning. Van Aken stumbled, tripping over nothing. He reached for the flashlight on his belt to strike her, but it jammed in his holster. Mamoru began choking on the gum he’d been chewing.

Then Dr. Van Zandt shouted his voice cracking with emotion.

“I spent the last ten years of my life feeling guilty for losing the woman I loved! Sometimes I spend my weekends overdrinking at the clubs hitting on women that look just like her!”

Professor Van Aken stood quiet, opening his mouth as if to say something supportive, then closing it again when he realized he had no idea what to say.

“Stop it.” Runa groaned, clutching her chest as a sharp pain shot through it.

Van Zandt pointed at Mamoru and Van Aken.

“Quick. You need to share the most tragic mistakes of your lives. It’s the only way to kill the deity of destruction and misdeed. Begin with a sacrifice of pride. Let Ruin’s recklessness be cast aside.”

Mamoru stepped forward with unexpected confidence, as if he’d been waiting years to unload. “I’ve been terrified of bathing ever since my village was destroyed. Sometimes I drown myself in cologne to hide the smell, and when I finally force myself into the washroom, I cry until it’s over.”

Runa’s porcelain skin flushed cherry red. Every confession made her chest tighten, her migraine throb like her skull was about to implode. She tried to resist, glaring at the Ferris Wheel, forcing the locks to rattle and loosen.

“More!” Dr. Van Zandt shouted. “Van Aken, do not disappoint.”

Van Aken throat tightened.

“I stopped talking to my childhood friends when I got into college. I wanted to be around ‘successful’ people. I traded those toxic idiots for the kindest, most genuine people I’ve ever met. I’m… an asshole.”

“Ahaha…losers,” Runa laughed, blood slipping from her lips.

“Where is the Baba Yaga?” Dr. Van Zandt demanded.

“I’m next,” Mamoru said.

“No… please, get him away from me…” Runa cried.

Mamoru continued, voice trembling. “Thirty‑four years ago, I was six. I watched a flood swallow my village. I saw my little brother, Kaito, clinging to a broken door, calling my name…”

“She took the little girl to the petting zoo!” Runa screamed. “Please, let me go!”

Dr. Van Zandt and Professor Van Aken sprinted toward the petting zoo and let Mamoru finish his confession. Van Aken glanced back and Runa was already thrashing on the ground in unbearable pain.

The two professors burst into a storage area large enough for Baba Yaga to feast. A trail of blood led them deeper inside. There she stood: a beautiful red‑haired woman with a swollen belly, leaning against the wall, smiling.

“Oh…no.” said Van Aken covering his mouth at the sight of child‑sized clothing on the floor.”

“Show us your true form, old hag,” Dr. Van Zandt called out.

Baba Yaga smiled wide. Her nose stretched five times its size, moles and zits blooming across her leathery face. Her stomach ballooned grotesquely beneath a crop top that no longer fit. Her yellow, sharp teeth remained fixed in a delighted grin.

“Sorry, boys.” The witch laughed. “Could not help myself.”

Dr. Van Zandt had reached his limit.

He pulled out an old wooden comb and held it toward the witches face. She shrieked. “We took a little trip to your locker at the culinary arts school,” he said. “Borrowed something from childhood back when you had a heart?”

Her screeching rose to a piercing wail. Van Aken collapsed, covering his ears.

Baba Yaga combusted into a red flame, she swirled violently across the room. As she shot toward the window to escape, Dr. Van Zandt snapped the flame into a glass trap.

“Is she dead…” asked Van Aken.

“Unfortunately, not,” Dr. Van Zandt said. “She’s too powerful to kill, but

she’ll never leave home to her chicken‑leg hut, she’ll be trapped forever…with me.”