Chutterbug Book 9: Tales of Tossledowns

By Laurence Knighton

Out in the vast, wind-swept tunder there is a community so small it easily fits on the end of a fingertip. It’s Mynoot and like all productive citizens, a chutterbug's only interest is sourgrass. It’s their whole lives, what they do, all they have ever known.
But the old sourgrass plant is rumored to be dying. Were that to happen, what would chutterbugs do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laurence Knighton
• Release date: Mar 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452412801

Laurence Knighton

Born in the Rocky Mountains under a loaf of wry bread, Laurence (Larsky) Knighton is a graphic designer and illustrator by trade, having written and illustrated Disney's 'Donald Duck' syndicated daily comic strip for years before its cancelation in the American market. Still illustrating and writing fun, entertaining stories, he resides in Boise, Idaho with his handsome plush-stuffed black Lab 'Buck' who never sheds, barks, or runs away.

Book preview

Tales of Tossledowns – Book 9

CHUTTERBUG

by

Laurence Knighton

Smashwords Edition

*

PUBLISHED BY:

Laurence Knighton on Smashwords

Chutterbug – Book 9 - Tales of Tossledowns

Copyright © 2011 by Laurence Knighton

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

*

Prologue

The ground shuddered as if reacting to a creepy feeling and a shower of loose dust dropped from the underside of the old abandoned house atop Karnberry Hill. The unusual spasm got worse and the vibrating seemed to go on forever. In fact, it only lasted a few seconds but that was enough to do damage, and in the narrow crawlspace beneath the sagging floorboards, a yellow spinspider was panic-stricken.

She was a spider, that’s what they do when all their hard work is threatened.

Even before the tremor began she was on the move to dart amongst her traps. It was her spider ways—fine-tuned to the least of faintest movement. Without it, she couldn’t get to her sticky snares in time to render a victim totally helpless for a good wrapping of silky thread.

But what she felt next told her that something ominous was about to happen. When the second shudder rumbled from deep below Karnberry Hill, the spinspider abandoned her webs and went on the run again. The house suddenly groaned as if in pain and she made for the highest spot in the crawlspace, just as everything leaned and buckled as if alive.

When the dust settled, the spider glanced around for inspection and all seemed well, except a section of foundation near the far side of the crawlspace. A large rock had sheared from the fireplace directly above. It crashed through the floor and dropped through a nicely weaved snare.

The spider didn’t care about what happened to the old house. She cared about her sticky web. She was a spider. They’re rather selfish that way.

Actually, the damage to the web was minimal. Just a few additional strands of silky threads here and there and all would be worse for wear. Of course, she was comparing it to the storm that blew through just the other day. That caused a lot of damage.

It rained a lot and it seemed that much it found a way into the crawlspace through a wide crack in the foundation. By the time the storm moved on the crawlspace was filled with the weight of so much water that nearly brought all her traps down. When there was time to assess what had happened, most were need of repairs. A few were totally ruined and the whole situation ate at the energetic yellow spinspider. Not because she had so much work to do. Spiders love to work, so that wasn’t it. No. She hated to get wet and couldn’t bring herself to repair the harm until the crawlspace dried out.

What was that? a distressed voice shouted from across the crawlspace.

That was another thing that gave the spider so much angst.

A while ago, she was resting from an early meal of scatterbugs when she felt the familiar vibration of a struggle coming from one of her sticky snares. Sure enough, when she hurried to investigate, she had captured another meal. Only, it wasn’t like anything she had ever experienced before. It was a rare tomebeetle,