Llama Tell You a Story

By Jaleta Clegg

Pull up a chair, make yourself at home. That's right. Kick off your shoes, put your feet up on the footstool. Pour a glass of lemonade and settle in. "Llama" tell you a story or three.

How about Lassie fighting a tribe of mutant tumbleweeds? Or a unicorn meeting her destiny at the hands of a djinn? Maybe a story of giant dragonflies wreaking vengeance on playground bullies is more your style. Or a butterfly transformed into a woman. Or dust bunnies waging a war. Perhaps a tale of courage and justice meted out by a rattlesnake, a jackal, and a horny toad? Or the tale of the time when Cthulhu was summoned on accident. In an outhouse.

It's all here, in this collection of fifteen stories. Fifteen tales of beings, human and not, trying to find their heart's desire—whether vengeance or justice or happiness or just a bovine companion. Some find it, some find only disappointment.

You'll just find some darned tootin' good tales.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaleta Clegg
• Release date: May 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386773474

Jaleta Clegg

Jaleta Clegg loves to make up stuff then tell stories about it. Her life is full of imaginary friends who go on adventures all the time. The only way she can go along is as the narrator and scribe. So she writes down what the imaginary voices in her head tell her, then publishes them as science fiction adventure, steampunk fairy stories, silly horror, and all sorts of other things. She has an eleven book space opera series, a steampunk fairy novel, and dozens of short stories out in the wild. When not writing down her adventures, Jaleta is usually playing with yarn, cooking strange dishes, watching too much tv, and dreaming up more stuff to write down. She lives in Washington state with a diminishing horde of children, elderly pets, a very patient husband, and lots and lots of books. Find more of her work at www.jaletac.com

Book preview

Go Home, Lassie!

C ome on, girl. Let 's see what's over that ridge. The boy trots up the steep slope, dust puffing from his footsteps.

Silly human offspring. Always running away from the pack. I stop at the crest of the ridge, posing to show my magnificent coat and perfect form. The wind ripples my fur. My nostrils expand, sniffing the bone dry air.

Why can't my pack live where the air is moist and the ground green? The harsh desert sands wear my paws to nothing. I almost envy the boy his shoes as I bound after him.

I bark. He's straying too far.

What is it, girl? Do you see a rabbit? The boy barely slows. I think I see the spring I told you about yesterday. Down there by that abandoned mine. Betcha there's gold in that mine, big nuggets just waiting for me to pick them up and take them home. Won't that make mom smile. We could buy her that washing machine she always wanted. And a big refrigerator. And an air conditioner. Then we could build the town dad always wanted, you know, the tourist center and everything. Boy, I can't wait to bring home all that gold. His yellow hair disappears into the darkness of the abandoned mine.

I bark. It does no good. I sigh. My keen nose informs me the mine shaft is an evil place. The air from the cave smells wrong. My skin twitches.

Lassie, come on, girl. Help me find a lantern or something.

I do not want to enter the cave, but the boy might be in danger and he is my responsibility. My foot scratches my ear as I hesitate at the opening.

Wait, there's something glowing down here. It's sticky. There's a bucket. I'll scoop some up.

My ears perk forward. Growls emerge from deep in my chest.

Green light oozes from the cave, reeking of malevolence.

Ah! It's got me!

I bound up and down, unable to force myself to enter the darkness. The boy's screams rip the air. I run in tight circles, barking frantically. My ears prick as I detect the sound of rustling branches. I freeze, assessing the new threat.

Balls of greenish-gray tumbleweeds roll over the ridge-top. They stop just above the entrance to the mine. Their branches wave though the air is still. Traces of greenish light define the thicker centers, flickering like beating hearts. My hair rises along my neck. Pure evil watches me without eyes. The tumbleweeds roll closer, branches tracing lace in the dry dust. I crouch, whining, torn between protecting the human boy and retreating from the danger encroaching on the mine.

A small weed, barely larger than a rabbit, bounces from a ledge and lands just beyond the mine entrance. The thorns lining the branches drip green ichor.

I bark, once, then bound away. The boy needs help, more than I can offer. I dash bravely around the hill to the small house where my pack resides.

I paw the screen door, whining low in my throat. The woman sings as she prepares the evening meal. I thump the door with my paw. She continues to sing. I bark once. Her voice shrieks off key as she hits a high note in her song. I cover my ears with my paws.

Here, girl, whatever is the matter? The man, alpha of my pack, leans his shovel against the porch.

I bounce on my paws. Bark! Barkbark bark bark barkbarkbark. Bark!

Beautiful day, girl. I'll second that.

What is the problem with these humans? Bark bark barkbark bark!

Did you see a rabbit? The man sits on the porch, scratching behind my ear.

My tail thumps in pleasure. But the boy is in peril, I must bring help. I back away, front paws low. Bark! Bark! Barkbark!

The man frowns, scratching under his cap. What is it, girl?

The woman screeches the chorus to her favorite song.

Bark barkbark bark. Can't they understand a simple statement? The boy is in grave danger and the man sits and scratches!

Barkbarkbarkbark bark barkbark!

The man jumps to his feet. Little Timmy is in the well again?

I whine, pawing my face.Bark barkbarkbark bark! I waggle my tail, circling to the trail and back.

Martha! Little Timmy fell into the well again! The man grabs his shovel.

The woman's singing stops abruptly. Blessed silence falls in the little valley.

No, not silence. Rustling edges over the ridge, like an army of shrubbery creeping towards us. My hair rises. I growl deep in my throat.

The man rushes forward, heedlessly running for the well. Tumbleweeds pour from the ridge. Green light traces their descent. The man screams as they envelop him. His body disappears in the mass of mutant vegetation.

The screen door slams. The woman emerges, damp dishcloth dangling from her limp hand. The wave of tumbleweeds crests, surging along the path to the farmhouse. I rush in circles, barking a warning. The woman flaps her dishtowel.

You say Little Timmy fell into the well again? He'll be all right. He always is. She hums as she clips her cloth to the clothesline.

The green-gray plants advance, swallowing the shed. The woman pays no attention to the threat now creeping into her yard.

Bark bark!

Hush, girl.

The tumbleweeds creep around the woman, encircling her with their glowing fronds of thorns. The branches tremble as the tumbleweeds prepare to pounce.

I cannot stand helpless while my pack is devoured, but I cannot stop them by myself. I dash away, paws flying as I rush to the town. The man with the shiny badge and the man with the great, red, water-breathing monster will help.

I bound across the park. Delicious smells waft through the summer air, but I am determined to ignore them. I must save my pack. I leap over a small child playing in the sand. Nothing will deter me, not today.

The man stands near his water-breathing monster, bathing it while it sleeps.

I bark.

He pauses, water pooling around his feet. What's that, Lassie? Trouble at the farm?

Finally! A human who can think! Bark, barkbark yip!

Little Timmy has fallen in the well again? The man drops the hose.

I wrap my paw over my eyes.

The man dashes into his den, leaving me alone with the great red beast. I whine, impatient to save my pack.

The fat orange tabby leaps from her perch on the windowsill. She flicks her tail. Mrow.

Barkbarkbark!

Mrow? Eye-blink conveys her assurance that no plant would dare invade her home.

These are not normal plants. They are monsters, fed on the toxic waste stored in the old mine. These tumbleweeds eat humans. I scratch my ear as I share with the tabby.

Her fur bushes. She hisses.

Bark. I thump my tail once.

She leaps the fence to the alley. She will bring help to my pack.

The man who tends the beast hurries from the den, followed by its other servants. They climb onto the thing.

Lassie, come on, girl! We have to save Timmy! The man pats the seat in the monster's head.

I jump. I have never been allowed inside before. I sit tall, tongue hanging loose as I taste the new smells.

The man wakes the beast. It roars and squeals as it charges through the town. I brace myself as it rushes around corners. Within moments, we have reached my pack's residence.

Masses of glowing tumbleweeds cover the house and yard. The great red beast drives into the pile, crushing them beneath its round black feet. I bark, rejoicing in our triumph.

The tumbleweeds hunch together, retreating up the slope behind the house. Green light sparkles along each narrow thorn. They tangle branches, rolling atop one another to form a lumpy humanoid figure.

Well I'll be tarred and dipped in mustard. The man scratches his head. Your little Timmy is quite the genius, to build a statue from tumbleweeds.

The other men who ride the beast gather to stare at the monstrosity.

I growl and snap my teeth but they do not listen. The tumbleweeds engulf the men in oozing green ichor. I leap on top of the red beast, barking warnings. The tumbleweed giant stumps forward, humans wrapped in its thorny embrace. I stand my ground. They will not devour the water-breathing beast, not while I breathe.

The mutant creature stumbles closer. A mouth forms in its featureless face, a hole lined with thorns. Flashing lights rotate beneath my paws, streaking the abomination with red.

A sound emerges, a rushing roar. My fur rises. Little Timmy's head appears in the thing's eye socket. His eyes glow with green light. I bare my teeth. I must save Little Timmy. I leap to the nose of the great red beast.

The tabby cat appears, landing lightly beside me. Her tail bristles at the sight of the thing. She flicks one ear. Help is on the way.

I rush forward, confidence renewed. The female of my pack dangles within the branches of tumbleweeds as it swipes one arm towards me. I snarl. How dare these plants perpetrate such horror on my humans!

Rabbits pour from the hillsides. I leap to the safety of the red beast's head. Their eyes flicker red as the rabbits fling themselves upon the mutant plants.

The giant form sways, howling like wind trapped in the chimney. The suicidal rabbits leap up its torso, biting and kicking. Their eyes glow madly, insanity incarnate. One arm drops from the tumbleweed creature. The humans trapped inside writhe with mouths open in soundless screams. But even the rabbit horde is too small, their numbers too few. The monstrosity howls as it swings its remaining arm at the square, red beast. Rabbits tumble within it.

I bark, thumping the monster with my paws. Why will it not wake and breathe water upon the tumbleweed monster? Why will it not slaughter the thing with its powerful spray?

The cat hisses, swatting her paw across my nose. She deliberately glances over her shoulder, pausing to lick a spot on one paw.

Deer pour into the tiny valley, eyes rolling white in panic. Cats from the town drive them into the weedy monster's embrace. The deer kick and buck, knocking tumbleweeds loose to scatter across the remains of my female's garden. The rabbits rise from the ground, devouring the loose tumbleweeds.

The creature howls, Little Timmy rolling in the eye socket as the beast falls. The rabbits swarm its carcass. The deer trample the vegetation. In moments, the thing lies in pieces too small for even rabbits to devour. Human bodies lie crumpled among the thorny branches.

I perch on the head of the water-breathing beast. My pack lies dead on the churned ground, among the servants of the slumbering beast. The deer flee into the hills. The rabbits fade into the brush. The cat flicks her tail as she saunters back to town and her sunny windowsill. I contemplate my failure to protect my family from this horror.

I raise my muzzle and howl my grief to the uncaring afternoon. I shall stand vigil at the site of their destruction until my beautiful coat is dusty and faded and my ribs show from starvation.

The man stirs, groaning. The woman sits, pushing strands of hair from her face. Little Timmy sprawls in the road, snoring. The servants of the beast stumble to their feet.

I bark in sheer joy. My pack lives! I have saved them from the abomination of tumbleweeds.

Bark! Bark!

Lassie! Go home, girl! And stop that infernal barking. My alpha male wipes his face, blood seeping from multiple scratches.

I bound from the beast to lick his face. He shoves me away.

All is right and proper. I have saved my people from danger. It is only my job.

Unlikely Heroes

T he kingdom of Merkady thanks you for your willingness to serve. The Humankin Queen, Musadoria the Mouse, ran a very hand-like paw through her whiskers on one side, smoothing them into submission. Her round ears twitched, twice. Some instincts couldn’t be tamed. But We fail to see why you ever thought a barely Altered crotalus atrox, such as yourself, would be an acceptable member of the guard. You can’t even wear a uniform. And how, pray tell, would you ever wield a sword? You have no arms. No, We have no place for a snake. You are entirely unsuitable. Go away.

The Queen’s mocking laugh, echoed by the other Humankin members of her court, landed like a physical blow on Cromacia’s scaled head as she slithered from the throne room. The stone of the hall outside was cold on her belly.

They’d misunderstood, like most Humankin did when Cromacia tried to speak with her forked tongue and fangs. She hadn’t wanted to join the Queen’s Guard, she was trying to warn them. Of course, they’d laughed her out of the throne room. She shouldn’t have expected anything else from that almost-human mouse and her sycophants. Humankin, those who walked on two legs and had hands instead of forepaws, mocked the Altereds who retained many of the characteristics of their animal ancestors. Humankin also spoke like humans, with human lips and tongues, with flat teeth meant for the omnivorous diet of their creators instead of the diets of their ancestors. Altereds spoke with severe handicaps imposed by their biologically imperfect vocal cords, tongues, and lips. If they had them. Cromacia’s tongue flicked out, tasted the air, then slid back into her mouth. She tasted the weasel and the rabbit guards who’d passed by earlier, as well as the mouse queen and her train of rodent courtiers.

The snake slithered through the door, then paused to sun herself on the warm stones just outside. The chill of the interior had slowed her to a bare crawl. Her scales glowed in a diamond pattern down her back with a