Unidentified Funny Objects 6, page 7
Of course they eat steak. Who doesn't like steak? I mean, obviously I started them on offal from the butcher counter but they find red meat preferable to viscera. The fresher the better, in fact. Can't say I blame them.
Well, no one asked you to come over here anyway, with or without your toddlers. I never said, "Oh hey, my backyard is fun and safe for all! Bring the whole family!"
Look, I don't need any lawsuits. Forget we talked.
OMG isn't anyone going to take this thing away? My Venus flytraps are licking it like it's covered in something tasty. If this thing poisons them I'm going to strangle somebody.
No, I don't know if it has "psychick emasculations." I'm a horticulturist, not a . . . whatever that is. You are welcome to come look for yourself.
No, I won't take a check.
Ugh. I'm taking a break from email for 20 minutes. My plants aren't interested in their perfectly normal and not at all weird dinner menu, which is stressing me out. Maybe they want some Worcestershire . . . anyway, you're next on the list, so LMK if you want a genuine real alien spaceship, no questions asked, no stupid questions answered.
NO I HAVEN'T GONE INSIDE TO SEE IF THERE ARE ANY LIVE ALIENS IN IT! YOU PEOPLE MUST THINK I'M AN IDIOT!
Of course it's a spaceship!!!!! It is a freaky looking flying saucer that makes my phone go crazy!!! Why else would I have a missing gap of 2 hours from my memory last night!!!!
No, I DON'T think anything in particular happened in those 2 hours, like I went out at 1:11 am and found 3 dead Venus flytraps and 4 dead aliens, and while the last alien lay dying on the ground we had a touching heart to heart where they showed me how to pilot the ship back to their home planet with my gigantic Venus flytraps to save their people from being eaten by giant alien flies, and I repressed that memory because I couldn't yet deal with it!!!
I mean, you must think I'm a moron, I mean, surely those five dead aliens would still be strewn around my greenhouse instead of twelve snappy, happy Venus flytraps with no interest in their steak dinner—oh wait. let me just check on something. brb.
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Tina Connolly is the author of the Ironskin trilogy from Tor, and the lighthearted Seriously Wicked series from Tor Teen. Her novels have been finalists for the Nebula and the Norton. Her stories have appeared all over (including in UFO3 and UFO4) and her collection On the Eyeball Floor and Other Stories is available from Fairwood Press. She is one of the co-hosts of Escape Pod, and runs the Parsec-winning flash fiction podcast Toasted Cake. Find her at tinaconnolly.com.
Tyler the Snot Elemental Scours the Newspaper, Searching for Change
Zach Shephard
Guarding a largely forgotten lighthouse is not exciting work, even for a snot elemental. At first I was a vigilant sentry, always keeping an optoplasmic orb out for trespassers, but no one ever came. When I got bored, I tried whale-watching. When the local humpbacks got eaten by a kraken, I tried kraken-watching. When the kraken left a note at the lighthouse calling me a pervert, I tried bird-watching. Birds are boring.
I was not happy with life.
My existence didn't feel as meaningful as I knew it should, but I wasn't sure why. So I went to Madame Gozlag's Daycare and Fortune Tellery for advice. Madame Gozlag was an orc who read dirty diapers the way others might read tea leaves or glass shards. I asked her what was wrong with my life.
She pulled a diaper off a baby troll, releasing green fumes into the rafters above. A bat squeaked in the darkness and fell to the floor, dead.
"Hoo-boy," Madame Gozlag said, holding the diaper at arm's length and pinching her nose. "It's time for a change."
She was right.
I thanked her and left a handsome tip. As I slithered away she insisted she hadn't done anything, but I think she was just being modest.
The next morning I woke up ready to make a change. I left my apartment feeling like a new mound of phlegm.
I stopped by my boss's office on my way to the lighthouse. Kabra the Goat-Slurper sat at her desk, filling out paperwork and stirring a cauldron with her tail. I couldn't tell what she was cooking, but it was red and chunky and occasionally let out a pained bleat. Probably spaghetti.
"Excuse me," I said.
My spiral-horned supervisor looked up. "Tyler!" she said, still scribbling and stirring. "What can I do for you?"
"I'd like a change."
"Good thinking. I've got a satyr wizard who can turn you pink as a petunia. You'll blend right in with that fungus outside the lighthouse." She opened a day-planner. "How's Tuesday morning sound?"
I told her I didn't want to be pink. Also, on Tuesday mornings I played my bagpipes.
"Okay," she said. "Then what kind of change did you have in mind?"
"I'd like a new job."
Kabra stopped working, which I'd never seen her do before. We stared at each other in silence. The cauldron let out one last, strained bleat.
"I think your spaghetti's done."
"We need you at the lighthouse," she said. "You're a valuable part of the team."
I tried to respond but couldn't get a sneeze in edgewise. Kabra went into a long pep-talk, saying the lighthouse was an important responsibility that only a snot elemental of my viscosity could handle. At the end of the speech she tried patting me on the head, but squished my left aural sac instead. I didn't say anything because it wasn't really her fault. Not many schools teach snot elemental anatomy anymore.
I spent the rest of the day thinking about how I might improve my life. Maybe my job wasn't the problem. Maybe there were other ways to make myself a better booger.
The next morning I stopped at a newsstand and bought a paper, hoping the advertisements could guide me in my quest. I found my first opportunity on page twelve.
A local gym was offering free trial memberships for a limited time. It must have been a really special deal because they even put a small star after the word "free."
At the gym all I had to do to get started was provide my signature and three major credit cards. The succubus running the counter gave me a free* sweatband as a welcome gift. The band stretched over my head-dollop and constricted back to its original shape, making me feel thinner already.
In high school I'd been in much better condition, thanks to four years of track and field. I'd never won a race because apparently you actually have to hurdle the hurdles, but I always gave it my best and slithered under them as fast as I could. It was time to feel like an athlete again.
I went to a treadmill and asked the nice succubus to start it for me. She smiled, pressed a button and walked away.
I got sucked into the belt and spent the next twenty minutes riding the loop.
A flattened snot elemental looks a lot like a sweat stain, which is why no one found me until a minotaur got on the treadmill and slipped, hurting her calf. When I finally got free I apologized to the calf, even though it wasn't my fault the little fellow had been standing so close in the first place. He threw a tantrum, stomping around with a moue on his face until his embarrassed mother picked him up and left.
I thanked the succubus and slithered away. On the sidewalk the minotaur berated her calf, telling him the gym was her one place of peace and now he'd ruined that, too. If I'd been in her type of physical condition I wouldn't have complained, but it sounded like the treadmill incident was not her first annoyance of the day. She told him that after dinner he was going straight to bed with no cud.
I wouldn't let the gym experience deter me. Just because I was an out-of-shape snot-glob didn't mean I couldn't be happy. I checked the newspaper again.
A classified ad presented a good dating opportunity. USLFHSE: Unmarried Siren Looking For Handsome Snot Elemental. I answered the ad with a brief email and went to the Harborview address that evening.
My date was waiting at a restaurant table by the water. She looked less like a siren and more like a zombie-squid wearing a tarnished crown. Also, she was a he.
"Tyler?" the small squid asked, as I slithered up.
"Otto?"
Otto was an old bowling buddy of mine. I'd never been good at the game because it's hard to grip anything when you're slimy and amorphous. Otto had the opposite problem: his suction cups would stick to the ball after the throw, pulling him down the lane with the sound of a flat tire rolling along the highway. He usually came to a stop about halfway to the pins, then crawled back for some nachos. The alley served great nachos.
I climbed into the empty chair across from Otto. As it turns out, USLFHSE actually stood for Undead Squid-Lord From Harborview Seeking Escape. Common mistake.
"Escape from what?" I asked.
"My wife."
"I thought you loved Loretta."
"I do! But I miss my free time. Before marriage I was my own squid. I could do whatever I wanted. Now, it seems like the calendar is already full whenever I want to ink something in. I miss bowling."
It was true that we hadn't been to the alley in months. The memories gave me a craving for nachos, but there weren't any on the menu so I ordered calamari instead. Otto was quiet the rest of the night and I don't know why.
The next morning I was sad. I'd spent a whole day looking for change and nothing good had come of it. Maybe I needed to try focusing on my professional life again. I opened the newspaper and searched the employment ads.
A group called Expeditions Incorporated was putting together a cave-exploration team in the northern hills. I didn't have any experience spelunking, but decided the time I'd spent gestating inside the dark cavern of a cyclops's nose might give me an edge over the competition.
I slithered into the building's waiting room and took a chair. Sitting beside me was a bark-skinned tree-nymph with one arm missing. I tried not to stare at her stump.
"Here for the cave job?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Be careful what you wish for. Not all the trips are smooth operations." She held up the remainder of her arm.
"You lost that in the caves?"
"Lost it on the journey over. I didn't get along with the expedition's cook, and she ended our argument the hard way."
"Axe?"
"Beak. She was a seven-foot woodpecker goddess."
"Oh. So why are you back here?"
She sighed. "Exploring is just where my talents lie. Ever since I was a sapling I wanted to be an artist, but I was never good enough to pay the bills. I kept thinking I'd get better some day, but that dream died along with my hand."
She looked away, an amber tear dripping from her eye. I reached out to comfort her, but decided she might not be ready for the soothing touch of a stranger's snot.
"I'm sorry about your art," I said.
"It's fine. Just don't end up like me. No sense wasting your life on a stupid dream."
I looked at the tree-woman's silvery hair and wondered just how much time she'd spent pursuing her passion. I decided it would be rude to ask her age, and even more rude to cut her in half to check.
The office administrator called my name. I said goodbye to the tree-nymph and slithered through the door.
The horned figure behind the desk scribbled away at some paperwork. While tending to that, she also stirred a bubbling cauldron with her tail.
"Kabra?"
"Tyler? What're you doing here?"
I'd never realized Kabra the Goat-Slurper worked in the private sector, but I supposed there was no reason she couldn't have multiple careers. I climbed the chair across the desk. "I'm here for the job."
"You already have a job."
"I want something more fulfilling. Like what you have."
Kabra sighed, dropping her face into her hands.
"My life's not as great as you think," she said. "No matter how hard I work, it's never good enough."
"I think you're good."
"Thanks, but unless you're my parents, that doesn't help."
She seemed upset, so I didn't point out I couldn't possibly be her parents. We weren't even in the same genus.
Kabra explained she'd come from a long line of successful demonkin, all of whom had made significant contributions to monster society. She started crying partway through, which was especially awkward because she didn't seem to notice her hellfire tears had ignited a corner of the desk. I casually leaned over and smothered the flames with some of my snot rolls, continuing to nod like a good listener.
When Kabra finally ran out of steam I told her she was doing important work, whether she knew it or not.
She sniffled. "How so?"
"You help people with their careers. It may not be the life you want, but you're giving others a chance at happiness. That's the next best thing."
Kabra ran a tissue over her nose. "You really think helping people is that important?"
"I do."
"Thanks. You're a good friend, Tyler."
"Sometimes, that's all you need."
The moment I said it, an idea sparked.
"Ready to talk about the job now?" Kabra asked, composing herself.
"No, thank you. I think I've found something better."
I slopped out of the chair and headed to the newspaper office, ready to place an ad.
I was busy refilling the snack bowls in the lighthouse when I heard a knock at the open door.
"Kabra," I said. "Come in."
The Goat-Slurper stood in the doorway, smiling shyly. In her clawed hands was a lidded cauldron the size of a laundry basket. She set the bleating batch of spaghetti near the food table.
"Do you think anyone's going to come?" she asked.
"They already have. The others are down by the water. Let's head that way."
We went to the sandy strip of beach, where a tree-nymph, undead squid-lord and minotaur-mother sat on a blanket, eating nachos and playing cards. The tree-nymph had painted the cards herself, and we all agreed they were very good for someone with only one arm and a minor case of termites.
I introduced Kabra to the others and we joined the game. Everyone was happy: the minotaur-mom, who'd been so frustrated with her calf, had hired a babysitter to gain some free time; Otto the squid-lord, whose days had often been scheduled by his wife, was available now that Loretta had taken a part-time job watching someone's child. It was a nice coincidence that they could both attend the party. I wondered if Loretta and the minotaur's babysitter knew each other.
Kabra and I sat down for the next hand of cards. As Otto dealt, something huge erupted from the water, blotting out the sun. It waved its many tentacles and let out a long, gurgling roar.
"Hi," I said.
The roar cut off. The tentacles froze.
"I . . . hello," said the kraken, water dripping from its suction cups. "I saw an ad in the paper. Is this the support group?"
"It is."
"Can anyone join?"
"Anyone who needs a friend," I said, smiling.
The kraken scooted closer, careful not to splash our blanket. We dealt it into the game. It examined its cards.
"Got any sevens?" it asked.
"Go fish."
We spent the rest of the day playing cards and enjoying each other's company. I may not have had a perfect body, an exciting job, or a loving wife, but as long as I had friends who needed me, life wouldn't be so bad.
Zach Shephard's fiction has appeared in places like Fantasy & Science Fiction, Galaxy's Edge and Intergalactic Medicine Show. He spends a lot of time taking and teaching kickboxing classes at his local gym, mostly because he spends even more time eating foods he probably shouldn't. For a full list of his published stories, check out zachshephard.com.
Agent of Chaos
Jack Campbell
Were this one of her stories, Suzanne reflected, she would be writing about rain falling in what seemed to be solid sheets, flung by a cold wind from the north which was not quite icy enough to numb exposed skin but plenty chilly enough to leave a body shivering. The battered leather armor covering her upper body didn't seem any better at protecting her from rain than it could against weapons, though it did trap a fair amount of frigid water between the leather and her shirt. Her stomach growled occasional complaints about the lack of food, her throat had the icky scratchy feeling that portended a nasty cold, her sword, Guardian, kept banging against her leg, and whenever she tried to shift in the saddle the pen in her pocket dug into her thigh. It could have been worse, Suzanne consoled herself. At least all of those other things helped distract her from the pain in her butt after riding her horse, Inconstant, for a day and a night across the bandit-infested plains outside the city and into the wild mountains that lay to the east.
Not that she had had any desire to ride out of the city and across the plains and into the mountains. But, as Suzanne had learned, a writer had to follow her muse. Whether she wanted to or not.
As if summoned by the thought, her muse, Calliope, popped into existence, floating in front of Suzanne at eye level, drifting at a pace that kept her ahead of Suzanne's horse as he slogged through the storm. Suzanne, feeling the unwelcome tug inside that pulled her after the muse, gritted her teeth.
Her muse, untouched by the storm, was smiling.
"The goddess Inspiration has been kind to us!" Calliope announced. "You're getting some wonderful experiences to help with your writing. Just think of how colorful your descriptions of travelers suffering miseries in storms will become."
Suzanne clenched her teeth tighter, her mind filled with colorful thoughts about what she would like to do to her muse.
"It's a pity we haven't encountered any more bandits," Calliope sighed. "Adventure presents many opportunities for plot devices and exciting prose. Perhaps we'll have better luck after the sun rises. Unfortunately, in this weather you are almost invisible to anything that might want to try to kill you!"
