This was my first MM story for this year, but it ended up being too long to qualify.
“Where’s home, Mama?”
The little goat looked out the window. Out to the alfalfa field. Her hair was straw, and her tail was straw, and her legs wobbled sometimes, like young cornstalks.
“This is home, silly.” Her mother’s hair was straw, and her tail was straw, but her legs did not wobble. They were like corn grown full and strong. Her mother always wore a red bandana. But her mouth was sad sometimes.
The little goat shook her head. “That’s not what the crows say. The crows say home is somewhere else. The crows say home is a place where your mouth never looks sad.”
“Don’t ever listen to the crows.” Her mother’s mouth was not happy when she said this, but it was not sad either. It was something else.
That night, the crows cawed to the little goat in her sleep. She saw their black wings beat out the sun, and beneath them, a trail that led through the woods. It was littered with straw.
“Go home,” they screeched. “Follow the straw.”
When the little goat woke up, it was morning. A warm breeze met her through the open window. The house was quiet.
“Mama?” She tiptoed into the kitchen.
There was no pancake batter sizzling in the skillet for breakfast, or the candy-sweet smell of maple syrup. The house was empty. The front screen door was open, banging softly against its frame, the tapping sounding almost like words. Almost.
Fol-low-the-straw.
The crows sat on the fence near the alfalfa field, watching.
The little goat’s legs wobbled sometimes, like young cornstalks. They were wobbling now. She stepped outside and saw there was straw on the ground. It led through the woods at the edge of the field. The crows were silent, but the little goat could still hear them screeching.
Follow the straw.
The little goat walked past the field and into the woods. She wondered where her mother had gone. She wondered if her mother had followed the straw too.
“Mama?” She called through the woods.
But no matter how many times she called, or how loud she yelled, her mother didn’t answer. No one did. There were only the crows in the sky above. Circling like other things. Things that were not crows.
When the woods ended, so did the straw.
The little goat stood upon a wide grassy field, as far as her eye could see. It was dotted with hay bales. As she wandered through this field, she noticed that some of the bales were thick and golden. They were not bundles of hay at all.
They were bundles of straw.
“Mama!” The little goat yelled.
The bales of straw became smaller and smaller as she went on. After a while, they began to look lumpy and misshapen.
“Mama?” The little goat’s voice wobbled now, like her legs.
The crows, the things that were not crows, circled overhead.
The little goat saw something flapping gently in the wind. As she got closer, she realized it was her mother’s bandana, stuck in a bale of straw. She tried to pull it out, but it wouldn’t budge.
Then the straw rustled. And something pulled back.
The little goat screamed.
The crows screamed too.
But they did not sound like crows.
The little goat ran and ran, but she could not find the woods. There was only the field. As far as her little eye could see. The crows followed her.
“Why are you running?” they screeched.
But they were not really screeching, the things that were not crows.
A goatlings short story I wrote for Monster Masquerade last year.
“There are owls in my pantry,” the little goat said. She was brown and cinnamon dusted. Cinnamon dusted and brown.
“Nonsense. There are no such things as owls.”
“But there are,” the little goat insisted. She rubbed her hooves together nervously. She knew there were owls in her pantry. She was sure of it.
“How do you know?”
“What?” The little goat looked up.
“How do you know there are owls in your pantry?”
“I know because every night,” she paused and swallowed, “I hear loud cooing inside the pantry.”
“Well, that could be anything.”
“It is the owls,” the little goat said. She was certain of it. She was brown and cinnamon dusted. Cinnamon dusted and brown.
“Have you ever looked inside the pantry?”
“No!” The little goat gasped, eyes wide with fear. “There are owls in there! They would surely eat me if I opened the pantry.”
“This is nonsense, little goat. Go home and go to bed. The cooing is all in your imagination. There are no owls in your pantry.”
The little goat did not protest, but she still believed that there were owls in her pantry. She was sure of it.
“She was brown and cinnamon dusted. Cinnamon dusted and brown.”
“What did you say?” The little goat turned around. “I could not hear you.”
“Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all.”
When the little goat got home, she tiptoed past the kitchen. She did not like to look at the pantry at night. She jumped at a very soft crunching sound beneath her hoof, and lifted it to see that the floor was covered in cinnamon.
“Oh dear,” the little goat sighed. “These owls in the pantry are ruining my life. I am even afraid of cinnamon now.”
She did not go to bed right away though. A curiosity seized her, and from the corner of her little eye, she saw that the trail of cinnamon led into the kitchen. She followed it to where it stopped. She followed it to the door of the pantry.
“This is nonsense!” The little goat huffed. “I cannot be afraid of my own pantry. There are no such things as owls, and I will prove it!”
And with a swell of bravery she did not know she had (though she did squeeze her eyes shut), the little goat threw open the pantry door. After a moment, when she realized no owls had eaten her, she opened her eyes. The pantry was empty.
Its shelves were brown and cinnamon dusted. Cinnamon dusted and brown.
“It has been far too long since I’ve last cleaned this pantry,” the little goat blushed. How could she have ever thought that there were owls in her pantry?
Then, she noticed a small hole. In the back of the cupboard. In the back of the pantry.
“How did that get there?” she wondered. She leaned closer to look inside it.
For a long time, there was only silence. And then she heard a noise. It was very soft at first. As soft as the cinnamon beneath her hooves. But there was no mistaking it. It was the sound of cooing. It was the sound of owls.
The little goat reared back in a panic, but suddenly the pantry door slammed shut and she could not open it.
The cooing grew louder.
And then she saw it. In the dark of the pantry. There were no words for what she saw. And when she screamed, no sound came forth. There were no owls in the pantry. There were never any owls in the pantry. But she was no longer brown and cinnamon dusted.
Honestly though. I’m so pleased that this entry won for The Lovers. It’s my favourite tarot card and very near to my heart, and this AD has beautiful iconography. The fact that it was designed by two artists just brings the concept full circle and I adore it.
Newest batch of gote babs. Heartsease is still waiting on their AD (what has to be one of my absolute favourites on the site), and I couldn’t be more impatient hah ;n;
A million thanks to user Iceycakes for the birthday gifts. I was not expecting it at all, and it honestly made my day ; 7; And now my little darling Charivari is finally bormed.
Jabberjaw goat I drew for @sharkiesgoatlings for the Sweetheart event. Sweetest shark angel that she is. There were a few things I wanted to draw for other users that I never got around to in time, but I might still try to start/finish them anyway ;o;
Finally throwing my Magician AD and HA set up here (separated the blinders and the headpiece into two items). This last month’s contest was the first I’ve ever won, so I’m still incredibly happy. The Magician is also a very special card to me.
@rooperdoop is a precious peach and drew our Sweet Pea and Snowdrop goats together to wish me luck for an interview (spoiler alert: did not get). But it made my night and everything a thousand times better ♡
