Here live my short stories. They may be literary fiction; they may be women’s fiction.

The Oracle of Nuttown

Come along on a "hero's journey" in this animated parody of over a dozen classic 70s movies like The Godfather, Jaws, and Apocalypse Now, and (even more classic) Greek mythology. Fractured Fairytales meets Coppola, Spielberg and Pakula! In the midst of a mob war, oracle SkyCat, cable installer Jeff the Squirrel, and Nuttown Post reporter Scoop the Rabbit go upriver to battle the terrible Chimera. Along the way, they seek the help of Squint the Fox (the only boat owner in Nuttown), and the gods of Mt. Olympus.

My mysteries are somewhere in between Robert Parker and Agatha Christie. They feature characters I’d like to hang around with on a regular basis, and locations I find interesting for at least one visit. Any violence happens off the page and is not gruesomely described.

This is the first chapter in an ongoing series about a fox named Verlyn Klinkenfloof. Note the influence of Beatrix Potter, Just So Stories, and Conan O’Brien.

The Escapades of Verlyn the fox

Story 1

Meet Verlyn!

This is the story of a fox named Verlyn Klinkenfloof who lives on Farmer Beck’s Hilltop Farm.

Now don’t confuse Verlyn the fox with any other Verlyns. Other Verlyns have much better credit ratings. Truth be told, this Verlyn can be a little free and easy with an online shopping cart.

Verlyn Klinkenfloof–the fox–lives in a hillock betwixt the barn and the crick. He likes it because it’s handy.

The one drawback to Verlyn’s hillock home is the raccoon that lives in the barn’s hayloft.

The raccoon in the barn scales the ladder up to the hayloft and peers out the window from the top rung. It unnerves Verlyn to look up at the bright blue sky and then see the raccoon’s haunted face staring down at him.

Verlyn often shakes an elegant fist at the window. “Stop staring at me you masked bastard!” he will say.

Verlyn dislikes raccoons in general because of the way they hunch their backs when they skitter across the yard. It creeps him out.

The name of the raccoon in the barn is ‘Bruce’. Verlyn dislikes that name. It reminds him of prunes.

The Escapades of Verlyn the Fox

Story 2 - Stave 1

The New Hat

One bright sunny day, Verlyn Klinkenfloof was admiring his fine clothes in a mirror. He ran an elegant paw down the splendid sapphire lapel of his handsome wool suit coat. “What a handsome suit coat!” he exclaimed. (Truth be told, Verlyn can be a bit of a dandy.)

The soft woven wool made the coat warm in winter and water repellent. It was a good three-season suit coat. Verlyn did feel awkward, however, around Eustace the Ram during shearing season.

Verlyn focused his attention on his new forest green felt hat. It arrived in the post just that morning. He flipped up the brim and gazed at his handsome reflection.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Verlyn Klinkenfloof was a great admirer of the Marx Brothers; but, Signor Ravelli was not the effect he was going for.

“What this hat needs is a feather!” said Verlyn. “Now where can I obtain an appropriate feather?”

“Bertie the Pheasant!” chirped Verlyn. “I’ll just paddy paw over to the Old Pirate Tree at the gateway to the fields and visit my good friend Bertie.”

As Verlyn scampered along on his way to the Old Pirate Tree at the gateway to the fields, his attention was diverted by a raucous screech. “That’ll be Bertie!” said Verlyn. He clapped his elegant paws together with glee.

“Bertie, my man,” called out Verlyn to the pheasant. “Just the fellow I was hoping to see.”

“Whaddaya want?” snorted Bertie. (Truth be told, Bertie is a bit of a crank.)

Verlyn was a tad bit wounded by Bertie’s tone. He felt very small.

“Oh, Bertie,” said Verlyn. “What a thing to say to your old friend.” He raised his elegant chin and held his elegant head in a most noble pose. “As a matter of fact, I want a feather for my new felt hat.”

Bertie lowered a cold hard eyebrow and raised his own triumphant chin. He folded his wingtips together and huffed a satisfied sigh.

“This is the point in the story,” said Verlyn, “where I would normally do something clever and trick you into giving me a feather–me being a fox and all–but, in all candor, I must admit, I’m not in the mood.”

“I do appreciate your candor,” said Bertie. “Come on back to the tree. Maybe there’s one lying about that fell off during a wind gust.”

And so, Verlyn and Bertie set off to Bertie’s hollow in the Old Pirate Tree at the gateway to the fields. Verlyn clapped his elegant black paws and swished his luxurious tail.

“Say, Bertie,” said Verlyn, “do you still smoke? I’ve got a sweet pouch of MacManaman’s Extra Smooth Blend on me and I’d love to share it.”

Bertie turned his head back and tossed Verlyn an appreciative smile. “Why, that’ll go grand with that last half bottle of Buzzmills I’ve been saving for just the right occasion.”

So, Bertie and Verlyn capered off to Bertie’s hollow in the Old Pirate Tree at the gateway to the fields and got drunk before noon.

(Now, it isn’t usual for a pheasant and a fox to be friends, but Verlyn long ago took an oath never to eat Bertie. That’s a story for another day.)

The Escapades of Verlyn the Fox

Story 2 - Stave 2

The Feather

Feather in hand, Verlyn marched back to his foxhole in the hillock betwixt the barn and the crick.

“This is just the dash of elan my new hat requires!” affirmed Verlyn. He danced a little jig.

A dreadful idea stopped Verlyn mid-clop.

“Fleas!!! What if my splendid new feather has fleas?!?” (Verlyn had little confidence in Ol’ Bertie’s housekeeping and grooming skills.)

“I know!”said Verlyn. I’ll freeze it! That’ll kill any ol’ fleas.” He skipped up to the Big House and let himself in with his key. (How he came by that key is a story for another day.)

Verlyn helped himself to a two-gallon re-sealable storage bag and popped the feather inside it. He slid the bag into Farmer Beck’s deep freeze.

He left a note on it so Farmer Beck would know how it got there.

Verlyn then had the uneasy feeling that if the feather had fleas, he himself might have fleas. He’d spent more than enough time in Ol’ Bertie’s hollow to catch one or two.

What with the MacManaman’s and the Buzzmills, he might not have noticed if there’d been other visitors–visitors tinier than himself.

Verlyn trod to the dry silty part of the lane. He rolled and rolled in the fine dirt. He raised quite a cloud of sandy powder, I must say.

“This should be sufficient to suffocate the fleas,” mused Verlyn, “but what if the dirt falls off before the dreadful mites die? My fur is so silky sleek, they might slip right away and come back to bother me another fretful day. I must seal the rascals in!”

Verlyn shooshed slowly, as if on skis, so as not to disturb the possible fleas. He shooshed all the way down to the crick, to the muddy part, just below where the wild Sweet William grows.

Verlyn scooped clods of mud with his elegant black paws and covered his once brilliant vermillion coat with the clay of the crick.

“Ha! Ha!” chirped Verlyn. “That’ll take are of those nasty ol’ fleas. Too bad about my lovely fur though. I must look a fright!”

A lightbulb appeared above Verlyn’s muddy noggin. “That hideous ol’ raccoon Bruce won’t know what to make of me! I’ll pretend I’m the Scary Crick Monster and see what he does.” It was a way to pass the day. Verlyn didn’t have a TV.

The Escapades of Verlyn the Fox

Story 2 - Stave 3

The Mud

Verlyn trudged back up to the barn. It was slow going with the mud caked all over him.

Verlyn stood beneath the hayloft window of the barn. Indeed, there was Bruce, peering out like a glassy-eyed gassy goblin.

Verlyn let out the scariest, eeriest sound he could summon.

Bruce looked down at the creature making the strange noise. “Why is that hillock singing?” he wondered.

Bruce lowered his eyeballs and squinted at the odious clump of mud.

Verlyn was about to let loose with another spine-tingling wail, when he realized the mud had dried up and he was quite stuck in his pose.

“Snert!” “Gluck!” “Erp!” was all he could manage to say.

Bruce studied the motionless pile. “Oh! It’s Verlyn!”

“How I hate him.”

“Even his name–so tinny.”

The Escapades of Verlyn the Fox

Story 2 - Stave 4

The Pigeon

Bruce snickered and munched on apples as he watched Verlyn fume and croak in his dry mud tomb.

Now, Margot Finola Fidelma, the head barn pigeon, spotted Bruce snickering from across the hayloft. She disliked Bruce because of his bogarting the prime perch in the hayloft.

“What’s that masked bastard snickering about?” she wondered. She noted the angle of his gaze, then flitted outside the barn for a look-see.

“Why, that barbarous brute is laughing at a statue. When did Farmer Beck get a statue?”

Now, Margot Finola Fidelma, being a pigeon, had no choice but to investigate the statue. She alit on Verlyn’s crusty grey noggin.

The sight of Margo Finola Fidelma landing on Verlyn’s head sent Bruce into paroxysms of laughter. Verlyn could see the raccoon’s glee and he didn’t like it one bit.

Verlyn became so angry, steam rose from the top of his head.

When Bruce saw the steam, he laughed so hard he rolled off his perch.

“The perch is mine!” cried Margot Finola Fidelma.

As Margot Finola Fidelma’s wings lifted her up and away from Verlyn’s muddy pate, the steam from his anger softened the clay, causing a clump of it to fall away. Verlyn exclaimed, “Margot Finola Fidelma! It’s me, Verlyn! I’m trapped in this clay!”

Margot Finola Fidelma twisted round her iridescent head and spied poor Verlyn. “He must be in quite a sticky wicket to call attention to his embarrassing state,” thought the pigeon, “for Verlyn is a creature of immense pride.”

“I’ll fetch Eustace the Ram back to help you,” called the pigeon. “But first I must get medical help for Bruce. Though I hate the bastard, my moral compass compels me to bring him aid.”

“Eustace . . .” muttered Verlyn.

Don’t ask. Just go with it.

Redland