Special Delivery
I won a weird little donkey/fairy creature in a raffle run by askanangel . Here's a story for it. Set in a vaguely modernish, magic-infused sort of world..
The PDF version of this story contains a character illustration made from a base by LockworkOrange
with additional work by askanangel .
This story was originally a submission to FurAffinity's Thursday Prompt writing group.
Special Delivery
By: DankeDonuts
https://dankedonuts.sofurry.com/
The parcel delivery broom came to a stop in front of 122 Cherry Lane. Carl stepped off of the brown conveyance, package in hand, a half-contained frown on his face. The Badger took a long look over the lawn between the white picket fence and the house. Looking for dead spots in the grass, piles of dung, any other clue of a pet that could come rushing at him from the back yard. If he had to deal with one more feral yapping at his heels today, he was going to make good on his threat to buy a ring of warding.
Seeing nothing more notable than a large and well-tended garden, he opened the gate. Eyes on the door of the split-level house, largely brick with alternating panels of red and white, he didn't notice the blur of black and grey flitting among the shadows of the daffodils. Or the whispery laughter.
He knocked a few times. Upon deciding the house empty, Carl set a notice of attempted delivery on the door handle. Anneke Briggs was just going to have to wait a bit longer for this box, or fetch it herself at their main office. Then started lopping his way back to the van.
Something didn't seem right, though. There was an odd chill up his spine. Walking a little slower, he came to understand what the wrongness was.
The daffodils were watching him. Their golden, trumpet-like centers focusing on as dozens of empty eye sockets. Not the roses or tulips or tiger lilies or anything else. Just the daffodils. He backed up several steps to be sure.
"Yeah, I'm seeing this," he frowned. "But I ain't believing it."
He reached for his cloudphone, intent on taking a video. "How's this work, again?" By the time he'd remembered how to set up the recording, the flowers had all turned away, facing towards the sidewalk once more. Or the great oak tree that held court on the opposite side of the lawn. The moment he put it away, they at him once more.
"Gotta be some kinda enchantment." He gave a wary look to the house. What kind of spells were the occupants getting up to when they were home? How involved was this package still in his paw? "What the hell is going on here?"
Stepping tentatively closer, he noticed that the daffodils were now straining to reach him, too. Upon close inspection of a singular specimen, he found that the five white petals surrounding the 'trumpet' were streaked - no, fractured? - with lines of red-orange. Were the lines glowing? He put on his reading glasses, but even then, he couldn't be sure.
The daffodil was trembling with effort. Which was enough for fear to finally overcome curiosity. He backed away -
The flower lunged at him! Tried to bite him!
"Bwaaah!" Carl leapt back! Only to find the rest of the daffodils pulling themselves up from the dirt! Moving forward on him! Panicked, he threw the box at the yellow-white-terrors and ran!
But some of them ran ahead, wielding rocks and sticks. Cutting him off from the gate and escape into the van.
Others lurched jerkily towards the porch, denying him a door to break down.
The rest came right for him! The chrysanthemums! The pansies! The everything!
"What the frrrrrraaaaak!" Wide-eyed Carl bolted towards the only obvious retreat left to him. The oak tree! Not being built for climbing, the Badger made a clumsy show of getting up onto the first branch. But he made it, dammit! Breathing rapidly, he could do nothing but watch as the villainous bouquet encircled his tree. Long, thin, leaves curled like fists. Trumpets chomping open and closed like gnashing jaws.
Then, bed by bed, the other flowers pulled themselves loose and joined the mob. Some of them fumbling around for woodchips to throw. For an icy moment, Carl couldn't breathe at all.
In that moment, he could hear the laughter. A high-pitched braying. But he couldn't see where it was coming from! Nor hear anything else above the eerie din of grass being trampled by ambulatory roots or bits of wood striking bark. "I hate this job!"
. . .
The terrified Badger was still up there, fifteen minutes later, when the home's owner floated down to the property, atop a baby blue carpet. The sight of him -- and the flowers climbing up each other to get to him -- was enough to keep her from even attempting to enter the house. From several dozen feet up, the Caracal scanned all she could of the lawn and surrounding grounds.
She found it hiding within a bush next to what used to be her daisy bed. A tiny little thing, Donkey-shaped but no donkey. Donkeys didn't come four inches tall, or hover fairy-like on hummingbird-fast wings. So small and dark and well hidden among her prize-winning (and ruined!) flowerbed that might not have seen it at all, if not for the sparks of red-orange energy dancing away from its glowing antennae as it shook with hysterical giggles.
Ananke Briggs sighed deeply, pinching her nose between two claws. "Great. This is all I need." Without getting out of her car, she picked up her cloudphone and tapped a pre-recorded number.
"Hello, Manalife Service? I've got 'bugs' again."