This month’s theme: 150, with Cows

By David M. Fitzpatrick

In June 2016, The Cud hit its 100th issue. For that celebratory event, I had two entries in Cud Flashes: ten stories of 100 words each, the whole mess readable in 100 seconds; and a flash novel that spanned 100 years. (You can see that at http://thecud.com/live/content/cud-flashes-pan-22)  To mark the 150th, here follow 15 stories of 150 words each—five stories each in three main spec-fic categories: sci-fi, fantasy, and horror. But because this is The Cud, all of the stories have to do with cows.

“In Space, No One Can Hear You Moo”
SF (Alien)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Aliens had come down and eviscerated one of Jim Evans’ cows again. Guts, bones, and flesh littered the field. Jim shoveled the gore into the trailer attached to his tractor. At least he could slop the hogs with it.

As usual, there wasn’t much blood. They always drained the cows first. Jim swore under his breath, wondering about what arcane reasons the aliens had for doing any of it.

*   *   *

The aliens orbited Earth, cloak on.

“I don’t get the appeal behind steak,” the first said. “It’s so much work to get to it.”

“The blood’s good,” said the second, taking a big drink. “Okay, long trip to Andromeda. We can stop at Alpha Centauri for dinner. Those tunneling rock worms are quick and easy—and delicious.”

They warped out of orbit. “I love a road trip,” said the first, “but you never know what the food stops will be like.”

“The Six Billion Dollar Cow”
SF (Artificial Intelligence)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

The cow was in a pen, immobilized and with dozens of wires connecting to the cybernetic implants. Atop its skull was a steel cap with flashing lights.

Dr. Kana launched software on the control computer. “We’re ready, Dr. Rakis,” he said to his research partner. “We’ve uncovered the secret to tapping into animal brains. We’ll finally be able to transform their intelligent thoughts into English words!”

“We’ll show the world that lower animals are smarter than they appear,” Rakis said.

Kana threw the switch. The cap lit up. The cow’s eyes widened and it turned to look at them.

“Good morning,” Rakis greeted it.

The computerized voice, calm and smooth, like a quiet narrator on a documentary, said, “Moo.”

“Anything else?” Kana said.

“Moo,” said the cow. “Moo. Moo. Moo.”

Rakis sighed. “This project might need some tweaking.”

“Moo,” it said.

“Or maybe they’re just not deep thinkers,” Kana said.

“To Boldly Low”
SF (Space Opera)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Kork and Spork beamed down to Bovinus VII, and were met by a herd of intelligent cows. The cows’ leader was black and white, wearing red lipstick and fake eyelashes.

“I’m Queen Mooryanna,” she said, breathy and flirty. “If the Confederation wants our world’s quadlithium crystals, then you must participate in a ritual dinner.”

“I’ve… READ… all the details,” Kork said, smiling seductively.

He unbuckled and moved behind her. When he touched her, her bovine eyes widened, and she kicked him in the gut with a defensive hoof.

Kork writhed on the ground. “Pervert!” Mooryanna cried. “What is WRONG with you?”

“I heard that I’d have to first… consummate… our relationship… in front of everyone,” he gasped.

“Incorrect, Captain,” Spork said. “The dinner begins with you and the queen sharing a ceremonial bowl of consommé in front of everyone.”

“I really have to… STOP skimming… and just READ,” Kork said.

“Hey Diddle Diddle”
SF (Teleportation)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

During the test runs, they had teleported inanimate objects, and they were always able to bring them back. Soon they graduated to animals: mice at first, later rabbits, and finally a stray cat.

They decided to send a cow with a GoPro camera all the way to the moon. They knew that if they teleported it there and then immediately back, the cow would survive.

But when they sent it, the computer hung up when an iTunes Terms of Service update popped up. They had to relaunch the software; it took five minutes.

“We’ve got to bring the cow back,” one of them said.

“It’s too late,” said another.

“Hey, cheap freezer!” said another. “Save the coordinates. During our summer party, we’ll teleport it back and amaze everyone!”

They forgot how hot the surface of the Moon could get in the sun. It really ruined their Fourth of July party.

“Back to the Fyoooooture”
SF (Time travel)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Professor Rubin Leigh couldn’t travel into the future, but his time camera could see it. He set it up in his back yard. Below his hilltop lawn was a forest; beyond that was the city.

He took a photo of one year in the future. The yard was the same, but the city had a new building. And there was a cow in the yard.

He began taking pictures months apart, and as he moved ahead he watched as the weather and seasons changed, and as the city grew ever larger. But every future image had the cow standing in the same spot, in the same position.

Across years and decades, the city became a metropolis and his yard became overgrown. The cow was always in the same spot. It defied all odds.

A deliveryman suddenly stepped into his yard.

“So where do you want this plastic cow?” he asked.

“Fine Young Cannibal”
Fantasy (Bizarro)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

“I can’t be penned up like this,” the old bull told his cow harem. “I need more than the pasture.”

“You’ve had a great life,” the cows said. “You were a stud in your younger days. Enjoy your retirement in the pasture!”

“Just can’t do it,” the bull said.

In the big city, the younger set loved him. They had everything pierced, so they really dug his big nose ring. And, he being hung like a bull, the girls lusted after him. He spent his nights partying, drinking, and screwing.

After one drug-addled night, he woke up in a strange van with horrifying things.

The young woman wearing nothing but her red cape was a matador.

Around him were dozens of empty milk cartons.

And, judging from the mustard on his nose, the twenty empty hamburger boxes were his.

“Oh, the bovinity!” he cried, and rushed back to his pasture.

“Cow Fairy Tale”
Fantasy (Contemporary)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Marietta was playing in the yard when the cow fairy appeared. She looked like a Holstein, but purple and pink instead of black and white. She walked on hind legs, held a wand in one hoof, wore a blue tutu, and flew with giant insect wings.

“Hello, Marietta!” she said.

“Strangers are dangerous,” Marietta said.

“Not me,” the cow fairy said. “I’m friendly, positive, and happy!”

Marietta shook her head. “A stranger molested me; no one is friendly. A stranger bought my daddy’s company and fired him; nothing is positive. A stranger killed my mother; no one is happy.”

“But I’m a magical being, bringing wonder and beauty to make your life better,” she said.

“Magic isn’t real, and no wonder or beauty will make my life better.”

The cow fairy sighed sadly. “I promise you that not everyone will disappoint you, Marietta.”

She fluttered down to sit with Marietta.

“Possession Is Nine-Tenths of the Cow”
Fantasy (Demon)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Jim Evans was working his field when it happened. One cow started snorting crazily; Jim thought it was choking, and ran to its aid. That’s when he saw glowing red eyes and black smoke spewing from big nostrils.

“Your mother’s in here with us, Evans,” the cow said. Its head spun 360 degrees.

Jim acted fast, crossing his arms before him. “The power of Christ compels you!”

The cow projectile-vomited all over him. “Your mother sews socks in Hell, Evans!”

“Shut up!” Jim cried.

“You killed your mother!” the cow demon screamed. “She’ll never forgive you!”

Jim grabbed his shotgun and put an end to it all.

“Stupid demon,” Jim said. “He should have possessed a person. They’re a lot harder for people to just shoot.”

Dinner was oddly spicy hot for months as Jim worked his way through the beef. At least it tasted better than his mother had.

“Public Relations”
Fantasy (Fable)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

“Boys, I was a whore and knew not who your father was.”

“Dreadful way to start a story,” said one of her twins.

“I drank my money away and couldn’t pay my creditors, so I lost my family’s land.”

“Even better,” said the other.

“I was pregnant and alone in the woods, where I found an abandoned farm with one cow. When I birthed you, I had no milk to give, but the cow did. She suckled you both straight from her udder. She is why you survived at all.”

“We need to rework this story if we’re to succeed at this city-founding thing,” the first son said. “I vote that we tell everyone that Mom was a vestal virgin, that she was impregnated by a god, and that we were suckled by a wolf instead of a cow.”

“You always had a flare for the dramatic, Romulus,” said Remus.

“Mighty Steed”
Fantasy (Sword & sorcery)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

When the dragon began terrorizing the tiny kingdom and carrying away cattle, Sir Jauncelot headed out with the magical Dracopalypse to confront the beast. Halfway there, his horse broke a leg. Desperate, Jauncelot commandeered a cow from a random field. The docile cow took the saddle quickly and soon they were off.

Jauncelot arrived at the mouth of the dragon’s cavernous lair and tied the cow to a tree. He brandished his weapon before him as the massive dragon exited the cave.

“You meet me with an amulet?” the dragon roared.

“It’s the Dracopalypse,” Jauncelot said. “It will kill you with but a word.”

The dragon considered this. “But my fiery breath will burn you alive as you do.”

“Then the next knight who has this amulet will defeat the next dragon!”

The dragon thought on this. “I have a compromise.”

Jauncelot and the dragon dined together on roast beef.

“Haunting Guilt”
Horror (Ghost)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

I’ve killed many cows. It’s a dirty business. Once they’re down and bleeding, you stay clear of the still-kicking legs while they drain. It’s incredibly gruesome. It always bothered me a bit. Never like this time.

Name the milking cows, but never the meat cows. But this one, she had the kindest eyes, and she always seemed to smile at me. I called her Millie, and it was all I could do to pull that trigger as she looked over the barrel at me. And when she bled and kicked, I cried.

I saw her a week later, just beyond the fence, staring at me. Her kind eyes were sad and confused, as if demanding to know why. And then she faded away.

Millie’s apparition returns often, haunting me. I can never quite reach her before she vanishes.

Until the day I die, I’ll never eat another bit of beef.

“Thursday the 12th”
Horror (Serial killer)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

“Something has been taking us,” I told the girls. “And every time one of us goes missing, Bob is the last person seen with her.”

Seven of us were discussing it outside.

“But Bob has been so kind to us,” Linda said.

As if on cue, Bob stepped outside and approached us.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said. “Gertie, come with me.”

She dutifully went, without question. The others continued gabbing, but I followed. I kept a safe distance as they wandered over the hill, out of sight of the others. I crept up, peered over…

I looked just in time, as Bob held the gun to Gertie’s head and fired. I watched, horrified, as Gertie went down.

Then Bob knelt and pulled out a knife—and slit her throat. There was so much blood.

I turned and fled, my hooves clopping on the grass. I had to tell the others…

“The Right Tool for the Job”
Horror (Vampire)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

After alien cow mutilations and a demon-possessed cow, now Jim Evans watched as a vampire sucked blood from the throat of one of his downed cows.

“Be happy it’s not you,” said the vampire. Blood soaked his maniacal face in the moonlight.

“I need my cows!” Jim cried. He raised his shotgun and fired. The vampire laughed off the buck shot.

“Those won’t hurt me!” he cried with red eyes. “Get used to this.”

Jim spent all the next day whittling on his porch. That night, he stood guard until the vampire arrived to take another cow, and he opened the stall door.

The bull burst out of the barn and charged, and the vampire saw it coming. He laughed, fangs bared. “I’ve been gored before!” he cried.

The bull gored him right through the heart, and the vampire gasped.

“Horn caps,” Jim called out. “Whittled ‘em myself outta pine.”

“Where, Wolf?”
Horror (Werewolf)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

I metamorphose with the full moon. My body grows fur. My hands and feet change. My face lengthens. I prowl the night, stalking the cow pastures. I hide in shadows, seeking my prey. I must feed. I cannot fight the instinctive drive.

I cross roads in the silvery moonlight and run through fields. The dark silhouette of the barn looms into sight, and in the field I see the hulking forms. I pounce on the first and sink my teeth into it. In the morning, the farmer will find a big chunk of that round hay bale missing.

I am a werecow.

It sucks. No werewolf, weredog, or even a werehousecat! I got lycanthropy from a damned herbivore. So I clomp around on these godforsaken hooves at night and eat hay! It is NOT glamorous, as my human digestive system well knows the morning after.

Werecow. Murphy’s Law freaking sucks.

“The Munching Dead”
Horror (Zombie)
By David M. Fitzpatrick

The cow didn’t know the zombie apocalypse happened. It was just munching hay in the hundred-acre field. There was a stream, and the grass grew tall, so despite the fences penning it in, the cow might have lived long without its former human caretakers.

But one zombified human got through the fence and lurched across the field, and when it bit into the cow’s flesh, the cow wailed in pain and fled. The zombie eventually staggered off, but the cow grew sick and soon collapsed in the field. It felt hot and miserable, but didn’t understand what was happening. Soon, it died there.

Hours later, it was resurrected. The primitive part of its brain came back to life, and the cow got to its feet and lurched away, mooing. In its brain was just one thought:

Cuuuuud.. chew more cuuuuuuud…

Any humans were safe, but no blade of grass was.

*   *   *

Happy 150th issue to The Cud, Evan Kanarakis, and the usual contributing Cudlings who make it all possible!

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Maine, USA. His many short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies around the world. He writes for a newspaper, writes fiction, edits anthologies, and teaches creative writing. Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.