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    Yantriel’s Privy
    Yantriel’s Privy
    Yantriel’s Privy
    Ebook30 pages21 minutes

    Yantriel’s Privy

    By Dale Hartley Emery

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Yantriel lives on a small pig farm, grieving the loss of his wife, trying to make a good life for his two daughters.

    Then, on a midsummer day, an endless mass of frogs begins to ooze out of Yantriel’s outhouse.

    Not just ordinary frogs. These frogs know things.

    Now the frogs set their sights on the only thing Yantriel ever cared about...

    His family.

    A creepy fantasy short story from Dale Hartley Emery.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDriscoll Brook Press
    Release dateMay 10, 2014
    ISBN9781632610065
    Yantriel’s Privy
    Author

    Dale Hartley Emery

    Dale Hartley Emery writes fiction in a variety of genres, including fantasy, crime fiction, and mainstream fiction. His stories include Inventory, Marmalade, and The Donation. Dale has worked as a failed shoemaker, reluctant dairy farmer, and ruthless ice cream man. For several years he monitored the nuclear test ban treaty, making sure those pesky commies didn't blow up the planet. (They didn't.) When he isn't writing, Dale advises software teams and leaders about how to play nice together. Colleagues in Dale's industry once created a special award for him for being reasonable. Dale lives in California with his wife.

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      Book preview

      Yantriel’s Privy - Dale Hartley Emery

      YANTRIEL’S PRIVY

      Dale Hartley Emery

      Driscoll Brook Press

      © 2014 Dale Hartley Emery

      Copyright Information

      Contents

      Title Page

      A Pig or a Daughter

      The Slop Bucket

      Unnerving Fidelity

      Chilly Winter

      About the Author

      Connect with the Author

      Books by the Author

      Copyright Information

      A Pig or a Daughter

      Garno strode through my front door, took one look at me, and said, This is the last free one, Yantriel. The next time will cost you either a pig or a daughter.

      He smiled in that oily way he has, all on one side, one eyebrow jutting up and one corner of his mouth pulling back. He tilted his head and the peak of his pointed blue silk hat flopped over one eyebrow. He ran his thumbs up the lapels of his gold-embroidered blue silk jacket and bounced on the balls of his feet. The blue of his jacket was about four shades lighter and three shades greener than the blue of his hat. And the gold embroidery was frayed and dingy.

      A pig or a daughter. That’s what he said last time. But when I called his bluff and offered him my eldest daughter—Clambeth, the smart one—he just shook his head and mumbled. And I wasn’t about to offer him a pig. He was bluffing about the daughter—I was pretty confident about that—but he might take me up on a pig. I couldn’t afford to give up a whole pig no matter how much I needed him.

      And I needed him. By now, the frogs crawling out of my outhouse covered most of the hill behind the barn.

      And not just any old frogs. These were smart frogs. You get enough of these smart frogs together in one place—the hill behind my barn, say—and they’ll outsmart your

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