Love Bytes is delighted to give a warm welcome to author Amara Lynn who is joining us today to share an exclusive excerpt of her new release: “Moth Woods”.
Amara also brought a wonderful giveaway to our readers.
A lonely mothman…
The little piece of almost heaven I carved out for myself ain’t bad. I’ve got my truffle pig, Rampy, and my farm, and my work. It ain’t much, but it’s honest work, and a peaceful existence.
There ain’t nothin’ else I really need. But every year when the moth mating call comes along, I’m reminded of how lonely my life can be.
Then I meet Ollie, and a smidgen of somethin’ is growin’ like a breeze between us. I ain’t nothin’ special, though. Ollie cain’t possibly want me.
After all, I ain’t normal. Ollie’s a little strange, but their weird cain’t possibly match mine.
A shy flatwoods monster…
I finally return to life in West Virginia, where my kind first took root. Nothing’s worked out for me, and I’m ready for something less stressful and more peaceful.
I don’t expect to meet Glen, the sweet guy at the farmer’s market selling mouthwatering ramps, my favorite West Virginia specialty. I keep coming back for more, but Glen’s kind eyes and welcoming smile are just as alluring.
All I wanted was peace and quiet. I wasn’t looking for love, but it sneaked up on me out of the woods, and now I’m falling hard for Glen.
But I’m a cryptid, a frightening monster. There’s no way he’d still want me if he knew how weird I really am.
Moth Woods is a 20k word novella about an autistic mothman and an anxious flatwoods monster, two classic West Virginia cryptids. It features a pansexual x genderfluid sweet, spicy, and cozy romance with a side of angst, and of course, weirdness. The Contemporary Cryptids series are standalones and can be read in any order.
The sweet, sweet, pungent smell of ramps is what first attracts me to the stall at the farmers’ market.
It’s been far too long since I’ve had a good, fresh ramp. Regular onions aren’t the same. Spring onions are okay. Still no comparison.
I’m so glad to be back in good old West Virginia.
Without thinking, I lean in and inhale deeply, letting out a satisfied mewl.
“Howdy. Would you like some ramps?”
I look up at the stand owner and go doe-eyed. He’s got deep, red eyes. From further away they might appear brown. This close, though, I’m captivated by those rubies. Otherwise, he might be considered simple, with his brown hair and short beard, a sun tan peeking through his shirt collar. And plainly dressed, too, in his cap, plaid shirt, and overalls.
The scent of ramps clings to him, drawing me in along with those eyes. This man plucked these ramps from the ground with his own two hands. If his breath is anything to go by, he ate a few, too.
“Um… Well?” He says, confusion in his voice.
“I’ll take them all,” I reply.
He goes bug-eyed at the request, as if it’s the most peculiar thing anyone’s ever said to him.
“Ya like ’em that much, huh?”
“I love them.”
He bundles the ramps into a paper bag for me. “West Virginia specialty, ramps.”
“I know.” I smile wide. His eyes lock on my lips and crimson floods his face. He almost looks like a ramp. “I just moved back here, and I’ve missed them the most.”
He smiles at that. “I love ’em, too.” He holds out the bag.
“How much?”
“On the house, so long as ya come back for more soon.”
“Oh…” It’s my turn to blush. “Thanks. I will.”
“Okay. Good.”
“I’m Ollie, by the way. What’s your name?”
His head turns to the side, perplexed. He looks everywhere but directly at me. “It’s Glen.”
“Well then, Glen… it was nice to meet you. I’ll be seeing you around.”
“Have a good day and enjoy your ramps,” he says with a courteous smile and a wave, voice as even as a recording.
It’s almost like he’s not sure how to act. Odd. Cute. But odd.
Biting into a ramp as I walk away is heaven on Earth. I’ll definitely come back, not only to see Glen’s cute face again, but for more of these delightful delicacies.
I find a seat in a nearby park and keep munching on my ramps.
“Now, that’s a mighty strange sight,” a voice says, startling me. I nearly drop my ramp, catching it thankfully before it hits the ground. I look at the passerby when I’m straightened up again.
It’s a rather plain looking guy, pale skinned with messy brown hair and dark eyes, dressed in plaid. A camera with a large lense hangs from his neck. Cameras are trouble. If he’s press, looking for a scoop to sell, I definitely don’t want his attention.
“Uh. What’s strange about me?” Understatement. I am strange. Stranger than any stranger can know. Not that I want him to know that, which is why I need to be cool and calm about this. I have no chill, though.
“Never seen anyone chomp those stinky things down like Glen. You get those from him?”
“Yeah… You know Glen?”
The man smiles too knowingly. “Oh, yeah, I know him very well. He’s my partner’s brother.”
“Oh. What can you tell me about him?”
He sits beside me, smirking. “Anything you want, I imagine. The name’s Malcolm Stumpf, by the way. You can call me Mal.” Mal extends a hand, and I shake it. I still don’t like that camera, but Mal seems friendly enough.
“Ollie Braxton.”
Mal’s brow quirks inquisitively. “Like the county?”
Oh, I don’t like that look.
“Yeah, coincidentally,” I say, hoping I sound convincing. I’m the worst liar. It is not, in fact, a coincidence.
“Yeah, that sure is a coincidence,” he says, not sounding convinced.
Subject change time. Deflect, distract, deter. Words to live by for the strange and unusual.
“So, what can you tell me about Glen?”
His face smooths out of that state of contemplation which churned my gut.
“Glen’s a simple guy. He lives out in the woods and runs a small farm. Doesn’t like small talk all too much.”
He did seem to struggle with our interaction.
“Is he always at the farmer’s market?”
“Yeah, that’s how he earns a living. Selling truffles and a few other vegetables. His pig finds the best truffles, but damn those things’re expensive. I’ve heard people rave about them, though.” Mal grins. “And he sells ramps, for the folks of simpler tastes like yourself.”
“They’re good.”
He laughs and waves a hand in front of his crinkled nose. “Man do they stink, though. I told Logan when we started dating no kisses when he has ramp breath.”
It’s hard not to chuckle at that. Personally, I find the ramp breath intoxicating. The scent lingered long after eating them, and no other onion has quite the same appeal. I could cling to Glen and inhale the pungent smell of ramps all day, and I think it’s the closest to heaven I could ever be.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” I ask.
“Nope. I’m not a natural born ‘eer. What about you? You don’t sound all cattywampus like Logan and Glen.”
“I’ve been away awhile and lost my touch, I guess.” It’s not untrue. That, and I always kind of kept to myself.
“Ah. Well, Braxton, I think I’ve had about all I can take of ramps today.” Mal claps his knees and stands. “Good luck with Glen,” he says with a mischievous grin and a wink.
He’s entirely too perceptive and charismatic, a dangerous combination.
I ponder whether I should be concerned with Malcolm Stumpf and eat a few more ramps. In the distance somewhere, I swear a camera shutter clicks, yet when I look around, there’s no Mal or camera to be found.
Amara Lynn has always been a quiet daydreamer. Coming up with characters and worlds since childhood, they eventually found an outlet in writing.
They were born and raised in the Midwest USA, where they remain stuck with their spouse and cats. They love to write about soft monsters and cryptids, grumpy enbies, and forever will be weak for the grumpy one is soft for the sunshine one trope. When not writing, they are usually watching anime, playing games, and obsessing over their out of control music playlists.
This sounds great fun
Thank you for sharing!
This sounds amazing. thanks for the great post.