I wanted to give you a quick update about The Stinkwater Escapee.

Chapter 24 has been submitted to a writing contest. As part of the contest rules, I can’t publish that chapter publicly while it is under consideration, but I’m super excited to have the story considered.

This means there will be a brief interruption in the normal chapter schedule.

The good news is that work on the story continues every week. Big Al’s journey isn’t complete, and I intend to keep moving forward with the book. This is one of those odd moments where the realities of publishing overlap with serialization.

I know many of you have been following along chapter by chapter, and I didn’t want the absence of a new installment to come as a surprise.

Thank you for all your support for this oddball crocodile as he smells his way through the world of Ankerton and beyond.

I’ll have something special to share this weekend instead.

As always, thank you for being part of my writing project.

— Jacob

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 23 - Doctor Crow
✅ FlaminGo Ad
✅ Department of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

I’m excited to share that The Stinkwater Escapee: Season 1 has been selected as part of the Manitoba Writers’ Guild Spring 2026 Book Launch Series.

On Sunday, June 7, I'll be at Art Space in Winnipeg for readings, discussion, and a few surprises from the world of Mudwater Mutters.

For those who have been following my work, this launch marks the culmination of a long journey. What began as a strange idea about a talking alligator named Big Al wandering through a baffling human world gradually grew into something much larger: a serialized story, a podcast, in-world advertisements, public service announcements, and an entire universe of media literacy satire hiding beneath the humour.

Educators, librarians, and parents interested in media literacy programming are also welcome to attend. Many of the themes explored through Big Al's adventures have become part of my growing work in digital and media literacy education.

At its heart, though, The Stinkwater Escapee remains a story about curiosity, belonging, and trying to make sense of a world that often doesn’t make much scents at all.

The launch will include a reading from the book, discussion about its creation, and a chance to purchase signed copies. Whether you’ve been following along from the beginning or are just discovering Big Al for the first time, I’d love to see you there.

Event Details

The Manitoba Writers’ Guild Spring 2026 Book Launch Series
Featuring: The Stinkwater Escapee: Season 1
Date: Sunday, June 7, 2026
Time: 2:00 PM – 4:00 PM
Location: Art Space, 100 Arthur Street, Winnipeg (4th Floor, elevator accessible)

I hope to see you there.

— Jacob

I’ll be that way later. Need this ID thing first.

The scent of his destination fills his nose, and it’s a subtle, soft aroma that seems to change from cedar to rosemary to pine to cottonwood and back to cedar. It’s a forest smell, but made of bricks and mortar.

Big Sal shakes his head.

Not sure if I’ll ever understand this human world.

And with that thought, he pushes through a door with a bunch of cups stenciled on the outside into a lobby where many different people mingle. And an animal.

“The Hooks croc!” says someone from across the room. “I knew we’d be seeing you!”

A breeze of a muddy smell passes through him, with hints of cilantro and a tang of something slightly stinky.

What was that?

The room turns to look at him. It isn’t full, but still enough humans to feel like Hooks last night. A crowd, but now they’re all standing in lines, not sitting. A mix of sweet banana and mango fills the room.

No one moves from their line. A number of people wave, some hold phones and mouth “selfie” to him. A few just look bored.

“Right over here sir,” says someone in a blue uniform that smells an awful lot like security from the Zit & Grit but with more coffee. “Glad to see you, sir. Wait time is about fifteen minutes. You got here early. That’s good.”

The security-coffee person motions him to a line, and he stands behind a woman wearing a hat that smells like rabbit, cow from the jacket and shoes, reminding him of a different human from long ago, although not as tasty smelling anymore.

Banana scent puffs out from him, and he looks around. The animal he smelled earlier is still here, but he can’t see it.

He looks up at a TV on the wall where local news talks about new animals at the local zoo, and then about warming temperatures in the rural areas.

Fifteen minutes later, after three selfies and having something called a business card handed to him, he stands before a woman. Initially bored, when she notices him, she focuses and hints of green-tea hiss out of the transparent box she sits inside.

“Ah yes. You. My kid showed me your video. Well, today I guess we’re gonna get you identification. First things first, put your thumb, claw, arm or noodly appendage against the sensor on your right.”

A little red light flashes on, illuminating something that looks like a phone. After a moment, he touches the not-phone.

It beeps, and a moment later the woman behind the counter looks confused.

“D…N…A match…unsuccessful. Not amphibian…not mammalian…STACEY. What do I do here?”

Another person steps into the cubicle space the woman sits in. This one looks at the screen.

“Huh. Well it’s not unheard of. He’ll need to see Doctor Crow.” She turns her attention to Big Sal. “The doctor is busy at the moment, but should be done in about ten minutes. Have a seat over there,” she says, gesturing towards three chairs against the wall, all empty. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“Water would be nice.”

Big Sal tries to sit, but the tail doesn’t fit. After a moment, Stacey comes out carrying a folding chair, and the gap in the back gives ample space for his tail. Water-return surrounds her in a pleasant aroma.

How did she know?

“Thank you,” he says. “That was…”

“Oh, not a problem. We’ve dealt with stranger things, believe you me. Everyone deserves to be looked after.”

A digital clock on the opposite side of the room, near where he came in, shows 8:15. He isn’t sure what this means. It changes to 8:16 as he watches. When it reaches 8:30, Stacey reappears.

“Doctor Crow will see you now. Come with me.”

“Things sure get more expensive the more we sit,” says Big Sal, thinking the time meant cash, like at Hooks. He swings the plastic bag over his shoulder and trails Stacey.

Stacey’s scent shifts to misunderstanding, to water-return and something else.

She shrugs and smirks. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

Down a hallway that is more lemon-antiseptic she leads him to a door where the animal scent is the strongest. She opens the door.

A small man, not much bigger than a child, sits in a chair on wheels. He pushes away a screen that swings on an arm and sets a keyboard down.

The scent coming from the man is decidedly not human, but very much Crow. Yet there are no feathers, no crows’ feet, and no beak. But he hops up and his movements could be crow-like. His dark eyes are bright, intense.

“Here’s his initial scan, Doctor Crow,” says Stacey, handing him a file.

“Thank you, Stacey,” he says. She turns and exits the room quietly.

Turning to Big Sal, “Ah! You’re new to Ankerton, aren’t you?” he says. “I’ve been hearing about you.”

Big Sal looks around the room. There are beanbags, a couch, a couple chairs folded up in the corner and a soft throw rug in the middle of the room.

“Something about being viral, I guess?” he says.

Mr. Crow smiles. “Sometimes we come to the world a little sideways, yes. But this isn’t about that.”

He looks at the printouts from Stacey, then back at him. His attention is like a ray of sunlight through shade on a hot day, a warm piercing that relaxes everything. Big Sal slumps to the soft floor, sleepy. The bag rolls toward the door.

“Most interesting. What’s your name?”

“Big Sal. But not ‘isbury.’ I’m not a steak. I was Rick for a while, but that was a mistake. Before that I was Big Al, but something changed. I don’t know what. I talked to an owl. It sent me here.”

Mr. Crow smiles. “Big Al. Rick. Big Sal,” he says, writing this down. “Less reptilian than before. More human than expected. Mm. Do you know where you are headed? What your destination is?”

“Uhm. Back to Hooks. What time is it? I’m supposed to be there for 11 AM but I don’t know what time it is.”

Mr. Crow tilts his head, birdlike. He looks up at a digital clock on the wall. Big Sal follows his gaze.

“It’s just after 8:30. You’ve got lots of time.”

“That isn’t eight dollars and thirty cents?”

Mr. Crow tilts his head the other way. “No.”

Big Sal doesn’t know why, but he feels his cheeks getting wet. A part of him wants to curl up and just sleep here.

What is happening to me?

“Is the garbage bag important?” asks Mr. Crow, glancing at it

“I was told it was, but I have no idea.”

“What’s in it?”

“A crocodile skin.”

“Yours?”

“No, someone else’s. I…I don’t know why I’m carrying someone else’s old stuff around.”

“Mmm. That is a good question. But not one that needs answering right now. Rather, is the place you come from still important to you?”

Stinkwater? I haven’t thought about it in forever.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Would you ever want to go back?”

Hooks had solved the food problem.

I need a place to live. Don’t have swamps here.

“Maybe. Probably. But not for a long time. I have good things here. I want to stay here where I am for a while.”

“Mmm. You’re happy?”

“…what does that mean?”

For a moment, Dr. Crow doesn’t say anything.

Then, “Content? Satisfied?”

“Getting there, I think. I don’t know. Humans are so confusing. This world is so confusing. I’m just trying to be me and I don’t know what’s happening. Am I still a crocodile? Maybe not? That scares me.”

“Life is full of adventures.”

Big Sal doesn’t know what to say. His tail twitches and he feels himself sinking into the soft carpet.

The moment stretches out, and then Dr. Crow clicks his pen.

Big Sal’s sleepiness begins to lift like night shifting to day.

“I think I’ve got everything I need,” says Dr. Crow. “Stay strong, my boy. See Stacey on the way out.”

Chapter Index

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 24?
Subscribe and it’ll land in your inbox!

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Just one offer when an edition is ready.

Chapter 23 podcast drops May 30
Chapter 24 text drops June 7

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 22 - Towards the Mirage
✅ FlaminGo Ad
✅ Dept. of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Full text archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

It’s Petra.

“I’ve got to get to my kids, but you should get going. It’s early, and if you leave now, you’ll be able to get everything done.”

“Thanks, Petra. Hey, how do I get rid of the Henry smell in here? That old skin still smells like him.”

After a moment, Petra wrinkles her nose. “Oh, his costume.”

She goes to a cupboard, takes a plastic garbage bag out, and hands it to him. “Put it in this, tie it up and hang onto it.”

“Thanks.”

Opening the closet, he stuffs the costume into the bag. He fumbles with the knot until Petra comes over and ties it for him.

“You still have that plastic card I gave you?”

He picks it up from the table.

“Put it in your purse and only take it out when you want something. You lose it and it’s like you lost a stack of cash. Also, I made another copy of the map. Remember how to fold?”

Big Sal takes the new map, carefully folds it into quarters, and puts it into the purse at his side.

“Alright, you got this big guy.”

Petra disappears down the steps.

Big Sal stares at the tied garbage bag.

I guess this matters somehow.

Swinging it over his left shoulder, he heads to the street outside Hooks.

The sun is still coming up, and the city is cool and damp from the night. City scents waft around him like clouds of swamp bugs.

With a deep breath, he tries to smell out Raven, but doesn’t find anything. What he does smell is a warming trace of cinnamon.

“Oh ho ho, where do I find cinnamon buns?”

Fortunately, it comes from the direction he needs to go.

Within a block, the buildings grow taller than any trees he’s ever seen. Their shadows shrink as the sun climbs.

He walks past a building spilling buttery, salty scents over human emotions ranging from fear-tart to water-return.

CHIMERA DOME flickers on a marquee that curves over the sidewalk before a building shaped like a giant ball cut in half. A statue of a strange animal with two heads, a snake for a tail, and wings crouches on top of the ball.

A sign beside the entrance lists movies and showtimes.

I want to go there sometime. I think it would smell amazing. Might see something fun too, he thinks.

Must be something that humans made. Doesn’t look like a real animal.

Another block later, a scent wafts toward him, similar to the smells from Hooks. He follows it, and finds a little shop with a long line of people that runs outside. Overhead the door is a green lady wearing a crown. The shop smells of coffee: bitter, dark, sweet, and everything in between.

“Hey look, is that the Hooks croc?” says someone from the line.

“Don’t leave the line or you’re losing your place,” grumbles a short, squat man with big hands. “Coffee first. Croc later.” He cracks his knuckles.

From behind him, a teenager approaches holding up her phone.

“Can I get a selfie with you?” she asks. “Nice garbage bag.”

“Uh, okay.”

The cinnamon trace fades beneath the overwhelming coffee aroma, and he sniffs again, trying to keep it alive.

“Say ‘No croc, only rock!’” she says, holding her phone up next to him and snapping a photo while he does a funny face.

“Say what?” says Big Sal after the photo.

“I believe,” she says with a cryptic smile. “Don’t listen to the haters.”

She returns to the line where a friend switches places, does the same thing, says the same thing, and rejoins the rapidly moving line.

“See you later gater!” they call as the line pushes them inside.

“Gater?” grumbles Big Sal, sniffing for the cinnamon scent. “Not…hater…but sounds like.”

Another block and he can hear birds squawking. They sound like the night herons, only louder, raspier, and obsessed with the size of their cage.

He follows their sound for three blocks, their chatter getting louder.

“I swear this cage is the biggest one we’ll ever have!”

“No no no! This cage is just the beginning! Look at that outside! It’s a cage! One day we will fly in that great cage!”

“You’re wrong! You’re so bloody wrong!”

Big Sal comes to a stop in front of The Crooked Cage, looking in through a large front window at brightly colored birds.

“What are you talking about?” he says, connecting with the birds. “You’re inside a cage, inside a cage of a pet store, inside…” he trails off, not sure where that thought was taking him.

They quiet down and look at him, their feathers suddenly still for a moment. The door slams open and the owner comes bustling out.

“You’re the first person who ever quieted those loud, obnoxious birds!” the woman with her hair in a gray bun says. “I never should have brought them in. They’re yours! Take them!”

The birds grow quieter, tucking their heads beneath their wings.

Free snacks? What?

Big Sal shifts the garbage bag from one hand to the other. He remembers the plastic card in his purse, and begins to reach for it. But something doesn’t sit right. A bird peeks out from beneath a wing. If it leaves the pet store, it thinks it won’t be flying any more.

“Th-thank you f-for this. I’m act-actually on my way to Raven’s Mirage. I’ll be passing by l-later.”

“You’re really good with them, you know,” says the owner. “They’re smart and great pets for the right person.”

“Th-thank y-you. Later.”

She sighs and shakes her hands. “They’re expensive, but I’d give them to you. They don’t quiet down for anyone else.”

He looks at the birds and knows that he could take them back with him, and no one would be the wiser.

“Again, thanks. I must be off.”

And with that, he turns and heads across the street, to the left of where he had been coming from. The cinnamon scent grows stronger, and the birds stay silent behind him.

With the raucous squawking gone, he can hear a sound from the swamp. It’s a weird sound, a warbling hoot that echoes down the street like a coo. The bird’s scent is missing, though.

“A swamp sound, in the middle of the city?” he says to himself.

People pass him, some giving him wary looks. A little girl shies away from him, then looks up and seems to relax when she sees something.

The loon comes into view as he crosses another street. Crowds fill the sidewalks.

He stops in front of the bank. The smells rolling toward him belong to the city, yet underneath them is the scent of dry, dusty bones.

And I have to go in there later? The bone smell scares me.

He looks at the map, uses his hands to figure out which way is right, and realizes how much he’s passed that wasn’t on it.

“This map is not the walk. Way more to this than what I thought it was.”

Heading to the right, part of him wishes he had taken the birds as a snack, but a bigger part of him pushes that aside. He recognizes the hunger and begins to wonder where those cinnamon buns are.

Down the street he sees something that looks like a pink heron standing outside a small, square glass building with rainbow stripes around it. As he draws closer, the beak is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

“Whatchoo looking at?” says the flamingo in a deep, rich voice, and it leans to one side.

Big Sal takes a step back. “What? What are you? You’re not a bird. You smell like…orb. Like…”

“I’m the FlaminGo ride-guide. Where do you want to go? I’ll get you Flamin-there. Need a ticket? Take it from my beak.”

“Uh.”

Big Sal looks down the street to the left from where he came. A haze seems to shroud a building. He looks at his map, then back at the FlaminGo ride-guide.

I don’t think that thing needs a good-bye. It’s like an orb, I think.

“Goodbye!” calls the bird guide from its permanent position outside the bus shack.

“Later, gater,” he says with a smirk.

Chapter Index

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Chapter 22 podcast drops May 16
Chapter 23 text drops May 23

Over the past year, this project has gradually grown into something larger than just a serialized story. Alongside the book itself, there’s been it’s audio companion, Mudwater Mutters, plus fictional ads from Ankerton, strange public service announcements, and a growing media literacy layer woven through the whole thing.

The launch is going to reflect that.

There’ll be a live reading, audio segments from Mudwater Mutters, projected visuals from the world of Ankerton, and copies of the Season 1 chapbook available on site.

📍 Manitoba Writers’ Guild – Artspace Building (4th Floor)
100 Arthur Street, Winnipeg
🗓 June 7, 2–4 PM
Free / All Ages Welcome

And fittingly, the same weekend also marks the end of Season 3 of the online story.

If you’ve been following along — whether through the chapters, the podcast, the weird side material, or just occasional glimpses of this thing taking shape — I’d really love to see you there.

Facebook Event

Website

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 21 - Cryptic
✅ Hooks Insider Pirate Performer Opportunity Ad
✅ Dept. of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Full text & chapter archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

His hand hovers near his throat, feeling for the zipper, but Petra’s smile warms him. Suddenly, there is space inside.

“My friend!” says Raleigh, jubilant as he walks up. “I have your signing bonus! My goodness that was an amazing routine! This weekend will be swimmingly busy. I couldn’t have asked for a better debut. We’ve needed this.”

Big Sal shrugs, not sure what to say.

“The music just kind of…lifted me. Made me…fly.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear,” says Raleigh, still inflated like a balloon. “I changed the stinger to Snap and Sweep. That’s your signature emote. The floss is finished.”

“What’s the Snap and Sweep?”

“I’ll go over it with you,” says Petra. “It’s much more your style.”

Raleigh holds a white envelope. His hands smell like onion rings, and when he hands it over, Big Sal snaps his teeth, savoring the onion flavor that has soaked into the paper.

“Mmm…. a little thin. Needs salt.”

Raleigh switches faster than Big Sal can keep up.

“What are you talking about?” he says, defensive.

Aromas Big Sal is familiar with but not on Raleigh suddenly puff out from him.

“I pay my main cast staff well!” says Raleigh. “And why did you just eat your paycheck?”

Uh oh. That wasn’t onion rings. Paycheck?

Petra’s eyes go wide and she holds up a hand to Raleigh

“Hold on,” she says. “He didn’t even see the amount. He ate it right out of your hand.”

Amount? So confusing. It smelled like food!

“Now I have to void that check! What was that?”

“Remember, he comes from the backwoods,” says Petra. “We’re all still getting him up to speed.”

Aromatic frustration pops into the air around Raleigh. For a brief moment, it smells like Henry.

“Uh. I’m sorry Raleigh. I didn’t mean to. I’m hungry and it smelled like onion rings.”

The glitter fades, and Raleigh looks perplexed.

“We’re going to need to pay him a little differently, aren’t we? And if you’re hungry, well, we’ve got that covered.”

“I think a pre-paid card would be a good start,” says Petra. “He’s still learning math. Give him like, thirty percent of the signing bonus on one of those. We’ll figure the rest out when he finds a place to stay.”

“I guess that works,” says Raleigh, his attention drilling into Big Sal. “You don’t have a bank account, do you? Or photo ID?”

“Bank account? What’s that?”

Petra crosses her arms, amused. “You really lucked out hitting Ankerton, you old croc. We’re the only city in the country that lets recognized performers get ID with their costume on.”

“And everyone is going to know you thanks to our viral videos,” says Raleigh with a decisive nod. “He needs to get down to Raven’s Mirage.”

Raven?

“Can you follow a map?” asks Petra.

Big Sal shrugs. “Maybe.”

I hope so. Maybe I can smell my way to Raven?

He tries to remember what Raven smelled like.

“Alright. You’re going to need that ID to find a place. My reputation can only take you so far.”

“Can’t I say here? It’s got a nice bath. And the room is cozy.”

Petra and Raleigh glance at each other.

“Technically, no,” says Raleigh. “But I have made occasional exceptions when performers are between places. But no more than three days. Any more than that and the Hospitality Committee comes prancing around. They seem to just know these things.”

“I’ll finish off your shift with you and then point you in the right direction,” says Petra. “And ask the chef for a Hook’s cast special, it’ll fill you right up.”

The cast special is two double burgers, four crocodile legs, a box of onion rings and a chocolate milkshake. It’s the first time Big Sal has felt even a little satiated in a while.

He doesn’t know what to make of the crocodile legs. They smell—and taste—delicious.

That can’t be what I taste like.

He wonders if he’s still a crocodile.

As the day goes on, the restaurant gets busier. The music still lifts him, seeping into parts of him he didn’t know he had.

On his last break, Petra shows him the Snap and Sweep. He snaps his mouth, turns his body and makes his tail slither along the floor.

“I figured you’d like it. Henry hated it because he didn’t have the jaw control in his costume. You do.”

A line begins to form outside of Hooks, and it begins to get late. The noise and scents of the restaurant press in on him. He keeps moving, tries little variations on the Snap and Sweep. People giggle.

Near closing time, as he’s taking a round of crocodile legs to a table, he smells a very familiar scent.

Lemony persimmon, a little thicker than usual. The pilot sits across.

“…too much to take. I’m sorry to hear it.” The pilot’s scent is the damp of water-return.

He sets the crocodile legs down in front of the two men. Lemony-persimmon is clouded with water-return and…beaver dams broken open by too many floods.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again,” says the trucker. “His mom’s phone was disconnected when I got back from your place, and…yeah…they’re gone.”

They barely register him. Water-return washes over the table from the pilot.

Big Sal studies them for a moment.

Both stare into their cups of coffee.

He almost wishes his proximity band would go off so he could make them laugh.

It doesn’t.

He keeps moving.

The next time he visits, a family of five has replaced them.

Street lights flicker on as Hooks closes. A pink and orange sunset ripples across the sky.

“So where is Raven’s Mirror?” he asks Petra.

“Not Mirror. Mirage. It isn’t far. Bit of a zig zag.”

She pushes a small plastic card towards him. Taking a menu, she draws on the back with a pen and colors using highlighters.

“That’s your prepaid card for tomorrow. See this here? This is Hooks. This line is the street outside our front door. You like birds, right?”

“They’re very…”

Tasty. Or used to be.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been trying to think about birds you can look for on the way to Raven’s Mirage. So follow this street we’re on, Sparrow’s Strait, until you see a pet store called Mabel’s Moors. You can see birds through the windows. They’re very loud. Take a left.”

Big Sal holds up his left hand with his finger and thumb in the ‘L’ shape.

“That’s ri…correct.” Petra smiles. “Now go down that street until you see a loon on the top of the building with the columns. Again, you’ll hear it before you see it. Creepy sound if you’re not in the right mood. That’s the bank. Take a right. Follow that street until you see a pink flamingo on the side of a bus shack. You should be able to see Raven’s Mirage down the street to your left from there. Call me if you have any questions.”

She hands him the map, and it looks just the way she explained it. Each landmark she described is drawn in detail, down to the pink in the flamingo on a little building next to a bus.

“Uh, call?”

Petra’s eyes widen and her lips tighten. Her hand asks for the map back, and after turning it over, she writes a few things down.

“Go to Raven’s Mirage first. That ID is super important. As for cell phone, you’re going to want one.”

She chews on the back of the pen for a moment, then draws another zig zag with a curve between the zig and the zag.

“Phone Nerds are only a few blocks from the flamingo. There is a bullfrog in the store window next to them. But you will have to go around City Hall to get there. You’ll know City Hall when you see it. After that, go to the bank. Ask for Marley Deschaines. Raleigh works with him a lot.”

Handing the map back, cilantro seems to radiate out from it.

“Thanks Petra. I’ll get going,” he says and turns to leave.

“You’re going now?”

“Why not?”

“Uh. I know you’re good. Raleigh knows you’re good. But I don’t think Ankerton is ready for you after dark. Go tomorrow morning before your shift starts. Go get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow’s another day.”

After saying good night, Big Sal makes his way up to ‘The Croc’s’. It still smells of moisturizer, and his heart sinks. The suit in the closet also spews scents, and he recognizes Henry.

Why do I have to smell Henry all the time? I should ask what I can do about that.

He turns the tub to cold and sinks in, one hand feeling for the zipper at his throat.

Chapter Index

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 22?
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Chapter 21 podcast drops May 2
Chapter 22 text drops May 9

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 20 - Diamond Hand
✅ Forever Croc
✅ Dept. of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Full text & chapter archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

Phones begin to ease out and point at him.

Henry walks up and pokes Big Sal in the chest.

“I don’t know where you came from, or how you managed to land this job, but you will never be as good as I was! Everyone remembers my floss.”

“Who’s that guy, mommy?” says a little girl, maybe five. Then, cringing away from Big Sal, “And why’s the puppet so real?”

“Ah-HAH! Even she knows you’re just a puppet!” says Henry.

This human smells like that old crocodile suit. Trick. Conflicted. Two scents pulling opposite ways.

Big Sal looks around for a barkeep, but all he sees is Raleigh behind the tall, long table. His back is to the scene unfolding as he checks orders. Petra isn’t anywhere to be seen.

“And where did you get such a suit? What kind of blasphemy is this?” He gestures to the entirety of Big Sal.

The smell coming off him is sweet-ish, but not. Cinnamon buns had a full kind of sweet, held up by spice. This one is hollow, sweet on top, sticky-sharp underneath. It has a shape, too. Pointing right at Big Sal. Trying to…make him feel smaller.

“Wow. Real impressive,” says Henry, poking at his arm. “Good for you. You don’t belong at Hooks. You’re going to fail here in less than a week. Maybe days. Maybe hours!”

Working himself back up, Henry grabs Big Sal’s snout and pries it open, peering in at the rows of teeth.

“Hm. Too realistic. And grody.” He leans back. “Yeah…I can smell…actually, never mind, I don’t want to say it. Not in front of the cameras.”

Then he lifts the croc’s left arm, studies the armpit, and frowns.

Before Big Sal can stop him, Henry climbs up and sits on his head, feeling along his jawline.

“Why does it seem like there are no seams? What are you, welded to this pathetic mimicry of a crocodile suit? Seams fishy,” he says. “Hah.”

“Wait,” says a boy. “Look under his chin.”

Henry scrambles down and looks where the boy is pointing.

“Huh,” he says, leaning close.

The top of a zipper sits against Big Sal’s throat, as if it were melded into the skin.

“Not a real crocodile,” whispers a girl to her little sister. “You’re okay.”

Say what?

If he had hair, it would be prickling. His hand lifts toward his throat, but the proximity band goes off and the speakers bark, “This croc can dance! Watch him floss!”

He tries to do the floss, but his short, thick arms still won’t go behind his back.

“Like I said, pathetic!” says Henry, matching to the stinger as he performs a floss that swings in a wide circle.

Big Sal looks down at this person, two feet shorter than him. It’s almost amusing. It isn’t.

A familiar human scent from the crowd reaches him. He can’t quite place it. Then he can.

It’s the pilot, whose airplane he caught a ride on out of Stinkwater.

Big Sal looks around, trying to see the human, to remember the face, but he doesn’t think he ever saw it. A song starts to play, and it’s not one he’s heard before, but the beat, the rhythm catches him.

And then his body is already moving. He doesn’t understand how, or why, or where it came from. Only that something broken left something open, and the music pours in. Pulls him.

This isn’t about snacks.

Gesturing at the far side of the crowd, he tries to move them away. People look at each other, confused, until he bellows, “Move. Please.”

The crowd parts, and the front doors slide open to the staged front of Hooks.

“Duck,” he says to Henry, who looks confused. Then, “Get down.”

Henry waffles for a moment as Big Sal takes the prosthetic tooth out of his mouth. He winds up. Henry finally ducks.

Big Sal throws it out the front door, runs, and jumps, launching himself out after it.

“Watch out!” says a mom, pulling her kids close.

“Flying crocodile!” says a teenager.

“Don’t lose your hat!” says someone else.

Aiming high, he fans out all four legs and, like an airplane, lifts, twists, and pulls the tooth out of the air, landing in a smooth roll outside of Hooks, on the pavement where he first saw Petra.

He tosses the prosthetic tooth up in the air, catches it behind his head and rolls it down his ribbly back, over his tail and then launches it as high as he can.

“This croc…”

Hands out to one side, his legs move across the pavement to the music, and his tail tips a sunhat off of a woman’s head. It’s not as big as his floppy hat, but does the trick.

“…has got to…”

In a breakdance method that only he could make smooth with his tail, he falls to the ground, tipping the hat up and over to land on his head. It’s a little low and covers his eyes, but he’s good.

He twirls in a stirring motion, then with an exaggerated sniff, he rumbles. “Mmm…make it homey…”

The crowd, though, hears ‘homey’ like ‘bro’, and loses it in a raucous cheer.

“That’s the croc!” yells a little kid from his dad’s shoulders. He tries to do the flying motion Big Sal did, and Dad has to catch him before he falls off.

“No no NO!” yells Henry, trying to storm through. “This croc is—”

“Oh run some floss through your teeth,” says a teenager. “Give it a rest.”

Big Sal grooves to the music, letting it flow through him on that sidewalk in front of Hooks. There’s some mad drops and a few hat twirls. He does a spinning headstand and as he’s beginning to feel the song start to end, a glowing orb soars over the crowd to circle him in a rising spiral.

Petra.

He stalls, the orb knocking him out of his zone for a moment, and he almost fumbles his end. His tail reaches up and out and catches the tooth he threw upwards as it returns to the ground, slides it up to catch it in his hand, and jams it back into his mouth where it had been.

The song ends, and he stands in the middle of the crowd.

Everyone’s looking at him, expecting something.

A swishing sound and the sliding doors close behind everyone. The orb disappears back over the crowd.

“That’s the croc!” yells the kid from his dad’s shoulders again.

“THAT’S THE CROC!” the crowd rumbles.

“Dad, I want crocodile legs,” says the kid.

“Uh, I think they come with ranch sauce. You don’t like ranch,” says his Dad.

“DAD, NO! I wanna be able to fly like him!”

Chuckles from the crowd respond to the kid.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a crocodile,” says a man who looks like he works in construction. He winks at Big Sal and turns towards the entrance.

“Can I get a selfie with you?” says a teenager, approaching Big Sal.

“Uh.”

She leans against him, clicks her camera and whoops. “First post!”

A line forms fast, and Big Sal finds himself making different faces and motions for each one.

Three selfies later, the restaurant’s big outdoor speakers boom, the current selfie goes awry with shock on everyone’s face, even his.

“WELCOME TO HOOKS THEMED RESTAURANT!” says a deep voice. “WHERE THE SHOW GETS FLOSSED EVERY…”

“Whoops,” says Raleigh, walking out with his phone in hand. “Not floss. Not floss. Dammit. I should have changed that years ago.”

“You didn’t change it because I was only on leave,” says Henry, gruffly as he shuffles away.

“Oh go back to The Cinnamon State, you stick-legged rolly poly roll,” says Raleigh. “Enjoy basting yourself in butter.”

Chapter Index

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Chapter 20 podcast drops April 18
Chapter 21 text drops April 25

This episode includes:
✅ Don Maroon covers The Cinnamon State’s new CinnaStirStick
✅ Chapter 19 - Windows
✅ Hook’s callback

Full text & chapter archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

“I don’t know what that is,” says Petra. She begins to pull Sal towards the front of the kitchen, where plates of steaming food are waiting for their customers.

She looks at an order slip.

“Do you see those three people sitting by the window over there?” she asks, pointing. Three teenagers sit near a window, two chatting and one on their phone. She takes three plates and three milkshakes and puts them on a tray.

“Take this to those customers. Set these in front of them. And don’t eat any of it. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He takes the tray in two hands, and three Hook burgers, accompanying fries and three different kinds of milkshakes, one lactose-free, are like beacons under his nose. He walks slow and careful, doing his best to keep things balanced.

But his sway has milkshakes looking like pendulums by the time he reaches the table, and the fear-tart that arises he can’t tell if it’s from him or the swinging milkshakes.

“Woah, grab ‘em while they’re upright!” says the closest.

Three hands grab their milkshakes, and Big Sal sets the tray on the table.

It doesn’t seem right though, and he takes the plates off. Each person raises a hand when theirs is touched, and he figures it out quickly. When the last plate is placed, he lifts the tray again.

“You’re like the hottest thing in Ankerton right now, croc-dude,” says one kid. “Don’t listen to the haters. Just be yourself.”

“I dunno Joey,” says a girl, whose milkshake smells like mango. “You sure this croc isn’t real? I mean, he’s got drool forming.”

“Nah Jane, don’t be a hater.”

“That’s a hype costume. Where’d you get it?” asks the other.

“Oh, leave him alone, Peter.”

His proximity wristband starts to vibrate, and he looks at it. A moment later, the sound of breaking waves and a little human roar comes over restaurant speakers.

“This croc can dance! Watch him floss!” says a deep baritone of a pirate voice.

“Oh wow! We’re the first to hear the croc stinger in like, years!” says Joey.

Big Sal has no idea what is happening, just that the way everyone is looking at him, they clearly expect something.

Uhh. Gotta do something…

So, he tosses the tray he is holding up in the air in a spin, opens his jaws, and…

SNAP

A moment later, he spits the tray out with a pa-tooey.

The table erupts in laughter.

“That isn’t the floss!” says Peter. “This is the floss!”

The kid jumps up and does the floss, his arms swinging like the milkshakes were. Big Sal watches for a moment, then tries to mimic. His arms don’t have the same mobility, and he ends up looking more like a stuffed crocodile that bangs chairs with his tail.

Two phones snap, and one kid holds his screen up, recording. Again, Big Sal isn’t sure what’s happening, but the scents from the table explode outwards in a fruity potpourri of banana, mango, honey, water-return, and others.

On their faces is pure hilarity, smiles, laughter and mirth.

“Peter, you’re going to go viral! Dancing with the Hooks crocodile! First one too! Oh my god!” says Jane. “That was hi-lar-ious!”

Those Hook burgers smell amazing.

After a moment, It’s kind of like the Zit & Grit, only without the wheaty smell. These small humans aren’t afraid of me, and they’re laughing.

The scent of bison stew steeps out from between his scales.

“Alright, big guy,” whispers Petra, appearing at his elbow. “That was only the first emote. Just wait for the others.”

Then, to the table, she says, “Ahoy shipmates! Don’t feed the animals! They might just get a hankerin’ for you landlubbers!”

She leads him away from a still-laughing table and back to the kitchen.

For the next few hours, Petra tells him which plates go where, slowly explaining how the marks correspond to each table. He doesn’t get it at first. He makes a few mistakes. But the proximity band goes off every several tables, and every time it’s the floss dance. Every time he feels like a stuffed crocodile with arms that just won’t do what they’re supposed to.

I wish I had human arms for this. Flossing would be easier.

“You should go for break,” says Petra. “See the two hands on the clock?”

He looks at his hands, his claws. “How do these make a clock?”

Petra gives him a steady look. “You’re really from the back woods, aren’t you?”

“Stinkwater. Stinkwater…marsh.”

“Ok buddy. See that round thing up there?” Petra points at a wall clock in the kitchen.

“Yeah.”

“See how the two black lines are straight across the round part right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Take a break, a rest, go have a bath up in your room if you want…doesn’t matter what you do. Just be back when the lines look like this.” She holds her finger and thumb in an ‘L’ shape. “Hold yours up too.”

He does, and she makes sure he isn’t mirroring, only mimicking.

“Thanks.” Water-return arises from between his scales.

“Where do I find the cinnamon buns?”

Chapter 19 – Windows

As he walks up to his room, many different scents hiss from between his scales, the caustic of shame, mostly the fear-tart. The small hallway compresses. As much as he wants to get to his room, he’s also afraid of what he’s going to find.

Stopping to look closer at the hand-drawn, spot-lit crocodile on the wall, he wonders why it looks more ferocious than he feels right now. The eyebrow slants tight, eyes squint, and the tongue hangs out behind the extra tooth. An eternal smile smirks at him.

That crocodile looks like it’s trying to be a crocodile, but knows it isn’t.

With a sigh, he opens the door to ‘The Croc’s’ room. He pushes through billowing clouds of something that’s a soft, creamy butter scent, a hint of beehive and another sweetish nut.

Tears begin to form as he looks at the cream spread out across the table. The broken screw-top lid clings to the edge of the table.

“Oh no. What did I do?” he says aloud this time.

He tips it right-side up and touches the broken edge. The sharp edge leaves a mark on his scale, and…for the first time, his claws feel like skin, not scales.

And as he looks at his claws, they seem a little narrower.

He closes his eyes. The scents scatter his concentration, and he sags against the table, shaking. When he opens his eyes, his concentration comes back, and he realizes he can’t disappear into the dark like he used to.

The water in the bathtub calls like memory, like mud and herons and sand. Then, forcing himself, he stands up, moves to the tub, and turns on the water.

He lies down as the tub fills, the water murmuring toward his eyes while his own runs down to meet it. He turns the knob off and stares at the tiled wall.

I…I feel like that bottle. How am I supposed to put myself back together?

The recent memory of the laughing kids comes to him like a heartbeat, and he breathes in.

Laughter is like swamp gas. There’s something alive inside its belly.

Breathing in again, he thinks about something Petra had said. Four chairs, right? Four things. One, two, three, four chairs.

Four plates.

Four milkshakes.

He breathes with each number, thinking about the laughter.

A yell from outside pulls him up to look out a dirty window pane. He places his wet hand on the glass and wipes. Dirty streaks remain. The river still courses by outside, and if he presses his eyes close to the pane, he can see the fountain off to the right in front of Hooks.

An adult is out front, yelling that whoever they got for the new croc is just a…frog? He can’t tell if that’s the right word or not, but the person is jumping around and waving his arms.

The clock looks like that ‘L’ Petra showed him. He doesn’t want to be late. So he gets out of the tub and walks, dripping wet, across the floor.

It doesn’t seem right to just leave this broken here.

Big Sal goes through the drawers. He finds a towel with the same ‘The Croc’ as on his front door. He uses the towel to clean up the moisturizer, carefully picks up the glass, and puts it in a trashcan.

Sighing, he says, “I hope that stays like bison. Only happens once.”

The stairway isn’t as claustrophobic this time around. The scent of Hook burgers drifts over him, and his stomach rumbles.

“Sal, glad to see you! Good job being on time,” says Petra. “So, there’s someone here that you should know about.”

“Is that the person yelling outside about a frog?”

“Uh. Yes. Not frog. Fraud. But don’t worry about him. He’s just the guy who used to play the old croc, and he’s the jealous type. We know all about him.”

New stick bundle, or word, I guess.

“What is…frau—d? Like frog, but slimier?” he says. The heat from the plates and the heat lamps dries him out, and he drinks from the dishwasher hose.

Petra gives him a steady look. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking or not. Because sometimes you’re right. A fraud would be someone who’s pretending to be something they are not. Poser? Here, use this glass and fill it from the drink machine when you get thirsty.”

“Thanks.” Mango scents arise from his scales, and he finds himself wanting to know more.

“Don’t worry about him. We know him well. It’s already picking up from Don Maroon’s coverage of our viral bit. Tonight will be busy,” says Petra. “Here, keep doing what you were doing before. Match plates to tables. And I will tell Raleigh that he has got to change it from the floss.”

“Why’s that?” he says. He puts plates and glasses on a tray and takes it out. He does the floss, bangs some chairs with his tail, and returns.

“The floss was Henry’s signature dance, and it’s what stayed in the stinger when he left, four years ago.”

“Henry…is that guy waving his arms and yelling outside?” His taped on eyebrow gains an inch as his real one perks up.

“You got it. He is a little weird. But you know how we like weird here.”

The next tray he takes out, Henry stands at the helm, blue eyes glaring at him.

“You’re a fraud, mister.”

Chapter Index

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Chapter 19 podcast drops April 4
Chapter 20 text drops April 11

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 18 - Emote
✅ Captain Clamjaw’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet ad
✅ Department of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Full text & chapter archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

“I don’t know what that is,” says Petra. She begins to pull Sal towards the front of the kitchen, where plates of steaming food are waiting for their customers.

She looks at an order slip.

“Do you see those three people sitting by the window over there?” she asks, pointing. Three teenagers sit near a window, two chatting and one on their phone. She takes three plates and three milkshakes and puts them on a tray.

“Take this to those customers. Set these in front of them. And don’t eat any of it. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He takes the tray in two hands, and three Hook burgers, accompanying fries and three different kinds of milkshakes, one lactose-free, are like beacons under his nose. He walks slow and careful, doing his best to keep things balanced.

But his sway has milkshakes looking like pendulums by the time he reaches the table, and the fear-tart that arises he can’t tell if it’s from him or the swinging milkshakes.

“Woah, grab ‘em while they’re upright!” says the closest.

Three hands grab their milkshakes, and Big Sal sets the tray on the table.

It doesn’t seem right though, and he takes the plates off. Each person raises a hand when theirs is touched, and he figures it out quickly. When the last plate is placed, he lifts the tray again.

“You’re like the hottest thing in Ankerton right now, croc-dude,” says one kid. “Don’t listen to the haters. Just be yourself.”

“I dunno Joey,” says a girl, whose milkshake smells like mango. “You sure this croc isn’t real? I mean, he’s got drool forming.”

“Nah Jane, don’t be a hater.”

“That’s a hype costume. Where’d you get it?” asks the other.

“Oh, leave him alone, Peter.”

His proximity wristband starts to vibrate, and he looks at it. A moment later, the sound of breaking waves and a little human roar comes over restaurant speakers.

“This croc can dance! Watch him floss!” says a deep baritone of a pirate voice.

“Oh wow! We’re the first to hear the croc stinger in like, years!” says Joey.

Big Sal has no idea what is happening, just that the way everyone is looking at him, they clearly expect something.

Uhh. Gotta do something…

So, he tosses the tray he is holding up in the air in a spin, opens his jaws, and…

SNAP

A moment later, he spits the tray out with a pa-tooey.

The table erupts in laughter.

“That isn’t the floss!” says Peter. “This is the floss!”

The kid jumps up and does the floss, his arms swinging like the milkshakes were. Big Sal watches for a moment, then tries to mimic. His arms don’t have the same mobility, and he ends up looking more like a stuffed crocodile that bangs chairs with his tail.

Two phones snap, and one kid holds his screen up, recording. Again, Big Sal isn’t sure what’s happening, but the scents from the table explode outwards in a fruity potpourri of banana, mango, honey, water-return, and others.

On their faces is pure hilarity, smiles, laughter and mirth.

“Peter, you’re going to go viral! Dancing with the Hooks crocodile! First one too! Oh my god!” says Jane. “That was hi-lar-ious!”

Those Hook burgers smell amazing.

After a moment, It’s kind of like the Zit & Grit, only without the wheaty smell. These small humans aren’t afraid of me, and they’re laughing.

The scent of bison stew steeps out from between his scales.

“Alright, big guy,” whispers Petra, appearing at his elbow. “That was only the first emote. Just wait for the others.”

Then, to the table, she says, “Ahoy shipmates! Don’t feed the animals! They might just get a hankerin’ for you landlubbers!”

She leads him away from a still-laughing table and back to the kitchen.

For the next few hours, Petra tells him which plates go where, slowly explaining how the marks correspond to each table. He doesn’t get it at first. He makes a few mistakes. But the proximity band goes off every several tables, and every time it’s the floss dance. Every time he feels like a stuffed crocodile with arms that just won’t do what they’re supposed to.

I wish I had human arms for this. Flossing would be easier.

“You should go for break,” says Petra. “See the two hands on the clock?”

He looks at his hands, his claws. “How do these make a clock?”

Petra gives him a steady look. “You’re really from the back woods, aren’t you?”

“Stinkwater. Stinkwater…marsh.”

“Ok buddy. See that round thing up there?” Petra points at a wall clock in the kitchen.

“Yeah.”

“See how the two black lines are straight across the round part right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Take a break, a rest, go have a bath up in your room if you want…doesn’t matter what you do. Just be back when the lines look like this.” She holds her finger and thumb in an ‘L’ shape. “Hold yours up too.”

He does, and she makes sure he isn’t mirroring, only mimicking.

“Thanks.” Water-return arises from between his scales.

“Where do I find the cinnamon buns?”

“Uh, ask the chef. I’m not sure if we got any in today. They might have some in the freezer.”

Big Sal finds the chef.

“Dude, your costume is killer. I don’t know how you do it, but mad respect.”

“Cinnamon buns. Where are these?”

“Oh bro, I’m sorry, but we be out. There was stuff in the freezer we threw out yesterday to make room for today’s shipment. Which you absolutely rocked! Man, how much that pallet weigh? Five hundred? Six hundred pounds?”

Big Sal has no idea what’s going on, but he understands that they are out of cinnamon buns.

Darn. Got my hopes up.

And thinking of ‘up’, he remembers his ‘below-deck’ room and wanting to get back to it.

Something broken awaits.

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 19?
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Chapter 18 podcast drops March 14
Chapter 19 text drops March 21

After the chapter, stay tuned for a short in-world announcement from Hook’s Themed Restaurant.

Full text and chapter archive:
https://stinkwater.ca

KCHNK

The wall he leaned against disappears, and Big Sal tilts out of the cold, splatting against a warmer floor. Kitchen scents waft toward him.

“Sal?” says Petra. “You can’t be sleeping. Are you?”

Petra, who has just opened the walk-in refrigerator door, looks down at him.

A familiar scent widens his nostrils. His eyes blink open and come into focus.

“Are there cinnamon buns here?”

“I’m sure you can have one on break. But that’s in two hours.”

The teenager who greeted him at Hooks now carries a stack of dirty plates to a nearby sink, sets them in the basin, and squeezes the water hose, rinsing them.

Petra looks over, a scent arising from her that is a mix of water-return and beaver dam. It’s similar to what the barkeep from the Zit & Grit had, but her with own flavor.

Reaching down, she runs a finger through the sticky, half-frozen sauces and sniffs it.

“You’re covered in ketchup and plum sauce, Sal,” she sighs. “I wondered what that was. You should go upstairs and get cleaned up. I’ll let Raleigh know you’re…”

Oh ho. Something smells a little like bison. Is that fried onions too?

He flips onto all fours, stands, and bustles to the sink. The busboy takes a step away, then hurries to the dining area.

With a quick slurp, Big Sal finishes off the remnants of a dinner for four. He then rinses the plates and turns the hose on himself. A moment later, he’s clean, but the floor is covered in water. The busboy returns with another stack of plates.

He hands each plate to Big Sal, who slurps it. A Hook burger goes down, then a plastic basket with fries.

“Isn’t this a sanitary thing?” he asks Petra in a voice that cracks.

“Yeah, it kind of would be,” says Petra. “But more on this guy’s end. I’m not sure how his suit processes the food, or what it does. Whoever is inside that is quite well protected.”

“Did you see our stats?” Raleigh beams, striding fast from the dining area. “We’re going viral! Whoops!”

His boots elevate him four inches, and the captain’s hat adds another eight inches to his five-eleven frame. All of it whip-saws like a windmill as he slips on the standing water. A boot crashes upwards into the ceiling, bounces, and splashes into the basin. His hat flies towards Petra, who snatches it out of the air.

He holds his phone up like a trophy. “We’re on the news!”

The basket isn’t going down, and Big Sal has to pull it back out.

Alright. That’s not food. Tasty—but not to eat.

Raleigh sticks a hand out to Petra, and she pulls him to his feet. He then leads the three of them to the television overhead at the kitchen entrance, taps his phone, and the channel changes to a newscast.

“Yes, Captain Raleigh has rallied a new shipmate for the fabled crocodile role at Hook’s Themed Restaurant,” says the newscaster. “After a long while of the relative quiet, it appears someone with their own highly advanced costume has stumbled into the role hole.”

The newscaster is replaced by the livestream Petra recorded moments ago.

The drone’s perspective shows the closed doors to the truck. A bang, then two, followed by a quiet thump. Trying to stay low, the trucker is seen unlatching them. A few moments later, the doors squeak open. Raleigh emerges from the dim cavern of the box, crows like only a pirate captain can, and strides off to the right.

The camera zooms in on the silhouette of a pallet stacked with boxes, rising into view at waist height. One box reads “Pizza Dough,” another, “Hamburgers.”

One arm, frosted scales and large claws gripping the side of the pallet, appears first. Two short, stout legs, claws nicking at the wooden floor, make a sharper CLINK as they hit the metal ramp.

Three steps into sunlight, and from around the back of the pallet appears a crocodile’s jaws, lips curled in a snarl, a red rivulet of ketchup between almost-crossed eyes. A stream of plum sauce ripples over the shoulders as the reptile emerges into the light of day.

He looks like he just won a fight.

That looks different from how it felt.

He isn’t sure he likes the mismatch. His nose can barely make out a sour scent rising from his skin.

“Fearsome!” says the newscaster. “Fang-tastic! What a suit! That is definitely not Raleigh’s old, used crocodile skin. This is something new, people!”

“I don’t know, Don,” says another newscaster. “Comments seem to be questioning whether that’s a real crocodile.”

“Impossible!” says Don. “It’s phenomenal! Crocodiles don’t stand on two legs. I’ll bet this croc can sing and dance, too! Weren’t there reports of a crocodile dancing with the—uh—dancer? The girl?”

A new scent arises from Petra. She clears her throat and mutters, “Always just ‘the girl.’” Vinegar with hints of mud cloud her. “Just call me Petra.”

Big Sal watches her, and the way she’s standing changes. Her arms cross, her eyes narrow and grow distant. As her scents squeak out from her joints, they tell him something very different.

Held behind the beaver dam scent swirls a small pocket of water-return in a larger body of irritation. Some of that vinegar leaks steadily between the sticks and mud.

She lets some seep through but keeps most of it behind.

With a smile, he tries to mimic it. The scent of beaver dam feels familiar in a warm way.

“Hi Petra. I’m Sal.”

Raleigh hasn’t heard either of them. His eyes are wide, and a fast-rising scent of something very different rolls off him.

She smiles at him, her scents dropping away to water-return and hints of cilantro. A different scent arises, with heat and perhaps tomato.

“Thanks, Sal.”

“WHOO HOO!” exclaims Raleigh. “We need to get a new menu done up for this weekend! We need new proximity scenes created. Oh Sal, you’ve just catapulted us into the next level! Don Maroon’s coverage is gonna bring everyone and their pets out!”

And… this guy has no dam.

Overcome with his seemingly good fortune, Raleigh whoops, hollers, and runs around in a circle, yelling “For the win! For the win!” He ends by clasping Big Sal’s snout and giving him a kiss.

What is this? This human is a flood.

Editor’s note (March 2026): Minor line edits made for clarity and flow.

Chapter Index →

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Chapter 17 podcast drops March 7
Chapter 18 text drops March 14

After the chapter, stick around for:

✅ Hooks Ad #2
✅ The Department of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Full text and chapter archive:

https://stinkwater.ca

Some stories are meant to be held.

The Stinkwater Escapee: Season 1 now exists as a printed chapbook — the first collected edition of Big Al’s journey beyond Stinkwater Marsh.

If you’ve been following the Saturday chapters, this gathers the beginning of the adventure into one book you can hold, share, or pass along.

If you’re new to Stinkwater, this is where the escape begins.

Available here:
stinkwater.ca/buy

Thank you to everyone who’s read, listened, shared, and asked for something tangible.

Regular Saturday chapters continue this weekend.

“I don’t…get…this,” he says, unsure what the feeling even is.

Moisturizer. I need the moisturizer.

His purse sits on the chair where he tossed it earlier, but with the look Petra is giving him, he doesn’t think he can reach for it right now.

Not the first time he’s smelled it, but the first time he’s smelled it on himself—a faint whiff of fear-tart steams out from between his scales. Not knowing why this is happening doesn’t help.

Petra watches this, sees he’s struggling.

“Right. Your suit is different, and by the looks of it, probably waterproof. That hook won’t work.”

She grabs a round roll from a drawer in his room, and it smells like burning plastic. His right eye twitches at the cracking sound as she unrolls it.

But before he can blink, Petra has taped the eyebrows on with clear packing tape, securing them to his head.

The prosthetic tooth is easy enough to wedge between two of his other teeth.

He tries to look at himself in the window.

“You know, you could use the mirror over the sink,” Petra says.

He looks around, spies the mirror, and leans in close.

“Ho ho! I look…”

Not like myself.

“Like Raleigh’s vision of a mean old crocodile,” Petra says. “If you can pretend to be a mean old crocodile without eating anyone, we’re good!”

Big Sal gives her a side-eye.

Does she know?

He does something he saw someone at the Zit & Grit do: he gives her a thumbs-up.

“Let’s go!” She turns and heads toward the door.

Big Sal sneaks a hand toward the purse, slips the moisturizer out, and rubs it on his hands. The fear-tart eases, and he tosses the bottle back onto the table.

CLUNK

Petra looks back at him. “What was that?”

He looks at the bottle. It’s broken open, and the gentle scent that had brought calm slowly fills the room.

Oh no… what did I do?

“I don’t know what that is,” she says. “But Raleigh is waiting, and we need to get moving.”

Trying to blink something back, he feels water well up in his eyes and run down his neck.

Petra has already turned away, walking fast to the door.

I… I…

He follows, but something inside hurts, and with it comes more water leaking from his eyes.

Running down the stairs after Petra, looking like someone else’s crocodile, Big Sal almost trips. Cilantro arises fast, and Petra seems to know which side of the stairway to retreat to as he slides down a couple stairs.

“Careful, big guy. Don’t want you breaking a leg.”

Ow. I think I stubbed my toe.

“S-so w-where’s this l-livestream?” he asks, recovering and standing more on a heel than toes.

From a pocket in her costume, Petra removes her glowing orb and a gold-rimmed monocle. She wedges the monocle over her left eye, attaching its chain to her clothes with a clip. A mechanism in the middle of the orb pivots, and her deft hands reveal a small camera.

Big Sal gets the impression she’s controlling the camera with the movements of her left eye.

“Wherever I want,” she says. “Don’t worry, we’re not live yet.”

At the bottom of the stairs, they turn right and go through the kitchen, Petra’s orb following overhead.

The stubbed toe and the hurting inside subside as the kitchen scents overwhelm him. Fried onions, French fries, milkshakes of many different flavors…

“What’s that?” he exclaims. Something hot and bubbling smells like cooking meat.

“Deep fried crocodile legs,” says the chef, and when Big Sal’s mean looking eyebrows look even meaner, he quickly follows up. “Well, it’s really crab Rangoon with Worcestershire and sweet chili, but you know.”

This human place smells so delicious and is even more confusing…

Petra stands at the back of the kitchen, sunlight spilling in through a door she holds open, waving him forward.

The direct sunlight blinds him momentarily, and he shields his eyes with a hand.

Outside, a truck similar to the Molly’s Long Haul Moving truck much of his journey took place in has backed up to a loading dock. A ramp extends from the truck’s doorframe to the dock.

“There you are, my friend!”

Raleigh surprises him, his eyes still adjusting.

“Tick tock tick tock—we’re on the clock,” says the pirate captain. “Petra, we’re starting with top shot over the ramp, forty feet up. Descending in a slight outwards parabola, keeping the frame on the closed truck door, then boom down to three feet above the ramp height. I’ll knock three times, open the door, and out we come. Stay on me until I start walking, then hold as I exit the frame. Push in behind me with a handheld wobble when Sal’s silhouette is visible, and dolly out, keeping him center. Sal, you will carry in three loads, and as he does that, Petra, keep the handheld wobble and paparazzi zoom in and out. After three loads, we wrap with a drone shot of the exterior sign. Got it?”

“Got it, boss,” says Petra.

“Sal, you look great! Those eyebrows are amazing!”

“It was Petra…” starts Big Sal, but before he can finish, Raleigh has already moved on.

“Alright! Places, every one!” he says. “You.” He points at the truck driver wearing overalls and steel-toe boots. “Close and latch the door, and let me open it as we come out.”

“But…” says the trucker. This trucker has a very different scent from the other one.

“Tut tut! We’re on the clock! Let’s go!” Raleigh barks.

The truck door opens, and Big Sal’s eyes widen as it does.

It’s so collld…

He walks in, Raleigh trailing behind, but as he does, he can feel his limbs start to numb and his heart rate slow.

“Grab that pallet by the fork notches and pick it up,” Raleigh says.

Big Sal approaches what Raleigh has pointed at, leans down, and has to turn his head to the left. He picks it up, but the top box squishes against the ceiling. Something red with a tomato smell runs down over him as the doors close. For a moment, Raleigh and Big Sal are alone together in the dark refrigerator truck.

Raleigh seems to be counting under his breath. Then he reaches forward with his fist and pounds once.

BANG

BANG BANG

The doors are supposed to open, but when he pushes against them, they don’t move.

“What in blue blazes is this?” Raleigh says quietly.

Then the doors crack open, and he leans against them. They don’t move as quick as he’d like, but after a moment and a half, he bursts through.

“After searching high and low across the jungles and marshes, from the highest of mountain peaks to the lowest of the Nether, I have finally found the treasure I had been searching for!” he says to the hovering orb.

“Wasn’t it at the Zit and…” Big Sal starts.

“At long last, from the plains of the Nile, our leathery friend comes—the beholden crocodile!”

And with that, Raleigh moves forward enough for Big Sal to emerge from the truck. His snout faces left of the pallet, away from the camera, a thick red liquid running down over him. The stack atop the pallet catches inside the upper doorframe, and another box tumbles downward and smacks him on the head, breaking open.

Sounds worse than it feels, Big Sal thinks, remembering the smack after getting headbutted so very long ago.

The trucker stands on the ground, and the two lock eyes. He mouths and points for him to turn the other way.

His neck gives a horrendous crick as he slides his snout vertically over the side of the stack to look at Petra’s orb, and he can’t help but snarl.

Like a hummingbird, the orb darts backward, flitting about just like one too.

Covered in tomato sauce and now something that smells like liquid plums, he walks on what feels like a gangplank.

More cold air spills out of an open overhead door, and he walks through stinky flaps that move aside as he pushes in.

Silent, Raleigh points where to set everything down, then gestures to for him to walk back to the truck.

His heart racing from the effort, he manages to grab the other two pallets and carry them across the narrow gangplank into the refrigerated space of Hook’s.

The overhead door closes, and the lights go off as slams it shut.

Alone in the dark, refrigerated space, his heart rapidly slows, and Big Sal begins to feel sleepy.

Man, if I could just catch a couple z’s…

His breath turns into ice crystals, and he leans against a part of the wall that looks a different color. Something like a knob he hasn’t seen before sticks out of the wall, and he sighs, a wintry mix of tomato and plum sauce freezing to him.

He closes his eyes for a moment. It’ll just be a moment.

And something passes overhead, something that might smell like Raven. He can’t quite tell.

But what he can tell is the berry-sour scent of the vine it carries.

Chapter Index →

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Chapter 16 podcast drops February 21
Chapter 17 text drops February 28