On a wooden bench facing the pond sits the trucker.

“What else would a croc be doing in the industrial district? Battling forklifts? Chocking two trailers at once? Nah,” he says. “Figured even if you are the Hooks croc, you’d probably be out here looking for water.”

The lemony-persimmon scent is strong, but another smell radiates out, something Big Sal hasn’t smelled in a long time. Of all the humans he’s met, Wade’s clean-swamp scent is the most relaxing. It brings a feeling of safety, and even a hint of adventure. His old adventure, the one that brought him from Stinkwater to Hooks.

“You’re the guy who drives a big truck,” says Big Sal. He swims to the shore and, shaking himself free of water, sits down on the bench next to the man.

“Haha, yes, guilty as charged. Name’s Wade. Been driving for Molly’s Long Haul for twenty-some-odd years. It pays the bills, keeps the heat on, and gives me a few adventures along the way. You don’t look so good. Is life getting in your way, or are you in the way of life?”

A green-headed mallard paddles out from the reeds and cattails. It catches Big Sal’s attention. He watches it, seeing it as a colorful animal, minding its own business and just looking for water bugs.

Things were simpler back then. Before all this.

He hunches over his clasped hands.

“I heard that my old home, the one I left, is all gone. And now that Raleigh took my key, I don’t have anywhere to go. I thought things were good. There at Hooks. But now I don’t think I know anything. I just woke up, but I’m tired. So tired.” He sighs.

And as he says this, dust rubs loose from his hands and drifts to the ground. He watches it, and a thought crosses his mind.

“Sounds like life is getting in your way,” says Wade. “I’m sorry to hear that about your old home, my man. Sometimes we go through things we can’t make sense of. The world keeps moving around us, but it feels like we’re watching everyone else and only passing through.”

Big Sal’s thought vanishes. The memory of crossing the street after Raven’s Mirage rises in its place.

“Exactly!” he says. And then, quieter and more to himself, he asks, “Why am I here?”

“I don’t know, man,” says Wade, also quiet. “I don’t think many of us truly know. I suppose that’s part of what life is.”

“I think...I miss being around all this. The pond, the birds, the changing sky—this is me. I mean, I loved the attention at Hooks. But this is where I came from. It’s not what I left, that’s different. That’s so different.”

“Yeah, I think I know what you’re getting at. People can be great. Sometimes not so much. But being outside things can often just be easier. Less stressful. Less drama. Nature has its own flow.”

Cilantro seeps from Wade, disappearing into the green of the trees and grass and cattails.

Wade takes a deep breath and holds it. He gently nods four times and breathes out.

“Ahh. It’s what I do when things get too overwhelming. Breathe with me, brother. When we can’t fix everything, and things are all broken on the outside and on the inside, keep it simple, silly. Find a quiet place. And breathe.”

Big Sal doesn’t think Wade understands what he is trying to say, but he shrugs.

“Alright,” he says. He takes a quick breath and lets it out just as fast.

“Slow down, slow down, man. You gotta let that oxygen get into your bloodstream, let that mammalian heart rate come down.”

“Uhm. Ok.”

Big Sal tries again, this time doing it much slower. It doesn’t fix things, but it does help settle the tired feelings.

“There you go. Keep doing that and you’ve got it.”

He does it several more times. The pressure holding him tight inside his body releases, and there is suddenly more of him inside. A lot more.

“Wow. That... did something. I’m not sure what.”

“See? That’s what I’m sayin’. Now, what was it you were saying about not having a place?”

Big Sal sighs and watches more dust drift down from his scaly skin. This time, Wade notices.

“Man, you gotta take that suit off and get a good cleanin’ done.”

“I... I’m not sure. I... I think this is... something normal. I’ve done this before. I think.”

“Mmkay.” Wade gestures to the proximity band on Big Sal’s left wrist. “What’s that thing?”

“Raleigh gave it to me. It tells me when to dance at Hooks.”

“Guy takes your key, but doesn’t take that thing? Man, I don’t think Hooks is done with you.”

“Well, last night I slept out here. The night before, I slept at Hooks, but they said I couldn’t stay there long. So, I went and got all that stuff Petra told me I needed, like a bank account and a cell phone. Normal human stuff, I guess. And then I hung onto an old crocodile skin that I was told to hang onto, but found out later I was supposed to leave at Hooks. Raleigh didn’t like that. I don’t know why he got so mad. Humans are so confusing…”

Wade chuckles at this.

“And so now I don’t have any way of getting a place to stay. And why are you laughing? I’m…I’m trying to be serious here.”

Wade smiles, clears his throat and shifts. “Sorry, you’re right. Go on.”

“I don’t know. I guess that’s it.”

“So let me get this straight. You got normal human stuff. Bank account. Cell phone. That’s more than plenty of humans start with, man.”

No scent indicates that he’s joking. Big Sal looks at Wade to make sure.

“Really?”

“You bet your butt. It takes time for people to get this stuff. Gotta be old enough for this stuff. Gotta have money to put into the bank account.”

“I…didn’t know.”

“So you got money in that account?”

“Yeah. Something about a signing bonus from Hooks.”

Wade looks away and shakes his head. “Man, so you need a place, and you got money. You’re ten times farther along than I was when I was your age.”

“I…how old am I?”

Wade gives him a look. “Man, you could be twelve years or twelve thousand years. I dunno.” He thinks for a moment. “I’m guessing you went to Raven’s Mirage to get ID if you opened an account. Check your ID.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Ankerton, man. It’s a weird place, but the weirdness has a consistency to it. Just know that Doctor Crow doesn’t decide who you are. You do. He just gives Ankerton enough to work with while you figure that out. If he signed off on your ID, whatever’s there is good enough for Ankerton.”

“My purse—it’s over there.”

Big Sal stands and retrieves it from under the tree.

“Man, you shouldn’t be leaving things like that lying around. You’re lucky it’s still there,” says Wade.

“What do you mean?”

“Theft. Someone could come along and take it.”

“People do that?”

Wade’s smile thins and he shakes his head. “You’re lucky you got the wicked suit, man. No one’s gonna challenge you.”

“What?”

Wade sits forward and puts his hands over his face. “Don’t worry about it.”

Big Sal opens his purse. His phone, wallet, the map, and the prepaid card fall out.

“I like your wallet. Cute fox,” says Wade.

“Yeah. I miss him.”

Wade nods but doesn’t ask.

Big Sal slides out the ID. The crocodile in the hologram has become cloudy. He shifts the card, and something else begins to emerge: a curved silhouette without much definition.

“I don’t get these holograms.”

“No one really does. They’re a mystery.”

“So how do I tell…”

“Right there,” Wade says, pointing. “DOB: TBD. Huh.”

“What’s that mean?”

“DOB is date of birth. TBD is to be determined. Huh. Like I said. A mystery.”

Big Sal shakes his head. “How do I know how much money I have?”

“Well, just open the bank app, pair the card and log in.”

“I don’t know what that means,” says Big Sal, tapping buttons on his phone. “And now the phone doesn’t work.”

“Um, did you turn it off?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here, push this button on the side…” Wade reaches over and shows him the button.

“I thought that just made the ding stop.”

“Well, yeah—quiet and off.”

The phone powers up, the logo spinning.

“Yo, that phone is voice-controlled. One of those new models with old-style buttons. So cool.”

“It’s a phone. For a croc. I don’t know why I need it yet. I don’t take pictures.”

Wade watches the mallard paddle between cattails at the pond’s edge. “Well, they’re supposed to help us communicate with each other. Talk. Text. Video chat.”

The phone finishes its boot process and sits idle for a moment.

“What do I do?” asks Big Sal.

“See the microphone button? Push that.”

Big Sal pushes it. The phone makes a soft chime.

“Now tell it to open your bank account,” says Wade.

“Open your bank account.”

A voice from the phone asks him to press his bank card against the back. Wade helps him follow the unfamiliar instructions. Soon, the account appears on the screen.

“Do you need me to tell you how much money you have?” asks Wade.

“Yes.”
Wade leans in and whistles. “Wow. That’s what’s left of a signing bonus? You could buy a car with that.”

“So… I can get a place?”

“You’ve got more than enough to get started. I guess the question is, do you want to live by yourself, or with other people?”

Big Sal doesn’t hesitate.

“With others.”

Chapter Index

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 31?
Subscribe and it’ll land in your inbox!

🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
Just one offer when an edition is ready.

Chapter 30 podcast drops September 5
Chapter 31 text drops August 12

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 28 - Broken
✅ Chapter 29 - Elemental

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

As he walks out the sliding door, someone tries to enter. They freeze when they see him, fear-tart rolling toward him.

I’m so tired, he thinks. I’m not even trying to scare them and they still get scared.

“Whoa. Nice suit. Guess we’ll see you later, gator.”

Humans smell one way and say another. Right now, he doesn’t have the energy to understand why.

And seeing me later? I doubt that. I think Hooks is done with me.

He isn’t sure where to go. Then a thought crosses his mind, and he starts trudging away.

At a bus stop near Hooks, a FlaminGo bus pulls up. The driver opens the door and looks down at him.

“Why the long face, croco?” he asks with a chuckle. “Get on. If you’re going that way, I’m going that way.”

Big Sal gazes up at the bus driver. He isn’t sure what the scent coming from the driver means, but it reminds him of deep water moving beneath a still surface.

“Sal!” calls Petra, running out the door, but she’s too late.

Big Sal taps his card. A loon warbles, and the bus doors slide closed behind him.

The bus heads in the direction he had been thinking of. He stands, holding the overhead railing, and takes a deep sniff, hoping to smell another book. But the bus is almost empty. The few people aboard stare at their phones without registering him.

It’s kind of nice for a change.

He sighs and rubs his face with a hand.

What did I think I was doing here? It’s all wrong. And I don’t even have a place to go back to.

His mind feels slow and numb.

No squirrels, no owls, no grouse.

A strange longing swirls in his belly.

Then, No elephants, no foxes, no other crocodiles.

This time, the longing seeps into the center of his chest.

The bus turns onto Handyman Road, slows, and stops. Big Sal smells cold water, the faintest trace of algae and something strangely clean. He turns toward the front doors.

Before he can step down, a man with close-cropped hair and kind eyes starts onto the bus. His eyes find Big Sal before Big Sal smells the lemony-persimmon scent.

“Ohh, I know that look,” says the man.

Big Sal says nothing. He sighs, steps around him and trundles off. The bus starts up with a fwip-fwip-fwip that echoes down the road. A CRANK News truck emblazoned with Don Maroon’s face pulls away from the far side of the pond, heading the opposite direction.

The pond isn’t far, and as he approaches, he smells something familiar.

Heron.

Splashes and rapid strikes tell Big Sal where the bird is long before he reaches the water. Too distracted to notice him, the bird scrambles through the shallows, trying to eat everything he can.

Setting his purse beneath a tree, Big Sal settles into the pond. A few cattails fringe the edge, but nowhere near as many as he’s used to. There is hardly any algae, and the water smells more like a bathtub than a pond. The cold closes around him, almost like home.

But not.

Eyes closed, he drifts across the surface like only a crocodile can.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What—what are you doing?” exclaims the bird.

Opening his eyes, Big Sal finds the heron beside him. He had smelled the bird drawing closer but hadn’t bothered to move. No belly beast stirs inside him. The heron may as well be sticks and spiderwebs, more memory than food.

“Just napping. I’m sorry you lost your home. It used to be mine too.”

The heron squawks, shivers, and stares at him.

“Big Al?”

“Sal. Big Sal now.”

“Aren’t you going to eat me?” the bird finally says. “I mean, I’ve been eating fish and water bugs. Isn’t this how it works?”

“Mmm. Not hungry.”

He closes his eyes. “I did what they told me to do, and I still got it wrong. Now I can’t go back there. Or home. Our home.” He sighs. “I’m tired. Very tired.”

The heron’s scent changes, filling with confusion. It reminds Big Sal of Carney the Crane, the bird who taught him to stand. Carney had once tasted so good. Now Big Sal wishes Carney were there.

“Can you sing?” he asks the heron, opening his eyes.

“What?”

“Can you sing? Like songs?”

“I, uh. I don’t know. What kind of songs?”

“Uhm.” Big Sal whistles the “still standing” tune that Carney sang for him, so long ago.

He remembers walking into the Zit & Grit and whistling it. The band had joined him, and then the entire room. For the first time, he had felt welcomed. Accepted. He thought he had found that again in Ankerton.

Now he isn’t so sure.

“I don’t know that song,” says the heron. “But let me see. Ah, uh. Hm.”

The heron’s song echoes across the rippling water and weaves through the cattails. It begins with words about a long and lonesome highway, somewhere on one side of Omaha. Later, the song follows the traveler onto a stage beneath the lights. Big Sal lets the loneliness of it wash over him.

When the heron finishes, Big Sal says, “I was like that for a bit. In the spotlight. It didn’t feel so lonely. I felt accepted. I liked it.”

“I wouldn’t know,” says the heron. “The highway part reminded me of leaving Stinkwater.”

“Yeah. I get that.”

For a while, neither says anything. Neither moves. The fire in the sky burns through the clouds, then sinks beyond the city.

The sky never becomes as clear as it was from the roof of the truck. Instead of Stinkwater’s haze, Ankerton’s city lights dim the stars.

Still as a tree, the heron sleeps beside him on one leg.

Good.

In the morning, before Big Sal opens his eyes, the scent of dragonfly blasts into his left nostril like a hose.

He sneezes violently.

With a beat of wings and hardly a splash, the heron rises into the blue sky. The dragonfly that had been sunning itself on Big Sal’s nose tumbles away, buzzes once around his head on shimmering wings, then darts for the cattails.

Big Sal watches the heron shrink into the distance.

I wonder where he’ll go.

Chapter Index

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 30?
Subscribe and it’ll land in your inbox!

🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
Just one offer when an edition is ready.

Chapter 29 podcast drops August 22
Chapter 30 text drops August 29

The afternoon included readings from the published book, chapters beyond the book, history behind the creation of Stinkwater, appearances from some of its odd institutions, and the peculiar sort of promotional material one might expect from Ankerton.

The complete event recording is now available.

This is a recording of a live presentation, so you’ll hear some of the room along with the program, but the full event, including the slides and audio presentations, has been preserved.

Running time: approximately 77 minutes.

Thank you again to everyone who attended, helped organize the event, bought a book, listened, laughed, or followed The Stinkwater Escapee through Mudwater Mutters.

Continue into Stinkwater

Read from the beginning:
Chapter 1

Listen to Mudwater Mutters

Learn more about The Stinkwater Escapee:
www.stinkwater.ca

At one point he would have thought of this group of children as a buffet of snacks, but not anymore. Fear-tart oozes into the bus from them, but the older ones are more interested in him than scared. Mango and banana billow out the bus windows.

“That costume is killer, croc dude.”

“Can I get a selfie?” asks another passenger.

Big Sal poses for the selfie, his attention still drawn to the scent so unlike anything else. It smells like every human scent he knows, all at once.

He finally traces it to two people near the middle of the bus, away from the daycare children. An older brother of about twelve sits with his eyes downcast over a book. His index finger points at words on a page for his little sister. She is about five and small enough to disappear behind the bus seats. She quietly says the words he points at. When she doesn’t know a word, he says it aloud.

But the scent isn’t coming from either child. The book is a furnace pushing out aromas like a smokestack.

The strong scents seem to come from the pages, the paper itself. Every page gives off different shades of emotion. Some carry whole spectrums of fear-tart. Others glow with mango and banana. It smells like hundreds of humans layered together within the pages.

He waddles along the bus aisle toward the two. They don’t notice him until he’s standing right next to them.

“It’s not…often that someone comes along who is both a true f…fr…”

“Friend.”

“Friend. And a good wri…writer,” says the little girl.

She looks up and sees Big Sal next to them.

“Are you a friend?” she asks, unafraid of him.

He thinks he is. He wants to be. But he doesn’t think everyone will think that yet.

Her older brother looks up and smiles.

“Hey Croc. You like books?”

“I don’t know. What is that? What smells like so many different humans?”

“What do you mean?” asks the older brother.

“What she’s holding.”

His sister pipes up. “It’s a library book.”

“Hey Sal,” calls Petra. “It’s our stop.”

“I got you—Flamin’ there,” says an automated voice from the bus as it comes to a stop. “Hooks Restaurant by the docks.”

“You good, Sophie?” says Petra to another adult sitting with the Evermore kids.

“Good as always, Petra. We’ve got this, right boys and girls?”

“Bye-bye Petra,” says a chorus of voices.

“Come on, Sal,” she says.

I never get enough time for the things I really want.

He lumbers off the bus behind Petra.

“You got everything done?” she asks as they wait to cross Sparrow’s Strait. “I did. But now I have more questions.”

Petra laughs. “Oh?”

“Why do I need a phone number? Why are there spaghetti and meatballs on the pirate ship that is City Hall? Why do books smell like so many different humans? And what’s a hologram?”

“We’ll get to them, Sal. What is your new number?”

He gives it to her. She takes out her phone and taps at it. His phone makes an electronic ding that hurts his ears.

“I can change that, right?”

“You can change the sound to whatever you want, yes.”

“Can I try making bison stew sometime in the kitchen?”

“Uhm. You would need to talk to Raleigh and the chef about that.”

As they enter the Hooks dining room, Don Maroon is interviewing someone on the television over the bar. The guest sounds more like squeaks and calls.

“I can’t tell if this is real or not,” says Petra. “I’ve seen Don Maroon improvise with comedians before, but this really takes the cake.”

Standing in a lagoon in the center of a city park, Don Maroon wears hip waders and attempts to interview a heron. The heron dips its beak into the water between answers, swallowing small fish while its wings shake.

“It’s all dried up. Everyone left.”

“I’m sorry, you do look very tired. Where did you say you were from?”

“Oh, it doesn’t exist anymore. Some of us called it Stinkwater Marsh, but like I said, it isn’t there anymore.”

Big Sal slows down and stands as still as a floating log.

“I don’t understand anything but Don Maroon,” says Petra, stopping next to him. “Can you make any of this out?”

“Uhm.”

What? No Stinkwater? No home to return to?

His stomach churns, but not in a hungry way.

“Good morning main cast!” says Raleigh, coming out of the kitchen. “Petra, can you set the proximity bands to siesta mode? Today is Taco Tuesday! Sal, this is Mr. Longbottom. He’s the curator of the Centre for Ankerton Culture, History & Exhibits. He’d like to ask you a few questions and get your profile loaded into CACHE.”

A roundish man in a plaid blue button-up shirt and brown tear-off shorts approaches Big Sal. His mustache sticks out like two chopsticks. Banana and beaver dam whirl around him. He holds out his hand.

“We’re delighted to welcome the new Hooks croc. We’ve wanted to close the chapter on the previous one for a while. Since you have your own suit, CACHE would like to preserve the old costume in cold storage as part of Hooks history. If I can just get the old suit, we can get started with your story.”

“I…what? I did what I thought I was supposed to do.”

Raleigh and Mr. Longbottom stare at him as their scents shift.

Petra looks at him. “I told you to hang on to it. Where is the old crocodile suit, Sal?”

“I did. Until Henry asked for it back.”

Green tea washes over him from the three people around him.

“This is highly unusual,” says Mr. Longbottom. “Highly unusual. Huh.”

Raleigh’s scent changes to fear-tart and then to hot-metal and salt. Like the big guys at the Zit & Grit.

“What did you do that for?” he yells. “How much did Henry pay you for that?”

“Wait, wait,” says Petra. “We don’t know that Henry paid him anything. Let’s not make assumptions.”

“What did I do?” asks Big Sal. “I didn’t mean to…I don’t understand.”

“Out!” yells Raleigh. “No, wait. First, give me your key.”

“Are you sure this is necessary?” asks Mr. Longbottom, his green-tea scent held behind beaver dam.

What is happening?

As Big Sal hands the key to Raleigh’s outstretched palm, a scent seeps out from beneath his scales: damp wind whispering between cattails, dandelion pushing through sunbaked mud, and hints of cilantro.

Is that me?

Customers turn from their tables to watch.

Raleigh floods the space with fear-tart and hot metal.

Petra’s scents change faster than her face. Cilantro rises from Petra as she seems to put something together.

“You hung onto it and walked past The Cinnamon State on your way to Phone Nerds, didn’t you?”

“Exactly! What did I do wrong?”

“Oh, Sal.” Her voice goes quiet. She looks down and rubs her forehead. “I should have told you to leave it in the closet. It wasn’t Henry’s anymore. It belongs to Hooks.”

“That costume has been waiting patiently like a dead crocodile for four years!” yells Raleigh.

“He didn’t know that, Raleigh,” says Petra. “We put it in a bag before he left this morning, and I told him to hang onto it. I…didn’t think I needed to explain that Henry couldn’t take it back.”

“What’s happening, Mommy?” asks a little girl before someone quickly shushes her.

“How does this even—GAAH!” yells Raleigh. “Out!”

As he turns to go, Big Sal glances up at the TV, where the heron eats fish out of the pond.

I wanted to make bison stew. How did I take too much?

His tail has never felt so heavy as he walks out the front door of Hooks.

Chapter Index

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 29?
Subscribe and it’ll land in your inbox!

🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
Just one offer when an edition is ready.

Chapter 28 podcast drops August 8
Chapter 29 text drops August 15

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 27 - Chained
✅ Don Maroon’s interview with a Heron
✅ Local 327 FISH School response

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

On the street, Petra’s map fills him with confusion. He looks at the bullfrog, who doesn’t even twitch when he approaches.

“Can you tell me how to get to the bank?”

The bullfrog’s throat inflates outward in a mottled yellow balloon.

“Come on, you’ve seen everything here.”

“RIDDIT.”

He knows that he has to go around the ship that towers over him so high it’s mast tears a cloud. Something about turning back is uncomfortable to him.

Argh, what does this mean? Another weird human thing?

He keeps walking, growing dizzy.

Or…is this a me thing?

It’s not like the flood he experienced earlier, rather, it’s like a bird fluttering its wings inside his head.

He passes under the stem of the prow, where a carving of something like spaghetti and meatballs wraps around it like an octopus. Strands of rope mimic noodles that drift in a light breeze. A noodle drifts down and for some reason, his head clears, mostly.

“Alright. To the bank.”

Again, he hears the warbling hoot from the bank first, and then the dry-bone smell rolls towards him.

I don’t know why, but those dusty bones smell…like something bigger and meaner than I ever was.

The loon calls again, beckoning the coins and the croc inwards.

Coffee-security people wait just inside the doors.

“Hello, may I help you?” asks a young man in a large lobby.

“Uh, yes. Hi. I’m looking for Marley…the…chains?”

“Marley Deschaines! Yes. I believe…” He checks a tablet. “You’re in luck. Come with me.”

Dry-bone scents float around the floor like swamp gas, and Big Sal feels a shudder ripple down his back.

I don’t want to be here. But here I am.

He leads him down a bright hallway to an office door with the name ‘Marley Deschaines’ on it and knocks.

“Come on in!” says a voice that sounds like the grave.

The door creaks open, and the scent of red-rose tea rolls out from a young woman in a cardigan, thick-rimmed eyeglasses sitting behind a large desk. The desk has a varnished scent of hardwood.

“Ah! The Hooks croc! What brings you this way?” she says. Then to the man, “Thank you Percy.”

The young man nods and leaves, closing the door behind.

The red-rose…it reminds me of…somewhere. Somewhere nice.

He feels himself relaxing, even if just by a scale.

“I need…bank stuff,” says Big Sal.

Marley snaps her right fingers. “Yes. I can help with that. But first, do you have ID?”

Big Sal nods, and pulls his purse up to open it.

“That purse…that looks, that looks handmade. By…oh what’s her name? May I see it?”

“Uh, sure.”

Setting his wallet on the desk, Big Sal carefully takes the purse off and offers it to Marley.

“Oh, Izzy,” says Marley quietly as she finds the creator’s tag inside. “You never told us you did one out of linen.”

The scent from Marley is of cedar-nutmeg and water-return.

“I…don’t understand,” says Big Sal. The cedar-nutmeg is new, and she seems to be looking into the past.

“Who gave this to you? Was it Isabella Fast?”

“Uh. Yes. It was before the big truck ride. After I…crawled out of the ditch. She gave me soup, bison soup.”

Marley chuckles. “Her hospitality was always, yes, Fast. So, you’ve come all the way from Arcanum Glades? That’s quite the trip.”

“Farther, actually. I flew into Ar…Arcanum Glades from Stinkwater.”

“Don’t know that place, but Izzy was renowned for her handmade purses. Most of them were leather or even silk. This must have been one she kept for herself. Between waitressing downtown and selling her wares, people knew her. Here you go.”

Marley hands the purse back to him.

Big Sal holds the purse in his hand for an extra moment. It’s so smooth and soft he’d barely noticed it.

“It doesn’t smell like anything,” he says, confused at how he missed this.

“Oh, Isabella knew her crafts. She was good at giving people what they needed. But I believe I can help you with something you need as well, right?”

“Yeah. Something called a debit card, I think.”

What…is that?

Shifting the ID in the light, a silver picture of himself seems deep within the card. He had seen that. But it disappears when viewed from an angle. Something else is in there too, seen from a different angle, but it’s more hazy than anything. Something that wasn’t quite defined, but starting to be.

“Those holograms in Ankerton’s ID are pretty neat, aren’t they?”

“That’s a picture, but not from over here?”

“Things change from different perspectives, right?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Marley smiles and shakes her head. “Can I see it?”

Big Sal hands it over, and she copies information from it into a laptop on her desk. She asks him a few questions, and when he doesn’t know the answer, she nods, looks something up on her computer, and continues.

Near the end, she hands him a card that has a loon on the front, and a black stripe on the back.

“You take care, Sal. Thanks for stopping by. And if you ever see Isabella again, tell her I said hi.”

“Thanks. I don’t think that’ll happen, but I’ll try to remember.”

“That’s the best we can do. Tootles and Slightly!”

Big Sal nods, not sure what that means, and Percy appears at the door to take him back to the front doors.

The dusty bone smell has shifted, and instead of scaring him, there’s more of a smell of bones with cooked meat on them, and his stomach rumbles.

I should try making bison stew sometime.

As he walks back out to the street, a FlaminGo bus pulls up beside him.

“Hey Sal! You should get on! Next stop is Hooks!”

Petra waves to him from inside the bus.

“You can cover this, right?” says the bus driver. “Not like the other croc who wanted handouts?”

Big Sal sees the ‘Tap’ near the driver, and presses his Loon to the tap. A warble echoes down the street.

“It’s the Hooks croc!”

Every eye on the bus turns to him, except for one set. Petra sits near the front with a group of children that look both terrified and amazed. Scents of mango, banana and cilantro fill the bus as it takes off.

“Hi Sal, have a seat,” says Petra, pointing at a spot next to her.

“Thanks, but I’ll stand,” he says, holding an overhead rail next to her.

There’s something else on this bus that smells more human than humans. It comes from the set of eyes that remain downcast. It’s only two rows back further.

The kids around Petra all wear the same color t-shirt, orange. In black letters, EVERMORE DAYCARE.

Chapter Index

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 28?
Subscribe and it’ll land in your inbox!

🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
Just one offer when an edition is ready.

Chapter 27 podcast drops July 25
Chapter 28 text drops August 1

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 26 - Strained
✅ Captain Clamjaw ad
✅ Department of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

He feels lighter without carrying the old skin around anymore, and there’s a new energy lifting him out of his rumble.

I feel less like a croc and more like a heron with two long sticks for legs.

The Henry-smell that he’d been carrying around is gone, and where it had been his nose finds only clean air.

“This could make it easier to dance,” he mumbles, different songs stumbling their way through his head.

Inside Hooks was a picture painted across the back of the dining area of a pirate ship sailing the high seas. As he walks, another ship emerges from behind a tall building. But as he grows closer, he realizes it isn’t a picture at all, but a large building. Windows glint from cannon ports. A black flag with a human skull and crossbones flies from the top of the mast.

Okay, so did someone bake this? From pictures to real things, right? What menu did this come from?

The mast stretches as high into the sky as the buildings surrounding it. A few people on the street wear something shiny on their heads. The ship-building smells dry, boring, and nothing like Hooks.

He checks Petra’s map. He needs to walk around the bow.

“May the Great Noodly Appendage bend in your favor!” says an older woman who walks by him with a shiny hat on her head. It reminds him of what the chef uses to steam vegetables at Hooks.

“Uh, thank you?” says Big Sal. “You too?”

The woman beams at him. “You know, it’s a special thing to be the new croc at Hooks. Nothing is more Ankerton than the Hooks crew.”

Big Sal shrugs. “Really? I’m just figuring things out as I go.”

“Oh, but we all are. Here at City Hall, we make sure everyone can do that. Tootles and Slightly!”

And with that, she disappears down the sidewalk.

That human smelled like pasta. Like, spaghetti and meatballs. This town is meatballs.

Big Sal makes his way around the bow, passing a couple others with shiny, metallic hats. Once on the other side he sees a giant frog. It sits in a shop window, it’s bored, bullfrog stare fixed on the busy street. A pink tongue drools from its mouth. A plate of insects sits on a table in front of it. Next to the shop window a door sits propped open with what looks like a fabric brick with a plastic antenna. Blinking in the door’s window is a twizzly-smelling sign that says ‘Phone Nerds.’

Big Sal can’t help but look at the frog that is far bigger and juicier than he ever saw in Stinkwater.

“May the Great Noodly Appendage bend in your favor,” he says to the bullfrog.

“RIDDIT,” comes the throaty reply.

It isn’t until he’s inside Phone Nerds that he realizes something.

That frog didn’t even make me hungry.

“Greetings, Mr. Croc!” says a girl’s voice. “Check this out!”

And she twirls the phone in her hand to show him what she’d been looking at when he walked in; the video that he’s already seen of himself walking out of the refrigerated truck carrying a pallet stacked with boxes.

“That’s the best debut for a Hooks croc,” she says. “The last one opened with a dance that was great at first, but then became boring.” Then, with a grin, “Your entrance, like ROAR…”

“Sorry to cut you off,” says Big Sal. “But I need a phone. Can you help me with this?”

“Sorry! Yes!” The girl puts down the phone and starts showing him the phones in a glass case. She takes one out and offers it to him to try.

“Oops,” he says as it slips from his dry hands and hits the floor with a smack.

The scent of vinegar steams out from the girl. Excitement drains from her face. For an instant it says ‘Oh no’ before settling into a placid, bored look similar to the bullfrog.

“Sorry about that,” says Big Sal, leaning down to pick up the phone. “I broke my moisturizer, and….” He sighs. “My hands haven’t been the same.”

Cracks spiderweb across the phone.

He pushes the side button.

It doesn’t respond.

Her cheeks dimple, and she holds out her hand for the phone.

“It’s a floor model,” she says. “Let’s put the next one in a case.”

He points at another one.

She gives it to him and it stays in his hands this time.

“How do you work these?” he asks.

“Tap the screen and it’ll come on.”

He does, but nothing happens. He taps it again. And again.

“That’s weird,” she says. She takes the phone and pulls a spray bottle and cloth from beneath the counter. After wiping the screen, she hands it back.

Again, nothing happens.

With a frown, she reaches out and touches one of his claws.

I’ve never felt anything like that before, he thinks.

“You really need that moisturizer. Either that, or…”

She lets go. Then taps her chin with a finger.

“Just a moment.”

She disappears into a door in the back marked ‘STAFF ONLY’.

Big Sal looks at the claws on his forearms. He touches the glass on the counter, and it’s hard, smooth, and cool.

Usually…

“Here, I found a different one. Let’s try this out.”

The device she removes doesn’t have one large touchscreen the way all the others in the case do. This one has the same buttons found on the sides of the other phones, except these cover half the front, underneath a smaller screen. A few bigger buttons near the bottom have large symbols on them.

“I think this is going to be what you want,” says the girl. “It’s what some might call a dumb phone, but it’s smarter than that. All those buttons you press instead of tapping a screen, and those bigger buttons on the bottom? Push the microphone to talk to the phone, the green button to send, and yeah, it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

Big Sal feels water-return welling up and rushing out of himself.

“Thank, thank you. Thank you so much for this.”

She gives him a smile. “Hey, not a problem. That’s just my job here. Glad we could get you the right device for you.”

She gets him set up with a number. He pays and looks at it.

“Can those numbers be changed to a real clock, one with, uh, fingers?”

“Hands, and yes.”

She quickly sets him up with an analog clock on the much smaller phone display. It’s getting close to ten o’clock. He needs to be moving.

Chapter Index

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 27?
Subscribe and it’ll land in your inbox!

🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
Just one offer when an edition is ready.

Chapter 26 podcast drops July 11
Chapter 27 text drops July 18

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 25 - The Cinnamon State
✅ Don Maroon’s coverage of The Cinnamon State
✅ Big Sal singing

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

Big Sal has settled up with Stacy and left Raven’s Mirage. crossed the street towards Phone Nerds, only to run into Henry. Chapter 25 opens here.

“Smells like you,” says Big Sal. The cinnamon scent he had been following is background to the sweaty scent that comes from the bag and the human that stands before him. But the toast costume is throwing Big Sal off. He vaguely recalls eating toast in a dumpster once. It smelled nothing like the toasted human that stands before him.

“I don’t smell like butter and toast,” says Henry, misinterpreting Big Sal, thinking the croc was getting a dig in at him. “I smell…” He sniffs his armpits.

“…like Eau de Croco. It’s expensive!”

“No. The bag. It smells like you.”

Henry blinks. Once, twice, three times.

“What in the bag smells like me?”

“I think it’s your old skin. I don’t know why I’m carrying it. Do you want it?”

“You’ll have to show me. This big butter knife is glued to the gloves and I can only rub it around. I can’t get my hands out of here.”

Big Sal doesn’t know how to undo the knot the bag was tied with.

If only I had fingers…

“Is it okay if I tear it open?”

“Sure. No skin off my back.”

Big Sal sets the bag down, tears it open, and pulls out an arm. It flops against the ground and makes a hissing sound as it rubs against the bag.

The smell that snaps out of Henry is like a wet twig breaking. Another adds to it. And then his beaver dam breaks open, a flood washing over broken branches.

“Why did you bring this here?” asks Henry. “You aren’t from around here so you don’t know what this was to me.”

“I don’t know,” says Big Sal, wondering where this is going for Henry. Henry’s actions are different from the last time Big Sal smelled broken beaver dam on a grieving trucker.

“Man, can you only use simple sentences?” says Henry. “Why did you bring this here?”

Big Sal’s nostrils flare. Henry’s scent says something familiar, while his actions are very different.

No skin off this croc’s back. This human is…conflicted.

“Petra said not to lose it.”

Henry’s scents change again, and they are honey and mango mixed with mud and woody brokenness.

“Ah, Petra.”

And tears run out of the face nestled inside a pat of butter, darker streaks tracing over the yellow and into the corrugated toast.

“Those were the best days of my life,” he says quietly, with a singsong rhythm.

Big Sal’s own eyes begin to leak, tears running over his fading crocodile skin.

Henry blinks at him.

“Your eyes, they looked human for a moment there.”

Big Sal shrugs and grunts. “I’m just me.”

Henry looks at the bag. “I think this costume found me. What I’m going to do with it, I don’t know. But thanks.”

Why are humans so confusing? The way this one smells, he’s trying to rebuild old dams that have broken but never moved them upstream.

Big Sal glances towards the bakery, where fresh baked cinnamon buns steam in racks just behind the front window.

“Can I…”

“They won’t let you in,” says Henry.

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t like crocodiles. Trust me. Their sign…”

“Croc that, I’m gonna try.”

And with that, Big Sal leaves the crocodile skin in the bag by the toasted human and approaches the Cinnamon State bakery.

“You really don’t want…”
Big Sal waves his front paw the way he did to Security at the Zit & Grit and approaches the door.

Three customers stand in line inside the bakery, two people behind the counter. At the till, a wide man with a nose that sticks out and up gives a sniff and looks out the window, his eyes narrowing at Big Sal. He might be looking at a piece of carrion too bad to eat.

“Can’t you read?” he yells, and slams his hand onto the counter, startling his customers.

“Read what?” says Big Sal, opening the door. Cinnamon is the strongest scent, but underneath it is a fear scent so tart it almost makes Big Sal pucker. There’s also a rot within a sweetish coriander smell that is the baker.

“Get out! Crocodiles are not allowed! Never have been and never will! We do not serve crocodiles, whether from Hooks, the zoo or Egypt! Get out!”

One of the customers, a teenaged boy, gives the shopkeeper with the tilted-up nose a snort. “That’s the new Hooks croc dude. He’s famous. You’re making a bad decision.”

Turning red with anger, the shopkeeper takes the cinnamon bun from the boy.

“You do not know what you are talking about,” he yells, shaking the cinnamon bun in the boy’s face, frosting going everywhere.

“This kind sunk family bakeries over many years. WE. DO. NOT. SERVE. CROCODILES. Read the sign!”

“Nuts to this,” says the boy, walking out. “I’ll take my business to Zenbucks.”

“Go!”

“I just want a cinnamon…” says Big Sal.

“Get out you scaley freak! I will call security! I will call the police! I will call everyone!”

The other customers scurry out another door, one eating the cinnamon bun on the way out, the other leaving it behind.

“Hey Boondaggle,” says Henry from behind Big Sal.

“Yes, patsy?” says the baker, Boondaggle.

“I would not know…” Henry moves a hand, and the large butter knife waves in one direction. “What might happen if I were to, oh accidentally trip, oh whoopsie!”

Henry leans on one leg, teeters…

“Oh you…” starts Boondaggle.

Henry goes down face first onto the sidewalk, unable to stop himself with hands glued to the butter knife.

CRUNCH

Big Sal whirls around, his tail sending a garbage can flying. Reaching down he pushes Henry face up, the side of the toast costume folding over.

A scent that Big Al hasn’t smelled in a long time tickles his nose.

Blood.

A trickle runs down from Henry’s forehead.

“This costume never passed safety,” whispers Henry. “Remember, my hands are stuck in here and I can’t catch myself. He’s liable. Get out of here.”

Big Sal’s nose flares, but then he decides to do exactly that.

Cinnamon buns are harder to get than anything else. Maybe one day I’ll have one. And maybe I’ll bring one to Henry.

So, with a chagrined grumble, Big Sal rumbles down the sidewalk, while Boondaggle’s voice chews out the toast on the sidewalk.

Updated June 24 for clarification and scents.

Chapter Index

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

🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
Just one offer when an edition is ready.

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

In case you missed it earlier this week, Chapter 24 will not be made public as it was submitted to a contest. The story resumes next week with Chapter 25.

This episode includes:
✅ Chapter 1 - The Escapee
✅ Eau du Croco ad
✅ Department of Fourth Wall Deconstruction PSA

Read the full story archive for The Stinkwater Escapee:

https://stinkwater.ca

Hi everyone,

Today didn’t go exactly as planned.

Despite our best efforts, internet connectivity at the venue made the livestream a no go. I know some of you were hoping to join us online, and I was disappointed not to be able to share the event with you in real time.

Fortunately, although the livestream failed, the presentation and audio from the event was successfully recorded. I'm working on putting together a recorded edition so everyone who missed it can still experience the launch.

But the launch itself was something special.

Friends, readers, curious newcomers, and members of the Manitoba writing community gathered to hear Big Al’s story. We laughed, shared stories, answered questions, and celebrated the release of The Stinkwater Escapee together.

Seeing both old friends and new ones gathered in a room to listen to Big Al’s escape and later misadventures is a moment that will stay with me.

Thank you to everyone who came, and thank you to everyone who was waiting online. Your support means the world.

Over the coming days, I’ll be sharing photos, reflections, and some thoughts on what lies beyond the chapbook and where Big Al’s adventures go next.

Thank you for your patience, your encouragement, and your belief in this project.

The livestream didn’t happen.

The launch did.

And what a day it was.

With gratitude,

Jacob Buller
Author of The Stinkwater Escapee

I’m busy preparing for Sunday, putting together the different media and making sure everything works.

If you can’t make it out on Sunday to the Artspace building, well, I have news for you, you can watch the livestream here:

stinkwater.ca/launch

I must say, it’s really wild to be thinking that I’m debuting a book on Sunday. I never imagined my first book would be about Big Al, or have pirate-themed restaurants, or even doing a podcast with media literacy. It definitely keeps my life busy, but man, there’s definitely a feeling of accomplishment here.

For those of you who are curious where things are going after Chapter 24, well, Big Sal finally gets to The Cinnamon State, Ankerton’s premier cinnamon bun bakery. If you can guess who's waiting outside the bakery, and what costume they're wearing, I'll draw one correct answer from the comments and send that reader a free copy of The Stinkwater Escapee. Just sound off in the comments!

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

The cinnamon scent drifts down the road past the FlaminGo, away from Raven’s Mirage and toward Phone Nerds.

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!

🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
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

A knock on his door wakes him up. The water in the tub is cold, and he doesn’t want to leave it. After another knock, he drags himself out and opens the door.

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

🔍 Want to preview Chapter 23?
Subscribe and it’ll land in your inbox!

🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
Just one offer when an edition is ready.

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