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Big Al was a crocodile. The biggest in all of Stinkwater Marsh. All the other creatures feared him, not just because he was big, but because he just might eat them. He liked it this way. Most of the Herons knew better than to get too close. Every once in a while, one of them would disappear, and a short time later, Big Al would belch feathers.
They would tiddle and be nervous for a while, watching carefully, but the Herons never knew exactly when the big croc would strike.
For Big Al was very good at hiding. He would lie motionless for the longest time, longer than it took for his swampy home to fade into darkness and come back to life. He would lie like that until all the animals forgot about him, and then he would strike.
Oh Big Al was a glutton. Once he tried to eat Elli the Elephant, but got his teeth stuck in her skin. She shook him off like a fly and stomped on his tail to make sure he didn’t try that again. After that, Big Al left the Elephants alone. From then on, Big Al decided to only eat animals smaller than him.
One sunny day, as Big Al was basking in the sun (or possibly lying in wait for a Heron, because we never know when his stomach is about to strike), a stranger appeared in the Swamp.
Dressed all in red with a white tip at the end of his furry tail, Robbie the Fox pranced across a log, a delicacy held in his snout. Hanging was a grouse; a bird Big Al had only had the pleasure of eating once before.
Mmmm, thinks Big Al. That grouse is mine.
Moving so slowly he doesn’t even trace a ripple across the water, he approaches the Fox who only looks too proud. With a careful dive, he swims under the log only to surface on the other side.
He opens his mouth where teeth like daggers gleam and drip.
“Put grouse in mouth,” he says to the Fox. “Now.”
The Fox had not seen Big Al coming. Robbie starts shaking, scared by the mouth that’s bigger than he is. But even though he is scared, the grouse is his, and he’s not about to give it up without a fight. He swallows his fear, straightens his back and leans to the side to look Big Al in the eye.
“I dare say, that’s a mighty fine mouth you have there. With teeth like those, I bet you could tear me limb from limb. It’d only be too easy for you. So why bother with a grouse like this? Or even me for that matter? Oh, don’t bother, my bones would just get stuck between those teeth and you’d have a horrible time trying to pry them out.”
Eating the Fox hadn’t occurred to Big Al. He wondered what fox might taste like. Like Pelican? Or perhaps like Coyote? Maybe a cross between the two?
“Put grouse in mouth,” he says again. “Or I eat both. Even though you smell like trick. Now.”
The Fox realizes he is cornered, and that it was dreadfully stupid of him to be walking on a log in the middle of a swamp that he wasn’t familiar with.
“Oh old chap, I’m out of my territory you see. I was just running from a hunter from the Big City. I nabbed his quarry so he shall be looking for this for a while. ‘Tis a good thing he had no dogs. But with a smile like yours, my friend, you could do so very well in the Big City. Goodness gracious, you could be anything you wanted to be there! You could be big on television! Or do a music video and go viral on the internet! A wily old chap like you who can sneak up on a crafty old Fox like me, goodness, you could go so far! I like you my friend! With eyes like yours you could be the next Timothée Chalamet! Whatever you wanted to be! I could even help you…”
And that was the end of Robbie the Fox. A few minutes later Big Al burped a little bit of red fur and a feather or two. It was an unusual combination, and Big Al’s stomach didn’t so much like the Fox. It tasted nothing like Pelican, and faintly like Coyote, only with a little more game.
But what the Fox had said got to Big Al.
Big City, he thinks. What is in Big City? Perhaps easy food? Will there be Grouse? Swamp pickins gettin thin.
Wind blows through the marsh that day, stirring the reeds in a new song.
That night he asks Merlin the Owl about the Big City.
“Food there?”
“Quite literally everywhere. So much food that there are places just for food, where they bring food to you. I believe they are called ‘restaurants’. People eat there.”
“How does Big Al get to Big City?”
The Owl flutters a wing and turns its head around a few times, nervous. Big Al just fixed his yellow gaze on the Owl until it answered.
“I’m really not quite sure. It could be north. Or maybe south. Somewhere far away. Somewhere very distant. Somewhere very distant indeed.”
Big Al grumbles, and the swamp water vibrates with his irritation. It sounded like the swamp itself grumbling.
“Cheerio,” hoots the Owl, then flutters off into the deep, starry, stinky night.
The next few days Al stayed still as a log, but went without any snacks.
Thin pickins indeed.
A day later a noise like a hornet comes from the sky. Buzzing loud and trailing a line of grey smoke, something like a giant yellow bird descends into the swamp. It soars down, bounces a little against the water and skids across. It surprises Big Al, and he dives deeper to avoid a big pontoon that nearly hits his back.
Looks like Eagle, he thinks. As he looks up through the surface of the swamp, he sees a door open in the side, and people step out onto the pontoon.
“Give me a moment. I think it’s just the exhaust manifold. I’ve got a replacement. It won’t take long.”
“…In the name of love… What more in the name of love…” sings a quiet voice from inside the cockpit.
Big Al watches. After a short while, the people go back inside. Soon, the person working on the engine returns to the cockpit. The engine coughs once, then hums with more thunder than buzz.
Never one to miss an opportunity, Big Al swims closer. The pull was strong. He didn’t fight it. He smells a sweet, citrus smell from the plane he hasn’t smelled before.
Mmm… must be from Big City…
The noise was deafening, but as the airplane begins to move, he snags a pontoon with a tooth. It drags him along in the water for a distance, and being pulled through by a means other than his own strength is exhilarating for Big Al. He reaches out with a stubby forearm and grabs the other pontoon.
Wrapping his own tail around the airplane’s, he hooks his back feet to the rudder, digs in with his claws beneath the belly, and hitches a ride. Wind like he’s never felt it before rushes into his big snout, and he can’t help but open his mouth and let his tongue hang out.
“HA HAH! I CAN DO IT!” he bellows, holding out a thumbs down to the swamp he’s leaving behind. A thrill of exhilaration fills his saggy crocodile belly. Or was it anxiety?
Behind him, the creatures of the swamp, the Herons, the Owl, the birds, the small creatures and even the elephants all wave good-bye to their biggest predator.
“Well maybe that’s the last we’ll hear of him,” says a Heron.
“Good riddance. Maybe now we can live in peace,” adds another.
“Hmm. However peaceful it may now, I suspect that without the Crocodile, balance may be off for a while,” says the Owl.
The Elephant herd trumpeted a cacophony of noise, brass band and drumming with their feet. The trees waved their leafy fronds like a fire dance. Late that night, the squirrels threw a party, complete with nutcrackers and acorn brew, while the frogs planned their resurgence.
🎧 Prefer to listen? [Hear Chapter 1 – The Escapee in audio form]
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Chapter 2 drops July 19 — don’t miss it
Edited July 7, 2025 for tone consistency and minor style adjustments.
🐊 Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's wandered into the marshy galaxy this week.
Chapter 2 drops July 19, and I’m so glad you're here for Big Al’s wild adventure.
If you liked it—or even if you just squinted and said, “What's Jacob up to now?”—I'd love to hear what stuck with you.