“Alright, last leg! Oh goodness Arcanum Glades is way too far out,” says the trucker, cracking his back. “At least I didn’t have to do two truckloads.”
He pats the fender on the truck, startling Big Al awake.
With a throaty roar, Big Al yawns as the truck starts up.
I got keys last night, he thinks, content.
The truck switches gears and the pen from last night skitters across the floor like an escaping snack, and he has to scramble after it. It rolls far beyond the reach of his short, stubby arms. He flops against the wooden floor, watching his precious writing tool roll to the frame, teetering on the edge.
On instinct, he sticks his tongue way out, and wraps it around the pen.
Safe!
Over his head, stirred up by his flop, the menu floats in the air, ‘Kitchen Closed’ circling.
NOOOO!
It flips in the air, and on the other side are pictures, words, even numbers.
WHAAAAAT?
His eyes bulge as he recognizes what could be an even bigger key to the human world.
Doing a quick handstand, he places one foot against the side of the truck for stability, and using his tail, presses the swirling ‘Kitchen Closed’ against the ceiling so it doesn’t fly away. His tongue still wrapped around the pen, he finds himself inverted and not quite sure how he got here. A blink ago, he’d been asleep.
The truck picks up the pace as it hits a smooth highway. A car comes to speed behind the truck. Two passengers, an adult and kid, stare at Big Al stretched out in his contortion.
He decides to hold position, as the car begins to pick up speed and pass.
The kid, a brown-haired boy gives him the strangest look, as if he can’t tell if he’s seeing something real or imaginary.
At last, the car passes, and Big Al lets himself down. Being careful to not lose the menu or choke on the pen, he sits down to study the back of ‘Kitchen Closed’.
For each stomach rumbling picture, there are words. The pictures make his nose feel dead though, for he can’t smell what he sees on the page. His stomach wants to eat what he sees, but his nose says it isn’t there. It’s a very odd feeling for him.
A new scent rolls into the back of the truck, one that has been building for a while like a distant thundercloud finally coming close enough to smell, only this one is of many humans, of many different scents. Of human civilization. Of Ankerton. It swamps Big Al with scents, disorienting him.
That’s humans? They stink worse than Stinkwater.
And the trucker sighs, his own scent becoming more like the homey, cozy smell that is like bison stew but not. He cranks the music, and someone sings about a sweet place in Alabama.
“Coming home to you!” he sings along.
Big Al holds his nose, wishing he still had the nose plugs. He isn’t sure where they went to. But then he gets a big whiff of many dumpsters.
I need noseplugs. Badly.
And as they draw towards Ankerton, Big Al’s nose notices the trucker has many more scents than the few he’s smelled like so far. But instead of the overwhelming stew of some humans at the Zit & Grit last night, the trucker smells like an entire, clean swamp. Each scent swirls with others, little creatures of pits and annoyances swimming through the larger body.
Bouncing onto a bigger road with more lanes of cars heading in the same direction, the truck picks up more speed, and wind fills the back of the truck. More cars start to appear, and he quickly pulls the overhead door down to the floor, closing him off. Some of the scents disappear, but then he smells something very similar to the cinnamon buns, only without the cinnamon and vanilla. Still fresh baked with a buttery smell.
That smells amazing.
Big Al rides along, smelling the different neighborhoods. Some smell more distinctly of pets, people, hedges, trees and lawns, and other smell more of diesel, trucks, oil, metal. Sometimes there’s restaurants and his eyes alight as he sniffs them out.
Then he smells a faintly familiar scent, a human from the bar last night. Someone who told him he had great teeth. It whiffs by in a moment and is gone.
Hmm. Familiar humans. Here and not at Zit & Grit. They get around. Do they journey like me?
Big Al contemplates this.
The truck slows and stops, and the trucker’s scent is changing quickly, building to a ‘home again’ smell, and Big Al realizes he needs to escape the box truck.
The ‘Kitchen Closed’ paper seems too big for the purse, but it crinkles smaller, so he stuffs it in along with the moisturizer and pen. He pulls his hat down over his eyes, adjusts his dress and makes sure the purse is hanging properly. He lifts the back door of the truck, peering out. It’s a diesel environment, and the truck is moving a lot slower. There are no vehicles tailing, so he lifts the door enough and at the next stop and slips down and out of the truck.
He stands at the intersection of Snickle Lane and Handyman Road in Ankerton’s industrial district. It’s mostly warehouses, trucks and parking lots filled with cars
Sniffing the air, he discovers large recycling bins in the area and… faintly…cinnamon buns. Following his nose, he soon realizes how nice the truck shade had been. The hat and sundress keep the direct sun off him, but he hasn’t felt this warm since Arcanum Glades.
Block after block he walks, following the scent of the cinnamon buns. All of a sudden, they get a lot closer. A big truck drives down a road that crosses in front of him, a picture of hamburger buns, cinnamon buns and other breads on the side.
Cinnamon buns in a truck? He stops, not sure why he’s surprised.
A familiar human scent wafts to him, and he sniffs again. Surrounded by food aromas is Raleigh’s human scent.
May as well follow that scent.
Crossing train tracks, he finds himself in a place entirely unlike Stinkwater or anything before, a forest of buildings all on its own. The water scent fills the air, and small stores line the street with big windows where people sit, eat or drink coffee. From an open door the wheat smell billows out like a cloud. Raleigh’s scent goes right past it, so Big Al keeps on moving.
Stick to Raleigh, everything else is mosquitoes in the swamp…
A green park with a big statue in the middle emerges from between the cozy buildings. The grey statue towers over the park, and Big Al doesn’t recognize what it is, but it’s a building-sized anchor, surrounded by a gurgling water feature. Filled with benches, picnic tables and a splash area, the park overlooks a churning, bustling river.
Across the street from the park stands a restaurant, a pirate captain the size of a truck attached to the front of the building. The pirate holds up one arm that ends in a hook, brushing a moustache that ends in a fine curl.
Below the pirate, something moves on the sidewalk unlike anything he’s seen before.
A smallish human dances about, twirling a ribbon wand, more like a bird than anything. They wear something like a tunic of leaves with no leaf scent. Every once in a while, the human stops with their hand up, and a ball of twinkling light appears that they seem to talk to. New and different scents wash towards him, smelling more like things from trees than anything. A few children watch the performer, their awe towards the dancer more…banana than anything. Raleigh’s scent trails from inside the restaurant.
The adults’ chatter has a sharper, brighter twist…mango perhaps? They also have lots of the water return smell.
Big Al stands on a sidewalk, confused, the scents very unusual and not sure what he’s seeing.
The street performer continues their graceful, melodic dance over the sidewalk. They notice him, their scent changing from the human sweat smell to a mango scent that reaches toward him.
They motion for him to step up.
Moving closer, then pulling back, then closer, then pulling back again, the dancer continues to motion for Big Al to approach. Carefully, not sure exactly what is happening, Big Al moves towards this human that is taller than a kid, but smaller than an adult.
A mixture of sweat smell, aromatic honey, more full-bodied and diverse than the children he’s run into so far is what wafts to him. This human stands before a tidal wave of food smells that gushes from the doors.
And for the second time, a new scent arises from Big Al, similar to the mango from the adults.
Curiosity…what is this? Why now?
“Come away! Come away!” calls the dancer. “Dear fellow performer, do you bring the tick tock tick tocking of the clock? Are you a croc that comes looking for the time, or do you bring it? For we at Hooks are a lost little lot, and be eaten we would rather not.”
“Come one Tootles, draw near Nibs. Come Slightly, come Curly. We welcome all to Hooks, but lost boys get free dessert, and twins get free fries too!”
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Chapter 11 audio drops December 13
Chapter 12 text drops December 20
