🎧 Prefer to listen? [Hear Chapter 3 – Disguise… Maybe, Maybe, Maybe in audio form]
Mike Mulberry had been driving tractors since he was six, fixing engines since he was nine, and helping run the farm by twelve. Now, at seventeen, he was proud to own his own vintage tractor from the auction. It was something real fine to use in his dad’s field. A tractor made all the difference in the world on the farm.
And besides, the rounded grey fenders, red engine and black steering wheel made it look purdy, he thought. He’d touched up the paint himself.
That morning, he slapped on his big floppy hat to shade his eyes, hooked the harrow to the hydraulic lift, and rumbled down the dusty road to the field.
Born and raised a country boy, he had only passed grade four. He couldn’t fully read or write, but could do it if he had to. His family didn’t have a television, and all their supplies came in on the Hoffman airplane. He liked his simple life.
So when he passed the airfield and saw someone stand up in the ditch, he figured they’d just fallen asleep there. People did that sometimes. Heck, his uncle passed out in ditches all the time when he got into the bottle.
“Top of the morning to you, sir!” Mike called out to the man, who looked real green. “You feelin’ ok?”
The man turned. His face didn’t look quite right. It looked…puffy. Elongated. Maybe an allergy?
Mike squinted.
Whatever it was, he didn’t want to be rude.
So he gave a big wave and a squinty smile as he passed. The man waved back, real slow.
By the time Mike made it to the field, he’d already forgotten about the green man in the ditch.
Later that afternoon, though, he did notice one thing.
His hat was missing.
Big Al wakes up and immediately stands on two legs. It feels like the right thing to do. He stretches, then he hears the pop-pop-pop of a different, smaller motor behind him. He turns and sees a big tractor with man sitting on top.
“Top of the morning to you, sir! You feelin’ okay?”
All Big Al can do is nod slowly. When the man waves, Big Al mimics him with his front paw.
The tractor passes, and as Big Al watches, a gust of wind blows the hat off the man. The hat spirals a few times and lands on the dusty road. Big Al scrambles out of the ditch, walks to the hat and watches the tractor disappear down the road.
I must remember, he tells himself. I am a Crocodile, but people may see me differently.
Big Al looks down at the hat. Made of straw and quite large, he picks it up and sets it on his head. The brim covers two-thirds of his snout and shields him from the sun.
He feels cooler right away. He realizes that he needs the water of the ditch, and that he can’t last long without it.
“Hello there! Who are you?”
Big Al turns towards the voice. Across the airfield stands a woman wearing a green dress and a straw hat.
“Did you just get in? You must be a traveler, for you do look bagged. Come on in and I’ll make you some tea.”
Big Al glances around and points at himself. He isn’t sure what’s going on, but things seem to be going his way. It’s hard to walk on his back legs, and halfway across the airfield he drops to touch his front paws to the ground.
“You must be tired. Or tipsy for that matter! No worries though. My tea’s the best. It will fix you right up.”
The woman hurries toward him, and Big Al pushes himself upright again. Too much time on all fours and they might see through him.
She reaches out for his front paw. Big Al doesn’t know what it means, but she grabs it gently and gives it a tug.
“Oh goodness, your skin isn’t so good. I have conditioner made by Ellie May a few fields over. It’s the best conditioner you can get. Better than anything in a store. It’ll soften that poor skin of yours right up, so don’t you worry.”
“OK.” It comes out in a low grumble. Talking to people feels much harder than talking to other animals. Instead of just connecting, he has to adjust something in his throat.
“Goodness, did you just cut the cheese? Never mind, it’s okay. Oh, silly me, I haven’t even introduced myself yet. I’m Isabella Fast. Fastest talker around, they say. I can just chatter up any old owl and get even the shyest crocodile to open up. It’s in my blood, I say. My mother was like that, so was her mother, and so was her mother’s mother. We’re all fast talkers and we’re all…”
Big Al listens carefully. With enough listening, he might figure out how all this works. He learned how to stand from a Heron. Maybe he can learn to talk from a person.
She leads him toward her small home near the airfield.
“…just a small little place, but I do have the essentials, yes indeed. The kids will be by later with the sugar, so the tea will have to do for now. Here we are, here we are, just watch your step in here. Oh, careful! Don’t get your tail caught in the door!”
Big Al uses his tail to balance, and it flattens across the floor.
Humans don’t have tails, he thinks. Will they notice I have one?
But Isabella Fast just steps over it, like it’s a sleeping dog, and lets it lie. Still talking, she starts digging through her cabinets.
“I haven’t given a manicure in the very longest time! I used to be an esthetician you see, and I’ve seen all kinds of nails. Being a fast talker, made it a great job!”
She guides Big Al to sit on a stool at a small table. She puts a kettle of water on the stove, then sits down across from him with a big smile.
“Soooo, what’s your name?” she asks as she reaches for his right claw.
Big Al doesn’t know what to say. He extends his claw and realizes he is expected to speak. His long mouth opens, showing even more of his sharp teeth. Isabella just blinks fashionably and returns a smile with just as many teeth.
“Rrrrrrrr…Rrrrrr….R…” The vibration in his throat makes him hiccup. “Ick. Ick.”
“Rick! Well, nice to meet you, Rick. You’re such a handsome young man,” she says and starts brushing his nails.
“Your skin feels so rough. Once I’m done here, I’ll get the skin softener and freshen you up, fit as a fiddle.
“It is nice to see you! We don’t get many strangers out here, but everyone gets a warm welcome. Arcanum Glades is a little community of just a few families.
“Mister and Missus Hoffman came first. Their kids were born right here. A natural home birth in the tub. Can you believe that? After all these years, people are going back to the old ways.
“Me, I was waitressin’ in Ankerton when I overheard Mr. Hoffman say he lived in the middle of nowhere. That’s what I always wanted. So I did what I had to and sold everything. They even helped me get set up out here. It sure is nice seeing the sunrise, the stars at night and…”
The tea kettle starts to whistle and at the same time there is a knock at the door. Big Al feels his defensive instincts kick in. He snarls and pulls back his claw, but she’s already on her feet with her back to him. She lifts the kettle off the heat and steps over to open the door.
A brown-haired girl about nine years of age and a little blonde boy about six stand in the doorway. The girl holds a ring of daisies she’s made and the boy clutches a clear Tupperware container full of sugar.
“This is for you Ms. Fast,” the girl says, holding up the flower ring with a sweet smile.
“An’ heres your SUGAR!” says Clayton. “I totally swear I didn’t eat any!”
Big Al turns to look at the pair, and his stomach growls. Hunger and memory surface at once, and his lips pull back, but he forces them down and looks at the tea kettle.
Not the swamp, he thinks. Different time. Different rules.
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Chapter 3 audio drops August 9
Chapter 4 text drops August 16