The girl’s gaze lingers a second too long on the shadowed room, eyes narrowing for a moment before widening in horrified surprise. Then a piercing shriek bores into his head, and the flowers slip from her fingers and drift to the floor. Ms. Fast is indeed fast, snatching the sugar from mid-air as Clayton lets it slip, his mouth opening with a second, synchronous scream of death.
Ms. Fast sets the sugar down, holds one finger against her lips, and raises an open palm.
“Please. Stop. Stop. Stoooop.”
Clayton bursts into tears and bolts from her doorstep.
“What EVER is the MATTER, Jenny?” She peers past her front door, watching Clayton zip home.
Tears spring to the girl’s eyes as she attempts to keep herself composed. She squints, twisting her face like she’s trying to wrap her head around something that doesn’t make sense. She tilts her head, blinks, and looks from Ms. Fast to the apparition inside.
“Wha…. wha…. why… Ms. Fast. Is. Is. Is there a… crocodile… inside your home, sitting at your table… with a manicure set open before it?”
Closing her eyes, she presses both hands against her temples.
“Goodness, darling child, this is no crocodile. This is Rick. He just got in and I was having a conversation with him. You brought the sugar by just in time for our tea—so very timely of you indeed. If you come in, I can introduce you to him. He’s quiet as a crocodile, but don’t be shy. He’s gentle as a bird.”
Her head tilts downwards—refusing to believe—Jenny looks up slowly and shakes her head. “No, Ms. Fast. That’s a crocodile, not a person.”
Anxious, Big Al thumps his tail against the floor. Dishes in a cabinet rattle.
“SEE? He’s got a tail! It just thumped the floor!”
“I heard a thunderclap somewhere, yes,” says Ms. Fast, looking out at the clear sky. “How odd. But don’t be afraid—this is just some company that stopped by.”
Jenny shakes her head and backs away.
“Hello!” Clayton returns, leading his mother, a woman with bright green eyes in her late twenties or early thirties. “Clayton was saying something about a crocodile, which is just plain ridiculous…”
“Dawn! Good to see you! I don’t know what’s gotten into the children—they went plumb crazy when they saw my guest here.”
Dawn looks past Ms. Fast, squints, and shields her eyes, peering into the twilight space.
“You ever think of putting a window in that east wall, Ms. Fast? It’s so dim in here I wouldn’t be surprised to see a jackalope.” Her gaze brushes over where Big Al sits, lingers for an anxious moment, then moves on.
“Can’t do it—that’s where the elevated water tank is.”
“Oh, right.”
“MOM! That is NOT a person—it’s a crocodile. Big, fat, with a humongous tail that makes dishes rattle,” insists Jenny.
“Jenny, are you playing too much Roblox again?” sighs Dawn, giving the shadow in the corner an uneasy glance. “Sorry about the kids—they’ve got wild imaginations.”
“Come along now.” She ushers them away, and as they go, Clayton spots the tip of Big Al’s tail wiggle and bursts into tears again.
“Well now, that certainly was dramatic. There’s not much drama around here—I’m sure we’ll be laughing about the misunderstanding for months. But let’s move along,” says Ms. Fast, closing the door.
Was that danger or not? I’m not sure.
Outside, Big Al hears a motor rumble. Lower-pitched than the airplane but not as throaty as the tractor.
“What kind of tea do you like, dear?” asks Ms. Fast. “I’ve got golden chamomile, red rose, orange pekoe, lemon ginger, indigo butterfly pea blossom, and—and persimmon, which isn’t a colour at all, but I like it anyway.”
“Rrrrr…”
“Red rose it is!”
Big Al swishes his tail, knocking over a stool.
“Oh goodness, did that orange cat get in again? Give me just a moment and I’ll chase it down.”
Big Al watches her search the small kitchen for the culprit.
“DK, where are you, silly kitty? Short for Doorknob—dumb as one, I tell you. Come here! DK? DK?”
Strange, thinks Big Al. Little ones can see me, but not big ones.
He understands the bigger one who came with a little one was like the mother Buffalo.
Big ones guard little ones. Can’t eat little ones.
This is a new situation to Big Al, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s hungry, but Ms. Fast looks like him, dressed in green and wearing a straw hat. It wouldn’t be right to eat something that seems so similar to him.
So when Ms. Fast says she’ll be right back, that the cat must have gone elsewhere in the house, he looks around the kitchen.
Scents overwhelm him. Before, all he could smell was the human. Her scent still lingers, but by shifting his snout even slightly, he can smell things close by and far away. Cinnamon sits in a jar a few feet away; the red rose tea is like a beacon in front of him.
Meat. There’s meat in a pot on the stove, and Big Al’s eyes widen. It smells a little different—not quite as raw—but still smells incredible.
Big Al can’t help himself. His tongue snakes out to the pot to slurp up the delicious contents.
Pain. Pain like Big Al hasn’t felt before. Getting stomped on by an elephant was one thing; getting head-butted by a buffalo was similar. But sticking his tongue into a pot of boiling bison soup is the single worst pain yet.
“AAaaaOOOooooooo!” yelps Big Al, sounding more like a lone wolf than a crocodile.
Ms. Fast thumps into the kitchen. Big Al holds his freshly pampered nails to his snout.
“Goodness, are you hungry?” she asks, seeing him over the pot of stew. “Did you burn yourself? I’m so sorry. I should have asked if you were hungry. Drat that cat, I’ll leave him be. Rick, please, sit down. I’ll fix you a bowl of stew and we shall have our tea.”
Big Al sits, holding his claws to his snout.
This human world has pain in the smallest places. Finding food hurts. Perhaps I should go back to the swamp.
But then she pours the stew into a bowl, blows to cool it, and Big Al’s stomach leaps in joy.
Something smells so very good.
“It’s my very own bison stew. It’s very hot, though. Here, you look like someone who’d appreciate a straw.”
Ms. Fast gives him a straw with a cherry fastened in the middle, along with a ladle to scoop it up.
Tantalizing and delicious, the heat rises to meet him. Mimicking Ms. Fast, he blows on the surface to cool it, and in a moment, it runs down his throat—juicy, warm and delicious.
Strange. Buffalo food for humans, but not for Crocodile. If I eat like a human, I get things I wouldn’t otherwise.
Right there, Big Al makes his decision to continue to Big City. He wonders what else might get cooked up there.
🔍 Want to preview Chapter 5 before showing your kid?
We’ll send you a sneak peek.🛡️ We respect inboxes. One story, one email. No spam.
Just one offer at the end — when the full book is ready!
Chapter 4 audio drops August 23
Chapter 5 text drops August 30