Lost Lagoon of Dr. Hota Two

A little background material to The Big Mosquito.
A Jason Midnight and His Cousin Caroline short mystery
from Slow Left Turn At Midnight.
Copyright 2006 by John H. Baillie

The Lost Lagoon of Dr. Hota

Part Two

     We thrash around in the bush for half an hour or so, but it’s hopeless. It’s blacker than a B-movie villain’s heart out here. So we go back to the cabins finally, and try to regroup.

     “I rather regret to admit this, given the circumstances, but I suspect I may have an explanation for our so-called ‘monster’,” Prufrock confesses.

     “It’s a man in a rubber suit, isn’t it?” Henry Henry asks, confused again.

     “No, Henry. That other item I mentioned to you.”

     “Oh. Ohhh-hh …" Henry gets it. But we don’t. Yet.

     “Spill, Doc,” I say.

     “Yeah,” Gary says with a huge grin. “What’s up, Doc?” He laughs like hell. “Get it? Get it?” Rodan and Mothra scream. Kent whaps Gary across the back of the head.

     “Get serious! That weirdo carried off one of my customers.”

     “Ow! No, he didn’t! Annabeth owns her own place!”

     “That’s right! I’m not liable!” Wesley is overjoyed. Caroline whaps him across the back of the head. “What was that for!”

     “Annabeth’s our friend! We still have to find and rescue her.”

     “All right, all right. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help ... geez.”

     “Doctor?” I try to bring us back to the point here.

     Prufrock finishes re-lighting his pipe, then starts on his story. “A colleague of mine runs a lunatic asylum not very far from here. He recently contacted me to let me know that one of the male inmates had escaped.”

     Wesley is flabbergasted. “And you didn’t think to mention this till now!”

     Prufrock is unflappable. “Up until now, we’ve been operating under the assumption that we’ve been dealing with some strange, aquatic hybrid monster, not a mad human being. There was no reason to make the connection.”

     “Maybe not in your mind. But —”

     “Uh, excuse me?” Patrick politely interrupts.

     “What!” Wesley is not so gracious.

     “That escaped madman? Uh ... that would be me, then.”

     “Oh, good,” Prufrock declares. “Clears that up …"

     “You’re an escaped madman?” Caroline asks Patrick cautiously, as Wesley is too stunned to speak. I knew there was something about this guy I liked.

     “I prefer the term ‘lunatic’,” Patrick replies genially. “I like to check meself into an institution whenever there’s a full moon. Just to be sure. It’s in the blood, y’know? Normally, I’m pretty good about checking meself out again as well, but it must have slipped my mind this time. I just dodged out the window, when I had the chance. Sorry to cause any alarm,” he apologizes to Dr. Prufrock.

     Prufrock waves him off. “Nonsense. No harm done.”

     Wesley looks like he’s ready to erupt again, but Gary cuts him off with a surprisingly pertinent remark. “So if this guy is the escaped madman ... then who was the guy in the rubber suit who carried off Annabeth?”

     “Good question,” I agree. “And what are we going to do about it?”

     “Not to worry.” Patrick gives us a particularly charming smile. “I’ve got us a plan.”

***

     By midmorning the next day, I realize what we’re up to is possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever been involved with, and that’s saying a lot. Patrick, Kent and I are out God knows where someplace in the bush, with Humphrey the giant toad on his leash trying to track down Annabeth and the Monster-guy, Trent. “I’m starting to think this is a really bad idea,” I declare.

     And it’s getting hotter, and stickier, and stupid Wesley walking in front of me keeps letting go of branches so they whap me in the face.

     “Now, now, Jason,” Patrick reprimands me, in the lead with Humphrey. “That’s what everyone else said. Have some faith.” Patrick’s proudly wearing a huge floppy straw sombrero that belongs to Annabeth, decorated with big blue fake flowers. Brought it along so Humphrey could follow the scent, so he claims.

     “You know, all this reminds me of my three all-time favourite movies,” Wesley announces out of the blue, like we care. “The utter surreality of it all.”

     “Surrealism,” I correct.

     “That too. Maybe this is good for me. I have to build on this, become a better person for it. Use it in my work. My calling.” Whap! Another tree branch in the face.

     “There are easier ways to self-improvement,” I mutter darkly.

     “One day, I can make a movie out of this. A tour de force possibly even to rival The Creature From the Black Lagoon, It Came From Outer Space, and The Thing From Another World. The original, of course. The black and white one.”

     “I thought they were all black and white to you. And I also note, none of those movies were directed by Roger Corman,” I point out, gasping. I can’t take this heat! Did we think to pack water? No-o-o. Real toad-stalkers don’t pack water.

     I reluctantly gave up my trenchcoat for a short sleeved shirt and no tie, but this is still too much. Those nudists have got the right idea.

     “Oho! I think Humphrey’s onto something,” Patrick asserts.

     “That’s the seventeenth time you’ve said that,” I remind him. And I have been keeping count.

     This is ridiculous. We’re miles from civilization, getting farther away every step. Gallows Falls is north of the Whiteshell Provincial Park, on the eastern border of Manitoba abutting Ontario. Another reason it draws such lousy resort business, all the action is south and east of here, along Highways Number One and Two. There’s probably one park ranger for the surrounding three hundred miles. By the time they muster a search party to find us and the stupid toad, we’ll starve to death. If the toad doesn’t eat us first. And then the search party will get lost, and there’ll be nobody left in Gallows Falls to go out looking for them, and that’ll be the end of the entire settlement — 

     “Aye up! Humph’s on the trail now! He’s after something!” Patrick shouts. And sure enough, the damn amphibian’s making some kind of grunting noise and showing more animation than I’ve seen him demonstrate yet — most of the time I feel like we’re just following a damn ugly lawn ornament.

     “Patrick, you idiot!” I yell after him as he disappears, crashing through the undergrowth. “Be careful! We don’t know the terrain around here, we can’t go running off blindly, we might — AARRGHH!”

     Oh, lay off with the frigging cosmic irony, whoever’s in charge here! Sure, I’m the one giving the warning, so I’m the one who falls off the fifteen foot high rock outcropping. I crumple into a heap of brambles at the bottom — particularly scratchy brambles. “Hey! Help! Assistance, please, some assistance down here, please! ... At least send down the friggin’ rescue toad with a keg of draft, willya!” Oh brother. Got myself into this, I guess I’ll just have to get myself out.

     I painfully detach myself from bramble after bramble after bramble, noting how many burrs I’m picking up in the process, then start clambering up the rocks back to where I was. God, this is puffing me out! Don’t mess with Nature in Canada, Nature always wins, it’s part of our national consciousness for Christ’s sake. I’m not built for this, I’m from the city, dammit.

     I haul one arm and then my head up and over the top and pause, completely out of breath. Whoa! What’s happening here?

     Patrick and Humphrey are nowhere to be seen, but Kent is standing five feet away with a wild, exotic female, dressed in some kind of skimpy jungle two piece, leaning up against his chest on both arms and staring appealingly up into his terror-filled eyes, her mouth sensuously open. She has a mane of wild black hair, and strange, almond shaped eyes. I bet she’d look really hot even in black and white. Oh wait a sec. This must be the Pillsbury Doe Girl.

     “You not like Hota,” she says in this husky, sex-filled voice. Caroline did mention something about her awkward speech pattern. “Hota not let Vixeena be as she likes. Hota makes Vixeena wear these.” She tugs at her halter top. Wesley lets out a little squeak. “Vixeena needs to be free, but Hota not allow. You — you can stop Hota. You are strong.” She runs her fingers up and down his chest. Wesley shivers as if it’s forty below, not forty above. “You — come with Vixeena! Stop Hota! Then Vixeena can be free, like the others, but not head-washed like them too. Not zombies. Naked, but dead in head.”

     Sounds like one of my many bad dates. What’s she referring to? Now we’ve got naked zombies to cope with too?

     “You — come now. Come with Vixeena. Stop Hota! Stop Hota forever. Then — Vixeena can be naked too. And — perhaps you can be naked with Vixeena!”

     I’ve heard enough. “Ahem!”

     Wesley screams, which surprises me so much, I lose my grip and go tumbling back down into the brambles — double frigging AARGHH. By the time I can haul myself up again, twice as exhausted, scratched and dented, Vixeena is gone, and Patrick and Humphrey are back. Wesley sits on a log, hyperventilating and saying “Omigod! Omigod! Omigod!” over and over again.

     “Jason, lad! I thought you’d had an accident. Where’ve you been? What’s wrong with Kent?”

     “Give me a hand,” I gasp. I’d hate to experience what Patrick considers to be a genuine accident. Patrick ties Humphrey to a tree and rushes over. He helps me up. “Now,” I pant, “give me that fallen branch there — the thick one.” Patrick gets me the branch. I prop myself up with it, until I get enough breath back. Then I break the branch over Kent’s head. That gets his attention. He jumps off the log. I push him backwards over the edge of the outcropping I just clambered up, down into the brambles. Kent yells blue murder. “That’ll wake him up,” I tell Patrick. “Now — that’s enough, I think. No more toad stalking. How do we get out of here?”

     “Depends. Where are we?”

***

     Hours later, the three of us crawl gasping, scratched and torn out of the bushes. Everyone rushes to help. Rodan and Mothra scream.

     “My God, guys!” Henry Henry is appalled. “What happened? Did you have to fight the Monster? I mean, Trent? Where’s Annabeth? What happened!”

     I lean against a tree. “No, we didn’t fight the stupid monster, we got lost! We did fight each other a few times though, trying to decide which direction to go.”

     “Thankfully, the sun finally started to set, so we all agreed that must be west. Which was very helpful. Until we realized none of us knew which compass point the cabins were in.” Patrick said.

     “Smart ass,” Kent grumbles, lying flat on his back in the grass. Summer is dangerous, in this climate.

     “We fluked it off eventually, by process of elimination.”

     “But did you save Annabeth?” Mothra wants to know. “Did Uncle Humph — I mean, the toad, lead you straight to her, like you thought he would?”

     I shake my head. “Not a glimpse,” I admit wearily.

     “That’s all right,” Prufrock mutters, around the pipe in his mouth he’s busy lighting again. “Here she comes now.” He nods towards the lake.

     “What!”

     “Hurray!”

     Even Patrick, Kent and I manage to scramble up to run down to the water’s edge to greet her — to greet them, actually. It’s Annabeth and Gary in a canoe, with Annabeth doing all the paddling. She looks a little disheveled, but none the worse for wear, unlike the toad-stalking party. Gary, though, he looks like he’s seen a ghost or something. He sits ramrod straight in the front of the canoe, totally frozen, gibbering something inarticulate over and over, a glazed look in his eyes.

     “My goodness. The boy appears to be in shock,” Prufrock remarks.

     “How did Gary end up with Annabeth?” I want to know. “And when did a canoe enter the picture?”

     “Gary went out in it shortly after you three left on that ridiculous hunt of yours,” Caroline tells me. “He decided he was going to search some of the streams and inlets into the forest that he knew. He must have found Annabeth.”

     The prow of the canoe grinds onto the sand. Moose and Lucky haul it up. Henry tries to get Gary out, while Rodan and Mothra rush to help Annabeth.

    “I’m okay! I’m okay! You can leave me alone!” Annabeth protests. But she doesn’t object when Patrick takes her hand and leads her carefully onto the beach. “God, what a night. What a day!” She looks totally exasperated.

     “What happened?” Caroline wants to know. “What’s wrong with Gary?”

     “Ohh, brother …" Annabeth can’t face us. She has to look away for a moment. When she turns back, she’s bright pink, and it isn’t from sunburn. “This is all so embarrassing. Last night, when that guy — Trent? Carried me off? He made it about fifty yards into the bush before his adrenalin ran out and he collapsed beneath me. I jumped up, and tried to find my way back here, but I got turned around in the dark and I ended up getting lost in the forest. Finally I just gave up. I sat down beside this stream and cried, and then I must have fallen asleep. I slept and I slept. The next thing I knew, there was Gary coming up the stream in a canoe, yelling at me. Great! I thought. Rescue! But then we got lost again, this time on the water. Everything connects to everything else around here on the Shield you know, and we ended up going deeper and deeper into the forest …"

     She pauses for breath. Gary is sitting on a stump now, staring into space, his eyes bulging wide open, going “Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh” over and over. Dr. Prufrock checks his pulse, with a critical eye. 

     “And then,” Annabeth continues, “we found it.” She stops. We wait. Nothing. Caroline snaps.

     “Found what!”

     Annabeth looks around at us, her gaze intense. “The Lost Lagoon ... of Dr. Hota. It does exist. And …"

     “And what?”

     “Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-”

     Annabeth blushes bright red. “They are nudists. It was too much for Gary. There they all were, standing motionless on the shore, staring at us silently, like zombies. Every one of them stark naked. Girls, and …" Her eyes drop again. If possible, she blushes even more deeply. “Boys,” she finishes, her voice cracking.

     Rodan and Mothra scream.

     “Will you quit that!” Annabeth snaps, embarrassed. “It’s really annoying. It was just too freaky. Gary went all horny and whacked out like this, so I had to paddle us away. I found my way back in about forty minutes. Somebody get a pail of cold water and dump it over him.”

***

     Annabeth doesn’t think she can find her way back to the lagoon. It’s an absolute maze of streams and bogs and marshy acres out in that bush.

     “That’s bad,” I say.

     “How come? Do we really want to find them again?” Kent demands.

     “I’m not certain. But they saw Annabeth and Gary, seeing them. And they don’t know Annabeth can’t find her way back. It they’re really intent on secrecy, they might want to find us again.”

     Patrick, Kent, Annabeth and I have a quick dip in the lake to cool off, then something to eat. The bucket of water over Gary’s head did the trick for him. He’s still yelling and over-excited, but that’s practically normal behaviour. Nobody can settle in after the excitement, but we do get the toad back in his usual glassed-in enclosure at least. Prufrock, Kent, Gary, Annabeth and I somehow end up together just after dark in the common grassy yard behind the cabins Wesley rents, just up from the beach and where we fought Trent last night.

     “Do you really think those weirdos will come after Gary and Annabeth?” Kent demands. The cool swim didn’t calm the guy down at all.

     I take a seat on the flat top part of a wooden picnic table and light a cigarette. “I don’t know for sure. I suspect you could tell me more about that than I can tell you, Kent. How many times have you met with Vixeena?” We didn’t really talk about Kent’s “brief encounter” while we were lost in the woods, because we were all too mad at each other already.

     “I’ve never seen that woman before in my life! ... Not more than once or twice.”

     “How many times?”

     “Okay, six times altogether, but this is only the third time she talked to me.”

     “When was the first time she talked to you? Just before the Monster appeared?”

     “Yes! How did you know that?” Kent is amazed.

     “It makes sense in a bad horror movie sort of way. You talk to Vixeena, wild girl daughter of Dr. Hota. Vixeena obviously has plans for you, to help her against Hota somehow. A Monster appears, and starts trying to carry off your guests. Someone’s trying to warn you off, Wesley.”

     “Ah! But Annabeth isn’t one of my guests!” Kent declares in triumph.

     I shrug. “Half the time you can’t remember that. How’s the poor Monster supposed to know the difference? She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

     “Okay! I admit it all! Vixeena is in love with me! Today isn’t the first time I’ve got lost in the forest. I do it practically weekly, actually, I’ve got no sense of direction —”

     “I noticed.”

     “She told me her father won’t let her be free, that he imposes all kinds of unnatural restrictions on her! Like making her wear clothes.”

     “The beast.”

     “Vixeena wants the freedom the other members of Hota’s weird colony enjoy, except she says they’re not really free. She says Hota controls their minds somehow, so they can’t feel or think for themselves!”

     “Zombie nudists. It does get better and better.”

     “I don’t want anything to do with her! She scares the hell out of me! And she wants me to kill Hota or something — she keeps on telling me I could take Hota’s place and run the colony myself!”

     “She obviously isn’t familiar with your vacation resort management skills.”

     “I just want her to stay away from me!”

     “Extraordinary,” Prufrock remarks. “But how does this explain the Monster? Trent, from the Lost Lagoon.”

     “Obviously a lagoon inhabitant who’s jealous of Vixeena’s attentions towards Kent,” I surmise.

     “But why the masquerade as a Monster? Assuming it was a masquerade.”

     “Are you kidding? Mad Doctor? Lost Lagoon? Exotic Wild Girl? Zombie Nudists? Why not a Monster?” I protest.

     “Hey!” Gary interrupts, grabbing Kent’s arm. “This sounds like one of those movies you’re always going on about. You know. The Creature From Outer Space, The Thing From the Lost Lagoon, It Came From Another World, those ones.”

     “No, no, no!” Kent yells. “You always get them wrong! Have some respect for the metier I’ve devoted my life and all my aspirations toward! The Creature From the Black Lagoon, The Thing From Another World, and It Came From Outer Space!”

     “So the thing is, it’s not from the Lost Lagoon?”

     “Thing From Another World, It’s from Outer Space, and the Creature’s from the Black Lagoon!”

     “It’s from the Black Lagoon?”

     “The Creature is from the Black Lagoon, It Came From Outer Space!”

     “So what’s From Another World?”

     “The Thing! The Thing!”

     “But the thing is, it’s the Black Lagoon, and the Creature’s from where again?”

     “The Thing is From — ANOTHER WORLD! The Creature’s from the Black Lagoon! And It Came From Outer Space!”

     Kent’s shrieking now. He looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel or two in his brain. Rodan walks onto the scene just at that moment. Bad timing.

     “What’s from another world? The Creature? I thought his name was Trent, and he came from the Lost Lagoon.”

     “NOT WHAT!” Kent’s lost it. “THE THING! THE THING IS FROM ANOTHER WORLD!”

     “What thing?”

     “I think he means It,” Gary says to her.

     “What?”

     “No, not what, It. That’s the thing.”

     Kent screams, grabs Gary around the throat and chokes him with both hands. “I don’t care if the Zombies are trying to kill you! I’m going to kill you myself!”

     Rodan screams. I jump off the picnic table and try to haul Wesley off Gary. I’m dimly aware of a familiar “RRRRRAGHHH!” behind me, and a shriek from Annabeth I barely hear over Rodan screaming in my ear. I finally pry Kent loose and throw him sprawling onto the grass. Gary falls into Rodan’s arms, gasping and clutching his neck.

     “Geez, what a grouch!” he rasps.

     I look around. No Annabeth. “What happened!” I demand from Prufrock, who has continued to stand there calmly smoking his pipe throughout all this.

     “It was the most amazing thing. Trent, wearing only his swim trunks, came stalking out of the undergrowth as soon as he saw we were distracted. He still acted precisely like the Monster, even though he wasn’t wearing the rubber suit. He has obviously been completely engulfed in his Bestial Persona. Fascinating. He used this opportunity to abduct Annabeth once more. You know, I really think we must acknowledge that he has a far keener intelligence than we’ve given him credit for to date.”

     I’m aghast. “And you just stood there watching?”

     “It was an admirable opportunity to make accurate observations of the Beast in action. I owe it to Science not to interfere.”

     I barely restrain from interfering with Prufrock’s nose with my right fist.

    Everyone else charges in at that moment, having been drawn to the scene by Rodan’s racket. Kent gets back on his feet. Moose, Lucky, Mothra, Caroline, Patrick, Henry Henry Henry, everybody wants to know what’s going on.

     So, naturally, now that we’re all together in one big group, the Zombies choose that moment to attack.

     They come shambling up out of the lake itself, from the forest on either side of us, and from every direction but the cabins themselves. At first they’re silent, but then we hear it, an ominous chant starting quietly then growing louder, louder, louder.

     “ho-ta ... ho-ta ... ho-ta ... Ho-ta ... Ho-ta ... HO-ta ... HO-ta ... HO-TA! HO-TA! HO-TA!”

     They stare at us with empty, malevolent, vacant eyes. And every single one of them is buck naked.

     We all scream.

     Then they’re among us, trying to overcome us, trying to carry us off. We fight back desperately, but it looks like there’s too many of them.

     “Flee! Flee for your lives!” Prufrock yells. Finally got his attention, I see.

     “Fight!” I yell. “They’re naked! Aim for the obvious!”

     “The obvious what?”

     “Caroline, this is one time you should be able to figure it out for yourself!”

     Good thing it’s really, really dark out here. These Zombies all seem to be of the well-buffed teenage variety — that might really be distracting in better light. I kick out, lash out, hit out, the Zombies go rolling off me. All right! “WOOOO!” Who’s the man? I do a little quick step, stylin’ and profilin’, and some smartass Zombie clobbers me over the back of the head with a tree branch. I have time to think “ouch,” before oblivion sets in yet again …

(to be continued …)

*****

Photography by Renee Beaubien, at Beyond the Prism

on Flickr, at:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/128997372@N08/

*****

REALITY FICTION AND BEYOND!

The Big Mosquito continues, with postings number 2 and 3 of 49, Monday August 10th and Friday, August 14th. As always, at:

http://realficone.blogspot.ca/

A dinner party, and a visit to the offices of Sturgeon’s Eyeblink Studios. Plus I told you Victor Coffin was going to be in it, didn’t I?

Featuring:

2.   six is a good number

3.   senseless diary

4.   unfinished press release, from the desk of Victor Coffin

5.   on the set

Sink Decomposition Series

by Fandango Moberly

#4 of 50

Dr. Hota part one

A little background material to The Big Mosquito.
A Jason Midnight and His Cousin Caroline short mystery
from Slow Left Turn At Midnight.
Copyright 2006 by John H. Baillie 

The Lost Lagoon of Doctor Hota

Part One

     I don’t know what the official dictionary definition of nubile is, but I certainly know what the word means to me.

     My definition gambols happily all about me at the moment, in ample female number, as I lie here peacefully on the beach with my cousin Caroline, my darting eyes safely concealed behind black sunglasses. I could quite enjoy myself here in the sun, if it wasn’t for the monster and all the other weirdness Caroline is laying on me. I force myself to pay attention to what she’s saying. For one thing, I really have to make certain she really said what I think she just said.

     “A giant toad? You’re sure about that?”

     “Yep,” Caroline assures me. She also wears big round dark sunglasses, and a floppy enormous blue hat, a green one-piece bathing suit, and a thin peasant skirty type thing over her legs. She’s pretending to read War and Peace like she does every summer, while she lies on her blanket and watches all the young guys go by in their tight bathing suits. “She takes it out for a walk every night after dark. Creeps you right out the first time you see it. Every time you see it, actually.”

     I contemplate the image. Takes it out for a walk? “How giant a toad are we talking about? Define giant.”

     “Big enough to need a leash.”

     Where the hell do you buy a toad leash?

     “But not so big it could swallow a cat or something. At least — I don’t think it could swallow a cat. It’s about the size of a cocker spaniel. A really big, fat, ugly cocker spaniel.”

     “And this toad is the monster you called me out here to investigate?”

     “No no, the toad’s an example of some exotic species from the Amazon Rain Forest or something — just be thankful it’s not a cockroach. The monster comes out after midnight, and it’s terrorizing Annabeth’s and Kent’s cabins. Which includes mine, because I’m renting from Kent, which is why I called you out here because this monster’s annoying me, and I’m supposed to be on holiday for the first time since God knows when. Canadians don’t take enough holidays, you know that? There have been studies. In many ways, we’re still a very backwards people.”

     “You get what you pay for,” I caution her.

     “Yeah, I know it’s a super deluxe cut-rate cabin resort, way out in the bush miles from anywhere, but it’s all I can afford during the high season. Besides, the beach is nice.”

     Three more girls in bikinis bounce by. “Yup. The beach is nice. But it’s the name, you know, more than anything. I just can’t see a resort called ‘Gallows Falls’ really taking off in any season. So Annabeth’s the one with the toad?”

     “Yeah, and she’s certainly embarrassed by it. It belongs to her mother, who’s some kind of scientist, and Annabeth’s saddled with looking after it during the summer while her mother’s off on some wild expedition somewhere. That’s why she only walks it after dark.”

     Two young ladies, shorter and less buxom than the last trio, laughingly draw a line in the sand right in front of Caroline’s and my blanket and get ready to play badminton between us and the lake. The slightly taller one calls hello to Caroline, who waves back.

     “That’s Rodan and Mothra,” Caroline explains. “They’re renting the place next to mine.”

     “Rodan and Mothra?”

     “Not their real names. They’re vacationing incognito. Rodan’s the taller one, the one posing like a dancer for some inexplicable reason, in the pyjama pants and bikini halter? The one in the white tee-shirt and white bikini bottom is Mothra. I think she’s got some kind of muscular disease, which is why she’s so skinny, and sticks her chest out like that.”

     “I noticed. Why are they ‘vacationing incognito’?”

     “Hey. I respect their privacy, they respect mine. They saw the monster — Thursday night. God, you should have heard the screaming.”

     “Okay, let me get this monster stuff straight. What is it they saw? Not the toad.”

     “No. The monster.”

     “I caught that part. What does this monster look like?”

     “Like some guy in a tacky rubber suit from some bad fifties horror movie. It looks vaguely amphibious, vaguely reptilian. It’s got big yellow eyes, bulging of course, it’s kind of a dark green all over with lime overtones and it leaves big, clawed, flipperish tracks in the sand. I’ve seen the tracks, but not the monster. And it goes ‘RRRRRAGHHH!’ a lot.”

     “RRARRGHH?”

     “No — ‘RRRRRAGHHH!’. I did hear it. Even though I didn’t see it. According to the girls and the other witnesses, it stomps around going ‘RRRRRAGHHH!’ and trying to carry off people. It walks really stiffly, with its front claws out like this. ‘RRRRRAGHHH!’”

     Caroline imitates, wiggling on her butt and sticking her arms out Frankenstein-like in front of her. A badminton birdie bounces off my head.

     “Sorry!” Rodan — no, Mothra — scurries up and picks the birdie up off the blanket. “Oh, cool! Are you doing the monster?”

     “RRRRRAGHHH!” Caroline lunges at her.

     Mothra sticks out her claws and returns the gesture. “RRRRRAGHHH!” Not to be outdone, Rodan stalks stiff-legged up behind Mothra, grabs her around the waist, lifts her off the ground with a “RRRRRAGHHH!” of her own and an ear splitting shriek from Mothra, and tries to carry her off back to the badminton line in the sand. But they fall over and now they’re both screaming, but I think it’s supposed to be laughter.

     “I see panic has overrun the scene,” I comment to Caroline.

     “Chill out, we’re on holiday. Give us a break. You’re lucky I even phoned you about this.”

     “I am?”

     Caroline’s counting on her fingers. How she’s managed to run her own successful textile store for the last ten years is a mystery to me. “So that makes seven — no, six — no, seven! Seven people who have actually seen the monster in all.”

     “Seven people have seen this thing, and you call me in to get rid of it? Why not the cops? Or at least the forest rangers, or whoever. If you’ve got that much verification.”

     “Get real. Who’s gonna believe a whacko story like this? Only a total nutcase would investigate something like this, a real lunatic, someone without any kind of grip on reality at all.”

     “Okay, I get the point. Me or no one. So who’re these seven witnesses?”

     “Annabeth. Rodan. Mothra.” She’s counting them off on her fingers, one by one, to be certain. “Kent Wesley, the guy I’m renting the cabin from. Dr. Prufrock — ”

     “Dr. Prufrock?”

     “Don’t interrupt, this is hard. Henry Henry, his assistant — ”

     “Does that count as one or two?”

     “One — who’m I forgetting? What am I up to?”

     “How should I know?”

     She does a rapid recount. “That’s — oh, and Lucky Levesque and Moose Norwood. That’s all seven.”

     I hold my head. Sigh. “Eight, Caroline. That makes eight.”

     “Get out! One, two — oh, shit. Okay. Eight witnesses then, and I personally have heard the beast and seen its tracks.”

     Two old guys wander up in hideous coloured shorts and ask Rodan and Mothra if they can join them in the game. “That’s Lucky and Moose,” Caroline explains. “They’re butterfly hunters from New England, and they’re renting the cabin on the other side of me from Rodan and Mothra.”

     The birdie comes straight for my nose — I dodge just in time. “They’re also really godawful badminton players. Who’re the other three guys you mentioned, Prufrock, Henry Henry Henry, and Wesley Kent?”

     “Two Henrys. Henry Henry and Wesley Kent. I mean, Kent Wesley. Look. Let’s call him Kent.”

     “And we’ll just call Henry Henry. ... I mean — ”

     “I know what you mean. Dr. Prufrock is a nuclear physicist and also holds degrees in genetics research, and Henry is his rugged, crewcut assistant. Henry does all the heavy lifting. Prufrock’s kind of boring, but Henry’s fun.”

     I can’t stop myself. I sigh again. “And they’re vacationing here too? Or are they investigating nuclear radioactively induced genetic mutations, like the other two guys are butterfly hunting?”

     “You know, I never thought to ask. It’s hard to tell, with Prufrock.”

     “That’s okay. Tell me about Kent Wesley. Or is it — ”

     “No, it’s Kent. Kent is slightly older than me, kind of handsome, in a gravelly, stretched out kind of way, and he’s a frustrated movie director who’s trying to eke out a living renting cabins in the Gallows Falls cottage resort. He’s very high strung, but in a manically appealing kind of way. He got hit on the head as a child, and now suffers from a rare sight disorder that causes him to see the world only in black and white and the occasional shade of grey.”

     “Let me guess. He was the first one to see the monster.”

     “Yeah! How did you know?”

     “I’m good at what I do.” I know a whacko when I hear one described to me. “That’s also why you called me, remember. Is there anyone else I should know about?”

     “Yeah — Gary. He hasn’t actually seen the monster yet. He works for Kent. Gary’s kind of a nerdy teenager who likes to race ATVs up and down Devil’s Gully late at night. He’s the one who came up with the idea for the resort mascot, and built it with his own hands — the big one out in front of the cabins? You couldn’t have missed it. It’s supposed to be a roadside attraction, drawing attention to the resort.”

     “‘Woody, the Sixteen-Foot Woodtick’? I bet he just reels them in.”

     “Hey! Woody keeps the rates down, as far as I’m concerned.”

     “You got the hots for Wesley?”

     “I’d jump his bones in a second, if he gave me the chance. I told you he’s high strung.”

     “Look out — “ Incoming birdy again, followed by incoming Rodan, who lands face down on the blanket, wildly waving her racket. Mothra screams. Jee-sus, that’s annoying. Rodan runs off, laughing. Good thing she’s cute.

     “So, we have four sort of scientists who’ve seen this monster,” I get back to Caroline. “What’s their explanation for what it is? Especially the genetics expert. He must think something.”

     “Yup. But he goes along with the general opinion. If there’s something weird happening at Gallows Falls, it’s because of Dr. Hota.”

     “Oh God, not another mad scientist.”

     “Oh no. The other guys aren’t mad, they’re just on holiday — maybe. Well not really. Well I don’t know. But I do know that Hota is — or was — definitely mad.”

     “And what’s the basis for this unarguable fact?”

     “Everyone says so.”

     “ ... Well, there you go.”

     “You see, Dr. Hota’s family used to run a Christian Revival Sun Camp somewhere around here in the 1930s and 40s. But when Dr. Hota inherited the camp, he turned it into a medical research centre combined with a nudist colony.”

     “ ... All right, he is mad.”

     “‘Dr. Hota’s Naturalist Resort for Decent Young Men and Women’, it was called. Is called. You see, rumours are, it still exists. It’s for young men and women, ages eighteen to twenty-two, to prove to themselves they can co-exist naked and if they’re pure enough in thought, nothing — untoward — will happen between them. It was meant to be some kind of psychological-sociological grand experiment.”

     “That definitely would raise the tension in the area. Eighteen to twenty-two year old boys, living with naked women the same age, and nothing’s going to happen? The guy wasn’t mad, he was nuts. What happened to this camp?”

     “No one’s ever found it. Apparently, it was populated by invitation only, so its location has never been widely circulated, as no one in Gallows Falls itself was ever deemed worthy of admission. It’s supposed to be located at some lagoon out in the bush somewhere, only accessible by canoe. Popular belief is that the camp still exists, and maybe Hota himself is still running it as well, because there have been periodic sightings of Vixeena in the forest during the last three years.”

     “Vixeena?”

     “The Doe-Girl.”

     “What, like the Pillsbury Dough Boy? This is too much. Some pale skinned, fat white chick in a chef’s hat running naked through the jungle?”

     “No! Doe! Doe!”

     “Who you calling a dodo?”

     “D-O-E! Not dough. Doe. The Doe Girl. Vixeena. She’s Dr. Hota’s wild girl daughter.”

     “Stolen at birth by a band of mercenary chipmunks and raised by a deer in the forest, that kind of wild girl? The prairie Tarzan type, as opposed to the pregnant-at-thirteen type wild girl?”

     “No one knows Vixeena’s true origins,” Caroline says ominously. “But she’s a wild one — an exotic appearing, black-maned creature with alluring eyes and an awkward speech pattern. And I think Kent’s secretly in love with her. Drives me nuts.”

     “She’s nude too? That would explain his attraction to her.”

     “No, she wears some kind of jungle bikini. Pretty skimpy apparently, but it does cover the essentials.”

     “This is nuts. We’re in the Canadian Shield here, not on some tropical Island of Dr. Moreau. She’d freeze to death in the winter. Or in the fall and spring, even. For that matter, so would all the other nudists.”

     “Which is proof that Dr. Hota must still be alive and up to his deranged machinations somewhere in the forest then, right? He obviously has some kind of no doubt impressive all weather mansion and laboratory at that lagoon, where the ferile nudists and his mad daughter Vixeena take shelter for the winter.”

     “Ferile’s not a word. You mean feral.”

     “Who’re you calling a mean feral? I am not!” Caroline’s irate.

     “No, I mean — oh, never mind. You started it. So what does some whacko mad doctor, his crazy exotic daughter, and a bunch of naked but spiritually tight-assed teens have to do with this monster in a rubber suit lurking around terrorizing the Gallows Falls’ beach resort?” Wow. It was good to get that out.

     “Since Vixeena and the nudists can’t survive on their own, Dr. Hota must still be running things at the Lost Lagoon. And if he’s still in charge, he’s obviously still carrying out mad experiments. It’s his metier, right?”

     “You know metier, but you don’t know feral?”

     “Never mind. The Monster of Gallows Falls Beach must be the result of one of those experiments. It has escaped, and is now trying to carry off more young men and women to join the tight-assed nudist colony.”

     I stare at her. “And you came up with this all by yourself?”

     “No, I had help. There are some very educated people staying at the resort this year, you know. Dr. Prufrock, and Henry Henry and Lucky and Moose, and Kent of course, and Annabeth and her toad all think that that’s the likeliest interpretation of events. We came up with the theory together. Well, the toad didn’t actually contribute much, but —”

     The birdy lands right between us, and Rodan slams down on top of it a moment later, followed by Mothra. Screaming, of course. By the time we get rid of them, to my own regret I’ve come up with a plan. Caroline’s still focused on my last recorded statement of doubt.

     “You don’t believe me, do you? You, of all people, don’t believe me. How do you have the nerve not to believe me, with all the crap you’ve expected me to accept over the years? I’ve seen and heard this monster myself! Its footprints, anyway. How can —”

     “Hold on, hold on. You chill out. I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. I just implied you sound like a crazy person, telling a story like that.”

     “Apology accepted. So — what are we gonna do?”

     “I’m going to need a really big net. And lots of help. Get the boys and girls together, and tell ‘em Jason Midnight’s leading them on a monster hunt tonight.”

     “So what if all the evidence does lead back to this lost nudist colony at this weird lagoon?” she asks. 

     “We’ll have to infiltrate it and find out what’s really going on, naturally. Go undercover.”

     “How do you go undercover at a nudist colony?”

***

     I’m out behind Caroline’s cabin just before sunset, checking out the fishnets strung together that Caroline’s buddy, Kent, got for me. Caroline and Kent are out rounding up the rest of the volunteers, as we prepare for the night’s ambush. A tall, lanky looking guy in white pants and a well-lived in blue shirt comes up and stares over my shoulder at what I’m doing. Haven’t seen him before. I try to go on with what I’m doing nonchalantly, as if there’s nothing out of the ordinary happening here. I really don’t want to have to explain myself.

     “What’re you doing, then?” the fellow asks. He’s got a lilting sort of Irish accent.

     “Uh ... getting a net ready.”

     “Oh. Yeah. You would be, then.”

     There’s a long pause. He doesn’t go away. I wait for it.

     “What’s the net for, then?”

     I take a deep breath. “We’re gonna try to trap a monster in it.”

     “Oh. ... Big monster, is it?”

     “Uhhh, yeah. About man size. That’s pretty big.”

     “It is. Big, indeed. You’ll be needing a hand, then?”

     “Many as I can get.”

     “Good. What should I do, then?” He squats down beside me.

     “Oh. Okay. Check to make sure all these smaller nets are laced together tight. I don’t trust the guy who got the net for me. He’s not very mechanical.”

     “Not caught a lot of monsters, has he? I know the type.”

     “Right.” Between the two of us, we repair all the weak links in the net chain Kent’s given us. We work together well, silently, getting right to it. I like this guy.

     “Got a name?” I ask.

     “Yeh. For quite some time now.” Silence.

     “Uh — so what is it? Your name.”

     “Oho! Sorry — I thought you were offerin’. Patrick.” He holds out a hand for me to shake.

     “Jason Midnight, Private Investigator.”

     “What? Do you mean like a detective, or do you mean someone who investigates — “

     ”Detective. I’m investigating this here monster, and the Lost Lagoon of Dr. Hota.”

     “Well done. Why?”

     “Because this monster is annoying my cousin.”

     “Can’t have that —” We’re interrupted by Caroline returning with Kent.

     “What’s going on? What are you doing? What’s wrong with my net? Did you break it? Auggh! I can’t take the tension!” Caroline’s right. Wesley is highly strung.

     “Everyone else should be here in a minute or two,” Caroline reports. “All seven of them. Annabeth, Rodan, Mothra, Lucky, Moose, Dr. Prufrock, Henry and Gary. Who’s this guy?”

     “That’s eight, Caroline. This is Patrick. He wants to help.”

     “That makes ten then. Pleased to meet you.”

     Patrick shakes hands with Caroline. “Pleasure. Hear you’re huntin’ monsters.”

     “Yeah. Thanks for helping.”

     “You’ve got a grand night for it.”

     “Don’t you just love it? I love this time of day, when the sun’s just about to set over the lake ... It’s so romantic, don’t you think so, Kent?” she says, very pointedly.

     Kent explodes. “Am I the only one around here who thinks what we’re doing is desperately weird!”

     I shrug. “It’s your resort.”

     “I know! All I ever wanted to do was make movies! All I ever wanted to be was the Canadian Roger Corman! But, no-o! Instead, I have to own some kind of stupid cottage resort that’s haunted by monsters and idiots that come out after midnight trying to carry off my customers!”

     “You sound resistant,” Patrick points out kindly. “I’d’ve thought you’d appreciate someone tryin’ to do somethin’ about the problem.”

     “I can’t help you with the idiots, but we will do something about the monster tonight, I guarantee that,” I tell Kent. I wonder which idiots he’s referring to? “Hello, you must be Dr. Prufrock and Henry Henry Henry Henry. I’m Midnight.” Two male figures loom up out of the increasing gloom. One is a dignified, balding older man, smoking a pipe, and the other is a pug-nosed crewcut guy with tiny eyes and a big heart, you can just tell.

     “Yes, pleased to meet you.” Prufrock holds out the hand without the pipe in it, and there’s more handshakes all round.

     “I already know you!” Wesley shrieks, jumping away from the Professor.

     “Get this guy outta here, will you?” I mutter to Caroline. “He’s going to scare away the monster. So Doctor — what brings a nuclear physicist slash geneticist out to a garden spot like Gallows Falls? Business or pleasure?”

     “Well, we thought we were getting away for a quiet holiday, but now that this monster’s turned up, I am taking more of a professional interest in events.” He has a deep, well-modulated, slow voice, and doesn’t seem to be at all perturbed by what he’s saying.

     “So you believe in the monster then?”

     “Oh yes. I saw it. Twice, actually.”

     “What’s your opinion of its origin?”

     “Obviously an evolutionary experiment run amuck by that madman, Dr. Hota, you know. I must say, I’m rather affronted by the whole affair. This is the kind of behaviour that gives science a bad name.”

     “Yeah. It must be tough enough already for you guys, eh?” I sympathize. “Keeping up that front that radiation is good for us. But speaking as a geneticist, what sort of ‘experiment’ do you think actually produced the monster? Assuming Dr. Hota is responsible for him.”

     Prufrock takes on a scholarly tone, as if lecturing in a classroom. “The beast appears to be amphibious, slightly reptilian, with large, bulging yellow eyes, and very impressive claws on its hands, and vaguely flipper-like feet. I have to admit, I’ve never encountered anything quite like it before. I suspect it might be some sort of prehistoric missing link between man and fish, perhaps preserved in isolation from the rest of civilization in a neighbouring glacier possibly. Or, as I suggested earlier, the result of an evolutionary experiment gone wild.”

     “And you say that with a straight face?”

     “I take my science very seriously.”

     “I think it looks like a guy in a rubber suit,” Henry Henry spoke up. “But what do I know? I’m not a scientist.”

     A nerdy looking kid runs up, out of breath, wiggling around so much he looks like he’s gonna explode. “Hi! I’m Gary! You haven’t caught it yet, have you? I want to see it! I wanna be there when you catch it! Can I? Can I?”

     I stare at him. “I think we’ll use you as the bait.”

     “Awright! Cool!”

     Caroline and Kent come back with the butterfly hunters, Lucky and Moose — Moose? The Butterfly Hunter? — and with Rodan and Mothra. More hellos, etcetera. Gary runs up excitedly to the girls.

     “Mothra, Mr. Midnight said he’s gonna use me as the bait for the Monster!”

     Rodan and Mothra scream. Naturally.

     “What? No way!” Wesley’s off again. “Look, this kid is annoying, but he’s the only help I can afford to hire this summer, and he’s the only one who knows how to keep the damn boats and air conditioners and TVs and VCRs and DVD players working! I can’t afford to have him carried off by the Monster if something goes wrong!”

     “Nothing’s going to go wrong,” I assure him. “Actually, I think we’d be better off with a male and female out here as bait, preferably two of the younger people. So I need someone to stay out in plain sight with Gary. Rodan? Mothra?” I plug my ears in anticipation.

     They scream. I don’t think it’s in agreement. I also have second thoughts about either of them being able to fill the role properly, if they’re going to keep this racket up all night, even before they see the Monster. Where am I going to find another willing young nubile this time of night?

     My city-bred instincts alert me to something weird happening off to my right. I whirl and stare in that direction. There’s a path there, between the trees, leading off to the rest of the cabin area of Gallows Falls, not owned by Kent Wesley. I see the silhouettes of a somewhat chubby female and a squat, cube-like pendulous thing on a rope. The thing takes a ponderous hop towards us. Rodan, Mothra, Caroline and Kent all scream.

     “Oh, God, it’s that freakin’ toad,” Wesley gasps after a closer look, clutching his chest. “You just don’t get used to it …"

     Rodan and Mothra rush forward. Their screams were apparently of delight this time. “Humphrey! Oh, how is ‘oo, you gorgeous little hunk of toad, you!” They’re actually hugging the thing. Humphrey endures their affection in dignified silence.

     I stare at it, trying to make up my mind whether a bulldog would be uglier or not. I can’t decide. I shake my head. “How grotesque,” I comment.

     The woman with the toad blushes and gathers the neckline of her shirt. “Ohh, God! I knew I shouldn’t have worn this blouse." Huh?

     “No, no! The toad. You’re quite pretty.”

     She goes into shock. She’s about twenty-six, give or ... nah, she’s either twenty-six or thirty-one, there’s no give there. Her hair is swept back in a short ponytail, she has blue eyes in a pleasant face, and she’s probably no more than thirty or forty pounds overweight, emphasized by the tight black shorts she’s wearing under her coral coloured blouse, but seemingly an all round nice person, I’m certain. Despite the toad. I’ll leave the all round bit out if she asks me how I really think she looks.

     But she’s still completely stunned by my calling her pretty. Her eyes bug out. She’s blushing again. She sounds like she’s about to have an asthma attack, she’s gasping so hard.

     “Look. I didn’t mean to upset you — “ I begin, but Patrick interrupts. He steps up and takes her free hand, the one without the toad tied to it.

     “No, no, what he means is, we were just sayin’ how we need a pretty young girl to stay out with young Gary here and act as decoy for the beastie we’re hunting tonight, and out of the forest you walk fittin’ the bill completely. You will help, won’t you.” He gives her an utterly charming grin.

     She’s thrilled. Obviously doesn’t get out much. “Of — of course!” She laughs.

     Hmp! Okay. “Well, now that we’re all assembled, and everybody’s been assigned their roles, let me explain to you exactly what we’re doing here.”

     Rodan and Mothra scream.

***

     “Where did you find that guy?” Caroline asks me about Patrick.

     “He found me. Just wandered along.”

     “He just about charmed the pants off Annabeth, and I mean that literally, with her figure. She’s usually very shy and insecure.”

     “I caught that. Who knows where he’ll take her before the evening ends? The night is young.” Famous last words.

***

     By 1:45 a and I do mean m, I’m ready to pack it in. Annabeth and Gary have been sitting on a big rock on the beach, looking out over the lake since 10:30, waiting for the Monster to appear. The rest of us have been cleverly concealed, watching and waiting. And waiting, and waiting, and waiting …

     “You know, the beast may be more clever than we thought,” Dr. Prufrock announces sententiously.

     “Or maybe we just thought we’re clever,” Caroline says, with a significant look at me.

     “I’m going to the can,” I tell her. “We’ll give it till two, then we’re packing it in. Here — hold Humphrey’s leash.” We couldn’t leave the toad with Rodan and Mothra, they were making too much noise cooing over it.

     “Actually, the toad’s name is Arthur,” Caroline tells me.

     “What? Then why do the girls call him Humphrey?”

     “Mothra thinks Arthur looks like her uncle. Her Uncle Humphrey.”

     I’m outta here.

     I go into Caroline’s cabin to use the facilities. This is crazy, I decide. What makes me believe this particular group of seven, or eight, or however many of them there are, vacationing lunatics are reliable witnesses regarding anything? Butterfly hunters? Nuclear physicists? Two young women “vacationing incognito” as Japanese horror flick monsters? And Wesley — an overstrung brain damaged frustrated Roger Corman wannabe who only sees the world in black and white? There’s no monster out here, I’m certain of it.

     When I’m done, I go out the back door of the cabin, and there’s the Monster, standing waiting for me.

     “RRRRRAGHHH!”

     Caroline wasn’t kidding. The thing lunges for me — I dive under its claws, rolling on the grass. “Back here! Back here! It’s back here!” I yell, jumping up. The Monster swivels and swings at me again, quicker than I expected.

     “RRRRRAGHHH!”

     Noises of general confusion erupt from my intrepid troop of monster hunters. Rodan and Mothra scream, but anyone could have seen that one coming. Annabeth and Gary tear up from the beach to see what’s going on, as they apparently are the only ones presently not entangled in my net. “Run, you fools!” I try to shoo them away. The Beast swings at me again.

     “What’s going — COOL!” Gary is thrilled. Annabeth freezes, shrieking.

     “RRRRRAGHHH!” The Monster sees them. Oh yeah, like they haven’t been out there for the last three friggin’ hours waiting for him, and now he sees them?

     “Would you look at that?” Gary goes on. “It is real, after all! This is just so coo—” I tackle him just in time as the Beast lunges for him. Annabeth still stands there frozen, shrieking. Somehow, even though they’re at least thirty feet away, Rodan and Mothra still scream louder.

     The Monster goes for Annabeth now, and she’s too petrified to move. I can’t get up in time after tackling Gary — this doesn’t look good.

     “RRRRRAGHHH!”

     At the last second, Patrick swoops in, picks up Annabeth, and turns to flee, falling flat a few feet afterwards as she’s way too heavy for him. But that gives me time to act.

     I’m up again, and I jump onto the Monster’s back. To my great surprise, my attack actually takes the Beast down, with me on top — something falls over the two of us. Ohh, great! Now they get organized with the net.

     A moment later, the Monster, me, and, somehow, Rodan, who poses so gracefully but moves so clumsily, are all tangled together in the net. Amidst much screaming, yelling, and yes, I openly admit it, vociferous swearing on my part, Rodan and I manage to squirm our way free. We stare down at our handiwork. Well, we captured the Monster all right. And he’s not too happy about it.

     “RRRRRAGHHH!”

     “What do we have here?” Dr. Prufrock wonders.

     “A man in a rubber suit,” I say.

     “Eh?”

     “I felt the zipper when I took him down. C’mon. Give me a hand, Moose, Lucky, Henry Henry Henry, Patrick. You too, Caroline. He’s not that tough.”

      We untangle and unzip. As we yank down the suit, Rodan and Mothra scream again, even though the guy’s wearing a bathing suit underneath. “Will you two knock it off!” Kent yells at them. They scream at him.

     Finally, the de-monsterizing is done, and we’re left with a much calmer, intense looking young man, standing and glaring at us furiously, his arms pinioned by Moose and Lucky, and with Caroline’s strong right arm around his neck. Kent is irate. He charges in jabbing his finger in the poor guy’s face.

     “This is who’s been terrorizing my customers? This is the Monster? What’s going on here, anyway! Just who do you think you are? What’s your name, anyway? Who are you? Who sent you? Eh? Eh?”

     They guy glares at us, breathing hard. There is a long, expectant silence. Then — the Monster speaks.

     “Trent,” he says, in an angry low voice.

     “Extraordinary,” Dr. Prufrock observes.

     Kent screams.

     “So it is human,” Dr. Prufrock proclaims ponderously, working through the chain of events very carefully. “And ... apparently ... neither amphibious ... nor truly reptilian.”

     “You would know, Doc,” Henry agrees.

     Science on the march. Prufrock leans in close to the guy’s angry face.

     “What do you want ... Trent?” he asks, grimly.

     Trent’s eyes bug out. He looks positively demon possessed. He’s specifically glaring at Annabeth and Gary now, who still stand beside each other. “Them. Them! THEM!” Trent yells.

     “Oh, for —” I’m fed up. “If it’s those two you wanted, why didn’t you come out earlier when we put them out as bait? We all could have got to bed a lot sooner.”

     “RRRRRAGHHH!”

     Trent reverts to character, and somehow, recovers his beast-like strength. He tosses off Moose and Lucky like — well, like a couple of butterfly hunters, really — and flips Caroline right over his head into Patrick and me. Rodan and Mothra —  like I need to say, at this point.

     Henry Henry tries to dive in to help, but trips over the damn toad. Kent panics, rendering himself totally useless, while Dr. Prufrock takes his pipe out his mouth and leans in, staring hard, to observe Trent’s behaviour more closely.

     Trent flattens Gary with a backhand swipe, scoops up a shrieking Annabeth, and runs lightly off with her over his shoulder into the bush, which is pretty darn impressive considering how Patrick fared earlier with the same load.

     Caroline glares at me. “Now look what you’ve done.”

(to be continued …)

*****

Photography by Renee Beaubien, at Beyond the Prism

on Flickr, at:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/128997372@N08/

*****

REALITY FICTION AND BEYOND!

A Victor Coffin/Jason Midnight double-header begins Friday, August 7th with The Big Mosquito, posting number 1 of 49. As always, at:

http://realficone.blogspot.ca/

This week featuring:

Darlene on the dream scene

Decomposition in Sink Series

by Fandango Moberly

#2 of 50