Category: Fiction Factor

Noel had spent the past half hour racing up and down the steps, stopping only briefly to loudly meow at the door leading to the garage. Cam had been trying to play word games and relax over his morning cup of coffee, but finally rose from his chair and figured it was time to investigate.

“Noel, buddy, what on Earth’s the problem?” asked Cam, easing down to sit on the top step while carefully placing his cup on the hardwood floor. “Come here, big fella … tell me all about it.”

The gray and white feline galloped up the steps and butted his head against Cam’s knee, rolling over to expose his belly – briefly – before charging back down. This time he stood up on his hind legs and pushed on the door with his front paws, chirruping the whole time.

“OK, OK,” Cam said. “What’s say me and you check things out, huh? Is that what you want to do? Maybe there’s a chipmunk down there, or even a squirrel. I guess either one could get in while I’m raising or lowering the garage door. Of course, if it’s another cat, well … I don’t want to get in the middle of a fight.”

Cam slowly opened the door and flipped on the light switch. He paused for a moment in an effort to detect any strange sounds, but there were none. Oh, the humidifier was humming away as usual, but that was completely normal. His Honda Accord was parked in its usual spot, the work bench was cluttered with some of his wood burning efforts, and the shelves on the side of the garage were packed with everything from Christmas and Halloween decorations to old kitchen appliances and lamps.

Cam carefully eyed the area and saw no signs of animal activity. If there were any present, they were doing a great job of hiding.

He assumed Noel had followed him into the garage, but instead the cat was standing at the entrance, his tail standing straight up and slightly curved at the top. He was trilling and staring wide-eyed at … well, nothing.

The man walked back toward the stairwell, turned out the light, closed the door and locked it.

Noel looked at him and then fixed his stare on the door again.

“You critters are weird,” he said. “You’ve been carrying on all this time trying to get to whatever you think is out there, but then you’re too scared to find out for yourself. Why don’t you come up here and sit with me? You could probably use some more skitches.”

Cam made his way back up the stairs, reached down to pick up his cup, and returned to his chair in the den. He remembered a quote by Eleanor Farjeon – “It always gives me a shiver when I see a cat seeing what I can’t see”  – and smiled. Whatever Noel was seeing was apparently for cat’s eyes only.

Meanwhile, at another house …

Leon had spent the past half hour racing up and down the steps, stopping only briefly to loudly meow at the door leading to the garage. Mac had been trying to play word games and relax over his morning cup of coffee, but finally rose from his chair and figured it was time to investigate.

“Leon, buddy, what on Counter-Earth’s the problem?”

Clancy Orion picked up the Big Zac tomato and raised his sunglasses to get a clearer look. It was orange-red and firm to the touch, so he sniffed it, nodded approvingly, and then placed it in his basket along with the other, smaller tomatoes.

He had made it into Vic’s Victuals without incident, and his goal was to inconspicuously navigate the self-checkout aisle and head to the exit. It was an early Wednesday morning, and only a handful of people were in the grocery store. Yet – as was almost always the case when he ventured out in public – even his shades and black dad cap weren’t enough to conceal his identity. This time it wasn’t a customer who recognized him, but an employee stationed near the baskets and carts.

“Hey, I know you,” said the worker, flashing a big smile. “You’re Captain Hysterical! I’d recognize you anywhere – even in sunglasses.”

Orion was  5’7, pale to the point of being almost transparent, and had a long, hooked nose. These days, his curly red hair was closely cropped, unlike the bushy locks he sported while picking up the name “Captain Hysterical.”

That title was earned as was walking through the neighborhood park near his home two years earlier. A child’s birthday party was taking place near the playground when a drunk driver lost control of a fast-moving automobile. The vehicle came barreling towards the kids but Orion stepped in front of it – his outstretched arms crumpling the front end until it looked like an accordion.

The feat was beyond belief, except the party was being recorded by several cellphone cameras (and one professional videographer) who caught Orion’s heroism as it happened.

When first responders arrived on the scene Orion explained that it must have been a case of “hysterical strength,” a phenomenon in which humans display incredible physical power when they find themselves in high adrenaline situations.

A quick checkup by the paramedics revealed no injuries to Orion and nothing unusual about his vitals.

“Man, I remember seeing that all over the TV and internet,” the employee continued, stepping closer as Orion scanned his tomatoes. “A lotta people thought it was fake – still do, I’ll bet. But I don’t think it was. Course if it was, you can tell me … I can keep a secret.”

Orion shook his head.

“It was just a freak thing,” he said, hastily putting his fruit in a plastic bag and tugging at his receipt as it slowly dispensed from the slot. “Never happen again in a million years. Anyway, I gotta run.”

“Sure, sure … I’ll bet you can run fast, too. You know, there was an Olympic guy a few years back who raced a horse. You ever thought about racing a horse? If you can crush a car, you can outrun a horse. Well, maybe not Secretariat …”

Orion said nothing as he walked out the door, but quickly noticed a man in a tank top staring at him.

“Hey,” he yelled. “Captain Hysterical! What do you know about them chemtrails? Are they the reason my mother-in-law thinks she’s been reincarnated as Honey Boo Boo?”

“Sorry, buddy,” he said, rushing past the man as he made a beeline to his Volvo. “I can’t stop now … gotta go.”

Peace has been hard to come by ever since the incident. The first few weeks he was bombarded by media from all over the world, wanting to profile the planet’s “real” superhero. He had to change his number countless times to avoid calls, and as he pulled his car onto the highway, he was traveling toward his seventh apartment in 24 months.

His job as a data entry clerk was one of the few times he could be anonymous, mainly because his company was staffed by introverts. His coworkers didn’t ask many questions, and for that he was grateful.

Still, it was nearly impossible to escape the spotlight. There were some podcasters convinced he was possessed  by demons, while other insisted his heroics were the product of a carefully orchestrated hoax perpetrated by Quakers.

A congresswoman from Georgia even insisted he was a Communist robot, and demanded hearings.

However, as he neared the entrance to his apartment complex, he spotted a familiar figure standing on the steps leading up to his unit.

“Circinus?”

“Orion,” answered the visitor, who had just arrived from Wolf 1061c. “Good to see you again, my friend. I’ve had some meetings with the Council of Elders, and overall they’re quite pleased with your work here on Earth.”

Orion reached into his bag and offered Circinus a tomato.

“No, my inoculation is good for 72 Earth hours. You need the folate and vitamin C, and since it’s the only food here compatible with your digestive tract, you need to keep them for yourself.”

Orion bit into the Big Zac and looked toward the sky.

“Do you think they’ll allow me to return soon? This whole Captain Hysterical thing is my fault and I apologize for getting exposed like that; I realize I’m just here to blend in and observe, and should’ve made myself invisible during that playground episode. You know what, though? I realize it’s forbidden, but sometimes I wish I could just tell everyone I’m an alien life form who has capabilities beyond their comprehension ,,, just go ahead and be honest with them, which is something they aren’t used to. Regardless, I’ve learned much about them during my decade here, and I should have a recommendation for the Elders soon.”

Circinus put his hand on Orion’s shoulder.

“So … from what you’ve gathered so far, are they worth saving?”

“The children are … they’re unspoiled and so full of hope. And the animals make me smile. So many varieties … so pure in their purpose.”

“But?”

“But, the adult humans seem to be marching backward. I just don’t know if the current crop can be salvaged. On the other hand, they’ve learned to cultivate some really fine tomatoes.”

Quercus Mound, Alabama – population one – is the smallest city in the state. In fact, it really isn’t a city at all, just a dusty spot on the side of the road, adorned by a cellphone tower and seven abandoned, yellowish single-wide trailers that once housed residents who have either died or moved.

But the area had gained quite a bit of notoriety over the years because just a few miles away – surrounded by thick, treacherous woods – is Monster Lake. Unlike most of the waterways in the state, Monster Lake is hardly a haven for anglers or water sports enthusiasts. No one visits to wet their hooks, or launch pontoon boats for a lazy day of floating and drinking. In fact, it’s rare to find anyone brave enough to go anywhere near it.

There’s good reason for that.

Monster Lake is so-named  because it’s allegedly home to the Quercus Mound RhinoCuda, which has killed at least 60 people over the past 30 years.

Twenty seven came there to fish, 22 to hunt, and 11 – through either ignorance or arrogance – figured they could get a peek at the monster and live to tell the tale.

They were all very, very wrong.

The creature, which is described as a cross between a rhinoceros and barracuda, lives on the bottom of the brackish lake and comes on land only to feed. It bursts out of the water with brute force and often spears its prey with the sharp, olive green horn on its gray snout. Once the victim is limp, the RhinoCuda shakes the person loose and clamps down with its gaping jaws, making quick work of the meal thanks to razor-sharp teeth.

Or so he says.

And “he” happens to be Lester Grappling, the lone resident of Quercus Mound. Thin, short and leather-brown thanks to years spent in the sun, he is a man who is unafraid of the RhinoCuda he calls “Pearlie Sue.”

Aside from a stint in the Navy, Grappling has lived most of his 53 years in a cabin just a few yards from the banks of Monster Lake. While it’s rustic to be sure – a post and beam home worthy of the cover of Country Living – it has a few high-tech features.

There is satellite dish along with a big-screen TV (“Can’t miss watching my Braves,” Grappling often says), and he makes sure his smart phone is always updated. While he doesn’t talk on it very often, he enjoys taking selfies with Pearlie Sue, although skeptics suggest photoshop is probably one of his greatest talents.

Word had gotten out that Grappling was something of a “monster whisperer,” which sparked speculation by podcasters and resulted in occasional pop-ins from TV reporters, anxious to interview the hermit with an active imagination. All that led to some national exposure, which is why on a muggy, late June day, 10 survivalists from the reality show Man’s Dominion arrived by caravan on the dusty road in the heart of Quercus Mound.

An entire season would be devoted to their latest quest, which was to spend the summer staking out Pearlie Sue – and ultimately capturing and killing her.

Brick Bannington, the show’s host, greeted Grappling as he made his way out of the woods and over to the contestants.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Grappling.”

“Mr. Grappling was my daddy,” Grappling said, extending his hand, “Call me Lester.”

“OK, Lester. Now, I’m guessing this is probably gonna be the biggest crowd you’ve ever seen here in Quercus Mound. Aside from our contestants, we’ve got the camera crew, hospitality and a medical team.”

“And if what we hear is true,” Bannington said with a wink, “we’re definitely gonna need some first aid.”

Grappling smiled politely, giving a once-over to the throng of people gathered by the woods.

“Nah, there won’t be any need for medics, Mr. Bannington,” he said. “Pearlie Sue don’t play. She kills to eat and eats what she kills. Course the law comes out here every time somebody goes missing. When they find what’s left of the bodies, they claim it’s a panther or a gator or something like that. That’s fine with Pearlie Sue … she don’t want credit, she just wants food.”

Grappling didn’t sound like he was joking.

“Well, Lester,” Bannington said, “I gotta admit – I think the authorities might be on to something. I’m not sure I believe all that monster stuff … I’m thinking maybe you got yourselves an oversize, Lake Placid-style croc. Either way, it oughta make for some good TV, especially after we get him.”

“Her,” Grappling said.

“Excuse me?”

“Her … Pearlie Sue’s a female.”

Bannington nodded.

“Sure, sure. Look, we’re gonna spend the next couple of days spreading everybody out and setting up their campsites. We were hoping you could be our guide, show us a few trails, that sort of thing. First though, we’d like to see your cabin … you know, get a shot of the man who lives among the monster.”

Grappling pointed to a dirt path leading into the woods.

“That’s how I come in and out,” Grappling said. “I go to Mobile for supplies about once a month and have made a road. Why don’t ya’ll just follow me in … there’s a huge clearing by the cabin and you can park all your vehicles there.”

Within an hour the convoy had relocated to the area next to Grappling’s abode, and Monster Lake was clearly visible form their makeshift lot. The water was calm and, from a distance, seemed clear.

Barrington and most of the Man’s Dominion cast followed Grappling as his walked closer to the water.

“Seems almost serene,” Barrington said.

“Oh it is, it is,” Grappling said. “It’s a beautiful spot for Pearlie Sue. And she loves it when I bring her treats – of course with all you people, it’ll be more like a feast.”

Barrington raised his eyebrows.

“Feast?”

“See for yourself.”

Grappling walked to the edge of the lake, cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, “PEARLIE SUE! DINNER TIME!”

The water bubbled violently for several seconds before the gigantic creature emerged from the lake and launched a frenzied attack. Barrington was the first victim – speared and devoured in a matter of seconds – and within 10 minutes, the area surrounding Monster Lake was littered with bones and covered in blood.

Everyone was dead.

Everyone except for Lester Grappling.

As birds descended to peck away at the gory remains, Grappling peeked inside the hospitality van and realized there was enough food inside to feed him for six months. He started to carry some inside when Pearlie Sue – all 3,000 pounds of her – snorted, belched and plopped down at his feet.

He reached up and gently rubbed her head.

“Who’s my good girl?” he said in a sing-song voice. “You’re my good girl … yes you are! Eating up all those mean people. Best part of joining the Navy was pulling you out of that drift net in the Pacific, Pearlie Sue.”