I kept moving my arms in a circular motion and my legs back and forth to keep my blood circulating, while I look around for that dreadful monstrosity.
It took me a while longer to come to grips with the fact that I had escaped its jaws of death, that watery grave the strange man had warned me about.
Or did I?
In the distance I saw the familiar form of that sleek, unnatural body. Those hazel eyes with the purple irises glowed maliciously in the moonlight.
This wasn’t over yet.
I turned around in the water and started swimming, fighting against the strong current. Each time I glanced back the dark figure was gaining speed, getting closer. Its pearl teeth gleamed within its jaws.
I push myself harder and swim faster, until I reach the shore.
I crawl out of the water, tired from the night’s activity, and see the kelpie still pursuing its prey.
There’s no time to waste. I run as fast as my legs could possibly carry me and dove behind a cluster of large rocks just beyond the beach.
The kelpie’s hooves sunk into the sand, coming closer to my hiding place.
I held my breath, fearful of what might happen if I was found by the creature. I hear it sniff and snort. Its long neck came into view, bloodthirsty eyes searching.
I leaned back, out of sight.
The kelpie was so close I could touch it.
My lungs were burning for air by now, but I’d rather suffocate on land than get anywhere near its lair.
Its nostrils flared, before it suddenly retreated.
I peered over the rock and watched it return to the sea, waited until it was far on the horizon, before I finally let out a shaky exhale and filled my lungs again.
I never thought legends had any truth to them . . . But I’m a believer now.
BIOGRAPHY: Natalie is 20 years old. She loves to write about anything and everything she can. She also loves doing just about any sports.
THE PIGMALION PIGS
Mark Allan Gunnells
Joe came back into the living room to find Tasha stretched out on the sofa, watching a cooking competition show on TV. Joe lifted her legs, dropped onto the cushion, and settled his wife’s feet on his lap.
“Julie get to sleep okay?” Tasha asked, wiggling her toes.
Joe recognized this as her nonverbal way of asking for a foot rub so he started kneading her soles, causing her to purr softly. “Yeah, she was out before I even got halfway through the book.”
“What did you read her tonight?”
“Something called The Mouse and the Motorcycle.”
“That sounds fun.”
“She liked it when I made the engine revving sounds.”
“I think it’s so wonderful that you read to her every night. That way, when she’s old enough to read herself, she’ll already have an appreciation for books.”
“Exactly. Then I won’t have to worry about her spending hour after hour staring blankly at stupid reality TV shows.”
Tasha tore her eyes away from the screen then playfully kicked at her husband. “Hey, that’s not nice. This is quality entertainment. Look, that chef has to cook with a potato masher duct taped to his hand.”
“I stand corrected. I didn’t realize how intellectual this show is.”
The two shared a laugh. This type of teasing was familiar territory between them, Tasha’s love of television and Joe’s aversion to the medium. Ironic, considering he worked for the local NBC affiliate, WYFF 4, albeit in the marketing department.
“You know,” Joe said during the commercial break, when he knew he had a better chance of getting his wife’s full attention, “I was thinking about my favorite book when I was Julie’s age.”
“Encyclopedia Brown?”
“No, it was called The Pigmalion Pigs.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that one. Then again, I didn’t grow up in a household that had many books in it. Lots of alcohol, but not so much with the books.”
“It was about this family of pigs. Percy and Pricilla Pigmalion, and their children Peter and Patty. Patty Pigmalion was kind of shy and bookish, but one day she got invited to this big party that everyone in school was going to and she was worried about looking like a big nerd. Her family banded together and gave her a makeover; a fancy new dress, make-up, stunning hairdo, the whole nine yards.”
“Ah, thus the Pygmalion part.”
“Yes, though I wasn’t familiar with that term at the time. The book actually had a great message about being yourself, because when she got to the party all the other kids were put off by her new look and said they had liked her the way she was. So she changed into some sweats, scrubbed off the makeup and mussed up her hair, and everybody had a great time.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, I bet Julie would really get a kick out of it. I wonder if it’s still in print.”
Leaning forward, he snagged the iPad from the coffee table and opened Amazon. In the search engine he typed “Pigmalion Pigs.”
DID YOU MEAN: Pygmalion Pigs?
Joe frowned, certain he’d used the correct spelling for the book, but he clicked the link and sat for a moment staring at the cover image that appeared.
It was just as he remembered from his childhood. Percy, Priscilla, and Peter standing around little Patty who was resplendent in a sparkly blue dress, her hair swept up onto of her head with a string of pearls resting atop the bun like a tiara, and bright red lipstick on her snout. Exactly the way he saw it in his memory . . .
. . . except for the title at the top.
The Pygmalion Pigs.
“They changed it.”
“What?” Tasha asked, having gotten immersed in her program again.
“They changed the spelling of the book’s title.”
He held up the tablet for her to see. “It looks right to me.”
“It is right, and that’s why it’s wrong. Originally they spelled it with an ‘i’ after the ‘p’, not a ‘y’.”
“That’s misspelled,” she said.
“I know, but they were playing off the word pig. Get it?”
“Of course I get it, but what I’m saying is, maybe they started to worry that it wasn’t setting a good example for kids, having a misspelling right in the title like that.”
Joe glanced back at the image on the screen. “I guess that could be it.”
“What’s wrong? You’ve suddenly got your down-in-the-dumps face.”
“I don’t know, it’s just . . . I mean, it’s silly, but seeing that they altered the title is like seeing your favorite childhood playground turned into a parking lot or your childhood home demolished.”
Tasha giggled, sat up and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I love you, but you can be all kinds of melodramatic sometimes.”
Joe found himself laughing as well. “In any case, with an ‘i’ or a ‘y’, I think Julie will love it.”
And Joe clicked ORDER NOW.
***
It was after six when Joe got home from the station. He stepped inside, sat his briefcase in the foyer, loosened his tie, and went down the hallway, through the swinging door, and into the kitchen.
Tasha stood at the stove, working on supper. Julie sat in her booster seat at the table, coloring. Actually she merely scribbled all over the page with a red crayon. When she saw her father standing there, she squealed, dropping the crayon and holding her arms out. Joe picked her up and kissed her on the top of the head. He knew he was biased, but he thought she was the most adorable four-year old in the world.
“Hey, honey,” Tasha said, not looking up from the boiling pot on the burner. Joe wasn’t sure what she was making, but it smelled delicious. “How was your day?”
“Can’t complain. How about you?”
“Upstairs toilet was clogged. Took me an hour and a drain snake to fix it. Turns out Julie flushed one of her dolls.”
“You wouldn’t do a thing like that . . . would you?” he said to the girl, scrunchin
g up his face in mock seriousness. Julie giggled and buried her face in his chest.
“A package came for you today,” Tasha said, pointing toward the counter. “It’s from Amazon.”
“Awesome, it must be my little surprise for Julie.”
“For me,” the girl said, her little hands gripping Joe’s shoulders.
“That’s right, for you.”
“Are you sure she deserves a treat after clogging the toilet?” Tasha asked.
“I’ll be good, Mommy, I promise.”
Tasha looked at the girl with a titled head. “I don’t know, I noticed someone had toys strewn all over the living room.”
“I go clean them up right now,” the girl said, squirming to get down. Joe placed her on the floor and she took off like a wind-up toy, pushing through the door and making a beeline for the living room.
“Jesus,” Joe said. “She’s so excited, I’m afraid it will be a huge disappointment when she discovers her surprise is just a book.”
Tasha returned to the stove. “She loves story time with Daddy. She’ll be absolutely delighted.”
Joe stepped to the counter and picked up the package, opening it and letting the thin oversized book slide out into his hands. That familiar cover, but the not-quite-right title. “You want to hear something strange?”
“The stranger, the better.”
“I got online at work to research this book.”
“That is strange,” Tasha said. “Using your work time to research a children’s story.”
“That’s not the strange part. I wanted to find out when exactly they altered the title’s spelling.”
“And what did you find out?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean every single reference I found about the book has Pygmalion spelled with a ‘y’, and I can’t find anything about the title ever being changed. In fact, I found some images of old copies that are spelled with a ‘y’, none with an ‘i’.”
“Hmm,” she said, tasting the stew that bubbled in the pot.
“That’s all you have to say? Hmm?”
“What do you want me to say? You just remembered it wrong.”
“No, I didn’t. That was my favorite book from the time I was four until I was in secondgrade. I still had the thing when I finally moved out of my parents’ house at twenty-one. I’m telling you it was Pigmalion with an ‘i’.”
“Honey, I’m not doubting your mental prowess, but you were a kid, and with the story being about pigs, you probably just got that all jumbled up in your memory.”
“I remember that cover vividly.”
Tasha stood with her head titled again, the same skeptical look she always gave Julie when she thought the girl was being less than honest. “What then? You think someone methodically went through the net and rewrote the history of a children’s book?”
Joe laughed, although the sound was somewhat forced. “I know, it’s just weird is all.”
“Memory is weird. Growing up, I heard people tell the story of how my sister Violet got her big toe cut off in a bicycle chain when she was six so often that I truly believed I remembered being there and seeing it happened, even though I wasn’t born for another year.”
“I know you’re right,” Joe said, though a tingle of unease still lingered in his gut.
“I always am. Now go wash up, supper will be ready in about ten minutes.”
Joe kissed his wife then slid the book back into the package so Julie wouldn’t see it on his way upstairs.
***
Julie cuddled under the comforter, her head dimpling the plush pillow. Joe sat on the edge of the bed by her feet, the book open in his lap. He read to her in a soft tone, changing his voice for the various characters. He thought his daughter was enjoying the story; she giggled in all the appropriate places and the expression on her face could only be described as enraptured.
For that matter, Joe was pretty enraptured himself. Despite the simplicity of the story, he found himself really enjoying it. He realized most of this was pure nostalgia, but he thought the story was full of charm and warmth and humor, and he was so glad to be able to share this part of his own childhood with Julie.
He turned to the final page. Patty had just arrived at the party, which was attended by a menagerie of animal children—dogs and cats and horses and cows and squirrels and porcupines. Something seemed a bit off about the illustration, but Joe wasn’t really focused on the picture. He read along.
“‘A hush fell over the room as everyone froze, staring at Patty. She felt like she was under a microscope. Finally Gina Giraffe stepped forward, bending down her long neck to look Patty over. Then Gina exclaimed, “Oh Patty, I simply love your new look!” Everyone at the party exploded into cheers. Patty felt like crying as the wave of acceptance washed over—’”
“Daddy, why’d you stop?”
Joe looked up at his daughter then let his gaze dropped back to the page, rereading the words over and over, expecting them to rearrange themselves into something that made sense. Yet they stubbornly remained the same.
“Daddy!” Julie said again, sitting up. “Finish the story.”
He stuttered for a moment before finally finishing the rest. “’Patty felt like crying as the wave of acceptance washed over her. Finally she was one of the gang, no longer an outcast or a freak. With a smile on her snout, she joined the party and had a great time.’”
“Yay!” Julie exclaimed. “I’m glad everybody likes her now that she’s like them.”
Joe closed the book, staring down at the cover and the title that was misspelled by being spelled correctly. “You know, you don’t have to be like everybody else for them to like you. You can be your own person, and that’s good enough.”
Julie shrugged and settled back onto the pillow. “Thank you for the story, Daddy. It was good.”
“Yeah, you get some sleep, sweetie.”
Joe kissed his daughter on the forehead, turned out the lamp by her bed, leaving the nightlight plugged into an outlet across the room glowing softly. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door halfway then walked back to the living room. He felt detached, not quite in his body, as if his soul were attached by a tether, bobbing along just above and behind him.
Tasha sat cross-legged on the floor between the sofa and coffee table, working on one of her thousand-piece puzzles. She collected puzzles but rarely worked on them, stacking them up in the hall closet to form teetering towers. Normally he would have wondered if she’d pulled one out tonight just to prove some point about how she wasn’t addicted to TV and could stop at any time, but his mind was on other matters at the moment.
“They rewrote it,” he said, tossing the book on the table, causing the puzzle pieces to jump and a few to fall onto the carpet.
Tasha gave him an annoyed look and started picking up the fallen pieces. “What?”
“The book, it has a different ending. Now instead of the kids telling her she didn’t have to change for them, they are all happy she changed, makes it seem like that was the only way she’d be able to fit in.”
Tasha picked up the book and started flipping through it. “That’s a terrible message to send kids.”
“And it’s not the original ending,” he said, taking a seat on the sofa. “I know you think I’m just misremembering the spelling of the title, but I am positive how that book ended and this is different.”
After placing the book back on the table, Tasha looked up at her husband with one eyebrow raised and a small smile curling the corners of her mouth.
“What’s that look for?” he asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that . . . well, you’re starting to sound a little bit like one of those nutty conspiracy theorists.”
“Are you saying I don’t know how my favorite childhood story ends? One of my first memories is of my mother sitting by my bed reading the damn thing to me.”
Tasha held up her hands in surrender, but there was
steel in her eyes when she said, “Hey, don’t yell at me, I’m just saying you’re getting a little obsessive over this.”
Joe opened his mouth to say he wasn’t yelling when he realized that his voice was louder and more strident than he’d intended. He took a deep breath before resuming. “I’m sorry. This whole thing is just really weird.”
“Do you think it’s possible your mother didn’t like the ending and made up one she thought had a better message, and that’s the one you remember?”
Joe shook his head. “No, after I learned to read, I started reading it myself. Read it so much the pages started falling out and my mother had to tape them back in.”
Tasha shrugged, reminding him of little Julie who had picked up a lot of her mother’s body language. “Maybe they thought the original ending was too old-fashioned and they changed it to be more in line with the times. Call it Breakfast Club Syndrome.”
“Breakfast Club Syndrome?”
“Yeah, remember in the movie The Breakfast Club, Ally Sheedy’s goth character had to completely change her look in order to get Emilio Estevez.”
Joe laughed, and it felt good. “You have a very interesting way of looking at the world, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have about 997 pieces of this puzzle that I still have to put together. Want to help?”
“I could . . . or we could watch Project Runway.”
“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm,” Tasha said, already swiping the pieces back into the box.
***
When Joe came home the next evening, Tasha was waiting in the foyer with her arms crossed over her chest, her lips a stern slash of red. He’d been expecting this.
“Evening, sweetie,” he said with a forced smile.
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling and texting you for the last two hours.”
“Sorry, I turned my cell off.”
“I called the station, and Jeff said that you left early today.”
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t having an affair or anything.”
“Just tell me where you were.”
“I went to the library then stopped by all the used bookstores in town to see if I could find any old copies of The Pigmalion Pigs.”
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