Croak

by Gina Damico

The very small, very ecstatic, very curious part of Lex’s brain began bouncing around her head like a pinball. She studied him. All she had to do was behave?

  “You’ll tell me today?” she asked.

  “As much as we can squeeze in, yes.”

  “And you promise full disclosure?”

  “I promise,” he said, extending his hand.

  She hesitated for a moment, then shook it. “Deal.”

  “Ah, bribery.” He grinned at his niece. “Is there anything it can’t do?”

  She fidgeted irritably. “So now what?”

  “Breakfast first. We need to turn you into more of a sentient life form. Here.” He handed her a box of Life cereal. “It’s ironically delicious.”

  Lex sat down, poured herself a bowl, and inhaled its contents in about thirty seconds. After gulping down the milk, she smeared a napkin around her face and stared at him expectantly. “Now what?”

  “Patience, kiddo,” he said, not looking up from the newspaper, “or you’ll pass out before we even get there.”

  “Get where?”

  “The Bank.”

  “The Bank? What’s at the goddamned Bank?”

  “Lexington, we need to talk about this swearing habit of yours. Personally, I don’t give a shit. But it’s forbidden for the rest of the summer—that’s a direct order from your mother.”

  Lex grunted. For all she knew, Uncle Mort had been forced to set up an intricate series of hidden microphones to relay every word directly to her mother, who would be waiting at home with a hefty swear bill upon her daughter’s return. “Fine,” she grumbled, impatiently tapping her spoon on the table.

  “And another thing.” Uncle Mort grabbed the spoon from her hand and flung it into the sink. “This isn’t a vacation. It’s a full-time job with ten-hour days. From now on, you’ll be getting up at dawn.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Let’s go. You’re here to work, not sleep.”

  Lex gave him a bitter look as she got up from the table. “Ten hours?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, holding the door open for her. “Time flies when you’re breaching the space-time continuum.”

  ***

  Uncle Mort said nothing more as they hurried down the road from the house, a bundle of black fabric tucked under his arm. After five minutes they came upon the large field on the left, behind the Bank.

  Lex stopped in her tracks. A handful of people stood in the field, spread out across the grass in groups of two. Lex tried to watch what they were doing, but Uncle Mort pulled her away. “Not yet.”

  She stewed beside him as they reached Dead End, practically running in order to keep up with his long strides. His marked silence was ripping her insides to shreds. It was almost enough to make her grab the collar of one of the iced-coffee-sipping people bustling around the street and beg to be told what was going on, or why they seemed to be gawking at her in fascination, or, at the very least, where they had gotten their coffee.

  They were just about to climb the steps to the Bank when a hefty, sunburned man clutching a wrinkled map tapped Uncle Mort on the elbow.

  “’Scuse me,” he said in a friendly voice. “Can you tell me where the Happy Spruce Inn is?”

  “Back the way you came,” Uncle Mort said. “Go for about twenty miles, then . . . I don’t know, hang a left or something. Can’t miss it. And you might want to hurry up, we’ve got a tornado warning on the radar.”

  The man glanced at the clearly unconcerned pedestrians, then up at the cloudless sky. “Uh, okay. Thanks, buddy.”

  Lex started to walk away, but Uncle Mort remained where he was and cleared his throat. The man screwed up his face. Then, in a flash of understanding, he dug into his wallet and handed Uncle Mort a crisp five-dollar bill.

  “Enjoy your stay in the Adirondacks!” Uncle Mort said, shooting him a theatrical grin.

  It melted off his face the moment he and Lex reached the Bank’s door. “I hate summer,” he told her. “Three simple rules for getting rid of tourists, Lex: lie, deny, and bleed ’em dry.”

  A tiny knot of bells announced their entrance into the lobby, which looked less like a bank and more like someone’s fancy living room. Small and homey, it featured two fluffy couches, a mahogany coffee table, cheerful red curtains, and an information counter boasting an array of brochures for local attractions and hotels. An elegant Oriental rug ran the length of the room to the hallway beyond, and the air was noticeably permeated with clashing scents of potpourri, owing to the multitude of bowls dispersed throughout.

  Lex crinkled her nose. “It smells like a candle store in here.”

  “I know, it’s disgusting,” Uncle Mort said, poking at a pile of dried rose petals. “But it’s best not to fight her.”

  “Who?”

  “Good morning, Mort!” A plump middle-aged woman with tomato-red hair popped up from behind the counter, a blinding smile plastered across her face. She wore a peacock-blue business suit and a necklace of shiny pearls. A massive flower corsage took up half her chest. “And who do we have here?”

  “This is my niece, Lex,” Uncle Mort said proudly. “Our newest rookie.”

  “How marvelous!” The woman clamped Lex’s hand like a vise and shook it vigorously. “I’m so pleased to meet you! My name is Kilda!”

  Lex looked to her uncle for help, but he had slipped off into the nearby hallway. She watched as he opened a door and began speaking to a man in a suit—a man who was staring directly at her.

  Though fairly certain she hadn’t done anything to offend him, Lex could feel his foxlike yellow eyes boring into her own with a distinct animosity. Tall and gaunt, with permanent scowl lines etched into his colorless face, he exuded the air of someone who hated this earth and everything on it and would be much happier if it just broke free of its orbit and hurled itself into the sun.

  Lex cringed.

  Meanwhile, Kilda was still squawking out a welcome, and though Lex tried to ignore her, it soon became very difficult to do so. She had never met anyone whose every sentence ended in an exclamation point.

  “I’m Croak’s director of tourism! And its public relations specialist! And to top it all off, its postmaster, if you can believe it!”

  Lex thought the hysteria might never end, but at long last her uncle interceded to pry their hands apart. “No time to chat, Kilda,” he said. “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. And you’ve got a lost Texan out there about to start asking for souvenirs.”

  “Well, that won’t do!” Kilda hurried outside, her lipstick-smeared teeth flashing. “Off I go!”

  Lex grabbed at her uncle’s sleeve. “What did I do to deserve that?”

  “She’s a lot to handle, I know. But Kilda’s a genius in her field. You should hear the bullshit she can sell to all the lost backpackers we get here.”

  “Who’s that man you were talking to?”

  “Oh, that’s Norwood. He was checking you in for your first shift. I’ll introduce you tomorrow.”

  She made a face. “No rush.”

  “I mean, you were scheduled to have a brief orientation with him today, but you know, you needed your beauty sleep, so we don’t have time. Are you aware, Lex, that sloth is a deadly sin?”

  She made a face at him, then glanced back at the hallway. She thought she could make out a bustle of activity behind the array of frosted glass tiles that lined its right-hand wall, but Uncle Mort ushered her out the front door too quickly for her to get a closer look.

  “Wait, we’re done here?”

  “Well, I was going to show you around upstairs as well, but—”

  “No time. Sloth. I get it.”

  “Deadly sin.”

  ***

  People often think that trees are boring. These people have obviously never feasted their eyes upon the eerily fascinating Australian Ghost Gum tree, or Corymbia aparrerinja, under which Lex now stood. Uncle Mort had led her to the middle of the field behind the Bank and instructed her to stay still while he spoke into his Cuff. T
he people she had seen earlier were gone.

  Lex, correctly of the opinion that trees are awesome, ran her fingers over the dead Ghost Gum’s trunk. Instead of a dark, rough bark, the surface was chalky and smooth. Its pure white color blazed in the radiant sunlight, while its crooked, gnarled branches stretched widely across the sky. No leaves adorned the limbs, but a single large nest sat perched atop the highest bough, as if it had been dropped there by a disoriented seagull.

  “This is the Field,” Uncle Mort said. “The runway and landing strip, if you will.”

  “Huh?” Lex asked futilely, knowing full well he wouldn’t clarify.

  He didn’t.

  Lex wondered what Cordy would have to say about all of this—the bizarre town, the confirmation of their estranged uncle’s lunacy, the fact that it was almost noon and she still hadn’t consumed a drop of caffeine. She started to make a mental list of things to tell her, in the unlikely event an Internet connection existed somewhere in the Land That Cable Forgot.

  She poked her uncle’s shoulder. “Can I have some coffee?”

  “You’re only sixteen, Lex. Try getting high on life.”

  To keep from strangling him, she turned her thoughts to the weather. A series of fluffy, trout-shaped clouds dotted the sky. She didn’t feel the least bit hot in her black sweatshirt, despite the scorching sun. No breeze either—though she could have sworn she saw a nearby shrub rustling of its own volition.

  “Okay, we’re all set,” Uncle Mort said, hanging up and looking at something behind Lex. “Ah, at least someone’s on time today.”

  Lex turned around and gulped. Walking toward them was a girl, maybe a couple of years older than Lex, wearing a tight long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. She too carried a bundle of black fabric. Slender, tall, and toned, her limbs undulated as if only marginally attached to her body. Though her pale face was angular and serious, her eyes were light and thoughtful. Yet Lex was entranced more than anything by her hair, which was long and thick, with a slight wave to it, and absolutely, unmistakably silver.

  Not gray, not white, but silver—as if it had been melted down from jewelry and stretched out into a waterfall of gorgeous, silky strands. Lex tried to tear her gaze away, but couldn’t. What was it with this place and crazy hair?

  “Lex, this is Zara,” Uncle Mort said, pronouncing both syllables in her name with an ah sound, which Lex thought was an unnecessarily fancy way to say it. “She’s here to help with training.”

  The girl smiled and extended her hand, all while gazing deep into Lex’s eyes, as if attempting to decipher some secret hidden within them. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said in a strong voice.

  “Really?” Lex numbly shook her hand, then willed herself to stop staring at the girl as if she were a freak. Which she definitely was.

  “Okay, Lex,” said Uncle Mort. “For your first time, all you have to do is watch. But pay close attention, because it’s the only observation run you’re gonna get.”

  “Um—huh?”

  Zara laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said, the intensity fading from her wintry gray eyes. “You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

  “All right.” Uncle Mort slapped his hands together. “Suit up.” Both he and Zara unfolded the balls of black fabric they had been carrying and slid them over their heads. Uncle Mort reached into his pocket. “And for you, Lex, a lightweight, durable, thermoregulated—oh.” He stopped and scrutinized her. “You already have the uniform?”

  They looked at one another. All three were wearing identical black hoodies.

  Uncle Mort scratched his head. “Did I give that to you this morning?”

  “No, this is what I always wear. Actually,” she said, a curious memory suddenly occurring to her, “didn’t you send this as a thirteenth birthday present?”

  “Did I?” he said, his mouth upturning ever so slightly. “How reprehensibly irresponsible of me.”

  Lex looked at Zara, who shrugged.

  Lex clapped her hands together. “Well, let’s get this show on the road!” she said in an overly chipper voice. “Bring on the death! These souls aren’t going to reap themselves!”

  Uncle Mort looked about ready to smack her, but instead stretched a tight smile across his lips. “I can’t wait to see the look on her face,” he muttered to Zara, who snickered. He turned back to Lex. “You. Hop up onto my back.”

  Lex’s sarcastic smile disappeared. “Huh?”

  “Get onto my back and hold on as tight as you can.”

  She backed away. “Hell no. Last time I did that, you almost splattered me across the pavement.”

  “I know it’s weird, but it’s only for training purposes. Come on.”

  “No way. You’re probably going to fling me into a volcano or something.”

  “If you don’t climb up here right now, I absolutely will.”

  Lex ultimately decided not to test this. She put her hands on her uncle’s shoulders, hopped up off the ground, and tucked her legs into his sides. “And no kicking the yarbles,” he warned.

  “No promises.”

  He secured her grip around his neck. “We’ll take it easy for your first time, start off with a simple geezer. After that, it’s full throttle. Like I said, pay close attention, because it’ll be over before you even know it. But the most important thing is: don’t panic. Don’t scream, don’t close your eyes, and above all, do not let go of me. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, but—” Lex swallowed, a small lump of nerves now forming in her stomach. What was going on?

  Staring at nothing but each other, Zara and Uncle Mort raised their right arms high above their heads—the sun glittering off something shiny in their hands—then brought them down in unison with a quick slicing motion.

  Lex, meanwhile, continued to survey the scene in apprehension, trying to guess what could possibly warrant all this melodrama. Here they were, standing perfectly still in the middle of a placid, sun-dappled valley, where it seemed as though nothing exciting had ever happened and probably never would—except there was that rustling bush again. Was there someone behind it? Someone watching?

  But it no longer mattered. Lex had been blinked out of existence.

  6

  Her first sensation was one of dizziness. Lex couldn’t tell which way was up, down, in, or out. Her stomach dropped with a lurch, that disquieting but oddly pleasant feeling one gets on the plunge down the first hill of a roller coaster. She sped through the deepest bowels of space, wormholed through galaxies, the whole of the universe swirling around in one unending vortex.

  She saw colors—every color, even ones beyond the visible spectrum. The air whipping through her lungs—if one could even call it air, it was more like a gale-force wind that ripped and fought its way down her trachea—stung her nostrils like icy mint. Every inch of her skin prickled, the entire arsenal of its nerve endings exploding into a shivery chill.

  But the noise—the noise was deafening. It was as if every sound that had ever been uttered in the history of the world were being played backwards, on maximum volume, at the same time.

  Lex fought hard to make sense of it all, tried to focus the distorted images, to extrapolate a single sound from the cacophony (she thought she might have heard a cow mooing), but eventually she gave up and surrendered to the moment. Exhilarated, she screamed into the void, half shrieking, half laughing.

  Until everything came to a crashing halt.

  Lex couldn’t guess how much time had passed. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours. She looked around, disoriented. The only thing she could really be sure of was her uncle’s neck, still clenched firmly between her arms.

  They were in a dark place. As her vision adjusted, Lex realized that it was a bedroom—cool, quiet, and smelling of musk and chicken soup. Everything seemed blurred around the edges. She scrunched up her eyes.

  Lying asleep on a bed in a near-fetal position was an old woman. Framed photos of grandchildren smiled down from the walls, w
hile a veritable pharmacy of pill bottles stood like a tiny city on her nightstand. It was a peaceful scene, what Lex could see of it. She was afraid to breathe, not wanting to disturb anything or wake the woman up—until she noticed that one of the pill bottles had tipped over. It lay on its side, small green pills spilling out over the edge of the table.

  But they weren’t falling. They were frozen in midair.

  Lex’s eyes bugged. “What—”

  Uncle Mort shushed her. “Watch.” He reached out a single white finger and touched the woman on the cheek.

  A brilliant flash of white light briefly illuminated the room —the same sort of blaze Lex had seen on the bus ride—along with the strangest noise: a loud pop mixed with a shrill, piercing screech. A sort of mist began to emerge from the woman—a bluish-tinged light gently flowing out of her body, floating through the air like an unearthly aurora.

  Lex exhaled. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  Zara stretched her hand toward the light. It seemed to obey her movements, gracefully swirling into her open fingers as if it were eager to be collected. She carefully guided it into a spherical container—Lex couldn’t tell what it was—until the last wisps disappeared and the light was gone, fading from the air with an almost human sigh.

  Zara put the container back into her pocket and withdrew the shiny object again. She and Uncle Mort swiped them through the air in unison—drawing them upward this time—and blustered back into the vortex.

  Lex let out another screech, every one of her organs flopping in delight. She was still screaming when they landed, minutes or eons later, in the same spot from which they had left. All air gone from her lungs, she slumped down off her uncle’s back and began staggering around the grass.

  Zara made a face. “Is she going to throw up?”

  “Lex?” asked Uncle Mort. “Are you going to throw up?”

  “No.” Lex coughed. “No, I’m fine. Just give me a sec.”

  She put her hands over her eyes and tried to breathe evenly. After a beat, she exhaled and dropped her hands to her sides.

  “Oh my GOD!” she yelled.