One team would score, then the other would lead,
as they flew round the bases with flippery speed…
It was late in the bottom of inning sixteen,
when the crowd had gone silent and oddly serene.
The fate of the game was still up for debate,
and that was when Winnie stepped up to the plate.
On the mound was a zorgle of legend and fame,
so famous you’ve probably heard of his name.
He was Cyril “The Slinger” Zipzorgle DeYoung,
the finest of flingers that ever had flung.
But Cyril DeYoung wasn’t young anymore.
He had grey in his hair and his shoulders were sore.
His bones, they were old, they ached with fatigue,
and he no longer played in the Zorgledom League.
Yet still, when he pitched, when he threw,
when he hurled,
he was still the best flinger in all of the world!
He stood on the mound. He pounded his glove.
For him, this whole game was a labor of love.
He kicked up some dust. He chewed on his lip.
On the zorgally ball, he shifted his grip.
Then he lifted his leg from the place where it stood,
and he slung and he flung just as hard as he could!
The ball soared away…and in one second flat,
Winnie let loose with the crack of her bat!
The ball, like a rocket, went higher than high.
It became just a speck in the blue of the sky.
It went into a cloud that was hanging about.
It went into the cloud…but it didn’t come out.
Out of the sky, came an ominous hummm,
then a clatter as if from the beat of a drum
(but without any rhythm, without any flair,
like the growl of an engine in need of repair).
In an instant, the noise grew incredibly loud,
and it came, so it seemed, from the gathering cloud.
The players looked up. They shielded their eyes.
The cloud was expanding to cover the skies!
Then, all at once, the cloud disappeared,
and there, in the air, when it finally cleared,
humming and hovering up in the breeze,
were creatures that buzzed like the bumble of bees.
But bees are so tiny, just wee little shrimps.
These creatures, however, were bigger than blimps!
And each like an octopus fitted with wings,
with tentacles twisting like rubbery strings!
The tip of each tentacle ended in claws,
looking anxious to nourish these animals’ jaws!
They hung in the air for a second or two,
then dropped from the sky over Zorgamazoo.
They chased after players on both of the teams,
eliciting panic and hideous screams!
The creatures, it seemed, in their terrible way,
thought Zorgamazoo was a dinner buffet!
They would scoop up a zorgle, sometimes even two,
and the windigo players before they were through!
They snapped them all up in their pincers and claws,
and greedily sprinkled them into their jaws!
Even Winnie herself was caught in a claw,
but was thankfully saved by her Auntie McPaw,
who shouted to Winnie, “You give ’em yer all!
Winnie, you hits ’em, like ya did with that ball!”
Winnie did just as her Auntie had planned
(she still had that zorgally bat in her hand).
So the moment the beast had her up in the sky,
she prodded the thing in its yellowy eye!
The creature was stunned. It floundered around.
It bobbled with Winnie, who fell to the ground.
She landed with luck in a cushiony bush,
and softened the blow with her cushiony tush.
“Good girl!” cried her Uncle. “Now Winnie, you hear?
You stay in that bush! Stay out of the clear!”
Winnie complied, staying out of the way,
while the others were keeping the creatures at bay.
Yet though they fought back with a spirited fight,
they were hardly a match for the animals’ might.
So that was how Winnie had come to survive—
while watching her family swallowed alive!
Having eaten, the creatures leapt up in the sky.
And then Winnie the windigo started to cry…
To Morty, the story was rather inane,
but before he began to protest or complain,
there was one little detail he wanted to check.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Now hold on a sec!
“You mean Cyril DeYoung? The best of the best?
If you’re playing with him, then I’m pretty impressed.
His flings were like lightening. Aw, man, he could throw!
Used to play for the Underwood Titans, you know.
“My Pop used to take me. We’d go to their games.
I knew all of the players, knew all of their names.
But my favorite, of course, was that Cyril DeYoung.
‘The greatest of flingers that ever has flung!’”
“You’re right,” Winnie sniffled, her eyes going damp.
“There’s nobody like him. He was truly a champ.
But what does it matter? I mean, Cyril is dead!
He was eaten, remember?! It’s just like I said!”
“I don’t know,” Morty said. “It sounds hard to believe.
It’s really too horrid to even conceive!
You say flesh-eating monsters? From up in the sky?
I won’t be convinced. So don’t even try.”
Katrina, however, was sure it was true.
She didn’t know why, it was simply…she knew.
She had only to look into Winifred’s eye,
to see it was real, that it wasn’t a lie.
“But Morty,” she said, “Winnie’s being sincere.
She witnessed it all! She was hiding right here.
And now a big part of the mystery’s solved,
now that we know there are monsters involved!”
“Monsters?” said Morty, with a tremor of doubt
(he hated to think there were monsters about).
“Believe me, Katrina, and I have to insist,
creatures like that, they don’t really exist.”
Winnie sucked in a breath. She held up a hand.
“Mr. Morty,” she stammered, “you don’t understand—”
Morty ignored her. He was shaking his head.
He folded his arms and dismissively said,
“I’ve seen all sorts of weirdness, since I was a kid,
but never a flying, carnivorous squid!”
Winnie covered her eyes. She grimaced and frowned.
“Uh, Morty,” she whimpered, “then don’t turn around.”
There followed a horrible, ominous hum,
and a clack like a raspy, mechanical drum.
It was one of the creatures that Morty denied,
and so, as he turned, his eyes going wide,
he realized, too late, that the creatures were real,
and that he and his friends…would be their next meal!
And so, before Winnie or Morty could speak,
before even Katrina could utter a shriek,
all three were ensnared in those terrible claws,
and tossed in the creature’s
Chapter 11
the moonagerie crypt
My goodness! It seems that our heroes are doomed!
Devoured! Digested! Completely consumed!
It’s true. They were eaten (like pickles and pie).
But to call it “The End?” Well, no. That’s a lie…
Because Mortimer Yorgle, Katrina Katrell,
who were followed by whimpering Winnie, as well,
they indeed had gone slithering into the maw,
of that ugly monstrosity’s slobbery jaw.
They went under its tongue and over its teeth.
They slid down its neck to the belly beneath.
The belly, however, was stiff as a stone,
as if all of its innards were nothing but bone.
“Hold on,” said Katrina, “this doesn’t make sense.
This stomach has walls like the bars of a fence!
It’s all iron and copper and rusty with age.
It’s less of a belly, and more of a cage!”
“Hmm,” Morty wondered, scratching his head.
“What I’d like to know is: Why aren’t we dead?”
“You’re right!” Winnie cried. “I mean, swallowed alive?!
It’s not the sort of a thing you routinely survive.”
Before Morty could answer with any reply,
the mysterious creature leapt into the sky;
and wherever the creature was traveling to,
it was far, far away from Zorgamazoo.
There weren’t any windows, so there wasn’t a view.
They just flew…
The trip wasn’t pleasant—it was anything but,
as they thumped in the creature’s inflexible gut.
They were shot through the air.
They were thrown in a flop,
with Winnie the bottom, Katrina the top,
and Mortimer awkwardly crumpled between
(he felt like a steak in a mincing machine).
From their heads to their heels,
they were queasily tossed,
as if weightlessness won…and gravity lost.
But at last, their momentum began to subside.
It seemed they had come to the end of the ride.
“Phew!” Winnie sighed. “Not a second too quick.
Another minute of that and I would’ve been sick.”
It was then something happened,
something no one would guess,
an occurrence I frankly find hard to express.
But nevertheless, it happened. It’s true.
It was then that the creature…divided in two.
It began with a creak in the animal’s back,
as the stomach came open by only a crack.
Then little by little, and bit after bit,
the crack opened wide and the innards were lit
with glimmers of eerie, mysterious light,
confirming Katrina’s suspicion was right:
Inside of the beast there were pulleys and chains,
where there should have been organs
and muscles
and veins.
Or at least an intestine. Or maybe a spleen.
But no…for the beast was, in fact, a machine!
Our heroes were trapped, like dogs in a pound,
in a cage hanging over the dust of the ground!
“It’s a trick!” Morty muttered. “It’s some kinda scam!
It’s nothing but hokum and flimmery flam!”
A trick? thought Katrina. That’s saying the least.
But why? Who would build such a hideous beast?
Before she could ponder the matter some more,
on the side of the creature, there opened a door.
It led to a cabin, where a pilot could ride.
But who, thought Katrina, would travel inside?
Who could build such a thing, in such odious style?
It must surely be someone incredibly vile!
But the man who came out wasn’t wretched at all.
He looked rather normal, though a just a bit small.
There was little, it seemed, that made him stand out.
He wasn’t too thin, and he wasn’t too stout.
This miniature man was perfectly gray,
while his manner was blank, in a similar way.
His movements were slow, as if studied by rote.
He was lacking in anything worthy of note.
He seemed like a person, whom as soon as you’d met,
you would hardly remember and quickly forget;
a person who sadly is always ignored.
If you glanced at him once, you’d already be bored.
In his hands he was holding a silvery box,
with gauges resembling a series of clocks.
He swiveled a switch with the pad of his thumb
and the creature’s machinery started to hum.
The cage was brought down on a hook and a chain,
controlled by a massive, mechanical crane.
Though Katrina was frightened, she tried to be brave.
She could see they were somewhere inside of a cave.
Looking down at the man, feeling helpless and trapped,
she grew very angry and suddenly snapped.
“Excuse me,” she said to the miniature man,
“could you answer a question? I’m assuming you can.
There’s something, you see, that’s a little unclear.
So perhaps you can tell us—
WHY ARE WE HERE?!!!”
The man didn’t answer. He was lost in a trance,
as if all he was doing was planned in advance.
He held up the box in his miniature fist.
He toggled the dials with a flick of his wrist.
The crane, with a creak, went winching to work.
It hefted the cage, with a jolt and a jerk.
It lowered them down to the depths of the cave,
like a coffin’s descent, to the base of a grave…
The walls were all craggy and chalky with dust,
sallow and furrowed with craters and crust.
They slowly continued their deathly descent,
and things became dimmer, the farther they went.
Then came a light. It was eerie and green.
It threw lingering shadows all over the scene.
And the scene, you may ask? It was bleak! It was black!
There were cages piled up into stack after stack,
in a room like a warehouse, endless with aisles,
with cages and cages that went on for miles!
They were piled all the way to the curve of the roof,
and if things were afoul, then here was the proof:
In every last one was a creature or beast,
there must have been millions (or hundreds, at least).
Katrina looked round, with alarm in her eyes.
There were creatures of every conceivable size!
Creatures she’d never encountered before,
CREATURES from stories and legends and lore,
Creatures most people would likely reject.
“They’re not real,” they would say, or so you’d expect.
But here they all were, looking hopeless and pale,
locked in some sort of a despicable jail.
There were yetis, packed in with the whiskery yecks,
so crowded and cramped, they had cricks in their necks.
In a cage to their left were a satyr and faun;
their shoulders were drooped and their faces were drawn.
Meanwhile, the mermaids were lockedin a pot
(and to tell you the truth, they weren’t looking so hot).
There were phoenixes too,
but their feathers were dim,
their fiery eyes had gone dismal and grim.
But surely the worst, the saddest of all,
was a CREATURE so broad, so impossibly tall,
that he needed the widest and mightiest cell,
and was fitted with shackles and fetters as well.
He was called the Behemoth,
this thundering brute,
this monstrously massive, enormous galoot.
To see him, perhaps, you’d be stricken with dread,
with only a glance at his elephant’s head.
But to
look at him here, in his shackles and chains,
would induce only pity, and sympathy pains.
For in spite of his monstrous, magnificent size,
his trunk was all runny. There were tears in his eyes.
It was curious then that Winnie would smile,
as she peered down the cages, at aisle after aisle.
But smiling she was, as she pointed her claw.
“Look! It’s my Auntie and Uncle McPaw!”
So it was true. The windigo clan,
every windigo woman and windigo man,
were locked into cages and huddled in groups,
like curious chickens in miserable coops.
And next to their cages, can you guess who was there?
Creatures with shorter, more whiskery hair. . .
Zorgamazoo Page 7
