This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?
“Let’s go,” I said. I patted Mr. Curtis on the shoulder. He croaked, blinked his left eye, and then a second later his right.
“Right.”
We bounded off up the front stairs and pushed our way into the shop. She wasn’t kidding. The place was hopping. It was teaming with visitors, patrons eating a roll, donut, or sticky bun while enjoying a spot of tea or a large cup of coffee during their lunch hour. There were a variety of mice, rats, moles, and a chameleon in the corner, all wearing work clothes, suits, or other daily wear. There was a family of hamsters down at the head of the line, and we could see, behind the counter, Mrs. Smith running back and forth, fulfilling orders and taking care of customers, ordering employees around otherwise surviving the moment.
“There she is,” said Mr. Curtis.
“What do we do about it?”
“This way.”
We fought through the crowd, twisting around them, but couldn’t penetrate the line. A pair of bats who were discussing a meeting they were going to this afternoon turned and stared us down.
I looked at Mr. Curtis.
He apologized, saying “excuse me,” then to me “let’s get in line.” So we did.
Looking around, we could see that all the side tables, and a lounge area next to the fireplace were filled with folks settled neatly into handsome leather chairs.
In the middle of the room was a standing series of tables, where most folks were. They were leaving almost as quickly as they came in, but no one in here seemed to be infected. I was watching everyone closely as I could, but no one seemed in the least bit distressed, except possibly for Mrs. Smith, and she simply looked like someone dealing with a lunch rush worth of people, yet I kept expecting trouble.
Mr. Curtis appeared to be on alert as well. He was behaving strangely, which meant more strangely than he usually did. He kept darting his eyes around, looking under tables, and taking his hat off to look in it, only to put it back on so he could pull it off again to look in it, and then squeeze down onto the floor to look at everyone’s shoes, then hop up and try to spin around, and put his hat back on.
I’m glad it wasn’t just me because a pair of mice ahead of us kept scooting out of his way, giving him dirty looks.
“Curtis!”
“What?”
“What are you…”
“Looking.”
“Stop.”
“James, clues, you know.”
“I think they’ll find us by this point.”
He looked in his hat again.
“What are you looking at in there? I gave to say sometimes I do not know what or how you keep anything in there.”
“I used to be a magician.”
“I know that. Never mind, what are you watching in there?”
“An egg. At least I think it’s an egg.”
I looked in the hat.
“I can see nothing.”
Then he waved his hand over the open hat. I imagine an almost automatic gesture for him, then reached in and pulled one roll out from this morning and showed it to me.
“My goodness Curtis, that’s three times the size it was this morning.”
It was. As they held it up, it dwarfed his gray-green hand. It looked like it was expanding and building up in different directions. Little ballooning pockets. I almost expected one to rupture and explode like a boil, but that’s not the thing you expect from a sticky bun.
He held it aloft and twisted it around for me to see.
“How long has it been doing this?”
“Since we left Arthur’s tower.”
“I say. Put that thing away.”
He dropped it back into his hat and put it back on. I couldn’t see how he could stand knowing that was up there.
“How can you just put it on like that, knowing it’s up in there?”
“Have you ever gotten used to keeping a sparrow in your hat?”
“No, and I’ve known too many to—”
“Well, once you get used to one of them hopping around up there, you can keep anything in your hat without thinking twice.”
“Maybe in your hat.”
“Precisely.”
We stepped up in line.
Mr. Curtis and I were now near a set of chairs by an end table where two fellows and a lady were taking tea. They had a plate of sandwiches between them that had three trays. The top tray was little desserts topped with cream and berries. The middle comprised rolls, and the bottom was cucumber sandwiches.
They were having a wonderful lunch when Mr. Curtis leaned over and said, “Excuse me, I think one of your rolls is hatching.”
“What?” said the lady with wide eyes. She was a mouse in a red dress wearing a tall hat with a purple plume feather coming from it. “Excuse me?”
“Your role there, it seems to be…”
A yellow tentacle popped from the side of the roll she was holding daintily in her right paw.
“Ah!”
She held it away from her and closed her eyes.
“M’lady, please,” said Mr. Curtis. “Please allow me to…” he reached out to take it from her when another squirming, yellow one popped out the other side. She dropped the bun on the floor, snarled, baring her teeth, and stomped on it, skewering the roll with a particularly devastating spiked high heel. She pulled her foot back, and the shoe remained.
Tentacles popped, grabbed the shoe, and twisted around it. She stomped again, then folks scrambled and scattered over tables.
“What is that?” said someone who had just lost their soup all over themselves. Tables fell and folks ran. The doors burst and the place emptied.
Mr. Curtis picked it up by hand in the middle of the chaos. It had closed over the shoe and tightened into a ball. He lifted it, and people around us hit the walls, plastered by fear.
I could hear Mrs. Smith in the background. “Everybody, please stay calm. Everything will be okay… ugh. What? Is? that?”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Curtis. “I think it’s from another world.” He held it up, holding the shoe by the toe. “Very interesting.” He pulled a wooden spoon, I have no from where, and poked at it. The octopus creature squelched and tightened and the heel popped off and fell on the floor and rolled away under a turned-over table.
He poked it again.
It grabbed the spoon. “Eh!”
It dropped the shoe and hung off the spoon from underneath. It started climbing up quicker than I thought it could. I wondered how fast these creatures could move underwater.
It jumped on Curtis’s face. He ducked, and then it headed straight for me. I grabbed a glass from a table, and slinging cold brewed coffee everywhere, I smacked the creature to the floor. It ran from us, dragging two tentacles behind it. And either tripping around or rolling like some kind of insect, closed up and flying down a hill.
Rats ran. Some jumped, and others tumbled. Curtis was running after it, or closer hopping after it, and I was just trying to keep my eye on it while it bounded straight for Mrs. Smith, who was screaming.
“Kill it!” said someone.
“What is it?” said someone else.
“Not breakfast,” said someone else.
People were scrambling in every direction.
It crawled up on the counter-top.
Mrs. Smith screamed.
I slapped my arm down on one side of the counter between it and Mrs. smith, and it turned around, rolling like a ball, its tentacles slapping everywhere back towards Mr. Curtis, who had his hat ready. It rolled right into the hat and he trapped it underneath.
For a second, it was bumping around, trying to get out.
“Is it in there?” I said.
“I’m not sure,” said the frog. He peaked under, then quickly smashed it back down on the counter. “Yep, it’s in there.”
“Close up shop,” I said.
“Right,” said Mrs. Smith.
She jumped over the table and started shooing the people who hadn’t gotten out already. They were ready and willing to escape, tumbling out the door. When the last of them had scrambled out and gotten their hats together, she locked the door and she and I dimmed the lights and shuttered the windows.
“Bring it here,” I said.
“Right ho,” said Mr. Curtis. He brought the hat and placed it on a table in the middle just as I righted it. The three of us drew up chairs, each keeping a hand or paw on it as much as we could.
Someone knocked on the door. “Are you open?”
Mrs. Smith got up to answer it, but I held up my hand and shook my head. “Not yet.”
She sat back down.
“Let’s find out what’s in here,” I said. “Turn it over, Mr. Curtis.”
“Yes. Right.” He flipped the hat over, and each of us stepped back a little. It was dim, but we could see fairly well. The hat was dark.
It rocked a little. It bumped to the side.
An eye popped up on a yellow stalk. It blinked and looked at each of us.
A tentacle tentatively came out to writhe around, then another one, as another eye came up to look at me.
“Mr. Curtis,” said Mrs. Smith. “It’s moving.”
Then it was out. It flopped on the table and the hat went skittering.
“It’s out!” I said.
“Yeah, it’s out!” said Mr. Curtis. It rolled, tucking its eyes in, and splatted to the floor.
“Catch it again!” I yelled.
“Yahoo!” said the frog. He put on his hat and we were off, chasing it behind the counter, and back through the kitchens.
It slid under the counter and into the oven. We were after it with brooms. Mr. Curtis was slapping at the floor with a mop when we chased it into the back room.
“Not the drain, Mr. Curtis!”
It was flipping and sliding, avoiding blows and whipping left and right. We were right behind it. Mr. Curtis threw his hat, trying to trap it again, but it fell short, and the creature made it down the drain.
It slipped through the bars and vanished below the building.
We sat on the floor panting and clutching our chests. At least I was. Mr. Curtis just sat there and burped.
“Mr. Curtis!”
“Yes, Dr. James?”
He burped again.
“Oh, never mind. Let’s help Mrs. Smith clean up.”
Burp.
“I’ll take that as an affirmative.”
We got up and blocked the drain by dragging several bags of flour as many as we could find, and covering it as best we could, and then helped her clean the tables up and bring the dining room back into order.
“What’s left?” I asked.
“The donations for the morning.”
“Right.”
There were still many rolls, buns, and muffins in the case of the lunch crowd. Mrs. Smith lined up several boxes. Admitting was more than usual, and we filled ten with extras to put in the back for pickup the next morning.
I looked over at the pile of flour bags, unsure. I’d seen enough strange things today.
“We should stay here tonight,” said the frog. “Yes, that’s what we will do, if you’ll allow us, Mrs. Smith.”
“What?”
“Yes, we’ll watch and see. Perhaps nothing will happen.”
“But maybe it will,” I said.
“Which will help us all unravel this mystery!”
“Of course. I’ll lock up.” She left reluctantly after Mr. Curtis assured her many times. After most of the lights dimmed, the shutters were closed, and she was gone, headed to her home on foot. It turned to my green friend.
“Now what?” I folded my arms.
He croaked. “We wait.”
