Friday Fiction: "And Then There Was the Time"

AND THEN THERE WAS THE TIME

 

     All right, quiet now, children, and Granny Daisy will tell you a story about when she was a little girl. No, Louisa, this was back in the days when the Bellamys were still all altogether, in fact it was pretty much right when we left Cumberton, after being there a little over a year, I guess. Pa was called away for his work in the Bureau of Shadows again (yes, Eddie, ghosts and monsters and witches, but this ain't about them -- don't look so disappointed), and we headed down to Louisiana.

     Now Pa had already been through those parts on his business. Mr. Jefferson had bought that parcel of land not too long before from Old Boney, and in those days the Territory stretched from the Gulf to the Canadas, enough land to be chopped up into fifteen states since, the same way you'd cut up a pumpkin pie for easy handling. For all that space there weren't a hundred thousand people answerable to the Gummint, and half of those were slaves. Still, it was under American protection now, and when they called for help, an agent of the Bureau had to go, and that was Pa this time.

     Me, I was ready to leave. I had only made one good friend in all our months at Cumberton, and he wasn't around much. Quite a bit of our time had been spent snowbound on the mountain that winter. Snug enough, but boring after a while, with occasional moments of wild panic when avalanches came thundering down from the heights all around us. Of course we had ways of making our own fun, but after the second winter they were wearing mighty thin. Pa's business was concluded in the area, anyway, and it was time to move on.

     There weren't any trains like there are nowadays, so it was all in stages, and a wearisome long time it took. No, nor steamships yet neither, Sammy. Our luggage was sized just like the Three Bears, except it was Ma had a great big trunk, me and my brother Bob had a medium trunk together, and it was Pa had the wee little trunk, 'cause he always traveled light, whereas Ma had the family things as well as her own clothes. It was me that always had to keep an eye on our trunk because Bob was the one looking around with his head in the air and never being careful, but I could do both at the same time.

     Well, children, it was the first time I'd ever been so far down south. I must admit it was very pleasant as we journeyed ever onward, with things growing greener and greener the farther we went, not just the trees but the water we often had to travel on. I felt like I was thawing out after a year among the snows. Then it was pleasantly warm. Then it was like my bones were getting loose in the heat, and finally like I was falling apart in a stew.

     When we finally washed up in Belpaysage I was wishing that I was just a few years younger so I could run around half-naked in a pinny with all the little kids who were scuttling through the dusty streets like chickens. As it was, I was left in the shade of the porch of the local assay office while Ma went in with Pa to talk to Mr. Beaumont, the man he had come to help. Bob had asked and got permission to wander around, and I had got strict orders to stay put where I was.

     I sat there kicking my heels and trying to keep amused by watching anyone who came down the street. After a while the traffic slowed down quite a bit as the day grew hotter, so I really noticed when this older girl (she looked maybe twelve or so) came sashaying along, fancy frilly dress, fancy frilly umbrella just her size, and a black boy walking a couple steps behind her, all respectful like. I was kind of eyeballing them, as they were the best parade going, but I was really surprised when they turned in at the office and she came prissing up the steps.

     No, don't get me wrong, Annie, I like nice things. But there's such a thing as wearing them with too much pride. As she passed she wouldn't even look at me straight on, just kind of slid her eyes to the side a bit, nose in the air, and went inside with nary a knock. I swear that even when she closed the door there was a bit of a proprietary slam to it, as if to let me know she belonged there and I didn't.

     The boy didn't go in, he just sort of scooted to the side and stood there, looking uncomfortable. He was just the opposite, curious, like he wanted to look at me and talk, but daren't. After he stood there a minute, sweat trickling down his head, I patted the seat next to me.

     "You look hot," I said. "You ought to sit down and cool off a spell."

     He looked at me, eyes wide, as if I had just asked him to flap his arms and fly to the moon. I patted the bench again.

     "Thank you kindly, Miss," he finally answered. "But I best not."

     "Why not?"

     He looked uncomfortable. "Miss Lucille won't like it. I'm supposed to wait."

     "Well, why don't you wait right here?"

     "She won't be long, Miss," he said, desperately evading my invitation. "I don't want to be caught lollygagging or anything ... "

     At that moment the bell on the door tinkled again, and Miss Lucille came walking out, folded parasol wagging in annoyance. The boy's mouth shut like a trap. She eyed him in disapproval.

     "Father is busy with some people, Marcus," she drawled. She had a slight French accent. "I must wait." She sat down next to me without hesitation and pointed the parasol at the bottom step of the stairs down to the street, halfway in the blazing sun. "Yes, Miss," he murmured briskly, and moved down and sat stiffly on the lowest board, spine straight. If he could have leaned back a bit a little at least his head would have been in the shade. When she seemed satisfied with his placement she turned to me.

     "Lucille de-St. Marie Beaumont," she announced. "My father, Mr. Beaumont, is head of this office. He has asked that I come and sit with you a while. How do you do?"

     "Fine, I thank you, and I hope I find you the same." I stuck out my hand. "Daisy Bellamy. I suppose it was your father that called my father to come help him."

     She looked at my outstretched hand like I'd offered her a dead mouse and glanced away.

     "The whole situation is really too tiring," she said wearily. I put my hand down. "The rankest backwards superstition. I'm sure Father has enemies putting the tale about, just to keep his plans for progress from going forward. And the credulous dullards of Belpaysage just eat it up, and are frighted by a childish fireside tale."

     "Oh?" I asked. "What sort of spook seems to be bothering you?"

     "Really, I shouldn't scare a little child with such foolish stories, or pass along unfounded rumor. I don't want your mother accusing me of giving you nightmares."

     Now this really burned my beans. She might have been a year or so older than me and an inch or two taller, so she was maybe twelve years old at most, and talking to me like I was a baby. Maybe the heat made me a little cranky.

     "Well, Miss Lucy, I've seen things in real life that would turn your hair white, and make you squeal, too. So suppose you tell me what's got your dad so scared he'll call up my Pa to help him get rid of it."

     "My father is not afraid!" she said, stamping her foot pettishly. "He simply wishes this matter to be investigated by the government to set these foolish tales to rest, so that we can progress. But if you and your family really put credence in such things ... " She tossed her head, black curls shaking.

     "I don't know about putting credence in your stories, but I know what I've seen," I shot back. "'There are more things in Heaven and earth', than what's apparently in 'your philosophy.'"

     "They are not my stories! They are just too ridiculous!" she snapped. A wicked look came in her eyes, and her lip curled. "Very well, I shall tell you. And I hope your naive little brain gives you bad dreams for many nights to come!"

     I folded my arms. "Try me."

     "Very well. They say ... " She looked off into the distance, eyes dreamy. She may not have believed what she was going to relate, but she was obviously going to give me as much fear-mongering drama as she could, just to show me.

     "They say, that in the deepest, darkest parts of the swamp, where the light barely penetrates and the trailing grey moss tries to drag you into the black bogs forever, there is lurking an unearthly creature. It is known only by the terrible wake of destruction it leaves when it strikes from its shadowy home, and furtive glimpses from trappers who are unlucky enough to encounter it in the wild. The raw skeletons of dogs and pigs are found in its trail, and small children who wander into the swamp are never seen again ..."

     "Well, that could just be gators," I put in. "Swamps and marshes are dangerous enough to account for that without bringing in no monsters."

     "I do not say it," she said innocently. "I simply tell you the tale." She leaned in. "But it is said to leave tracks, tracks with four toes, and people who claim to have seen it say it has two red, shining eyes and walks on two legs, like a man. And it attacks with a horrible ferocity and cunning not shown among the lower beasts. They call it ... " She paused dramatically. "The Swamp Ape!"

     She looked at me expectantly, as if to see the effect of her gruesome performance.

     "And?" I said calmly. She looked, disbelieving and disappointed. "I'm sorry I'm not more scared, Miss," I went on. "But 'I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part and each particular hair to stand on end, like quills upon the fretful porpentine ..,' Beg pardon," I said, "But I been reading 'Hamlet' lately."

     "Oh! You little braggart!" She stamped her foot again, and her French accent seemed to thicken. "You have not! You are just a little girl! You have picked up a few tags and tatters in the playhouse, no doubt, and you parade them like a parrot! And you have not seen horrors. Such things are the foolishness of frightened, credulous buffoons!"

     "Well then, why are you so upset that I'm not scared of 'em?"

     Miss Lucy went red at that, shut her mouth, and stuck her head in the air. She couldn't see it, but I could, that Marcus had his head half-turned and was grinning at us. When he saw me noticing he swiveled his head back quickly. His shoulders shook a little, and I couldn't be sure, but I think he was laughing at his mistress.

     "Foolishness," she murmured, as if that was the end of the argument. I let her stew in silence for a bit, then went on reasonably.

     "Look," I said. "You're probably right. It's probably a bear or something, wandered into the area. Anybody who knows anything knows there are no apes on the continent. Pa will track it down, clear up the mystery, and then your father will be safe to get on doing whatever it is he's doing without any fear."

     "My Papa is not afraid, you infuriating bebe! Oh! I shall be glad when this business is done and I need not see you again!"

     At that moment the door opened and Ma and Pa came out. They were ushered along by a shortish, stoutish man, handsome enough in his own way. He was balding a little, with two little tufts of a mustache, and smiling happily. His eyes lit up at the sight of us sitting on the bench.

     "Ah, I am glad to see you two are making friends already! Lucille, the Bellamys will be staying with us as our guests, and the dear little Daisy here shall be sharing your room! Is that not wonderful?"

 

     Yes, James, it was a perfect little social comedy, and I must admit that after turning a little pale at first Miss Lucy played it better than me. As we went down the muddy street to the Beaumont house, Marcus carrying Mr. Beaumont's cumbersome valise, that girl wore a face as sweet as sugar candy and put her arm through my elbow like she was my oldest friend. I must admit that threw me off balance. I stumbled along beside her, feeling kind of clueless, as I suspiciously tried to figure out what was going on.

     We met Bob at the landing station where he had agreed to rendezvous after his look around, and picked up our luggage. I could tell by the gormless look on his face that he was instantly smitten by Miss Lucy, in his chivalrous kind of way. Well, Emily, I can understand it as she was kitted out more fancily than anyone we'd seen in many a day (I think Mr. Beaumont indulged her too much, as her mother was dead and she was his only child) and she carried herself like a little adult. Your Uncle Bob was just a tidge over thirteen himself, but already given to romantic whims. Miss Lucy accepted his worship right away, but with no indication that it could get any farther than that.

     Ma and Pa were taken by her politeness as well. When we arrived at the Beaumont domicile (it looked like an elaborate gabled town house that had somehow dropped out of the sky onto the edge of the swamp) she was immediately their little hostess, showing them to the guest room, directing Marcus to fetch in their luggage and see to them, and Monsieur-and-Madaming them to within an inch of their lives. When she had left the room to get some refreshments prepared, Ma even whispered to me that I might do well to look to Lucy as a model of deportment!

     After supper I was a little loath to head into Miss Lucy's bedroom right away, so I went into the side-parlor where Bob was setting up a sleeping place on the couch, ostensibly to get my night-dress from our trunk and wish him pleasant dreams. I had to hear him gush about what a fine house it was and about the young lady's graces, and what a pleasure it must be for me to share her chamber.

     "If you think so much about it, let's change places," I said, and I think that shocked him all right, as he blushed scarlet. "I don't really care so much for Miss High-and-Mighty, and the soonest Pa settles this case and we move on, the happier I'll be. I already heard her account 'bout this Swamp Ape. You heard anything?"

     "Can't say I've heard much compelling that argues for anything unnatural or unknown," he admitted. "According to Pa it's the usual case in these matters, with every missing chicken or dead cat attributed to the monster's depredations, that could easily be explained by human mischief. It's gotten to be the excuse for every reluctance when anyone doesn't want to go work in the swamp or go abroad at night. This Swamp Ape is more in the nature of a Scape Goat, if you ask me."

     "Dang it," I said. "It's always harder to prove a negative. We could be here a month or more before Pa can allay these people's fears and smooth their ruffled feathers."

     "Not if we can hunt down some natural explanation. Pa thinks it could be a bear or even a panther wandered into the area, and if we capture or kill it the populace will have to accept the explanation. And get this: five years ago, not twenty miles up the river, a Barbary macaque escaped from a traveling show and disappeared into the woods. I think it might very well be our famous and feared Swamp Ape!"

     "Pshaw. Macaques ain't even two foot tall. This beast's supposed to be five feet high and goes on two legs."

     "Night and fear does make things look bigger," he said reasonably, plumping up the pillows on the couch. "Remember what Mr. Frobisher says: the ordinary explanation is most often the best hypothesis."

     "He also said that when ordinary explanations don't explain you have to consider the extra-ordinary."

     "Well, the ordinary explanations aren't exhausted yet." He stopped smoothing out a sheet over the cushions. "Why are you so hot on this critter being weird, anyway?"

     "Frankly, I want to take down little Miss Lucy a notch or two. She thinks she knows what's what, and nothing would please me better than to show her that it's not."

     "Daisy, that sounds downright uncharitable of you."

     "Not really," I said. "'To love is to will the good of the other.' I'd just like to ... broaden her outlook on reality a little. She might not like it." I grinned. "But it would be for her own good."

     Bob shook his head.

     "Well, I don't think you're going to prove the extranatural to her with this case," he said. He laid back on the couch and began to pull a light blanket over himself. "Good night, Daisy."

     I wished him good night and took my gown back to Miss Lucy's room, which had been pointed out to me at the end of the hall. It was like entering an enormous quilted sewing box. She sat in front of a white vanity mirror, brushing out her hair, and without turning away from her glass she pointed at her frilly bed.

     "I have made you a place at the foot." I looked and saw the cover turned down and a plain bolster at the bottom. "I think you will find it comfortable."

     "Thanks," I said, and went behind a three paneled screen in one corner to change. When I came out she was already tucked up on her side, hands primly folded on the covers. I climbed in opposite of her. We looked at each other a minute, and then I decided to make one more effort at friendly, since we had a long night ahead.

     "Look," I began, but then she bowed her head, eyes closed, and began praying a mile a minute, in French, mind you. I was effectively shut up and shut out. When she was done, most emphatically done, she turned on her side and pulled the sheet over her shoulder, and that was that. I yanked my end of the sheet up, snorting, and sat fuming for a long time until I was able to drop off at last. Before that happened I was somewhat consoled by the fact that the delicate Miss Lucille de-St. Marie Beaumont snored in her sleep. 

 

     The next morning after breakfast Pa and Mr. Beaumont, with Bob in tow, headed out to examine the scene of the crime, as it were: a few spots in the neighborhood, and then deep into the swamp. Despite his slick appearance Mr. Beaumont was apparently quite the woodsman and hunter, and intimately familiar with the wild places they were going to examine. I could already hear him as they set off, guns on their shoulders, talking about his plans to develop the area. It seemed to me he was playing things up to Pa, as a gummint official and possible investor.

     Ma had decided to visit the local cemetery for the day, and practice her sketching. She had noticed the beautifully kept spot yesterday in passing. As it turned out, art was one of the fancy past-times that Miss Lucy adored as well, and they headed out together, accompanied by Mrs. Hannah, the housemaid, to wait on them. That left Marcus and me alone at the house, except for the cook, busy in the back, already working on lunch.

     "Now you watch little Miss Daisy while we are gone," Miss Lucy instructed the black boy. She was really talking to Ma, with that side glance of hers, one grand lady to another. "Take care of her and help her with whatever she needs!" With that I was dismissed from her thoughts, and she led Ma off down the lane, talking leisurely of Rubens and Watteau and local spots of beauty that she had already attempted to paint. I waited until they had vanished around the corner, then turned to Marcus.

     "All right, let's head out," I said. He looked surprised. I think he had expected me to stay in all day.

     "Where you want to be going, Miss?" he asked, puzzled. "Church is already done for the morning, and ain't no stores open till nine. Besides, you even got any money?"

     "Don't matter," I said. "We're goin' into the swamp."

     "Miss Bellamy!" He looked shocked.

     "You know the way around in there, right?"

     "Well, yes, Mr. Beaumont takes me when he goes hunting usually, but he's got a gun. There's things in there ... "

     "Do you believe in this Swamp Ape story?"

     That brought him up short, and for a moment I could tell he wanted to say yes. Then he got a hold of himself.

     "Don't matter, Miss. There's plenty of critters we know what are there. I don't reckon it's safe for you."

     "Marcus, I'm not a city girl, I'll have you know. I spent the last two years basic'lly living in the woods. So I'm not sitting around here twiddlin' my thumbs all day. And you're showing me the way. Didn't Miss Lucy say to help me, anyway?" I smiled. "You wouldn't want to disobey her orders, now, would you?"

     "I don't imagine she wanted me to take you out into the swamp, Miss."

     "Don't matter, Marcus," I said blithely. "You get into trouble, I'll take full responsibility."

     "Even so I'm pretty sure she won't see it that way," he said gloomily. "I'd best get us some water to take. Ain't nothin' fit to drink out there." He brightened up a little bit. "I'll bet you see what it's like, you'll probably want to come home quick enough."

     "We shall see. You get the water, and I'll get my stuff. Best bring whatever weapons you got," I said.

 

     We left by the side door and made our way unobserved through the backstreets. I carried along a pocketknife, a compass with a glass magnifying cover, a notebook. and a stub of a pencil. Marcus had a couple of water skins and a loaf wrapped in a handkerchief, and a machete at his side. As we went along through the woods at the edge of town, he picked out some sticks from the underbrush and shaped us a couple of walking staffs. It wasn't very long before we came to a fork in the trail.

     "I reckon Mr. Beaumont and them went that way," Marcus said, pointing to the right. There were tracks in the much-trodden dirt all right, and I recognized Bob's boot prints easy enough.

     "No sense going that way then," I said, pointing. "We'll take the left hand."

     He sucked in his breath through his teeth, shaking his head. "Pretty rough there, Miss," he warned. "Grounds awful wet. Lots of bogs. Only people who want to hunt 'gators and wildcat go there."

     "Sounds like a good peaceful place to hide. That's where I'd be if I was a Swamp Ape. Let's go." And I went plunging down the overgrown path.

     I think if I had been on my own without Marcus I never would have been seen again. No, Mary, I don't know why he would let a little girl like me do such a darn-fool thing, 'ceptin' I was always so definite in my ways. Maybe he was just used to being bossed around by Miss Lucy. Anyways it was only his guidance that saw me through.

     Now that swamp wasn't anything like the bogs, or the forests, or even the waterways in these parts, but like all three mixed together, with a steam bath and a plague of bugs mixed in for good measure. Huge dragonflies and mayflies and just plain flies, and black grasshoppers as big as your pointing finger, with lines of scarlet on their armor. The air heavy with the shrills of cicada and katydid, and the warm warning hum of bees. Butterflies flitting like flying flowers from bush to bush, and every now and then you might disturb a giant green lunar moth as big as your hand that would flap off and be swallowed, for all its size, in the deep, deep emerald shadows of that place.

     The cypress trees were the monarchs there, fluting down from their heights like inverted trumpets calling from heaven, their thick feathery leaves gathering the gloom under their branches, grey trailing moss sweeping in beards almost to thick knobby knees of gnarled roots, like old giants soaking their feet in the water. Tupelo were their courtiers, hanging back from the water on more solid ground, when it could be found. But finding it was a puzzle.

     I almost entered a patch of green that looked as calm as a field in May that quaked and rippled at the touch of my walking stick, and Marcus snatched me backwards. As we went along through the saw grass and arrowhead, wax myrtle and trumpetvine, he taught me how to recognize duckweed and lilypad and alligator weed and lizardtails, and what each might auger. Soon I was navigating fairly smoothly along, not without some checks now and then.

     Lordy, were there snakes abounding! And frogs, of course, for the snakes to eat, and turtles sunning themselves in piles on logs near the shore. We had to be particularly careful about those logs, because sometimes they turned out to be alligators. Of course we never went into the water, and Marcus seemed to be able to smell a gator whenever it was near and so avoid it, but we had a close call or two. Once when I had stopped to watch a doe come down to drink I almost had a heart attack as an old bull gator rose up roaring out of the water to snap at its legs. The next thing I knew I was halfway up a blackwillow tree, and descended rather shame-faced to the black boy's amusement.

     At last the sun was somewhat past its zenith and I decided that my initial investigation was a washout. We sat down on a mossy hummock and ate our bread for lunch, including some berries Marcus had foraged along the way. "Leaves of three, quickly flee," he explained the old rule. "Leaves of four, have some more. Um. But not in every case. Best leave the picking to me, Miss."

     "Well, we ain't seen no Swamp Ape today," I said, munching the crusty bread and adding a berry or two with each bite. "Plenty of deer, fox, rabbits, herons, ducks, gator, and the devil's own plenty of snakes, but no Swamp Ape, and no trace of his trail."

     "Spoor don't last long around here, Miss," he said, eyes darting around alertly even as we ate. "'Sides, it seems to be more a night beast."

     I smacked my forehead. "Of course! Marcus, do you think you could bring me out here again tonight?"

     He looked horrified at the thought. "Do you really think your parents would let me? Besides, you need a better guide than I am to come out at night. Probably with guns, Miss. And a couple of hounds, I would think."

     "I suppose so," I said, but I was disappointed. I looked around. "Well, I guess we better head on in before it starts to darken. Ma will probably be mad enough about this little jaunt as it is. I guess it's even possible that Pa and Bob will have solved it all already anyway, more's the pity. I wanted a real adventure to make Miss Lucy open her eyes." I dusted my hands of the crumbs and shook the cloth out, taking my walking stick and stabbing it into the mound to hoist myself to my feet.

     The stick was yanked out of my hand and I was suddenly tossed off my feet. I landed rolling a yard away. I heard Marcus yelling but in my confusion couldn't understand what he was saying. I scrambled myself upright pretty quickly, though, my knife in my hand, and I saw the last thing I ever imagined to see.

     Marcus was in front of me, machete raised, eyes wide and staring, body hunched ready to strike. And there before us stood the Swamp Ape.

     It had been the mossy knoll we were sitting on, and my stick was still plunged into its broad green back, where it wagged like an incongruous and off-centered tail as the creature turned back and forth, trying to hone in on one of us. I had to admit, walking on two legs it did sort of look like an ape, but almost more like a long thin turtle that had started to walk upright. It studied us with two round, dull, red-jelly eyes without lid or iris, its flesh quaking like bladders filled with liquid. Its viney, veiny arms moved bonelessly as it reached out groping towards us, and it started slowly, silently, shuffling forward.

     I looked down at its feet. Where it had been huddled a moment before, where we had just been sitting peacefully eating our lunch, mind you, was the half-devoured corpse of a racoon, its flesh rasped off in neat, bloody slices and its remaining fur covered in viscid, emerald slime that bubbled and steamed with a faint hiss in the warm still air. The skull was crushed as the beast put one heavy foot down with a small, sickening crunch. I watched paralyzed. It extended its writhing, tendriled paw and grabbed my apron.

     With a wild wheeling flash of steel Marcus brought the machete striking down, lopping off the hand with an abruptness that made me scream. The fingers fell scattering down. Now, I don't scream and squeal often like some girls - I'm looking at you, Joy - but I did now; it was a weak and breathless squeak, but at least it let me think and move again. I hopped back. The Swamp Ape never made a sound; it sort of shrank into itself like a snail, but almost immediately extended itself again. I watched in fascination. Its fingers seemed to be reforming and growing back right before our eyes.

     There was no feeling in those red eyes, no anger, no fear, no pain. But if ever I saw it there was hunger in that reaching body.

     "Marcus," I said quietly. "I think it's time we were going."

     "Yes, Miss," he said as steadily, gaze fixed on that questing paw. "I do believe we should."

     At a nudge from me, Marcus passed over his walking stick, taking the machete in a firmer grip. I held the stick like a spear in front of me.  We started to back away. The Swamp Ape followed.

     It was slow, but it never stopped. We kept having to look behind us to prevent our slipping into the stagnant green waters around us, to keep our heads, and try to remember the way we had come, while that creature never did. It had latched onto us somehow, and after a little bit it didn't seem to me to be just with its dim red eyes. The only time it ever hesitated was when we passed through bright, sunny patches and then it wavered a bit as if confused. As it lurched after us it became surrounded by a hazy halo of bugs, and whenever the wind blew towards us I smelled a sickly, sweetish waft like rotting meat.

     We dodged snakes and whipping moss, past rosemallow and trumpet vines, scattering coveys of ducks and brilliant flights of cardinals and egrets, and once an enormous heron that checked our retreat as it rose booming its enormous wings right in our face. The Ape was not distracted once. At last we came to a long, firm strip of land where we could run for a goodly sprint and put some space between us, only to have to stop, winded, in the face of a bog shuddering at our feet. As we caught our breath Marcus looked around, trying to get his bearings and find a way forward, and I watched the creature as it drew implacably nearer.

     As it shambled through the brightly lit swath of grass and flowers and I fixated on it, my vision abruptly went wide, and my thoughts did a wild somersault. I saw it suddenly, not as a hunting beast, but as an object in its surroundings, as if it were standing still. And I saw that despite its deceptive movements, deluding us into illusory expectations, that it was not an animal.

     It was a plant. A mobile, carnivorous plant. Moving a thousand times faster than a creeping trailer grows, and coming after us with all the blind hunger of a mold eating up a dead mouse.

     At the instant of this realization, which struck me with all the force of conviction, Marcus grabbed my hand and pulled me off to the left, and we went plunging briefly through the water and climbed up a firm tussock on the other side. I looked back as we climbed over the slippery cypress roots that anchored the land there, and saw the thing approach the brink of the water and slip in, only to emerge with a snapping turtle attached wickedly to its indifferent leg. The cold-blooded thing let go and plopped back into the swamp without even a shrug from the Swamp Ape. We proceeded as fast as we could in the fading daylight and the tangled woods.

     "You know what, Marcus?" I said as we puffed along. I had to say something about my discovery. "I do believe that that critter ain't no animal. I think that there's a plant of some kind."

     He looked at me sideways, but didn't stop.

     "You don't say so? Could be, Miss."

     We scrambled on.

     "And I do believe," I continued, "That it's followin' us by body heat. Like the way a sunflower follows the sun. Notice it paid no mind to that turtle?" We ran on. "And gets confused in sunny spots?"

     "Didn't notice, Miss." We paused, balked by another impassable way. "And how is this important, Miss Daisy?" he asked, panting,

     "Dunno," I said. "Seemed worth noting." He rolled his eyes at me impatiently, looked around, and chose us a way. We went on. The Swamp Ape came after us, never more than ten yards behind, in that eerie silence broken only by the thrash of grasses in its incessant wake. As it grew darker and darker with the sun's decline its eyes began to shine with a ruby phosphorescence.

     Finally, as the last limb of sun was gone and even the final lingering afterlight was dying, we struck an area that looked dimly familiar even to me, and a firm path under our feet. In good time too, for those eyes were gleaming no further than ten feet away as we stumbled wearily forward. We put on a tiny burst of speed and managed to put a little more distance between us, and then suddenly, miraculously, we crashed out of the bushes and there was the crossroads, and standing there, guns in hand and looks of amazement in their eyes, were Pa, Mr. Beaumont, and Bob, who held up a fresh-lit lantern in surprise at our thundering advent.

     "Marcus!" Mr. Beaumont began angrily, but I cut in on him.

     "It's the Swamp Ape, Pa! Right behind us!"

     The guns were immediately in the men's hands, and Bob thrust the light into my grasp as I stumbled forward. He used my momentum to push me behind him as he drew out the pistol he had been provided with and stepped out to get a good siteline for a shot. I turned and twisted the lantern firmly in my hands and held it as high as I could, trying to illuminate the path behind me. There was a rustle, and the Swamp Ape stepped from the bushes and out into the light.

     Three guns went off simultaneously, and the thing staggered back from the impact. As the acrid black smoke cleared, though, the Ape lurched forward as implacably as ever, apparently not fazed a bit by the three smoking holes that the hot lead had pierced ringing through its leafy hide.

     I'll give Mr. Beaumont one thing, he certainly had more courage than sense. Before I could shout a warning he was lunging forward at the beast to grapple it down before it could flee. His hands grabbed at it, neck and shoulder, as if to pinion it, and suddenly he screamed. Tearing his hands away, he danced backwards in pain, arms shaking, blood flying. Tiny leaflike tongues had come flashing out and scraped scoops of flesh from his fingers. He fell to the ground, eyes rolling, body convulsing as if struck by some quick-acting poison. The Swamp Ape moved on -- straight toward me.

     Marcus stepped forward, machete flailing, and landed another desperate blow, right in the thing's neck. The blade stuck in the fibrous body, jerking out of the black boy's hand with the creature's oblivious advance on me. It seemed out of all the company that I was its chosen victim. Bob, Pa, and Marcus roiled helplessly in its path, forming a wall, the ineffective guns in their helpless hands, wanting to protect me but unwilling to leave and abandon Mr. Beaumont to his fate, and me not wanting to leave them to face that creature in the dark. Why had it chosen me? I thought desperately, gripping my stick. Then it struck me.

     "Everybody out of the way!" I shouted. "I'm gonna give that thing what it's after!"

     "Don't be foolish!" Pa snapped. "There's no way I'm going to sacrifice you to that beast!" He smiled grimly. "After all, what would your mother say?"

     "Just do it!" I pleaded. Pa shook his head, trying to hold the Swamp Ape off with the barrel of his gun. There was a moment of resistance, then the steel began sliding harmlessly through the thing's body as it tried to get me in arm's reach.

     I looked around desperately, then decided to take the path of least resistance. I poked Bob with the sharp end of the walking stick and with a yelp of pain and surprise he jumped out of the way, and I was free of the chivalrous if futile ring of protection.

     "Get behind me! Get some distance!" I ordered, and in that chaos of attack and defense my tones of command and surety somehow snapped them into obeying. I took one last look into those gleaming red eyes, raised high the steaming lantern, and dashed it right into the chest of the thing.

     The oil within burst like a bomb, erupting upward and spattering the ground around me. I fell back, knocked over by the blast. I looked up dazed. The Ape stood there, stopped in its tracks. The outer leaves of its body had burned away almost immediately, revealing bladders that were bouncing and bubbling in the heat. They started bursting with a hiss, the only sound the creature had ever made. Its eye ran like red tears down its cheeks. Pa and Bob were suddenly there, dragging me crazily away from the billowing fire. Pa was breathing hard as he patted out the fire on my smoldering frock.

     "You dear, dear girl," he said, when he was sure I was safe. He hugged me, then held me at arm's length, smiling through red-rimmed eyes. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen you do."

     I smiled back. "Well, you got to remember you were gone for about a year there. You might have missed a thing or two."

     Bob had to laugh at that, and after an incredulous look Pa did to. I looked over to the burning pile that had been the Swamp Ape. Already the blackened remains were falling in on themselves, and the flames were dying down. In the flickering light Marcus was bending over Mr. Beaumont, wrapping up his wounds in the breadcloth and a couple of handkerchiefs, and listening to his breathing. We walked over to him and looked a question.

     "He's alive," the boy said, "But he won't wake up. We'd best get him home quick and fetch Doc Handy."

 

     Between the three of them they managed to hoist Mr. Beaumont to his feet and start his slouching steps down the trail. Lucky about this time the moon had rose up, and by its mischancy light we frogmarched our way back home. The Beaumont house was lit up from stem to stern when we got there, with Ma and Miss Lucy waiting on the porch, Ma loaded for bear and ready to read me the riot act for disappearing all day. That went by the wayside when she caught sight of Mr. Beaumont and she got straight into nurse mode. Miss Lucy took one look at her father and with a screech was haring off into town to fetch the doctor. Good thing she didn't ask Marcus, because he looked about ready to collapse and disappeared into the kitchen where I figured his mother was waiting. We settled Mr. Beaumont into his bed and Ma took over, with Bob as her aide. Pa and I went out to the porch, and he started to quiz me about the Swamp Ape.

     At first he was pretty stern about my deciding to venture forth on my own, but when I got to the Swamp Ape and what I had surmised about its nature and why, he got more and more interested and even pulled out his pocketbook to take notes, making little murmurs of pleasure as detail after detail seemed to make up my case. Then he looked up and told me in brief what his party had been doing all day.

     "It didn't really amount to much," he admitted. "Mostly just wandering around. Did find a panther skull, though, and Mr. Beaumont wanted to call it quits at that, declare it was the swamp haunter, and close the book there. I don't think he ever thought there was anything unusual going on; he just wanted to claim an end to things and get on with his plans.

     "Even though things are more or less solved, there are still quite a few holes to fill. Was it the first, or the last, or the only member of its kind? Are there more Swamp Apes, lurking out there? There are miles and miles and miles of wild lands for them to hide in, if they're there. This is going to call for some more investigation, I'm afraid."

     I nodded my head glumly, sticking my hands in my apron pockets. My eyes widened. Pa had wearily pulled out the little bottle of brandy he carried for emergencies, and swigged off half of it, about two ounces. There was half left yet.

     "Pa," I said thoughtfully. "Can I have the rest of that?"

     He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then grinned again, handing me the bottle.

     "Well, I suppose you've had a hard day of it too, Miss Daisy Weedkiller. Just don't make a habit of it."

     I took the bottle and pocketed it, just as Lucy and Doc Handy appeared, and they and Pa went into the house together to tend to Mr. Beaumont.

 

     As it turned out he was just fine, and in around a week was up and about and as good as ever, except for his bandaged hands. Pa, now that he knew what to look for, had already been scouting around and found no sign of any other Swamp Apes. He scooped up the ashy remains and sent them back to the Bureau to see if they could find out anything about it, but I never heard that they ever did. After a month of no further attacks Pa drew up a certificate for Mr. Beaumont attesting that the affair was closed, and that was that. I understand Mr. Beaumont, thinking that no one would be convinced by the real story of the Swamp Ape, showed the cougar skull around as the actual origin of the troubles as a cover story most folks would buy. I know he told Miss Lucy the tale, too. I think maybe he thought she was too delicate for the truth. Through the weeks we were there she'd sometimes task me for believing so fantastic a tale as there having been a Swamp Ape. But all the black folks around, through Marcus' testimony, knew the truth.

     The last day, as we were packed and waiting to leave, Pa paid a last visit to Mr. Beaumont at his assay office. I was sitting on the porch again, and Lucy came out and sat with me. She looked like a cat full of cream as she adjusted her skirts. After some polite parting sentiments, she started up on me again.

     "I am so sorry your father has not found his spook. It must be so disappointing for him." She smiled. "But I am afraid that is the fate of those who chase wild fancies."

     "My Pa did what he came for," I said quietly. "Found some answers to a few questions and helped your father out of his troubles."

     "But it is my father who has found the real beast that was the problem. Your father ... merely put the stamp at the bottom of the deed. How simple people put faith in that pretty stamp!"

     "It is amazing how people do put faith in simple things." I smiled at her sweetly. "Show a green cat skull, say this is the beast, and folks nod wisely. The fact of the matter is that the Swamp Ape was real, I found it, and I got the proof."

     "What! Marcus' wild tales? I have heard him telling such lies to his people and put a stop to that. That is not proof."

     "Maybe not, but this is." I reached into my pocket. "Look. This fell into my apron, when Marcus cut it off." Miss Lucy leaned forward reflexively, a blank look on her face.

     I held out the little brandy bottle Pa had given to me. Inside, in the clear afternoon sun, floated the amputated, woody finger of the Swamp Ape.

     She stared at it, mouth open, and for a moment I could see that she knew, knew and believed.

     Then her mouth clamped shut and her eyes went hard.

     "Foolishness," she said tightly. "A bit of old root."

     The finger suddenly twitched in the warm sunlight and she jumped back with a gasp. I smiled. Then I could see her quickly editing the evidence of her own eyes.

     "Foolishness," she whispered.

     I put the bottle away, satisfied, and that was the end of that.    

     So Mr. Beaumont went forward with his plans, draining the swamp and cutting down the trees and crowding out the animals, and I hear that Belpaysage is now as clean and civilized and boring as any town you might want to visit. I get a letter from Marcus now and then. He's become something of a big deal down there, especially after the Emancipation. Elected mayor twice. I always figured a brave fellow like him could go far. 

     Speak up, Gertie. Don't mumble now. Well, no. As far as I know, there ain't been another Swamp Ape seen from that day to this.

     But gather round children, and Granny Daisy will show you a wonder. Let me rustle around in my old bee treasure-jar and get you something. Looky here. The very same bottle your Great-Grandpa gave me that night on the porch. And look what's still floating in it.

     Here, my dears, is the finger of the Swamp Ape that Marcus cut off and what fell in my pocket. And see? Even after so many years it's sprouting tiny flowers.

     There might still be a Swamp Ape down there not too far away in Louisiana, slowly growing back, lurking, wary, maybe even looking to find this very finger again.

     Hark! Was that something at the door? 

 

                        First Draft: 3:09PM, 11/29/2018  

Notes

Rummaging about in my Writings folder, looking for something to publish today, I ran across this short story (also known as "Daisy and the Skunk Ape"), a tale I hadn't thought of for years. It is, I suppose, a Bureau of Shadows tale, although the Bureau takes rather a back seat, so that I don't really think of it in connection to BoS.

It is, instead, a Daisy story, one that talks about the Bellamys and their post-Cumberton adventures, and, slanch-ways, Daisy's life after losing track of Bob. All of her grandchildren have names based on various American authors: I have a list of who's who, but it's kind of a game to figure them out for yourself. She ends her story with a typical kind of 'Boo!' used by elders to scare and engage the kids and punctuate their point.

Looking back, I suppose the 'Skunk Ape,' besides being based on actual cryptid reports, owes a lot to the swamp creatures of the comic books, Man-Thing and Swampthing and so on, who themselves trace back to a comic book adaptation of a 1940 short story, "It!" by Theodore Sturgeon. I didn't want my Skunk Ape to be just another Bigfoot variation. Daisy considers the Skunk Ape not to be a monster, as such, so much as an Unidentified Natural Phenomenon.