CHAPTER 6

THE TREE DWELLERS

The creature—or whatever it was—hissed and growled, and Max took a step back.

“It’s going to eat us!” Rocky yowled.

Panicked, the Dachshund sprinted to the opposite side of the cracked road, running in a wild zigzag. Meeting the concrete ledge on the far side, he spun around in a desperate circle.

Max’s instincts told him to flee as well, but he remembered the last few times he’d thought a monster or some other beast was out to get them.

Instead of running away, Max took a purposeful step forward. Though the sprinkling, misty rain made him blink, he was able to see that the dozen yellow eyes belonged to six different small faces. It wasn’t the dark, deadly gaze of the monsters described by the beach pets. And it certainly wasn’t the icy glare of Dolph or his wolves, who wouldn’t be up in a tree, anyway.

“Don’t get close!” Rocky howled. “We gotta run away!”

Max moved closer so that the tree canopy blocked some of the rainfall, and he finally got a good view.

The creatures looked like giant rats with messy gray fur. One was bigger even than Gizmo or Rocky, but the other five were younger and smaller. They dangled upside down from the mossy branch, holding on with their thick, hairless pink tails. The strange things stared at Max with beady eyes, their rounded ears perked up.

For a long moment, Max and the six creatures watched each other silently. Then, from behind Max, came a loud thud. He spun around to see that Rocky had run headfirst into a guardrail. The Dachshund sat upon a patch of weeds, looking confused.

“Rocky!” Gizmo barked, and she ran to his side to sniff and lick his forehead.

From the trees, the tiniest rat-creature giggled. She raised her tiny front claws to cover her snout, but she couldn’t stop laughing. Soon, she was joined by the other four small ones.

“Did ya see that, Papa?” one of the creatures squealed. He pointed at Rocky. “That dog there done hit his head! Isn’t that silly?”

“It was funny, it was!” the smallest one squeaked. “He went ’round and ’round and ’round, and then he smacked his head like this!” She bounced her fist square in the center of her forehead.

All the small rat-creatures burst into another bout of laughter. Only the largest one remained unamused.

“Hey, it’s not funny!” Rocky barked from across the road. “You can’t go around scaring people and then laughing at them. It’s not right.”

Next to him, Gizmo giggled, then ducked her head when Rocky glared at her. “It was a little funny,” she said. “But only because you’re not hurt!”

The big creature growled again, and Max turned his attention to him. The younger things seemed harmless enough, but if the big one decided to attack Rocky or Gizmo, they could be in a lot of trouble. He was fat-bellied, with long whiskers that twisted off his snout like metal wire. Part of his left ear was missing, and there were scars all over his face. The creature’s jaws were clamped shut, but Max had seen the tiny, sharp teeth that filled the snouts of the babies. He could imagine how much bigger those teeth would be in an animal who’d clearly been in more than a few fights.

“Sorry about my friend,” Max said, gesturing to Rocky. “We’ve heard lots of stories about monsters in these woods, so he gets scared easily. I’m Max. Who are you?”

“He’s Papa,” said one of the tiny creatures, rolling his eyes.

“In actuality,” the big thing said, “the name is Hank. These be my children.”

“Nice to meet you,” Max said warily.

Hank looked Max up and down. “Uh-huh,” he said.

Rocky tilted his head at the creatures. “What are you supposed to be, anyway?” he asked.

“We’re possums!” the youngest girl squealed.

Gizmo furrowed her brow. “We know a Possum,” she said. “But she’s a cat.”

Hank grunted. “She musta been named after us real possums, then. Or she’s trying to be mistook for one of us. Lots of animals wish they was as nimble as us.”

Rocky nodded. “I’ve heard of animals like you. But why don’t you have any hair on your tails? Don’t you get cold?”

“Nah,” a boy possum said, his voice deeper than his sister’s. “Don’t need no hair. That would make it hard to dangle from branches.”

“And why do you hang upside down?”

The smallest one sniffed and crossed her arms. “Why don’t you?”

“Let’s not insult our new friends, Rocky,” Max said. To Hank, he nodded once more. “We’d best be on our way. It was nice to meet you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hank said. “It was real pleasurable-like. Enjoy the swamp, ya hear? It plans to enjoy you back.”

“Uh, all right,” Max said. Something about what the possum had just said felt very strange to him.

The possums watched silently as Max, Rocky, and Gizmo started down the road again. Once more, Max was astounded by the sudden shift in the world around them. A hazy green fog hung in the air, a mixture of the moisture rising off the swamp and mist from the earlier storm. Grass, weeds, and moss squelched between their toes, and mosquitoes buzzed around the puddles.

The tall trees and the dangling moss waved gently in the breeze, and Max heard distant splashes and shrieks. He ignored the noises until he heard creaks and cracks from the branches immediately to his left.

“What was that?” Rocky wheezed.

Max looked up and saw, once more, twelve eyes looking down at them. It was the possum family, only this time they sat atop the branch in a neat row, with Hank nearest to the road.

“Uh, hello again,” Max said.

“Hi!” Gizmo said.

Hank’s messy whiskers twitched. “Where you all headed?” he asked. As the possum spoke, Max caught flashes of his teeth, sharp and yellowed with age.

The possum children stared at them with unreadable expressions.

Something in the back of Max’s brain tingled, saying, Don’t trust this possum.

But that was silly, wasn’t it? Walking forward, Max answered, “We’re just passing through on our way to Baton Rouge.”