6

THE WIGGLETWIGS

Tom crouched atop the hillside and peered through the shadows at a sign spanning two massive trees. On the left side was a man draped in a robe. He wore a crown and had a sword lying at his feet. On the right, a giant—like the ones he’d seen frozen in the woods—wore a long skirt. He had a sash across his chest and an ax lying at his feet. The man’s hand was laid upon the giant’s hand, and at the bottom were the words:

Peace and Prosperity Upon Friends of the King

A Sword from His Mouth for His Enemies

If the images were any indication, the village had probably belonged to the frozen giants. Regardless of who had once owned it, the smell of roasted food said it was no longer uninhabited. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, his stomach grumbled. How long since he’d eaten? Was the wreck today? Yesterday? How long was he unconscious? Was he still unconscious? That complex question was probably better tackled after getting some food and rest. A screech—like that of a barn owl—suddenly filled the night, pulling him away from his thoughts. His eyes darted toward the sound from within the village, where dozens of disconcerting shadows with pointy ears and wings danced along the ground. Suddenly, coming to the village didn’t seem like such a good idea. Although hungry, getting a meal wasn’t worth the chance of becoming one.

Leaving the bushes, he kept a wary eye on the village as he backed away. He hadn’t made it more than five feet before spotting something yellow from the corner of his eye. He froze and cast a surreptitious look in that direction. Does it see me?

The creature screeched.

Panicked, Tom sprinted away, only concerned with the immediate threat and not considering his direction. Recklessly, he ran while looking over his shoulder, which caused his legs to tangle. Tripping, he rolled head over heels and tumbled like a rag doll. Once he stopped, his head spun, and stars danced in his vision. Finally, the dizziness ceased, and the stars gave way to dozens of yellow eyes staring at him.

Frantically, he crab-walked away and bumped into something. Turning, he freaked out as he came face to face, or rather, face to beak, with one of the creatures. Flipping onto his hands and knees, he crawled away and found himself in the center of the group. His head whipped back and forth, desperately searching for a way to escape, but short black creatures with beaks and wings formed a circle around him.

“What’s wrong, human?” one of the creatures said in a screechy voice befitting its appearance.

“He probably thinks we’re gonna eat him,” another screeched.

“If you were a fat grub, we’d try,” another said, which caused them all to do something that resembled laughter; it was a strange and menacing sound, but laughter all the same.

Then, one of them did something unexpected: it began singing, and the others joined at different parts.

“He stumbled down the hill.

Onto the ground, he spilled.

He spilled. He spilled.

Upon our plate, he fell, and on his back,

He lies crying in surprise.

In surprise. In surprise.

A strange dinner date, not wanting to be ate.

The human thinks we’ll eat ’em;

The human thinks we’ll eat ’em.

A hearty dish he’ll make if we stick ’em on a spit

Or boil ’em in a soup.

I wonder how he’ll taste?

Is he sour on the tongue like the fruit we must not eat?

Or sweet like sappy stuff from trees?”

Then, as if cued by the ending of the song, a pot-bellied creature—like them, but bigger—approached, causing the group to scatter off into the night, the occasional yellow flicker from their eyes, the only indication of where they’d gone.

“You’ll have to excuse them,” the pot-bellied creature said.

Tom sat in the dirt and stared in disbelief as he tried to process what he was seeing. Okay, they’re just giant bats….with beaks….long talons….and they happen to be talking. Okay, even thinking about it makes me feel crazy.

“We don’t get many visitors, especially the kind who drop in so unexpectedly,” the creature said, extending his taloned hand. “I’m Leadbelly, the leader of this mischievous bunch.”

“I’m sorry to have barged in,” Tom said. “I was heading up the hill when some horri—,” he paused, deciding to use a different, less inflammatory word. “—something at the top of the hill startled me.” Hesitantly, he reached out and took Leadbelly’s three spindly fingers. The creature showed immense strength for something half Tom's height as it effortlessly pulled him to his feet.

“Hungry?” Leadbelly asked. When I heard we had a guest, I told my chef to whip up something to fill your stomach.

“That's—” Tom hesitated. His eyes said these creatures were menacing and couldn't be trusted, but Leadbelly's actions contradicted that evaluation. “—very kind of you.”

“Wiggletwigs are a very hospitable group, as you'll find out if you join us for dinner,” Leadbelly said, motioning for Tom to follow him up the hill.

Tom followed, but his thoughts kept screaming RUN AWAY! And he would have if he’d had any idea where to run to. As it were, he was utterly lost and alone in the woods, possibly dead, almost certainly with a concussion. At least, that’s how his mind made sense of this strange scene. Besides, dozens of the vicious-looking creatures were undoubtedly watching from the darkness. For all he knew, there could be more of them scattered throughout the woods. Like it or not, he needed information before making any decisions. He'd just have to stay alert, ask questions, and make a break for it when the moment arrived.

Midway up the hill, he found out where some Wiggletwigs had gone. Several were sitting on the ground with long sticks held over a fire.

“What are they roasting?” Tom asked. “It smells delicious.”

“Grubs,” Leadbelly said over his shoulder.

Tom gagged.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Leadbelly said, pointing his long, spindly finger toward one of the six massive stumps surrounding a fire pit.

Tom looked curiously at Leadbelly, who had to climb up to get onto the stump. If these creatures were this village's original inhabitants, they didn’t seem to understand how to scale their furnishings. Further evidence that these creatures hadn't created this village. Choosing the stump furthest from Leadbelly, Tom turned his back to it, placed both hands on the edge, and jumped up.

“I suspect the food will be ready before long,” Leadbelly said.

“I really should keep moving.”

“What’s your hurry?”

“I need to get home. I’m sure someone must have found my Jeep by now.” Tears welled. Desperately, he tried to hold it together. Something told him it wouldn't be good for these creatures to see weakness. Eventually, someone would find the wreck. Then, it wouldn’t take long for Jimmy and Lilly to find out. News traveled fast in Eureka. But would they even care? After all, they'd been the primary victims of his frequent disappearing acts over the years. Maybe he’d pushed the boundaries of their relationship too far. Perhaps they’d be better off without him.

“Where’s home?” Leadbelly asked, which pulled Tom from his musings.

“Eureka Springs.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of Surreeka—”

“Eureka.”

“—but a wise man is coming from the city of the Black Oak in the morning. Maybe he’s heard of Urreeku.”

“Eureka,” Tom corrected.

“Exactly. Besides, I hear your stomach growling from here, so you must be hungry. There’s no use trying to get back without food.”

“Black Oak?” Tom asked, trying to change the subject since he had no intentions of hanging around any longer than necessary. “I don’t recall seeing that name on the signpost; however, one sign said White Oak.”

“Some may refer to it by that name,” Leadbelly said. Suddenly, his mood turned dark, his tone changed, and a flicker of red streaked across his eyes.

Making a mental note to avoid that topic, Tom started to ask another question, but Leadbelly abruptly hopped up and excused himself before heading up the hill. He disappeared into the darkness, leaving Tom with a sense of unease and a multitude of unanswered questions.