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Crispin’s legs, tired and shaky, tripped and staggered on stones and roots
of fallen or dead trees. “At least there are trees now.” He sat down to
rest. “I hope there are no more bird flowers, or any of those man-eating
plants. I don’t think I could handle one more thing.” Spread out before
him, hundreds of mounds about ten to twelve feet tall, stood like giant
termite hills. Crispin wondered what sort of creatures lived inside each
mound. “Great. The mountain is on the other side of those pile things.” He
glanced from side to side. “There’s no other way. I have to walk through
there. Well, maybe if I am really quiet and don’t bump into them, nothing
will attack me. I’m too tired to run.” He rubbed his legs and took a few
deep breaths. “Okay, I might as well get going.”
Walking through the field, Crispin thought the
mounds looked like the stalagmites in Marti’s cave, except for their
reddish brown color. He stroked one. “It feels like dirt.” He reminded
himself he wasn’t going to speak, just incase. Making his way around them
without touching became difficult in some spots. His foot caught on a
stone and he fell against one of the mounds, his arm nearly puncturing the
dirt hill. Brushing his hand off, he got his balance and went on. He
didn’t notice a pair of eyes opening near the top of the mound he’d fallen
on. Another pair of eyes opened, and then another. Soon every mound
watched Crispin as he walked among them. The trobubs followed him, inching
their way along behind him, unseen.
Crispin heard a rustling noise. He stopped and
turned around. All he saw were the mounds. He continued for a few minutes
and then once again heard the rustling sound. When he turned around again,
the mounds were still behind him. “Hmmm. That’s strange. I thought I’d be
far away from them by now. There must be more of them than I thought.”
A few moments later he heard it again. This
time he waited a moment before jumping around. He saw nothing but the
mounds of dirt. Why does it feel like they’re following me? No matter how
far I walk, they’re still right behind me. This is really, really strange.
He touched one of the trobubs. It feels like dirt. He sniffed it. It
smells like dirt. Still, something creepy is going on here.
Without waiting another moment, he turned and
ran. He didn’t stop until his sides ached. When he looked back, the mounds
were still there. “What is going on here?” His eyes moved slowly up to the
top of the tallest one. “Yikes! You’ve got eyes?” He looked from one to
another. “They all have eyes.” One of the trobubs opened its mouth. A long
apricot-colored tongue slithered out and moved toward Crispin. “Oh no you
don’t. I’m not going through this again.” When he looked at the others,
their tongues came slipping out of their mouths. Each tongue, covered with
bubbly lumps, reached for the boy. He stomped on them and ran away. This
time he didn’t stop running. Even though he heard the rustling sound and
knew the trobubs weren’t far behind, he ran.
Up ahead he saw a river. “Oh good. It’s
shallow.” Crispin jumped into it. Some of the trobubs entered the water
and immediately dissolved, coloring the clear river reddish-brown as they
liquified. Seeing the fate of the others, most waited on the riverbank.
Their tongues dropped into the water, like long snakes, wriggling to the
center of the river, where Crispin stood. “You can’t come in the river and
if you try, I’ll smash your tongues with stones.” He picked up a
football-sized stone. When the first tongue came close enough, he threw
the stone down, smashing it. The trobub screamed in pain and withdrew its
tongue. The others didn’t try. They pulled their tongues back. “Ha ha.
Don’t mess with me!” He splashed his way down the middle of the river,
heading away from them.
The further he went, the more the scenery
changed from desolation and despair to leafy trees and grasses. Crispin
heard a distant rumbling. After seeking the noise, he spotted a waterfall.
The water roared over the edge of the cliff and tumbled to the lake below.
“We have bigger waterfalls than that back home,” he said, unimpressed. The
lake shone and sparkled; its clear water absorbed the sun’s rays. He took
off his shoes and socks and sat on a patch of grass at the edge of the
lake, dangling his feet into the water. “Oh boy. This feels good. The
water isn’t even that cold. I wonder where the fish are.” He splashed a
handful of water on his face. From the corner of his eye, he saw a
greenish glow and turned his head to see it. “There’s one. It’s green,
like a shiny neon light and it’s moving in the water.”
Crispin watched the fish swim around. When it
headed his direction, he pulled his feet out of the water. He couldn’t see
any form to it, just the flashing green lights. The varp swam up to the
edge of the lake and lifted its head out of the water. Crispin saw two
antennas with green balls at the end. “Are those your eyes? I didn’t know
fish had antenna eyeballs.” The big jelly fish’s eyes swirled with green
liquid, circling the edges like a neon sign. “Your eyes are funny
looking.”
All of a sudden it spit something onto
Crispin’s neck and shoulders, burning his skin like acid. He screamed and
ran toward the mountain, leaving his shoes and socks by the lake. Even
though he tripped over rocks and sticks, he didn’t stop. The sun set below
the horizon; the robin’s egg blue sky turned orange, pink and red, and
then indigo. Crispin kept heading for a campfire flickering in the
distance. |
