small animal, nothing more. Probably a lizard, but maybe something as innocuous as a mouse, or a hamster. It was definitely scared, and probably hungry. I put the box on the desk, held down the lid with one hand and started to peel away the remaining strip of tape. After all, I couldn’t feed it until I knew what it was.
“You still here?” Tanna said right behind me.
I jumped, and flung the box straight up out of my hands. I yelped, and so did Tanna. The box burst open when it hit the ceiling, and something small and dark fell out, tiny legs scrambling for purchase, right into Tanna’s wavy red hair. She shrieked and swiped at it. It landed on the floor and shot out into the department lobby, where Jane screamed as well. “What was that??” she demanded. “What was that?” The empty shoe box landed on the desk.
Tanna fell back against the wall laughing. I stared at her, my heart testing the tensile strength of my ribs. “Holy shit!” I choked out, my voice high as a ten-year-old’s.
Jane appeared in the door. “What was that?” she repeated. “It ran out into the hall!”
“I have no idea,” Tanna said between spasms of laughter. “Ask Ry.”
“I didn’t get a good look at it,” I told Jane. To Tanna I snapped, “And don’t do that! I hate it when you sneak up on me!”
“I’m sorry,” Tanna squeaked out between guffaws. “I didn’t expect you to still be here. I thought you’d have taken the thing out to Animal Control by now.”
“What?”
“You didn’t think I wanted you to open it, did you?” She began to laugh even harder.
“Okay, that’s not funny,” I said petulantly.
“That’s hysterical, ” she said. “Oh, my God, I think I’m having an asthma attack.”
“You don’t have asthma,” I snapped.
“You may have given it to me.”
“You two,” Jane said, and shook her head. As she returned to her desk, she muttered, “College professors aren’t supposed to play practical jokes, you know...”
“So what was in the box, then?” I demanded.
“Oh, I have no idea, really.” She dropped into her chair, still shaking with laughter. “Good grief, Ry, you didn’t really think that was a basilisk, did you?”
I looked down at the book again. There was still something, some element of genuine horror, in the illustration. It could all be a figment of the artist’s imagination and skill, or it could be something from life, a moment of real terror as he realized he was about to die.
“No,” I said. “Of course not.” Just like I didn’t believe in giant frogs, roller coasters to hell and sad-faced girls made of mist.
And I suppose, now that I’ve mentioned these things, I should also tell you about them....
~II~
CROAKED
“’Scuse me, sir,” I said in my best redneck drawl. “Is this Lost Lake Road?”
The man getting his bills from the mailbox shaped like a large-mouthed bass had the solid, no-nonsense look of a lifelong farmer. He peered into our car, politely touched the brim of his cap to my wife Tanna, then looked at the envelopes in his hand. “Post office seems to think so.”
“I’m Ry Tully, with the Weakleyville Press , and I’m looking for--”
He interrupted me. “You Prentiss Tully’s boy?”
“Yessir.”
“Your daddy used to fish my ponds,” he said.
“He fished everybody’s, if he could. Never had a fishing license that I know of.”
“Yeah, you could get away with that back then. Everybody knew everybody.”
“Did he ever fish Salamander Lake?” I asked.
“Well, son, I don’t see how. Don’t nobody know where it was, that’s why they call this Lost Lake Road.”
“There you go,” I said, and smiled patiently while he bark-laughed at his own humor.
At last he continued, “But I do ‘member my daddy saying that, about six miles down past where the road turns to gravel, there’s a curve that used to be a straight stretch of road with a bridge across the lake. Y’all might look there. Course, now,
“You still here?” Tanna said right behind me.
I jumped, and flung the box straight up out of my hands. I yelped, and so did Tanna. The box burst open when it hit the ceiling, and something small and dark fell out, tiny legs scrambling for purchase, right into Tanna’s wavy red hair. She shrieked and swiped at it. It landed on the floor and shot out into the department lobby, where Jane screamed as well. “What was that??” she demanded. “What was that?” The empty shoe box landed on the desk.
Tanna fell back against the wall laughing. I stared at her, my heart testing the tensile strength of my ribs. “Holy shit!” I choked out, my voice high as a ten-year-old’s.
Jane appeared in the door. “What was that?” she repeated. “It ran out into the hall!”
“I have no idea,” Tanna said between spasms of laughter. “Ask Ry.”
“I didn’t get a good look at it,” I told Jane. To Tanna I snapped, “And don’t do that! I hate it when you sneak up on me!”
“I’m sorry,” Tanna squeaked out between guffaws. “I didn’t expect you to still be here. I thought you’d have taken the thing out to Animal Control by now.”
“What?”
“You didn’t think I wanted you to open it, did you?” She began to laugh even harder.
“Okay, that’s not funny,” I said petulantly.
“That’s hysterical, ” she said. “Oh, my God, I think I’m having an asthma attack.”
“You don’t have asthma,” I snapped.
“You may have given it to me.”
“You two,” Jane said, and shook her head. As she returned to her desk, she muttered, “College professors aren’t supposed to play practical jokes, you know...”
“So what was in the box, then?” I demanded.
“Oh, I have no idea, really.” She dropped into her chair, still shaking with laughter. “Good grief, Ry, you didn’t really think that was a basilisk, did you?”
I looked down at the book again. There was still something, some element of genuine horror, in the illustration. It could all be a figment of the artist’s imagination and skill, or it could be something from life, a moment of real terror as he realized he was about to die.
“No,” I said. “Of course not.” Just like I didn’t believe in giant frogs, roller coasters to hell and sad-faced girls made of mist.
And I suppose, now that I’ve mentioned these things, I should also tell you about them....
~II~
CROAKED
“’Scuse me, sir,” I said in my best redneck drawl. “Is this Lost Lake Road?”
The man getting his bills from the mailbox shaped like a large-mouthed bass had the solid, no-nonsense look of a lifelong farmer. He peered into our car, politely touched the brim of his cap to my wife Tanna, then looked at the envelopes in his hand. “Post office seems to think so.”
“I’m Ry Tully, with the Weakleyville Press , and I’m looking for--”
He interrupted me. “You Prentiss Tully’s boy?”
“Yessir.”
“Your daddy used to fish my ponds,” he said.
“He fished everybody’s, if he could. Never had a fishing license that I know of.”
“Yeah, you could get away with that back then. Everybody knew everybody.”
“Did he ever fish Salamander Lake?” I asked.
“Well, son, I don’t see how. Don’t nobody know where it was, that’s why they call this Lost Lake Road.”
“There you go,” I said, and smiled patiently while he bark-laughed at his own humor.
At last he continued, “But I do ‘member my daddy saying that, about six miles down past where the road turns to gravel, there’s a curve that used to be a straight stretch of road with a bridge across the lake. Y’all might look there. Course, now,
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