Mishaps of Gum Drop Island--Issue Six
Miss Mae
December 06, 2006
“Srenroc Ydlom.” Tilting his head sideways, Moose read the faded, paint-chipped words aloud. The rusted sign hung askew on its one hinge, squeaking in the night air like a mouse with its whiskers caught beneath a ten-ton elephant.
Wrap Periwinkle, who aimed the flashlight’s beam on the plate swinging overhead, looked at Moose. “I speak two thousand languages and I can’t understand a word you said.”
I’ve got it, mate,” spoke Tazmane from her upside down position of walking on her hands. “I can see it from down under here. Moose read it backwards. It really says, ‘Moldy Corners’.”
Oh, that’s all right then,” sighed Yuri Wiseguy-eh. “We’re in the right place.”
I don’t know.” Moose reached in his pocket, extracting two chocolate bars. His hand trembled as he stuffed both pieces in his mouth. “I think we might be in the wrong place. I’m getting a bad case of the willy-nillies.”
Cuddles sniffed her disdain. “You wouldn’t recognize a good case if it came up and slapped you on the face.”
A loud ‘smack!’ cracked like a pistol shot through the night. Gasping with fright, I whirled on my heel, and stared with the others as Wrap spun around, snapping his light onto Telly. With large owl eyes, she blinked at us, clenching her little gun tightly between her teeth. Spitting it into the palm of her hand, she showed the corked barrel. “It wasn’t me. See? Rock hard candy’s stuck in there.”
Candy?” asked Moose in an eager voice.
It’s mine.” Telly replaced her gun between her teeth, her wide eyes narrowing into a squinty gaze that dared his contradiction.
A grunt sounded at her elbow. Wrap slid the flashlight’s beam onto the cockeyed expression of Captain Bootlegs. Turning aside from the bright glare, his cheek revealed the neon red imprint of a human hand. Shuffling his feet, he nodded at Ms. Whales who stood beside him. That dignified lady threw back her shoulders, and straightened to her full four feet height.
Rule 230, paragraph H, subsection 19 says: ‘Lumbering oafs do not step on the hem of a lady’s walking gown, unless she spreads out a welcome sign for his big foot.’”
Moose sent a searching glance across his shoulder. “What did she say about Bigfoot?”
Bootlegs meant no harm,” said Yuri to Ms. Whales. “He’s a sea captain. The poor chap walks better on water than he does dry land.”
He doesn’t walk on water,” Cuddles corrected him. “Only one person in history ever did that.”
Who?” I asked, intrigued by the idea.
She hesitated, and then said, “I don’t know. History’s the only subject I failed in school.”
Shall we gather our bearings?” asked Yuri, stuffing his monocle over his eye. “We’ve traveled rather a long distance from G.S. Lollipop to meet Mort the Mothball Millionaire.” He inhaled deeply and asked, “Does anyone realize what a mouthful that is to say?”
Does anyone care?” shrugged Wrap.
Heathcliff let out a long, low whistle. Yuri listened politely and then nodded his head. “Yes. I quite agree,” he said.
What? What did he say?” I asked, thinking it might become useful to learn the language of Possumese.
He says this is an unusual looking sort of place.” Yuri gazed around him.
I agreed with the possum. Moldy Corners appeared…uninviting. The high wooden fence blocking our entrance stretched east and west, the length disappearing into the night shadows. Like a medieval warrior’s shield, numerous pointed spikes blanketed the iron gate. Overhead, a flap of wings sounded and I watched three large, dark birds land on the fence top. Hooking their sharp talons into the wood, they folded their feathers neatly to their breast, and nodded their heads toward our small group.
Say,” breathed Moose, his hushed whisper quavering, “don’t those birdies look an awful lot like—vultures?”
Wonder how they navigate in the darkness?” Yuri murmured in a musing tone, looking about him with puzzlement.
By using the moonlight,” answered Wrap, staring at Yuri with a ‘I-don’t-believe-you-said-that’ expression. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re such a wise guy.”
More of the big birds flew down and settled beside their companions.
eight, nine, ten,” Moose counted under his breath, and then let out an unearthly yell. “Hey! There’s one of them for each of us!”
Yuri’s voice was low as he told him, “I believe you’re correct. I suggest we walk away quietly. Very quietly.”
It didn’t work. As we moved to take a wary step to the side, the vultures swooped off the fence. Large wings flapping, they aimed toward us, their sharp claws extended. Screaming and crying out, we huddled together and flailed at the animals as they circled around.
My darlings!” shrieked Cuddles, striving to hide her wispy-wings under the protection of her hair mass. Tazmane, standing on her hands, tried kicking the beasts with her upright feet. Telly swung her easel at one of the flying creatures, missed, and collared Captain Bootlegs, his face a kaleidoscope of smeared paint. Moose hoisted Wrap onto his shoulders, hollering, “Git ‘em! Smash ‘em, Wrap, baby!” as Wrap used his flashlight like a club. Yuri slipped on the hem of Ms. Whales’ gown and fell flat on his back while that civilized lady screamed at the top of her lungs, “Rule number 1: Don’t be afraid to be a chicken! RUN!”
Together, we made the valiant attempt, but we fell, like a stack of dominoes, over Yuri’s prone body. “Oof! Ouch! Ugh!” escaped from his throat as we piled atop him. The birds zeroed in, and with a collective screech, they dived. Heathcliff emitted an ear-piercing whistle that I had no trouble translating. It meant, “Let’s get outta here!”
Scrambling to our feet, we rushed off. Only to be surrounded by the flapping, cawing, roadkill-breathed vultures. And then, dear reader, much to our astonishment, that iron medieval shield gate opened. Squeaking and grating, it shuddered back on its rusty hinges. We didn’t hesitate. With the buzzards beating at our backs, we fled past the gates and darted inside. The clanging slam behind us reinforced the obvious:
We’d entered Moldy Corners.
(To be continued…..)
Copyright 2006 by Lula M. Thomas
Wrap Periwinkle, who aimed the flashlight’s beam on the plate swinging overhead, looked at Moose. “I speak two thousand languages and I can’t understand a word you said.”
I’ve got it, mate,” spoke Tazmane from her upside down position of walking on her hands. “I can see it from down under here. Moose read it backwards. It really says, ‘Moldy Corners’.”
Oh, that’s all right then,” sighed Yuri Wiseguy-eh. “We’re in the right place.”
I don’t know.” Moose reached in his pocket, extracting two chocolate bars. His hand trembled as he stuffed both pieces in his mouth. “I think we might be in the wrong place. I’m getting a bad case of the willy-nillies.”
Cuddles sniffed her disdain. “You wouldn’t recognize a good case if it came up and slapped you on the face.”
A loud ‘smack!’ cracked like a pistol shot through the night. Gasping with fright, I whirled on my heel, and stared with the others as Wrap spun around, snapping his light onto Telly. With large owl eyes, she blinked at us, clenching her little gun tightly between her teeth. Spitting it into the palm of her hand, she showed the corked barrel. “It wasn’t me. See? Rock hard candy’s stuck in there.”
Candy?” asked Moose in an eager voice.
It’s mine.” Telly replaced her gun between her teeth, her wide eyes narrowing into a squinty gaze that dared his contradiction.
A grunt sounded at her elbow. Wrap slid the flashlight’s beam onto the cockeyed expression of Captain Bootlegs. Turning aside from the bright glare, his cheek revealed the neon red imprint of a human hand. Shuffling his feet, he nodded at Ms. Whales who stood beside him. That dignified lady threw back her shoulders, and straightened to her full four feet height.
Rule 230, paragraph H, subsection 19 says: ‘Lumbering oafs do not step on the hem of a lady’s walking gown, unless she spreads out a welcome sign for his big foot.’”
Moose sent a searching glance across his shoulder. “What did she say about Bigfoot?”
Bootlegs meant no harm,” said Yuri to Ms. Whales. “He’s a sea captain. The poor chap walks better on water than he does dry land.”
He doesn’t walk on water,” Cuddles corrected him. “Only one person in history ever did that.”
Who?” I asked, intrigued by the idea.
She hesitated, and then said, “I don’t know. History’s the only subject I failed in school.”
Shall we gather our bearings?” asked Yuri, stuffing his monocle over his eye. “We’ve traveled rather a long distance from G.S. Lollipop to meet Mort the Mothball Millionaire.” He inhaled deeply and asked, “Does anyone realize what a mouthful that is to say?”
Does anyone care?” shrugged Wrap.
Heathcliff let out a long, low whistle. Yuri listened politely and then nodded his head. “Yes. I quite agree,” he said.
What? What did he say?” I asked, thinking it might become useful to learn the language of Possumese.
He says this is an unusual looking sort of place.” Yuri gazed around him.
I agreed with the possum. Moldy Corners appeared…uninviting. The high wooden fence blocking our entrance stretched east and west, the length disappearing into the night shadows. Like a medieval warrior’s shield, numerous pointed spikes blanketed the iron gate. Overhead, a flap of wings sounded and I watched three large, dark birds land on the fence top. Hooking their sharp talons into the wood, they folded their feathers neatly to their breast, and nodded their heads toward our small group.
Say,” breathed Moose, his hushed whisper quavering, “don’t those birdies look an awful lot like—vultures?”
Wonder how they navigate in the darkness?” Yuri murmured in a musing tone, looking about him with puzzlement.
By using the moonlight,” answered Wrap, staring at Yuri with a ‘I-don’t-believe-you-said-that’ expression. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re such a wise guy.”
More of the big birds flew down and settled beside their companions.
eight, nine, ten,” Moose counted under his breath, and then let out an unearthly yell. “Hey! There’s one of them for each of us!”
Yuri’s voice was low as he told him, “I believe you’re correct. I suggest we walk away quietly. Very quietly.”
It didn’t work. As we moved to take a wary step to the side, the vultures swooped off the fence. Large wings flapping, they aimed toward us, their sharp claws extended. Screaming and crying out, we huddled together and flailed at the animals as they circled around.
My darlings!” shrieked Cuddles, striving to hide her wispy-wings under the protection of her hair mass. Tazmane, standing on her hands, tried kicking the beasts with her upright feet. Telly swung her easel at one of the flying creatures, missed, and collared Captain Bootlegs, his face a kaleidoscope of smeared paint. Moose hoisted Wrap onto his shoulders, hollering, “Git ‘em! Smash ‘em, Wrap, baby!” as Wrap used his flashlight like a club. Yuri slipped on the hem of Ms. Whales’ gown and fell flat on his back while that civilized lady screamed at the top of her lungs, “Rule number 1: Don’t be afraid to be a chicken! RUN!”
Together, we made the valiant attempt, but we fell, like a stack of dominoes, over Yuri’s prone body. “Oof! Ouch! Ugh!” escaped from his throat as we piled atop him. The birds zeroed in, and with a collective screech, they dived. Heathcliff emitted an ear-piercing whistle that I had no trouble translating. It meant, “Let’s get outta here!”
Scrambling to our feet, we rushed off. Only to be surrounded by the flapping, cawing, roadkill-breathed vultures. And then, dear reader, much to our astonishment, that iron medieval shield gate opened. Squeaking and grating, it shuddered back on its rusty hinges. We didn’t hesitate. With the buzzards beating at our backs, we fled past the gates and darted inside. The clanging slam behind us reinforced the obvious:
We’d entered Moldy Corners.
(To be continued…..)
Copyright 2006 by Lula M. Thomas
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