Whatever was under the tarp was moving fast and growing in size. It was going around in a kind of lopsided circle like an off-center clump of clay on a potter's wheel. It jerked and heaved. Alan sort of danced with it as it spun. He had the edges of the tarp in his grip but didn't seem quite ready yet to pull it off yet. Dave and Shanice stood still as frozen mice, blood coursing tightly with excitement.
This thing was dancing. As a result, everyone was doing a kind of dance - a loping, rumps-out roundhouse maneuver. Like a folk dance. Dave felt like he was going to barf.
"Pull it off for heaven's sake," Shanice laughed as the thing came around for another bumpy twirl, "What is it?"
Alan, like a cross between a surgeon, a BBQ master, and a rodeo clown, kept taunting this thing, working it up into a lather. Dave could see bits of it when the tarp would flap up. He saw different flashes, something like a coconut husk one time, something like the black shine of papaya seed another, one time he saw what looked like bubbling custard."Alan, tug the tarp!" Dave yelped like he had just had ice water poured on his nude body, "tug the tarp dammit!"
Alan let the thing come round one more time and then, with a quick wink at Dave and Shanice, he pulled the tarp slowly like a strip tease. Gurgles and sparks and rough chortles filled the air. From whence? The sound was appearing in the air without traveling from a source. It was the sound of this thing. And they got a look at it. Ugh. Dave and Shanice fell against each other like a couple fat pigs into the mud. They were snorting and taking long masculine breaths through their noses trying to calm themselves.
The thing was the shape of a mushroom head, it was the size of a compact car. It was patchy with all manner of textures that might be found in the natural world. Some of what they saw: the rough hair of the coconut, the fleshy white of a sea bass, hard crusts like black lava, long random feathers and partial plumages, swatches of dried mud and fresh green strips dripping sap and flaunting fatty porkulent fungi, dangling pods filled with what appeared to be a mix of champagne and yogurt. The skin on these pods looked as though it could be burst with no more than a long stare. They twiddled in the non-breeze, daring the viewer.
The thing no longer spun round but came to settle in the middle of the floor. It rested and its breathing slowed. Apparently it had some kind of blow hole on the top of itis head, and when it off-gassed, a cloud of chicory-colored dust rose up into the air and then, like ash, came to settle.
"This, my friends, is the living heart and soul of Chickawack. Before this there was that and before that there was...Chickawack itself. This is that Chickawack." Alan ran a finger along a seashell-like ridge on one side of the thing. "Have you heard the legend?"
"I don't understand," Shanice sobbed. She and Dave looked at Alan. Alan told them to sit down.
This thing was dancing. As a result, everyone was doing a kind of dance - a loping, rumps-out roundhouse maneuver. Like a folk dance. Dave felt like he was going to barf.
"Pull it off for heaven's sake," Shanice laughed as the thing came around for another bumpy twirl, "What is it?"
Alan, like a cross between a surgeon, a BBQ master, and a rodeo clown, kept taunting this thing, working it up into a lather. Dave could see bits of it when the tarp would flap up. He saw different flashes, something like a coconut husk one time, something like the black shine of papaya seed another, one time he saw what looked like bubbling custard."Alan, tug the tarp!" Dave yelped like he had just had ice water poured on his nude body, "tug the tarp dammit!"
Alan let the thing come round one more time and then, with a quick wink at Dave and Shanice, he pulled the tarp slowly like a strip tease. Gurgles and sparks and rough chortles filled the air. From whence? The sound was appearing in the air without traveling from a source. It was the sound of this thing. And they got a look at it. Ugh. Dave and Shanice fell against each other like a couple fat pigs into the mud. They were snorting and taking long masculine breaths through their noses trying to calm themselves.
The thing was the shape of a mushroom head, it was the size of a compact car. It was patchy with all manner of textures that might be found in the natural world. Some of what they saw: the rough hair of the coconut, the fleshy white of a sea bass, hard crusts like black lava, long random feathers and partial plumages, swatches of dried mud and fresh green strips dripping sap and flaunting fatty porkulent fungi, dangling pods filled with what appeared to be a mix of champagne and yogurt. The skin on these pods looked as though it could be burst with no more than a long stare. They twiddled in the non-breeze, daring the viewer.
The thing no longer spun round but came to settle in the middle of the floor. It rested and its breathing slowed. Apparently it had some kind of blow hole on the top of itis head, and when it off-gassed, a cloud of chicory-colored dust rose up into the air and then, like ash, came to settle.
"This, my friends, is the living heart and soul of Chickawack. Before this there was that and before that there was...Chickawack itself. This is that Chickawack." Alan ran a finger along a seashell-like ridge on one side of the thing. "Have you heard the legend?"
Dave and Shanice looked at one another. They had tasted every berry, twig, and pod, and sampled the wares of every fruiting tree in Chickawack County and never even dreamt of such a thing.
"I don't understand," Shanice sobbed. She and Dave looked at Alan. Alan told them to sit down.
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