Mail Order Massacres. Hunter Shea

dumping into this mélange of waste, they’d sprouted legs and arms and the beginnings of tails. Far from serpents, they resembled a kind of bipedal pollywog.

      The pollywogs rolled in the mire, feeding off it, growing more and more each day.

      When the ball slipped into the sewer, it crushed one of the pollywogs flat. The thing exploded with a barely audible squish.

      The moment the ball rolled away, the other pollywogs descended on their fallen brother, devouring its inky remains with oval mouths filled with tiny points. Food was food.

      And lately, they’d been getting very hungry.

      * * * *

      It took only a few days for the rats to be fair game for their carnivorous desires. The sea serpents grew exponentially. They needed meat, and there were more than enough rats scampering around the old pipes and pathways.

      And scamper they did.

      More like ran for their lives.

      If anyone would have listened, they would have heard the cries of the rats darting into every tight nook and crevice they could find, desperate to get away from the new alpha beasts in the sewer.

      The sea serpents, now the size of cats, weren’t necessarily fast, but they worked together. They set traps. While a few scared up a nest of rats, driving them down a long, dark tunnel, the rest waited at the other end, ready to feast.

      With each day, each meal, the sea serpents grew bigger, taller, deadlier. Their teeth sharpened, and once-gelatinous stumps at the end of their slimy arms morphed into savage claws.

      By the time they cleared the sewer of the entire rat population, they’d evolved into child-sized animals with the appetites of hyenas.

      They sensed they must leave the safety of their dank, rotten home. Their instinct for survival fueled their fervent appetite.

      When night fell, the sunless sky resembled their dwelling enough for them to skulk from the sewer, the heavy manhole cover an obstacle easily removed.

      Martin Henderson’s black cat Asphalt peered at the emerging shapes from what it thought was the safety of a row of azalea bushes. It knew these creatures weren’t like the other bugs it had chased.

      Asphalt didn’t detect the sea serpent at its back before it was too late. The black cat’s tail was pierced by a razor-like talon, rooting it to its hiding spot. It growled in unmitigated fear.

      Little did it know, its cries were nothing more than a dinner bell for the sea serpents.

      Chapter Five

      It was over ninety degrees and there was nary a lick of shade outside Shopwell. As much as David and Patrick would have liked to go swimming, they know hot days are the best ones to make money. On days like this, shoppers, especially old people, wanted all the help they could get with their bags.

      It was paying off. Their pockets were full to bursting with quarters.

      “We could go to the Kendall tomorrow and see that Godzilla double feature,” Patrick said, counting out his quarters on the lid of a trashcan. “I’ve almost got five bucks already.”

      “And we’ll still have plenty left over for the new Moon Knight and Batman.”

      Patrick sensed a return of their old debate about which of the two was a better superhero, Moon Knight being Marvel Comics’ answer to the ever-popular Batman, but David looked too tired to fight. They were both sweating up a storm.

      “Excuse me, would you boys do me a favor?” An older woman wearing bright red lipstick and so much rouge on her cheeks she looked like a clown stood behind them holding a sheaf of papers in her trembling hands.

      David looked around, searching for some bags or a shopping cart.

      “I was wondering if you could post these signs for me. I tried, but I’m just not up to it. I’ll give you each a dollar.”

      Patrick said, “Sure, we’d be happy to help.”

      “Thank you so much. Here, you can use these.” She handed Patrick a box of thumbtacks.

      David looked at the top flier. It had a picture of a white Yorkie with the word MISSING printed above. The dog’s name was Reggie and it had gone missing two days ago. The flier listed a number to call if anyone found Reggie, along with the promise of a reward.

      There were tears in the old lady’s eyes.

      “I miss him so much, but my heart isn’t made for this kind of heat.”

      “I hope someone finds your dog,” Patrick said. She patted his head.

      “You keep your eyes out, too. You’re such nice boys. If I’m going to reward anyone, I hope it’s you.”

      She slowly tottered to her car, which was parked in the yellow loading zone, and drove off, the power steering screeching like a box of angry bats.

      David said, “We should put one on the bulletin board inside the store.”

      “And cool off for a minute.”

      They walked in the out door. The big corkboard was chock-full of papers.

      And most of them were notices of missing cats and dogs.

      Little Reggie was just one among many. The boys read the pleas to find people’s cherished pets until the manager shooed them away.

      “I don’t mind your little enterprise outside, boys, but I can’t have you clogging up the exit.”

      They left without protest, the heat smacking them in the face.

      “What, did someone go around stealing everyone’s pets?” Patrick asked.

      “I don’t know. Come on, let’s stick these on some poles.”

      For thirteen-year-olds, reality is what they make of their own little world. For David and Patrick, that reality revolved around comics, movies, baseball and swimming.

      Neither had been aware of the preponderance of missing cat and dog posters popping up all around town the past week. Desperate notices to find lost dogs had been stapled over sad stories of a little girl’s cat, Sabrina, that had gone out one day and never returned. It seemed as if there were more missing pets than ones actually safe at home.

      “This is crazy,” David said.

      “Way crazy.”

      True to their word, and because they wanted to earn that dollar, they found the few bare spots left to put up the missing Reggie fliers. It left them uneasy, at least until they got home and started talking about the Godzilla movies they were going to see the next day.

      “You smell that?” Patrick said as they turned the corner to their block.

      “Whoever smelt it, dealt it.”

      “If I beefed like that, call a doctor.”

      They saw the old jerk Ernie walking away from them, holding a can of something. Thank God he didn’t see them. He’d try to tell them he’d bought the sidewalk’s rights from the city again and order them off it.

      “Maybe Ernie finally cleaned out that garbage can,” David said.

      Patrick had forgotten that they’d hidden the sea serpent tank in his garbage. He hoped the smell made Ernie sick.

      He laughed. “Oh yeah. I bet that made his day.”

      They high-fived, agreeing to get Alan, Chris, Mike and Jimmy together for a post-dinner Wiffle ball tournament. They also decided to do a little searching for cats and dogs every day. The reward money paid a lot more than hauling bags outside Shopwell or cutting lawns. Everyone’s loss would definitely be their gain.

      Chapter Six

      “Welcome to Rome! And you know what they say when you’re there,” Robert Cort said to Bill and Annie