Late summer on the Bean farm had been
particularly hot this year, and sticky; the kind of weather Freddy despised. He
and Mrs. Wiggins sat under a tree near the cow barn, playing Twenty Questions
with a turkey named Jonas. Jonas was a tough, lean old bird who claimed to have
fought in Germany during the last war. Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins didn’t quite
believe him because, as you know, turkeys are apt to stretch the truth a bit.
“No, it’s not a bicycle,” Freddy said to
the turkey. “That’s your last question.”
Jonas protested, “That’s only my
nineteenth question, you cheater!” He raised one leathery wing threateningly.
Mrs. Wiggins laughed. “Oh, for goodness’
sake, calm down, Jonas. Why, when you came back with us from Syracuse, we
didn’t know you would be such a fowl loser!” Her eyes widened and the cow
guffawed thunderously. “Oh, dear, Freddy, I have made a joke, haven’t I?” Cows
are always surprised and a little embarrassed by their own comedic potential.
Freddy grinned, starting to speak in
verse,
“The cow
makes a joke
She just laughs
and laughs and laughs
Animals stay back.”
“That’s a haiku,” he
added importantly. Freddy had recently read about haiku in a book of poetry
from the Centerboro Public Library, and had immediately informed his friends
that haiku were “very popular just now.”
Jonas spoke up,
“Jonas hit pig
It hurts
Get back
to game!”
“No, Jonas,” Freddy
protested, “that has the wrong number of syllables. It’s supposed to be
five-seven-five –“
Just then the shadow of
a large bird appeared and the trio looked up to see Archibald, the eagle,
circling overhead.
“Freddy,” the eagle
called down, “magnificent specimen of the porcine race that you are, I require
your material assistance on a not-trivial matter.”
Years earlier, while on
the North Pole trip, Freddy had written a very complimentary poem about eagles,
and it had circulated throughout the eagle community. As a result, all the
eagles far and wide had a high opinion of the pig.
“What is it, Archie?”
Freddy yelled back, “Come down here, I can barely hear you.”
Mrs. Wiggins shook her
wide head. “Freddy, don’t order eagles around like that. They’re so regal, and
for you to give them commands … it, well, it doesn’t go!”
Freddy ignored the cow’s complaints. The
eagle landed in front of the pig, turning warily to appraise Jonas. Archibald
turned back to Freddy. “Recall, if you will, the meteoroid that struck ground
north of what you call the Big Woods.”
“The one that hit last
fall? I remember,” said Freddy. He had tried to write a poem about the fiery
spectacle, but had instead fallen asleep and smudged the ink.
“Indeed,” continued
Archibald. “Confoundingly, the area within a few meters of the meteoroid has,
to this day, remained utterly devoid of life. Upon, noting that curious fact
last week, I attempted, as an eagle ought, to investigate the source of the
barren lifelessness. Barely had I come within ten meters of the ground,
however, before a brigade of small animals broke from concealment in the nearby
shrubbery, hurling small spears in my direction. This phenomenon repeated
itself twice, the most recent occurrence only ten minutes hence. I seek your
aid in investigating this curious state of affairs.”
Freddy nodded sagely as
if to suggest that he was already well aware of this issue, which of course he
was not. “The Detective Firm of Wiggins, Whibley, and Bean will look into the
matter.”
Whibley, Jr. was Vera’s
son, named for his great-uncle, Old Whibley. The young owl had pestered, and
indeed successfully shadowed, Freddy until the pig let him join the detective
agency, whereupon Whibley, Jr. soon proved adept at tailing suspects and
discreetly gathering evidence. “I told you so, Freddy,” Mrs. Wiggins had said.
“That little bird has a brain between those wings.”
“Archibald, “Freddy
continued, “did you notice anything else at the site?”
The eagle cocked his
head to the side, trying to remember, then nodded. “Yes, I always heard the
ruffians repeating something that sounded like: ‘Alsh rg’geh nuhle Meshelth’. Some sort of odious incantation, no doubt.”
Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins
thanked the eagle, who continued on to his afternoon tea at the home of Mrs.
Vanessa Penniforth in Centerboro.
“We’d better get Jinx
and Whibley, Jr. and head up there as soon as possible,” Mrs. Wiggins observed
in a rare moment of rapid action.
Jonas started off towards
the cow barn. “Tell me if you find anything interesting. In the meantime, I’m
due for some sleep.” The gruff bird disappeared into the dark doorway and
Freddy and Mrs. Wiggins set off to collect their companions.
********************
“Eagles are, well, they’re
just too dignified!” exclaimed Jinx, upon being filled in on the way through
the Big Woods. Jinx wasn’t certain what “dignified” meant, but he had the
impression it was a very bad thing. “Why couldn’t he come with us? Sure woulda
helped.”
At this, Whibley, Jr.
scoffed. “Aw chucks, Jinx, don’t you think the four of us can handle this?”
Jinx murmured something
rude under his breath, and stopped suddenly. “Ugh, don’t you smell that, pig?”
“Smell what?” asked
Freddy. But a few more steps brought the scent into his nostrils. It was a
horrifying, cloying stench, smelling of the dark moldy things that lurk far
underground, like nothing Freddy had ever smelled before.
“Oh, my,” said Mrs.
Wiggins, “that really is awful. It smells worse that Mr. Bean does when he goes
without washing.”
Freddy was certainly not
going to let a bad smell stop him, though, and he pressed on, motioning for the
others to follow. From the branches of a nearby beech tree, Whibley, Jr.
sounded an alarm. “Stop, animals! I can see a few creatures coming toward us.”
In a moment, those
creatures came into view of the other animals. They bore the general
characteristics of squirrels, but their faces were hideously deformed: mouths
that were little more than crooked slits, noses twisted at unearthly angles,
and huge, cloudy eyes.
“Hello,” Freddy began,
“we’re trying to find the landing site of the meteoroid from last year.”
One of the squirrel-things
cut him off. “It is not here.”
Jinx spoke up, “We know
it’s still nearby. An eagle friend told us so, and he also told us you weren’t
very friendly to him.”
The squirrel creature who
had spoken blinked those horrifying eyes. “The eagle was interfering with my
family.” He gestured at the creatures with him. The other squirrel-things,
hunched and with squalid fur, all blinked at precisely the same time.
Mrs. Wiggins moved up
and whispered in Freddy’s ear, “I don’t like this, Freddy. I don’t want to get
into a fight with these animals, whatever they are.”
Freddy nodded. “Very
well, sir, we will bother you no more. Come on, Jinx, let’s go.”
The four Bean animals
turned and began heading back to the farm. As they walked, Whibley, Jr. landed
next to Freddy and asked, “Freddy, you read a lot. You know something about
everything.” At this, Freddy straightened himself importantly. Whibley went on,
“Have you ever heard of anything like this?”
Freddy nodded slowly.
“Yes… I think so. When we get home, I
need to head down to the library.” The pig wouldn’t say any more than this,
however, despite Whibley’s, Jinx’s, and Mrs. Wiggins’s best attempts to wheedle
information out of him.
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