On clear nights, the creature came out of the woods and wandered through our town. My little brother called it the noche perro; he had been teaching himself Spanish ever since a pretty exchange student from Córdoba was assigned to his class. ("Doesn't she speak English?" asked our father, over dinner. "Yes," said my brother, "but that's not the point." Then, to me: "Lindy, pass the butter, por favor.")
He was wrong about the creature, though – it wasn't a perro at all. It was much too big, hairy, and aware of its surroundings. I had seen it dig through our neighbor's trash cans, and it was methodical in its ways, eating certain pieces and throwing back others after a moment of consideration. I had seen it bury something in the Andersons' garden. I had seen it hide from a cat, retreating into a shadow until the tabby crossed the street. But even when the creature reemerged, it looked uneasy, as if at any moment the cat might come running back and attack.
Then some of the PTA moms got wind of the creature. They said it was sniffing around the schoolyard. They spoke to the local news, claiming that two of the neighborhood cats were missing. When they realized that the creature was after nothing more than our garbage, they insisted that everyone hide their trash cans in their garages at night.
"Now this monster will leave us alone," they said.
When the creature came back, it seemed confused. Where there had once been bins stuffed with dinner scraps and plastic packaging and used tissue, there were now only round depressions in the grass. From house to house, it found the same thing – except at one. Outside of our house, the creature found a brown lunch bag, and inside the bag, my lunch. A peanut butter and honey sandwich. Half an apple. Some crackers. The creature sniffed at the food, gave a moment of thought, and then removed the sandwich from its plastic bag. It ate the bag, chewing slowly, and then took the sandwich in its mouth and started walking back toward the street. It looked back only once, glancing up toward my bedroom window. I saw the the glow of its small, oval eyes, and then I ducked out of sight.
Just what I needed...a big dollop of imagination! Thank you!
Posted by: Rosalinda | January 20, 2012 at 12:34 PM
Haunting and beautiful. Truly a gem.
Posted by: Lena | January 20, 2012 at 01:38 PM
what a lovely little story! so mysterious...
Posted by: yarska | January 20, 2012 at 05:41 PM
Awww! So whimsical, I love it! :)
Posted by: Carleen | January 20, 2012 at 09:23 PM
drawn in immediately! how do you do it?
xo
sami
Posted by: Samantha | January 21, 2012 at 12:48 AM
Yay, I've missed these stories. :)
Posted by: Briel K. | January 21, 2012 at 11:42 AM
That is how I like my PB sandwich, with honey.
Posted by: Pegah | January 21, 2012 at 02:10 PM
This is fantastic. I like how it's so mysterious.
Posted by: Caity | January 21, 2012 at 08:43 PM
arg you do this to us every time!!! what happens next?!
Posted by: claire@gibson king | January 22, 2012 at 02:35 PM
I was her when I was young. I swear! How do you get in my head so well?! :)
Posted by: kayla @ exquisite banana | January 22, 2012 at 04:18 PM
Fantastical. I love your short stories.
Posted by: Johanna | January 24, 2012 at 08:48 AM
wonderful, sweet story.
Posted by: Kathryn | January 25, 2012 at 05:04 PM
Very imaginative, I really enjoyed your story. I like the detail of the conversation between the main character and her brother. Little moments like that are what make stories more immersive I think. :)
Posted by: Zaiure | January 27, 2012 at 01:09 PM
Beautifully written, gorgeous, concise, perfick! Loved it. You have a real talent.
Posted by: Lorna | January 31, 2012 at 06:29 AM
("Doesn't she speak English?" asked our father, over dinner. "Yes," said my brother, "but that's not the point." Then, to me: "Lindy, pass the butter, por favor.")
The BEST part.
Posted by: Faren Rajkumar | February 03, 2012 at 01:41 PM