He didn’t tell me where he got the boat, and I didn’t ask. All the upholstery was covered with canvas tarps to keep it clean. (He was a bit slimy.) When the powerful engine began to purr, he pulled the boat out into the center of the waterway and skillfully sped into the swamp. I had my camera ready. I know I promised not to take his photo before he had a shower, but I couldn’t resist sneaking one. Then I pointed my lens outside the boat and waited to arrive at our destination.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “riding with the swamp thing.”
Across the water I could make out a shadowy figure. Covered in slimy weeds, it raised its arm in a silent greeting. The swamp thing in our boat cackled and returned the greeting.
“Mother,” he growled, heading straight for the shore…towards MOTHER, whose teeth gleamed in the late afternoon sun.
I quickly snapped a photo, although I’d promised not to take photos of the mother. We pulled up to a roughly built dock in front of a house made of cypress planks with a roof of wooden shingles. “My brother is inside,” the swamp thing said. He gestured with gentlemanly finesse for me to precede him onto the dock.
“Hi, I’m Blubber,” said the mud-covered creature that opened the door. I stepped gingerly over the threshold and looked around. On the table stood a bowl full of dead newts, on the hearth bubbled a cauldron of stewed toads.
“Sunday lunch, anyone?” asked Blubber with a grin.
His teeth were bright white, making his smile glow in the dim room. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to shake his hand. His mother and brother sat at the table.
With my camera in one hand and tape recorder in another, I smiled and said, “I just ate, but thank you.” I sat the tape recorder on the corner of the table. “Do you mind if I record the interview?”
“That will be fine,” Blubber said. “Let me warm up my voice, first.” He launched into a series of scales, demonstrating a voice that was worthy of Josh Grobin. I listened, mouth agape.