Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Grocery List

[froodle]

Marshall paused by the waterfront, shifting the heavy grocery bags to make them easier to hold. A handful of water fowl drifted over, attracted by the promise of scraps.

"Sorry, fellas," he said, setting down one of the paper sacks in order to rearrange the jars inside. "Nothing for you in here."

Seven swans, their long necks decked out in glittering streams of bedraggled tinsel, eyed him sourly behind their black bandit masks. Moving as one, they swept a wide elegant arc across the mirror-flat surface of the lake before drifting away. The white duck quacked out some coarse anatidaen insult and followed in their wake. Marshall raised his middle finger to it as it went.

Simon carefully lowered his own armful of groceries onto the gravel footpath. Marshall gave him a warning look.

"Don't do it, Simon," he warned. "You know if you do they'll follow you home and Tippi Hedren you into giving them food three times a day."

Simon produced a squashed, half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the inside pocket of his heavy plaid jacket.

"You're exaggerating," he said. "They just tap on the window to get attention. The broken glass was an accident, they don't mean any harm."

He tore a thin strip of crust from the sandwich and held it out, crouching low. The goose with the serious face lingered at the edge of the water, finally pulling itself up with a laborious sigh and much flapping of his great white wings. It waddled over, expression habitually grave, and inspected the proffered morsel.

"See?" said Simon, running his free hand over the smooth feathered head. "He's not rude, he's just solemn. Aren't you just a solemn little guy?" he said to the goose. The goose said nothing, regarding him with small yellow eyes and a downcast turn of his beak.

Marshall sighed.

"Fine," he said. "Whatever. Don't believe me, don't believe Hitchcock, just keep buying in to the myth of harmless old Lake Eerie's harmless old wildlife."

Simon ignored him, tearing the remnant of his PB&J into small pieces and scattering them at his feet. The goose, apparently finding them up to his high standards, snatched them up almost before they hit the ground. When they were all gone, he turned his expectant gaze upon Marshall, who glowered.

"Great," he said. "Now he's going to come begging every time he sees us." He began gathering the shopping bags together in preparation to leave. As though sensing his intentions, the goose hurried over, sticking it's long neck inside the nearest paper sack to inspect the contents.

It reeled back. It's wings opened and it's neck extended, and the great orange beak gaped angrily. From deep inside the long throat came a hissing sound like the wings of a thousand eldritch abominations beating against the walls of reality, trying to come through and devour the human world.

"What the corn?!" exclaimed Marshall, stumbling backwards. As he did, he glanced down at the half-open bag of groceries and groaned.

Five jars of goose fat, nestled in a protective sleeve of bubble wrap, glittered yellow-white in the pale December sun.

"It's not my fault!" he protested, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture. "My mom gave me the shopping list! It's her you should be mad at!"

Simon gasped. Even the goose didn't look terribly impressed, it's expression sliding slowly from rage to contempt and then to it's usual gravitas.

"Yeah," said Marshall, snatching the offending bag by one handle. "So, you know... take it up with her, I guess."

Clutching the shopping tight to his chest, his eyes never leaving the goose, he backed off, up the pretty walkway lined with seashells, back up to the main road. Simon followed, the thin, tight line of his mouth making him look nearly as dour as the great white bird who stood watching their retreat in near-perfect stillness.

"I can't believe you'd throw your mom under the bus like that," said Simon, once they had gained the relative safety of the high street.

"I panicked," said Marshall. "Anyway, it's not like it wasn't true."

Down at the lake, the goose slipped smoothly back into the water, paddling over to where the swans and the white duck waited. The white duck had a smug set to it's beaky face, evident even at this distance, and Marshall scowled.

"Stupid white duck," he muttered, adjusting the shopping to free up one hand. As he raised it, middle finger held high, the jars of goose fat tumbled free, shattering against the sidewalk.

Avian laughter echoed off the lake.





Trusted Associates, Inc.

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