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He wasn’t sure how it came to this. Everything was fuzzy, drenched with dehydration, fear, and the pungent smell of raw, rotting meat.
Reviewing that description, perhaps he didn’t want to know.
Well, whatever had occurred, here he was, hands and feet tied, laying on the ground as he watched the people around him, dressed in lion’s skins and other furs, stoke the fire.
It was filled to the top with boiling water; Barnaby came to this conclusion after a few drops of sizzling, hot water landed on his cheek as the native women stirred in meats to the soup. A delicious scent filled the air, and he held back a frustrated groan. That delicious, mouth watering scent, as tempting as it seemed, just so happened to be his doom.
He had heard of this tribe before; the Chewibaccks. He had actually come to Africa to study them - But at a distance. He had, obviously, gotten the distance part wrong. And now, apparently, he was about to be boiled to death, then eaten by hungry cannibals in a professor - flavored stew.
How lovely.
He needed to come up with an idea. The smell was getting stronger, and he could hear the tribe around him preparing to feast. He needed to do something fast.
Well, what happened next did occur rather quickly. But he wasn’t the one doing it.
The smell of the stew, thick and juicy, had attracted some visitors; Two lions bounded out, roaring and tackling the nearest tribe members.
Barnaby had never been so happy to see a large, carnivorous creature in all his life.
He waited, somewhat patiently, until the tribe’s attentions were on the lions, not him. And he slowly, carefully, began to roll.
It worked. He rolled into the grasses, his arms and legs still bound (But that wasn’t a big deal for him, no sir, he would find a way to break the ropes), and his cheek with a few burns on it, but for the most part he was alive, unharmed, and the lions were finishing off the tribe.
What a pity.
On second thought, definitely not a pity. He could construct a report on some different tribe. One that didn’t eat people for dinner.
Slowly, once the noises had died down, he managed a sitting position, poking his head above the tips of the dried, yellow grasses, and looked right into the green-gold eyes of a monstrous beast.
Oh no.
No one heard from Professor Francis M. Barnaby again after that day. He didn’t really have any family to miss him, and if he had, they didn’t seem to notice his disappearance. No one really went looking for him; He had no colleagues, no boss, no friends. In fact, some people wondered if Professor Francis M. Barnaby even existed at all.
It was dark. Half of the mammals in the grass were sleeping, half were eating, and a whole other half unseen were watching quietly. Everything was silent, calm, and peaceful, and no one expected anything out of the ordinary to occur.
But, see, that was exactly how they liked it to be.
They arrived unnoticed, hovering over the heads of the earthen creatures. At least, we assume they were unnoticed; Even the unknown half watching didn’t see them, or didn’t care if they had. They stayed there, hovering quietly as they watched the cows graze, or doze, or lay on their backs inhaling the miserable stench of cow pies wafting through the air.
At least, no one earthly noticed the unholy stench, but they noticed. The smell finally reached their peaked, tiny noses, and they were immediately wrinkled in disgust.
They weren’t accustomed to such smells. They didn’t exist, where they came from.
The air vents were turned on immediately, blowing air through the grass and giving the wind an extra boost. Still, no one noticed, or cared.
“Just the wind picking up a bit, nothing unusual,” The earth people would say, waving it off as if it were a common phenomenon.
How stupid of them.
The smell simply didn’t leave. Small noses wrinkled once more, and large, midnight blue eyes squinted past tinted glass, trying to see the cause of the stench. Was it the mammals? No, it seemed that it wasn’t the mammals themselves, nothing that clean looking could truly be that smelly. The grass? They had grass where they came from, and they knew it didn’t smell like that.
So what was it? The mysterious, hiding mammals behind the bushes? The strange turquoise fog that seemed to hover around the stranger guests, masking them from view (Or perhaps making them more conspicuous than they would have been in the first place)?
No. Neither one of them. That just left the ground itself.
Blue eyes, about 37 of them, hardened in determination. There was work to be done.
That work, in the morning, absolutely baffled the owners of that cow lot. They stood there like the apes they were, scratching their heads and calling it whatever they wished; A miracle, a curse, dumb unluckiness.
Whatever they called it, however, didn’t change what had happened to the cow lot.
The cows in question were fine; A little shocked, a little disgruntled, but perfectly fine. Perhaps even better than they had been. They certainly seemed healthier, fatter, better. It was the actual cow lot that was the problem.
Where there was once some patches of grass, surrounded by a thick layer of cow manure, there was nothing. A literal hole, deeper than the eye could see, in the exact shape of the cow lot, was where the grazing ground used to be. The cows were huddled around the edges where a small ledge of earth hung out, still chewing their cud and ignoring the obvious.
Although, to many, the obvious good deed that the strangers had done was not as obvious, hidden by the shock of the missing earth. One day, several years after this puzzling event, a dying farmer would figure it out, but he would perish before he would get the chance to spread the joyous information. It was, indeed, joyous.
