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5.

Bobble Wobble dealt cards slowly, his soft pink wings stretching and relaxing as his arms moved. The week had passed slowly for the four Giggly Wigglies, an endless parade of screaming children and singing as it generally was. Bobble Wobble set down the deck of cards, silent, and picked up a large tumbler of whiskey, angling it so that his triangular face could drink and not spill liquor all over the table. Tamburto puffed a cloud of smoke out, thick and white, and took his cards, tapping them on the table softly.

“Now this is more like it,” he said happily. He fanned his cards out and squinted at them. Snorktasm laughed and nodded her agreement, her swirl painted, blunted, claws tapping against the back of her cards.

“I’ll say it is,” she piped out, her free hand rubbing along the opposite arm’s scales slowly, smoothing them down as she did before a taping. Rubbed the wrong way they would stand up very slightly and expose how sharp their edges really were.

“Yeah, you guys’re just too easily satisfied,” Grinkle said with a low grumble, a bit of gristle hanging from the corner of his mouth. He gestured with what was left of the child’s leg, a bloody stump of mostly bone, jabbing it out towards Tamburto. “The kid is good, yeah sure. So what? Whatshername might’ve…”

“Andrea,” Bobble Wobble whispered, the layered over and undertones of his speech crawling across one another unkindly.

“Yeah, sure, Andrea, was a nice kid. Tasty.” Grinkle paused to rip some more meat from bone, “But she ain’t the solution is she? We were talking about it, I say we do it.”

“You mean break the agreement? But we can’t.” Snorktasm looked slightly fearful at the idea, even as she cast sidelong hungry glances at Grinkle’s meal.

“We can,” Bobble Wobble slid back into the conversation, putting his cards down and pushing them away from himself, “bend it.” He tossed back the rest of his whiskey and bared his teeth at Grinkle.

“Exactly!” Grinkle waved the leg around, holding the ankle, as if conducting an orchestra. “Look, all those years ago? Jo’ was a kid. She left holes in the whole thing. She was just tryin’ ta, you know, stop us cold. No, the best she could do was bind us to her service, and only mostly at that, and what? Keep us from roaming?”

“Well when you put it like that,” Tamburto said, pondering, “we do have more room to move in it than I thought. Why didn’t we decide this sooner?” He cast sharp glances at Grinkle and Booble Wobble.

“We were slow. Content with simply having gained access to this realm,” Bobble Wobble pointed out, eyes locked on Grinkle’s as he spoke, “It has been long years here, but to our spans it is only a blink. We act now.” The others nodded agreement, Grinkle shoving the rest of the leg into his mouth, teeth worrying bone with sharp wet cracks and snaps. A single toe fell to the table and Snorktasm snatched it up, popping it in her mouth. She loved a good toe.

6.

Deep at sea, Captain Ronald Jackson nursed a headache. The water was calm, the night was dark and all should’ve been right with his world. His ship, the Lazy Marie, was on its way back to the Cape of Good Hope with new cargo. His crew was sound and content and the money was good. For the life of him, Captain Jackson couldn’t figure out what was bothering him enough to cause these headaches. The last few nights had been full of them, each one clawing at the edges of his consciousness but never quite cresting fully. He could feel the pressure there, building behind his eyes, and he had the keen sense that there was something else, some part of the headaches that wasn’t fulfilling itself. Until it did, he knew, he wouldn’t get any rest at all.

First Mate Christina Hartman watched her captain take his hands off the rudder and cross to the small white medicine chest on the starboard side of the bridge. She sighed to herself and moved to take his place, unconsciously smoothing the sides of her crisp white jacket as she did.

“Cap?” she asked him without turning to look at him, “Headache again? Maybe you have Jonesy look at it. Could be something big.”

“I’m sure it isn’t anything Jonsey could fix, C.H.,” he told her gently as he swallowed more of the small white pills. As he said it he realized he felt dizzy and dropped like a stone to the lacquered hardwood floor of the bridge. Christina slapped the intercom on as she watched Jackson fall. “Jonesy, get the fuck up here!” she bellowed at the little speaker, rushing to the fallen man and kneeling next to him swiftly. Captain Jackson’s eyes were open, she could see. His body was rigid and taut, like the anchor cable at dock. She slapped his face lightly and called his name a few times, to no avail. His eyes rolled back into his head and his jaw started to work, saying something quickly and silently.

Jonesy burst into the room, black medical kit in hand, and muttered a soft string of curses as he knelt on the other side of Jackson. He turned to ask Christina what the hell had happened but as he opened his mouth to speak their Captain’s voice rose in volume.

“Giggly Wiggly, laugh for you, laugh for me. Giggly Wigglies, play with you, play with me. They come to spread Giggles across the land, to all girls and boys — just come take their hand.” he intoned, his voice rising with each statement, “Come on. It’s Giggly Wiggly time!” he finally screamed and sat bolt upright. Blinking and in control of his senses again he looked to either side of him, taking in his First Mate and Medical Officer. “What the fuck?” he asked them. Neither had an idea, but the three of them spent the next several hours downstairs doing tests and trying to find out. They never did.

**********

Thousands of miles away, Grinkle slammed his fist into the table with rage, standing and leaning on the table, forcing the grain of the wood to creak.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, fuming. Snorktasm and Tamburto winced but sat silent. Bobble Wobble opened his eyes slowly, sighing.

“I’m out of practice,” he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice and failing, “it was the only thing I could force him to do.” Grinkle cursed again and sat heavily. The four looked anywhere but at each other, knowing this was not exactly going to plan.

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…After These Messages is copyright Adam P. Knave.