“A Sharp New Friend”

(1,478 Words)

(Unpublished short story, revised in Nov. 2005)

“Where in heck could Ol’ Sammy be?” Sylvester Snail slid through the rocks in the garden and stretched a tentacle toward the sky. A buttery moon sparkled on the pond below him.

That goofy slug must be hiding in the petunia bed, someplace. “On top of Old Smoky, all covered in slime; I lost my friend, Sammy, while climbing a vine.” Sylvester’s button eyes bobbed at the top of his tentacles as he sang his favorite tune. With each squeeze and push of his sticky foot muscle, a trail of slime oozed out behind him.

“Beware! Beware! Don’t go there!” Someone screeched, only it sounded like “…ware…ware…go there!” It drifted over his head, making him feel like he had a bad cold.

“Olivia, what’s happening, Sweetie? I haven’t seen you in a shell’s age.

The owl glided down and sat next to the snail. “Danger! It breeeeathes—like this…” She puffed up her feathers so fat that her eyes squeezed shut. As she did so, Sylvester crept up on her and blew.

“Haaaaaffffffff!” But it sounded like a whisper and only ruffled a feather or two. “You look like a spotted feather duster.” He laughed.

“Hoo-hoot!” she called, flying away. “Go ahead, get eaten—see if I care. That’s the last time I pluck you out of a garbage truck.”

“Aww, Olivia, geez, can’t a guy tease you a little? You know I bent over my shell trying to thank you for saving me that morning.” Hmm, I wonder if that’s why Sammy took a hike. I can’t find his face (or his tail) anywhere, tonight.

“Sammy, my man—let’s have you.” What’s she talking about anyway? There’s no danger here. I know this neighborhood like the back of my shell. Nobody new here. Never been anybody new here.

But, the farther he slid away from the pond, the more that same, scary quiet bothered him. Maybe Olivia’s right. Maybe, I should be careful—it’s never this still in the garden. Still no sign of him. He must be in here, somewhere.

As though on cue, the clay ground cracked open, almost like an eggshell. Sylvester shook with glee when he recognized Sammy. The slug inched toward a purple petunia and bit a chunk out of it. Crunch, crunch. “Sammy, my man—where have you been hiding? I’ve been looking for you all night.”

Sammy stopped chewing and stared at Sylvester. “Sly, you silly old snail. Did you see the newcomer, yet?” he asked. “The Human left the gate open, last night. He crawled into Poppy’s old hutch at sundown.“

“Geez, no. So, Olivia wasn’t pulling my shell about that?” Sylvester asked. “She says he’s fat and scary. But, what is he?”

Sammy shook his head (or was it his tail?) and said nothing. “I know, let’s ask Kyle. Old Fin Face might have seen him, too.”

“You’re asking for trouble now. Remember last time you disturbed his sleep? It took you three hours to crawl down off the wall.”

“Ah, he was just in a bad mood. You don’t know how to talk to him. He’s my friend.”

Sylvester winked at Sammy and slipped back into the waterfall. It carried him in its gentle current, down to the blackness of the pond, below. “Yo, Kyle! Fin Man, you still awake down there?” Splashes of orange and white hung in a far corner. With a sudden ripple, the koi glided to life and floated near the snail. Sylvester jerked back, the memory of being spit against the wall still fresh in his mind.

Kyle’s head broke through the water; he stared at Sylvester with eyes that seemed not to see. “What do you want? (blub, blub)” he demanded. He bobbed back under the water, then popped up, again. “If you insist on disturbing me (blub), at least come closer, so I can eat you. (blub, blub)”

“No! H-h-hold on, bro. I-I-I’m not a fly. You’d get sick on me.” He sounded like he was talking from deep inside of a cave, for he had, in fact, buried himself in the farthest corner of his shell.

“Speak your peace (blub), so I can go back to sleep. (blub, blub)”

First one tentacle, then the other peeked out from Sylvester’s shell. “I just want to a-a-ask you a question. Who’s the newcomer in Poppy’s hutch?”

“A creature that sleeps by day and eats (blub) crawly things like you by night. Go see for yourself. (blub, blub)” With that, he dove back under the pond and hid under a weed.

Crawly things like me?

Sammy yelled from his pocket of slime in the clay. “Pssst, Sly—hurry up and hide yourself—he’s coming!”

“Huh? Oh no, too late. I think he saw me.” Snuffling and scratching noises broke the stillness around him. Sylvester shivered as the moon shone down on a creature with quills like daggers. It opened its mouth and sucked up a worm, then moved on through the trails of slime. As it touched the slime, foam formed on its pointed mouth.

Should I talk to him or shouldn’t I? He doesn’t look hungr,y anymore. “W-w-who are you?”

The strange animal seemed like a giant to Sylvester. It stared at him and then suddenly rolled itself into a round pincushion. “My name is Herbie. Don’t hurt me,” it cried, from deep inside its soft spots.

Geez, Olivia was right. “H-H-Herbie? Herbie what? I mean, Herbie Who? I’m a snail. Sylvester—I’m your man.” He laughed a nervous, snail laugh. “I-I-I won’t hurt you. G-g-geez, how could I hurt you? What are you and what are you doing?”

“Doing? Haven’t you ever seen a hedgehog wash himself, before?” Herbie seemed to flatten. “Oh, it’s such a terrible habit. Every time I touch something I’m not used to, I have to clean it off or I go mad! This horrible stuff—it’s all over me. Eeeewwww…”

“Oh, that?” Sylvester inched closer to Herbie. “That’s just Sammy’s slime. Sammy’s a slug. He lives in my neighborhood, but I’ve never seen you here, before. You from around here?”

“I used to live in a ditch, but I don’t have a home, anymore. Mom said I have to make my own way in the world, now. Last night, I found an open gate and a warm, dark place to crawl into when the sun came out.”

“Oh, that’s Poppy’s hutch. He used to live there before you crawled in.”

“I’m so lost. I don’t think I’ll ever find a home of my own or friends to talk to.” Silvery tears dropped from his eyes and rolled down his quills.

One fell on top of Sylvester. He licked it and shook. Salt. I hate salt. “Don’t cry, Herbie. I’ll be your friend.”

He stared at the hedgehog and wished Herbie wasn’t so sad. All his friends had tried to warn him, but Herbie was not the danger they thought he was. Never been anybody new here and still isn’t. He’s just as scared as we are. He’s just like us. A warm feeling filled Sylvester’s heart

Sylvester yawned and blinked his sleepy eyes. “It’s going to be dawn, soon. Time to get some shuteye. You better go back in that hutch and get some crash time yourself, Herbie. Maybe things will look better tomorrow night.” Somehow, he didn’t really believe that was true—not when the Human came looking for Poppy in the morning. But, he didn’t want Herbie to see how worried he was, so he just yawned, again.

Hours later, pink and gray sunlight brightened the garden sky. As Sylvester opened his sleepy eyes and stretched, a female Human stepped out from inside her home. With one hand, she tossed mealworms on the bird feeder near the petunias. Her other hand held cabbage and carrots, which she stooped to place in Poppy’s hutch.

“Oh, deary me!” She gasped, plopping the bowl down with a thump, at the sight of the open gate. It startled poor Herbie who jumped and rolled himself into a ball. His quills stuck out and he tried to play dead. “Oh no, a hedgehog is in Poppy’s hutch! How will I get him out?”

“Get the mealworms,” Sammy said. “That’s right—give him some. Take one, Herbie.”

A mealworm danced between her fingers as she held it out to him. “Oh, what a long tongue you have. You like it here, don’t you?” she asked. Herbie wouldn’t say, but he didn’t run away. “Maybe you should stay. I guess Poppy wants to see the world, but you seem to need a home.”

When the Human went back inside, a furry, tan guinea pig rushed across the garden. He stopped and stared at Herbie. His whiskers bobbed up and down. Biting into a chunk of carrot, he giggled and crawled back under the porch.