You Shouldn't Worry About Frogs by Eliza Marley

Author:Eliza Marley [Marley, Eliza]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Querencia Press, LLC
Published: 2023-05-25T16:00:00+00:00

A mile or so in, then a little to the right, not too close to the river or any property lines. Just empty trees with no good hunting, not belonging to anybody. It was an area that got passed over year after year for being overgrown and too much of a hassle to do anything with.

I left him right beside a mossy rock with some loose sticks thrown around for good measure. The dirt was flat and patted down; that was my one mistake. It was too even looking, but now that the weeds had some time to regrow, it looked okay. I was probably standing right over his legs.

When I buried George, he hadn’t wanted to go down. I’d sat there for hours, shoveling dirt over his stubborn head and one arm that had remained uncovered, almost like he was waving to me. I got him packed in eventually though. I stomped the dirt under my boot and felt the give. Still a little squishy, not quite frozen through yet.

“Anybody home?” I called quietly. I didn’t expect much of a response. Either George was too frozen in there to get out again or he was already at the house causing a racket. I don’t actually know what temperature it takes to freeze a ghost, especially a stubborn one. I waited around for a few minutes but didn’t hear anything aside from the wind. I rubbed my hands over my face to keep the blood flowing and left. Walking back home, I looped around to one edge of a neighboring lot before making my way along the main road home. Last thing I needed to do was leave fresh prints in the mud, straight to him, especially while Erik and his partner were still probably poking around. A few yards down I heard a rustle in the bushes beside me. I stopped walking.

“George?” I whispered out into the dark. There was a muffled chirping and another rustle. I jumped back, just as a chicken came bursting out onto my path. It stumbled around before plopping itself down into the dirt. It was definitely one from the factory. It still had the tag tied around part of its wing. It was dirty and some of its feathers were hanging off at weird angles. The chicken looked at me and squawked.

“What are you doing out here then?” I asked. The chicken ignored me, continuing to scoot around in the dirt. It raised its head and stared at me for a moment before fluffing up its wings. Stuck around its leg was a dirty chain that had gotten wrapped around its foot and was squeezing the skin. The chicken squawked again. I bent forward to get a closer look, careful not to stick my important bits too close to its mouth. The chain was thin and had a single heart charm attached to it, all caked in mud. I reached out slowly, careful not to get bitten, and unknotted the chain. As soon as its leg was free, the chicken darted forward to try and bite me.

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