INVASIVE SPECIES

INVASIVE SPECIES
by Stephen Howard

It was the green glow creeping in through the curtains that had Cassie restless. Something the size of a dog scuttled around their pond. Bright green and frog-like, but a giant frog, a frog you could put on a lead and take for a walk. It shone like a nightlight.

Cassie crept out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown. Slipping downstairs, she walked through to the kitchen and faced the patio doors. All glass, the entire garden visible in daytime. But at night, a suffocating wall of black.

The bright green outline waddled in a circle. Cassie hunted for the key that would allow her to slide open the wide glass door.

“There you are,” she said, grabbing the key from beside the fruit bowl. Turning back to face the garden, the luminous creature was gone, swallowed up by the jaws of night. Cassie’s nose and breath smudged the glass, eagle eyes searching for its re-emergence.

Nothing came.

+++

“Can you water those geraniums, love?” Cassie’s mother, blonde hair tied into a ponytail, was on her hands and knees, big yellow gardening gloves on, sharp shears in hand, attacking a rosebush she’d wanted to dig out for months. She wore denim overalls, Cassie a comfy yellow sundress. Her mother wiped sweat from her forehead using her wrist. Summer was peaking, but the heatwave spelled disaster for the garden. Or so Cassie kept hearing.

“There was something in the garden last night,” Cassie said while pouring water over the plants. Ever since dad left, her mother had become strangely fixated on the garden. Cassie didn’t really understand why, but she liked to help, if only to keep on her mother’s good side. Days like today were the best. A strong scent of flowers on the air, a gentle hum from the pond. A cooling breeze.

“Probably an owl.” Her mother strained, yanked at bulbous roots. An earthworm poked its head up through the sea of dirt and debris.

“I think it was an alien. Or a mutant frog. Like the ninja turtles, but from space.” Cassie continued pouring water until the flow slowed and stopped.

“Maybe you were dreaming, hun. You’ll need to refill the watering can. In this sun, we can’t risk the plants drying out and dying.”

“I wasn’t dreaming, I really saw it. I got out of bed and came downstairs and saw it.” Cassie stood still, glaring at her mother.

“Can you just fill the can up, please Cassie, the flowers need more water. Eurgh, another worm.” Cassie’s mother tossed the stray worm aside, thankful she’d worn her thick gloves.

“Daddy would have believed me,” Cassie said, stomping off toward the outdoor tap.

She knelt down on the patio and turned the tap on, blasting it so she couldn’t hear what her mother was saying. She looked upset, though Cassie wasn’t sure why. Maybe she knew daddy would have believed in the mutant frog and now mother was ashamed. Daddy used to read Cassie stories and fairy tales before bed, so she knew he believed in magic and strange things. That was before he left.

Cassie struggled back holding the can in two hands.

“You’ve overfilled it,” her mother said. With a sharp yank, a thick root came flying out like a cork from a champagne bottle.

Cassie’s mother screamed.

Cascading upwards was a geyser of earthworms, a wriggling shower of dirty flailing limbs. They writhed as if scared. As if escaping some sickness in the soil.

“Get them off me!” Cassie’s mother flapped her arms, brushing worms onto the turf, while Cassie did the same around her legs.

“The worms are running away from you,” Cassie said. Worms spiralled off across the grass like the panicked folk of Pompeii as Vesuvius exploded.

“I need to shower. I feel like they’re on me. Can you finish watering those geraniums, please hun?”

The backdoor slid shut, announcing her mother’s escape. Always running away. Never toward. Cassie hovered over the pond. The fish scooted about, pulling together, nudging into one another. Algae made Cassie scrunch her nose up. She bent down and traced a finger along the plastic netting. Of course, she was old enough now to be trusted not to fall in the pond, but the netting remained.

As Cassie circled the murky waters, she came upon something that caught her breath.

A large, fresh hole in the netting.

+++

The night was less cloudy, a thin film of light caressing the garden. Cassie’s nose pressed against her bedroom window, breath heating patches of steam she’d instantly wipe away.

Cassie blinked tiredness away, squinted at the void. Beside her sat her phone, camera open and ready to snap snap snap. But the garden was still, no unnatural bright lights, no frog-like creature.

Cassie sighed, yawned, plugged her phone in to charge. Lay facing the ceiling, she thought about the times she’d gone frogging with her father. Their neighbour had a pond too, so frogs were always hopping around. Daddy was a tall man, sandy haired. He held a big green bucket and used the tap to add a dash of water for the frogs to lounge in. Cassie always called the frogs they caught Bob. Some were lively, some tense, each had its own little personality. She liked the slimy feeling and the rough skin. Her father would laugh as they picked them out of the bucket and placed them round their pond. He was always laughing.

Cassie wondered, before sleep took her, whether the luminous creature had been a dream after all.

+++

One of the koi carp floated on its side; an unblinking eye stared at the sun. It was unsettling, like there’d never been any life in it.

“I’ll need to treat the pond… Oh my, the grass…” Dropping the net and running around the pond, Cassie’s mother skidded to a halt and threw her hands to her head. The grass around the edge of the garden had turned yellow and dry, resembled straw. A yellow path carved round the edge of the garden like the yellow brick road leading to Oz. But this path led from the bushes and flowers at the bottom of the garden all the way to the pond. As if someone had sprayed the grass with a strong pesticide and killed it.

“I think they’re footprints,” Cassie said, running her hand along the dead grass. Bone dry.

“It was just the heat, Cassie, don’t be silly.”

“But you can see the patches where it’s not a straight line. Look!” Cassie slammed her sandal down onto the tiny, disparate patches. Each fit the small, slender shape of her foot perfectly.

“I need to treat the pond, Cassie. Why don’t you go inside and watch TV?” Cassie’s mother began to busy herself with the pond, removing the netting. She paused to stare at the hole, shrugged, continued dislodging netting from the pond’s rocky boundary. Cassie, with a forceful harrumph, stomped indoors.

+++

Luminous green emerged as if pulling apart the air itself, climbing into this dimension from another. Cassie grabbed her torch and shot downstairs, eked open the backdoor, slipped out into the night.

“I know you’re here, Mr Alien,” she giggled, padding toward the pond. “So where did you get to? I bet you’re really nice and want to be friends. I’ll call you Bob, I think.”

The bright circle from the flashlight scrolled across the grass, the slim blades of green yellowing in patches Cassie knew to be footprints, no matter what her mother said. Daddy wouldn’t just have believed her; he’d be searching for Bob with her.

On the light circle moved, skating along the fences, toward the bushes, round to the pond, a searchlight hunting an escaped convict. Finally, it settled on the water.

Ghastly glassy eyes watched the stars. Scales glimmered like oily water. So many eyes. Cassie counted the dead carp under her breath. Netting lay scattered about, shredded.

Luminous green leapt from the water, pulled Cassie into the pool. Slimy spindly fingers clung tightly to her. She spat out mouthfuls of grimy water, algae and a chemical flavour burned her throat. And there, before her, was Bob. Froglike was about right; scaly skin, eyes dark and bulbous, a reedy antenna flopping from his spherical head. Dead carp bumped into Cassie’s hips. Those spindly fingers set her straight, kept her steady. She smiled at the creature and was sure he smiled back at her, offered no threat or malice. The quick padding of quick footsteps on grass, a dread gasp, then a scream. Something clashed with the water’s surface, Bob’s grip loosened, disappeared. Spray burst around them like the foot of a waterfall. Cassie rubbed dry her eyes, saw her mother swinging something down onto the luminous green form. Bob writhed and wriggled until the blows rained down caught him wrong, caught him on the skull once too often, triggered a few spasms, then a stillness.

Bob floated among the carp, eyes closed, leaking from the head.

Cassie’s mother tossed aside the bloody shears, flung herself at her daughter, gathered her up, kissed her all over, told her everything was okay.

Cassie spat out the remains of pond water, coughed until her throat hurt less. “You didn’t have to kill Bob, mum, you didn’t have to kill him.”     

Fiction © Copyright Stephen Howard
Image by D. Strohl