Page 29 of Clutching Cthulhu's Pearls

“We have the rest of our lives to chaseCrusoe on his adventures,” I murmur as she passes him to me. “I will remember this moment when you scold him for finding trouble and scaring you.”

“I can’t wait,” she whispers before settling into my arms with a deep sigh. “I hope our children have their father’s courage, tempered by his sensitive heart.”

“No, Hairy, I want them to be whole.” I cast a worried glance at our hatchlings, happily swimming in their bowl—except for Crusoe, who clutches the rim as if his upper strength is all that’s keeping him confined.

“Then let’s teach them to be that third person who emerges when two soulmates find one another. The synergy between us creates this loving force that highlights all the good in the world while confronting the bad. They will be better beings than us both because we will only give them the best of us.”

Her words are beautiful, even if I don’t understand them. The storybook propped against the back of our shelter shows me she will give our hatchlings her beautiful words.

Chapter 15

Epilogue—Two Years Later

“And the bear bachelors chased Goldilocks from their home, cursing their broken chair. The frail, old woman hobbled the best she could on her cane, but even in her drowsy state, she escaped unharmed. She learned her lesson. Never enter a strange home without invitation again,” I read before gently shutting the aged storybook.

The pages have warped with the constant assault of humidity that comes with raft life. Phin has asked about replacing it more than once, but my fear of humans keeps me glued to the raft. I’d be worried sick over my family’s secrecy and safety every second I was in town. Despite the money we’ve stolen from people wandering too close to us, I also can’t justify the cost when we need more crucialsupplies. Supplies, like rope to mend our fishing nets, I can barter or purchase from other people living their own quiet raft life. It would take me forever to find a bookstore—let alonethisbook in a bookstore. What if someone followed me back? What if I were harmed and had no rescue?

“I don’t understand why the Bears can chase that mean old Goldilocks out of their home, but we must hide when someone enters ours,” Crusoe pouts with his little arms crossed over his chest. I’ve discovered our hatchlings develop five times faster than a human baby, but can you imagine my surprise when he said his first word while marveling at the flakes falling from the sky that first winter? He’s the most verbose of our children, with a strong streak of fairness and justice.

“Because nobody owns the river,” says Princess, with a flip of her hair over her shoulder. She’s parroting my response to his complaint. We have the same argument every time I read this story, but the children fuss if I skip it. Sometimes, I think they want the argument more than the story.

“Next time, I won’t hide,” Crusoe states in a bold new objection to our life.

“Yeah, we’ll hunt down those pesky people and eat them!” I don’t know if Frank or Fred made the inappropriate comment, so I wag my finger at both of the giggling troublemakers.

“We don’t eat people. They taste gross,” repliesWilhelm, our smallest son. He wiggles his tentacles at his siblings while pulling a silly face.

All the hatchlings laugh except our eldest, Jacob, who rubs his bald chin with glassy eyes. Now that they’ve learned the difference between males and females, It doesn’t help that Princess lacks tentacles, too. I make a note to chat with Jacob about his human face. He loves our private chats and may open up to me about his body issues. I love all our hatchlings for their unique gifts, and it pains me to see how Jacob’s using them to build walls around his heart and isolate himself. The siblings don’t feel anything less than love for him. It’s all drama in his head.

He's as sensitive as Phin.

“That’s enough with the giggles. It’s time for bed,” I say, tucking them into their nest. They snuggle together in a bed of reeds under their cozy blankets. I kiss each one while collecting hugs from tiny arms, barbels, and tentacles.

Splash!

My head whips to the door. That’s Phin’s signal that someone is approaching our raft. He enters and exits the water soundlessly unless he’s sounding an alarm. The hairs on the back of my neck lift in fear. We’re tied to a fallen tree for the night, which usually isn’t as dangerous as tying our craft to someone’s dock. There wasn’t a house in view when we selectedthis place. Whoever they are, we aren’t encroaching on their property, so they should have no reason to interact with us.

“Goodnight,” I whisper to the children as I close the door to our expanded enclosure. There’s no need to alarm them. Although I hope I can count on Crusoe not to overreact and calm the others when I lock them inside. All this talk of vengeance makes me worry that one of the boys will try to play the hero.

“Good evening to you too, darlin’.” The man shuffling down the riverbank is three times my size. A black cavern of rotted teeth tops his scraggly brown beard. Thankfully, the beard covers his pale chest, bulbous belly, and pelvis. Worn boots with one pink toe sticking out the top stomp into the shallows to get a closer look at me. Every third step is a stumble, as if he’s hit the bottle before strolling into the woods alone.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” I say pleasantly.

I find the simpler the folk, the more kind and genuine they are, so there’s no reason to be rude. I’ve befriended and bartered with all sorts—from the plain’s farmers to the bayou’s gator tamers. We wouldn’t have half the luxuries we own without them. For every bad apple, we’ve encountered ten sweeties.

“Not as lovely as a woman traveling alone,” he says, giving me every reason to be rude. My smile drips away as if he splashed it from my face. “Where’s your menfolk?”

“Swimming,” I say with practiced ease. We’ve encountered this scenario a thousand times since fleeing Leopold. Even the children have practiced the procedure. Phin hides beneath the surface, waiting in the murky water to pull this stranger under by his ankles while I try the more diplomatic approach. “My husband loves an evening swim before retiring.”

“He left you all by your lonesome—”

“Oh no, he swims nearby,” I say with a curt head nod. “I bet he’s watching us right now. Please, do you need help? Have we traded with you before?”

It’s one last hope that he’s a trader who is more comfortable bartering with a man. I’ve met a few of those, too. They’re harmless—just as skittish as I am—most either have strict religious rules that keep them from doing business with a woman or an overbearing person in their life who makes them keep their distance from women. We usually part ways when they realize I won’t call my husband to greet them. They curse me as they retreat, but words have no power over me.

“No, darlin’,” he drawls. “We’re strangers in a temporary sense. Do you reckon we could get acquainted before your husband returns? Him beingswimmingand all.”

Something about the inflection of hisvoice when he says swimming suggests he believes I’m without a husband. Phin can’t hear the exchange from below and waits for me to jump in the water as his signal to attack. I’m half tempted to jump in just so I don’t have to fight off this guy’s advances. But crude behavior is no reason to add another death to Phin’s list of victims. We don’t need anything on this man’s person—I doubt he has two nickels to rub together. He hasn’t touched me, and I won’t give him the opportunity.

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