Free The Grasshopper Trap by Patrick F. McManus Page A

followed the river through the swamp, and it occurred to me that the fishing back in there might be fantastic.
    â€œYou ever hear of anybody who followed the river through the swamp?” I asked Rancid, interrupting his account of a tree-climbing rabbit.
    â€œThe only person Ah ever heard of to foller the river through the swamp is me. And Ah didn’t have to hear ’cause it was me what done it.”
    â€œYou never told me that.”
    â€œWaal, thar’s a whole lot Ah ain’t told you, mainly ’cause you don’t pay attention to what Ah tries to teach ya. Now iffen you was more like Birdy here, instead of bein’such a smarty-pants, you might larn somethin’.”
    Birdy gave me one of his smug smiles. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was smug smiles from gullible guys like Birdy.
    â€œOh, yeah?” I said. “If you know so much about the swamp, Rancid, why don’t we ever go back in there fishing?”
    Rancid thought for a moment. “Thar’s a lot of strange critters back in the swamp. Ah seed a killer bat the size of
a goat in thar. Might of got me, too, ’cept Ah managed to git outta the swamp whilst it was still daylight. A feller shore wouldn’t want to git caught back in thar after dark, Ah can tell you thet!”
    â€œSure,” I said. “Listen, it’s still early morning. Why don’t we build a raft and float the river through the swamp? I bet we can catch some terrific fish.”
    â€œAh ain’t too hot fer the idear mawsef, what with the killer bat and all.”
    â€œBirdy,” I said, “it’s bad enough you believe everything Rancid says, but talking like him is too much.”
    â€œSorry,” Birdy said.
    â€œWhat do you say, Rancid?” I said. “Let’s build a raft and float the river through the swamp.”
    â€œMight be kinder fun,” Rancid said. “Shore, let’s do it! Ah got a saw and ax in the back of the truck. We can whup together a raft in no time.”
    Birdy looked wildly from me to Rancid. “But what about the killer bat, Mr. Crabtree?”
    â€œKiller bat?” Rancid said. “Oh, the killer bat. Waal, we don’t have to worry ’bout him lessen we gets caught in the swamp after dark. As Ah recollects, it only takes three or four hours to float down to the road. We’ll be outta the swamp no later than noon.”
    Rancid’s predictions had a way of sending chills down my spine. I didn’t for an instant believe his story about the killer bat, but just on principle I didn’t want to be caught out in the swamp after dark. It was still only about eight in the morning, however, and since Rancid’s prediction had a margin of error of approximately eight hours of daylight, I knew there was no way we wouldn’t be through the swamp by sundown.

    Immediately after sundown, one of the first things I noticed about the swamp was that it had become excessively creepy. We had been lost for hours. The bleached skeletons of long-dead trees seemed to take on a ghostly glow in the fading light. Wispy strands of moss reached down for us like long gray fingers from the overhanging limbs. Darkness oozed into the swamp from all sides and began to close in on us. There was a stillness in the air, broken only by the sounds of water burbling against the raft, the splashes of our poles, and a strange, eerie moaning.
    â€œFor cripes sake, Birdy!” I said. “Would you stop your dang eerie moaning! It’s getting on my nerves!”
    â€œWe’re never gonna find our way out of here, I just know it!” Birdy whined.
    â€œGo back to the eerie moaning,” I said.
    Rancid, seated on an apple box in the middle of the raft, scratched the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. He had early on assumed the dual positions of captain and navigator of the craft, while Birdy and I did the poling.
    â€œWhat are you thinking about,