Jonas and the Werefish

It was pretty foggy after that, Mr. P ate the upper half of Iris’s body, the human half, and Jonas carved the lower half, the fish part, into steaks and stored it in an ice chest. And he was ready to embark on his trip back to the salvage yard when he got a call on the CB radio.

“Jonas,” he heard the voice say. “Jonas...” and it was a voice that he recognized.

“Hey!” the familiar voice said. “What’s going on?!” she insisted. “Are you alive or dead? Do I need to send out the cavalry?”

It was Cara, the radio Dispatcher, for the wrecking yard.

“Cara?” he mumbled and opened his eyes and rolled off the couch. He wasn’t thinking about the swollen rattlesnake bite and the effect that the antivenin had had on him.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he cried out. The pain was excruciating. He could only figure that he had experienced an allergic reaction to the antivenin or injected it incorrectly, or he was allergic to the diamondback rattlesnake venom as some folks are. His mouth tasted terrible, like a mixture of rusted metal, junior mints, and old bicycle tires. And nasty looking yellow/green pus mixed with blood had seeped through the gauze he used to cover the holes in his leg left by the fangs.

“Jonas!” Cara said more insistent.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said into the handheld microphone. “I’m here, I’m here.”

“Did you eat the worm again?” she said.

“What worm?” Jonas said, still trying to shake the cobwebs out of his mind.

“The worm in the bottom of the bottle of the tequila,” she said.

“It’s not like that exactly,” Jonas said.“Then what’s it like?” she said. “I’ve been trying to get you on the radio for three days.”

“Wow,” he said. “Sorry, I got bit by a diamondback rattler.”

“Damn dude!” Cara said. “Did you get to a doctor or the hospital?”

“No,” Jonas said. “I had antivenin that I injected myself with. And I guess I had some kind of allergic reaction or something.”

“That’s freaky. So you’re okay now?” she asked.

“I guess,” Jonas said. “I’ve been unconscious or something, having a bunch of weird dreams.”

“How’s the pig?” Cara asked.

“What pig?” Jonas said.

“The pig that wandered into the salvage yard a few days ago,” Cara said, “that you decided to keep for a pet.”

“Wow again!” Jonas said. “There was a pig in my dreams and he had a dog collar with his name on it.”

“Mr. Pig,” Cara said, “or P for short?”

That’s when Jonas noticed that there was in fact a pig in his trailer... just like the one in his dreams, bedded down on a stack of pillows and old clothes in the corner.

“Okay,” Jonas said. “I’m freaking out.”

“Don’t freak out too much,” Cara said, “I’ve got a job for you, if you’re up for it. And I hope you’re up for it because I don’t have anybody else.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jonas said, “I can do it. I just need to clean up a little. What’s the job?”

“You know that chick that’s in all those commercials for that company that provides service for telephones and internet and so forth,” Cara said.

“Iris Vandertrout?” Jonas said.

“Yeah,” Cara said. “Her car had some kind of major malfunction and she needs to be towed from some weird little town I’ve never heard of...”

“Fickle Creek?” Jonas said.

“Now you’re freaking me out,” Cara said. “You said you’ve been calling me for a few days,” Jonas said. “You probably mentioned it in one of the calls.”

“I don’t think so,” Cara said.

“Whatever,” Jonas said downplaying it even though he had goosebumps and goosebumps on his goosebumps from everything Cara said. “I’ll clean up and get going.”

“One last thing,” Cara said, “and it’s weird.”

“Weirder than everything else you just told me?” Jonas said.

“There’s been a slew of UFO sightings,” she said, “all over the planet, so much that governments everywhere have acknowledged their presence, and told the people in the countries not to panic.”

“It’s not the Russians?” Jonas said.“That’s what everybody thought at first but no, it’s not the Russians,” Cara said. “They come in peace. That’s what we’ve been told.”