Lengthy Footnote Covering Unusual Disturbances at the Township Council Meeting, County Ledger Entry No. 205599428a

by Cecilia Kennedy

*A 4-H project spiraled out of control, according to eleven-year-old Ginny Cartwagon, who approached the microphone during the General Session. Her story has been relegated to the footnotes because it does not pertain to the most general portion of the business-related content for a Township Council Meeting, but it does deserve to be recorded. Ms. Cartwagon said she was conducting a food demonstration at a meeting at her house on Tuesday, June 15, 1985. When she boiled the pasta for her dish, which she bought at Buehler’s on Mayford Avenue, she and her club members noticed the pasta “spring to life” in a “most unusual way” as it started to “strangle the condiments in the pantry.” Naturally, the girls thought this behavior was funny—in fact, all in attendance at this meeting laughed upon hearing the story. The Head Councilman almost sent Ms. Cartwagon back to her seat for causing a disruption, but her mother encouraged her to go on. Ms. Cartwagon proceeded to explain that the pasta began to slither and grow like snakes. The individual strands wrapped themselves around each other to form a giant, striated worm-like creature, which “thudded” about the house and strangled other members’ projects, such as hamsters and rabbits. To put an end to the destruction, before the pasta could harm some of the smaller girls in the club, the mother brought out an alligator she was keeping in a bathtub, which is a whole other story in and of itself—and absolutely out of our jurisdiction. Of course, the entire Council, as a whole, was disgusted by Mrs. Cartwagon’s obvious lack of concern for the law, but we decided to let that go so that we could hear the rest of the story. According to Mrs. Cartwagon, the alligator, upon being freed from its tub-prison, thrashed about on its stumpy legs, while the rest of the girls ran for safety. The presence of the alligator “electrified” the pasta in such a way that it balled itself up into a pulsing, flickering coil the size of a “huge boulder” and shoved itself into the alligator’s jaws, stretching its mouth beyond what an alligator is normally capable of doing. The alligator continued to thrash about and hiss. As the pasta intruded upon the innards of the alligator, the reptile suddenly developed the ability to stand on its hind legs, roar, and use its claws to open the door of the house and escape. The last thing Mrs. Cartwagon and her daughter saw was a “scaly beast—inhuman—with dead, cold eyes—unleashed onto the town—all because of a 4-H cooking demonstration.” The whole story seemed quite unbelievable, except for the fact that the mother was shaking—and so was the daughter. There was no doubt that they were afraid. Of course, all in attendance of this meeting thought they were afraid of what they might be seeing in their heads and wondered what it would take to get them institutionalized. The Head Councilman told them they had an incredible story and motioned for the man behind them to approach the microphone and state his business—to keep the meeting going—but no one could hear what this man was saying because of the incessant scratching outside, on the door. We couldn’t figure out what it was, until Mrs. Cartwagon and her daughter screamed and begged us to bar the door. Instead, we opened the door—out of curiosity—and the minute Councilman Chambers swung that door wide open, all we could see were green scales and a hideous face with sharp teeth, claws, and a jaw dripping with bloody intestines.^[1] After it devoured a small goat in the yard, and one of the Councilmembers, it turned its ferocious and ungodly wrath upon us all. It took four sheriffs’ deputies to kill the thing. The coroner came by and examined it for what seemed like hours. He then concluded that he found “some very unusual parts”—and was leaving to “find a nest of eggs.” The press, fortunately, didn’t show up to this meeting. Normally, our meetings are too boring to warrant actual journalistic coverage. The local paper usually gets away with a template that reads, “Township Council met to discuss power lines and sewer systems,” which is usually true. So there is no record of this part of the meeting, other than this footnote to the ledger books,^[2] and a few blabbermouths that attended the meeting and are talking freely—even though we made them sign non-disclosure agreements. Also, the coroner has gone missing.

Cecilia Kennedy (she/her) taught English and Spanish language/literature in Ohio for 20 years before moving to Washington state with her family. Since 2017, she has published her stories in international literary journals, magazines, and anthologies. Her work has appeared in Pigeon Review, Maudlin House, Coffin Bell, Idle Ink, Tiny Molecules, Streetcake Magazine, Wrongdoing Magazine, Rejection Letters, Open Minds Quarterly, Headway Quarterly, Flash Fiction Magazine, Kandisha Press, Ghost Orchid Press, and others. Additionally, she enjoys being a volunteer adult beverages columnist for The Daily Drunk, a proofreader for Flash Fiction Magazine, and a concept editor for Running Wild Press. Twitter: @ckennedyhola