Lump

Frog Trap

Frog Trap

IF I DREW A SCHEMATIC of what I wanted, Boyd could make it. His shop was called “I Made It,” featuring any number of homemade items: lamps, toasters, microwaves. You name it, Boyd made it.

He put on his glasses and examined the drawing. “Frog trap?” he asked.

“I need it Friday,” I said.

The device was simple: frog swims in, can’t swim out. The frog was not an ordinary frog. It was smart. It reasoned. It was . . . different.

Boyd delivered. I eagerly took the trap to the pond and placed it in the shallow water. After a while, the alarm sounded, and inside the trap was the frog. I cackled maniacally and pulled it out. I stared into its face.

There was a splat, and I looked down into the watery eyes of hundreds of frogs. I was surrounded. I looked at the frog in my hand. His tongue lashed out, striking my eye. I dropped him and grabbed my face. When I pulled my hand away, it was covered in blood.

The others flicked their tongues. I stumbled backward and fell. One jumped onto my chest, and inched closer before shooting his tongue and snagging my other eye.

Tiny, slimy hands touched my lips and a cold mass entered my mouth. It struggled down my throat blocking my windpipe. I clawed at my throat. I gasped hard as the frog passed down into my gut.

Frogs around me croaked in anticipation. Suddenly, pain in my abdomen forced a scream from my lips. I felt a lump in my stomach with blind fingers. The resulting surges of agony split through the air with the tearing of skin and fabric. The frog climbed out.

The last thing I felt were hundreds of frogs jumping into the open wound and burrowing inside my body.