Frogs of the Dark River



  If you enjoy this tale, others are available.

  Other Works by W.F. Gigliotti include:

  THE QUIVERING ZOMBIE

  THE HAMMERED ZOMBIE

  KINETIC CUT AND RUN

  HER AGITATED DEMONS

  And the short story …

  WHEN A FOX TAMES A LION

  This is a copyrighted work.

  Any resemblance to anyone – real or unreal – is just a coincidence, and should be treated as such.

  No frogs were harmed in the making of this story. No human beings were harmed either, because humans are also an important species.

  Visit me at

  https://wfgigliotti.wordpress.com

  FROGS OF THE DARK RIVER

  A Tiny Rose (A Short Story),

  By W.F. Gigliotti

  Love is a double edged blade

  Fraught with risk and peril in its handling

  But when that love is true

  The blade can melt itself down with its own Heat

  Rendering it free of its often perilous intent.

  “We can find you a boyfriend,” that crazy old woman had told her.

  And now, here she was, standing by the river, thinking about doing the thing that she had told herself she was not going to do.

  The river looked as black as the night sky. So black it was that it reflected perfectly the starlight from above, even in its many small waves and as the water rushed by. The starlight danced off of the moving water’s surface and onto the surrounding trees, and onto the twenty robed women standing in a line on the river's edge. Their robes were black, just like the water. The twenty women waited, the hoods of their robes covering their faces. The only sounds were that of the water flowing past and the frogs on the small wooded island halfway across the narrow river.

  Five paces from the shore, situated like a smaller island, was a large boulder. The top of the boulder was just high enough to clear the waves, yet was still low enough that it was still slick with the river's warm water. Situated upon the boulder was a large bullfrog that faced the twenty black-robed women.

  It was larger than a normal bullfrog, by Eva’s reckoning, easily twice the size of the largest one that Eva had ever seen. The specimen, Eva thought. That must be it. Even in the darkness, Eva could see its bulbous stomach expanding and contracting beneath it.

  Eva was at the far left of the line of young women. She had been instructed by the others to try to leave behind her identity, to even go as far as to forget her own name, if that were possible. How could she forget her own name? Who does that sort of thing? Who can?

  "Shed your identity. Shed who you are. Shed your humanity, for you won't need it where you're going." It was one of the mantras that they all were required to memorize. “Just breathe,” they told her. “Just ‘be.’ Be one with your surroundings.”

  She had told herself that she was in this strictly for the money, and that she wouldn’t have to go to any extremes. But something was tugging at her, some alluring curiosity, and an almost intangible heat of some sort. If an idea could produce heat, this was the one.

  This all started when she had seen an ad in the newspaper, promising quick and good pay, and low hours, along with a possible adventure unlike any other. Nothing wrong with that, she had thought, so she called the number, despite her grandmother’s misgivings about her being foolish and naive.

  When Eva had called the number, an old woman had answered the phone. The old woman sounded like someone who would likely keel over and die of old age at any given moment, and one who had also been a smoker for eight decades.

  "Do you believe in fairy tales?" the old decrepit voice had asked her.

  "Um, no," Eva answered.

  "Then you'll fit right in," the old woman said. Eva had imagined some frail, slight woman smiling at the other end of the line when she had said that. "We'll send you a packet. Only use what is in the packet, and do not call this number again."

  She had waited for the packet, though that wasn’t exactly true. She couldn’t have been more skeptical about this strange situation. She went to work daily, just like she always had. She took care of her Grandmother, just like she always had. It didn’t take long for her to forget about the “packet” while she waited for it. It finally showed up four weeks later, after she had forgotten about it completely.

  “For the eyes of Eva Portincort only!” it had said in large bold letters.

  Eva remembered opening the large yellow envelope. It was thick and bulging, the same nondescript kind of packaging that she usually received whenever she ordered herself something. She opened it with a single rip with one of the kitchen knives, careful not to injure the contents. Inside was a plastic bag that contained something black wrapped in more clear plastic, along with a small note. She poked her index finger into the soft plastic and ripped it open. Inside was a black robe. She remembered putting it on. It fit perfectly and it was warm and soft. She smiled a bit, knowing that she would likely use the robe later, after she had completed this “job,” or whatever it was that she was getting herself involved with. Her old robe was worn, torn and was for a long time a candidate for the trash.

  Eva looked at the dark waters of the river as the waves rippled past. Her mind was suddenly back to the present moment for a second, a small reprieve from her idle remembrances. Remain calm, she thought. She closed her eyes and let the soothing sound of the passing waters help keep her thoughts in check.

  She could smell the scent of sweet rain after the rain’s end.

  The note in the packet had given her an address. “No appointment needed,” the letter had said. “We are always here. Just walk in.”

  On her next day off, she had decided to give it a shot.

  The office was small, to put it mildly - one door that led in to a tiny office, and one door that led to a larger back room. Within the tiny office stood a metal desk, along with who she imagined was the old woman from the phone call. Eva sat down in the only other chair available. “We are a secret organization,” the old woman told her before taking another drag on her cigarette. “We are a dating service.”

  “A secret dating service? Really,” Eva said as she looked around. All she saw was a Yellowstone National Park calendar with a few X’s over some random dates and the desk that the old woman was sitting at. The walls were bare. The floor was unpainted concrete. The old woman had had nothing else with her, not even a purse of some sort. What on Earth did this woman do during all those long hours when nobody showed up? How many long hours did this decrepit old woman have to sit at this desk, just looking at the blank walls and the cheap calendar, with nothing else to occupy her time?

  “We are not public about our organization,” the old woman said. Her voice had scratchiness to it, like old worn out sandpaper. “My name is Karyan Bogdanian. And I am the owner.”

  “How can you be a successful dating service if you are secret?” Eva asked. Her eyes had been gravitating to the calendar on the wall, for the old woman’s judgmental eyes were always locked on hers, and that kind of thing always made Eva feel uncomfortable and look elsewhere.

  Eva had trouble re-pronouncing the old woman’s name.

  The old woman, Karyan Bogdanian, just looked at Eva, unmoving, for a few more excruciating seconds, and then she said, “The ads we run are for our helpers, but the ads are also particularly good at attracting clients as well. In fact, all of our clients in the past had been hired on as helpers, initially. The latest round of clients is ready. We just need to train the helpers.”

  “So how can I help?” Eva asked. She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were hurting and her palms had been sweating. She had been rubbing her fingers together nervously since she had arrived, without t
hinking about it.

  "We can find you a boyfriend," the old woman told her.

  That statement shocked her. It wasn’t any kind of answer to her question, and was quite bold. For a moment, Eva didn’t have any words. She chuckled a little and looked into the old woman’s eyes. Those eyes no longer seemed judgmental. Those eyes showed empathy, and maybe even pity, as if this old woman actually cared about her well-being. The old woman smiled at her again. Karyan’s dentures were many shades whiter than the original teeth that she still possessed, and only a few of those remained. The old woman’s eyes then focused onto Eva’s eyes again. Eva felt another nervous chill run through her. The old woman took a deep breath, choked on her breath for a couple of seconds, and then lit up another cigarette. This woman did not know her. It had only been five minutes, at the most. A boyfriend? The old woman had suggested a boyfriend. Ridiculous.

  "I am ugly as sin," Eva told the old woman as Eva suddenly stood up from her chair. She pointed her finger at the old woman. "I am Evangeline Portincort. I am so ugly that every time my momma looked at me when I was a wee babe, she winced.” She paused to see a reaction in the old woman. There was none. Eva started pacing about the small room, which amounted to only three paces in each direction. She was angry. Why am I angry? Eva thought. She locked eyes with the old woman again. “I am the rotten apple that fell off of the