◇A Holy Rodent, a Pagoda, & a Dream◇

﷽When Officer Reichhörnchen saw the signs for free brownies, vegan gummy candies & soda pop, he had entirely forgotten who was guiding the museum tour.

He had a very pleasant walk to the hotel, where he poured himself some Fruity Pebbles with chocolate milk, two small bags of Old Dutch potato chips, and promptly curled up in first chair inside his room and fell asleep, covered in crumbs and smelling vaguely herbal.

And he dreamt of becoming the actual God of all Squirrels.

The day Punxsutawney Phil was elevated to the station of local demi-God from his position of Folk Hero brought great rejoicing.

Scratch tickets were shared, cider was spilled, and Wawa ran a special on Hoagies lasting a full week on the secret Goose menu they had changed into a small, happy animated groundhog in His honor.

With his new station came an upgraded appearance – his fur shined copper and his eyes became far larger and lighter. His cheeks (both sets) rounded and smoothed, and his voice became friendlier, more chipper. His small, scratchy-scratch nails became shiny and glittered like the night sky on each paw, and from an energy drink sponsorship, he now had tiny widdle wings on his back under his Eagles jersey.

As was tradition, Phil started on his tour of every sacred place in His Kingdom to introduce Himself to the Other gods, guardians, vaetirr, folk heroes, cryptids, and other Unseen Things.

After several rounds of drinks with Einwicher Jaeger & the Jersey Devil in Jaeger’s hunting shack full of instruments, he braced himself to visit The Pagoda, and its horrific Guardian crouched threateningly at the apex of Mount Penn.

A large green-eyed beastie of primarily silver, blue, and black, back quarters of a lion, the front paws of a wolf, a tusked face with the nose of a fox, the ears of a lynx, and the stripes of a tiger.

Three sets of terrifying wings, white, black, and bat, filled with blinking green eyeballs interspersed with feathers- except the bat wings, where they sat naked in the flesh.

Also three tails: one that appeared scaled, at first, only to reveal itself to be more like peacock feathers but with more real, blinking eyes; a tail seemingly made of fire; then one regular tail, red and fluffy, that flumped despondently in seeming boredom.

Phil was justifiably terrified. So he put onions in his pockets from his extra side at Wawa and visited The Beast.

She was, as usual, at the top of the mountain staring at a particle board wall of clocks of various types, with an expression of intense boredom.

Phil feared she was hungry.

“I don’t eat squirrels, you rat,” she stated in response to his thoughts, and gave a satisfying stretch. “Your clocks show your misconceptions clearly.”

“…My clocks? I don’t have no clock! I’m Punxsutawney Phil, God of Scratch-tickets and February Shadows!”

“A God?” she snorted. “What God fears Death?”

She took a step towards the wall of clocks.

“I thought you guard the pagoda?”

“I just live here, although some weird fucker from Philadelphia made me offerings at one time to Heal the Pagoda for some stupid human movie.”

“I know that guy!” squeaked Phil excitedly. “He is a vaetirr like me!”

“He is an idiot. I gave him permission but only if he fixed this holy house. So he did, and the movie bombed. At least I have a nicer place now thanks to his stupid… anyway, want to see the clocks?”

He truly had no interest in the clocks but felt he had no choice. Just then it struck noon, and they were both faced with a cacophony of sound. All her attention was drawn to a cuckoo clock lacquered shiny with each season depicted at the corners of its face. From a tiny little door above the dial, tiny figures emerged.

First, a tiny black cat with bright blue and gold wings seemingly ran from one door to the other, chased by an equally tiny fox with a black hat and the wings of a crow; following the fox, a crow, same size as the fox, with a little gray hat and the wing feathers of a Bluejay… and finally, a small fluffy bobcat in suspenders with the wings of a Goldfinch, chasing the crow. Once the bobcat passed the threshold and all were safely inside, hidden doors opened at each seasonal corner with the animals, each with their own instrument. The black cat had a cello, the fox a viola, the crow a violin, and the bobcat a boombah, a terrible instrument of Hell created from an old pogo stick, a bike horn, a washboard, and Christmas sleigh bells, and each tiny instrument actually worked.

Beside that clock was the lid to a toilet paper dispenser chewed with angry fangs on one side, with the three interlocking triangles circled in red paint (hopefully) and a sloppy clock face comprised of angular letters; the clock showed the wrong time. And lastly, a black block clock with letters of gold and a feather made of fibre-optics seemingly burned beneath took his attention ahead of all the more stately and magnificent clocks (and the goofy, stupid ones).

“…Are you a God of Time?” asked Phil, wide-eyed.

The Beast snorted. “I am God of nothing. I am not a God at all.” The eyes on her wings blinked like Christmas lights.

“What Are you, then?”

“Fuck if I know, some sort of horror, likely. What are you?”

“I already told you, I’m Punxsutawney Phil, God of Scratch-offs and Shadows!” replied the squirrel obstinately.

“Ah, the God of gambling addiction and lies. I think I’ll call you ‘Ol’ Scratch,” she mused.

“How dare you,” he squeaked. “People love me. You’re just jealous.”

“When people pray to win their scratch tickets, can You answer their prayers?”

“Well, no. That’s up to the state of Pennsylvania, the printers, and the board of tobacco, firearms, and gambling.”

“Do you have any control over the shadows you claim to be God of?”

“Of course not! I can’t control the Sun!” replied the marmot stubbornly.

“Then why call yourself God?”

The rodent blinked owlishly.

“Aren’t you yourself a God?” asked the squirrel timidly.

“I am a friggn’ monster, yo,” replied the Beast. “No mortal truly likes me…” But then, thoughtfully, she added, “…but I get along okay with other monsters and the Divine, I think.”

“The Divine what?! Like the drag queen from New Hope?” barked the tiny shining mammal, incredulously.

“For a spirit of Pennsylvania you really don’t know Divine isn’t a Pennsylvania native?” She laughed. “Divine is from Baltimore,” the Beast scoffed.

“I don’t know everything,” groused the groundhog. “She was performing in New Hope a while.”

“Then NYC, LA, Royal Caribbean, London, and whatever. You aren’t very good at being God, are you?”

“I do my best,” replied the woodchuck, annoyed.

“I like you better as a Bobcat, may God grant you self-knowledge. This squirrel bullshit is getting old & tired as I am… Are you going to wake up already, or do I need to tickle your bladder by describing gently flowing streams of clear water splashing as it falls…”

He woke up, & likely hexed the author in his own personal pigeon language.

– Ameen