You still have reservations, and try your damndest to find an excuse to not follow this 200-some-odd- (going on twelve) year-old brat into the woods. Being the
decent person you are, you realize that if she's telling the truth, these boys will transform back completely naked the following morning.
"Hey, what are you gonna do with the boys in the meantime?" you implore, "They're gonna change back in the morning. What if they get lost? or captured? They're
not gonna have any clothes to put on!" you say as you point to the bloodied scraps of shirts and shorts scattered all over the grass.
"You know, I never gave a rat's ass about those kinds of things before," she says without resolve. You stare at her with wonder, as you simply don't expect
10-year old girls to say those types of things. Of course, you remind yourself, she has been around for quite a while longer than that...
"I need some place to take them! They'll be captured by morning for sure," you say as the pig that was Aaron makes a start for the woods. You and Red follow; it
takes the effort of the both of you to shove him back into the playground clearing, by which time the other three pigs are huddled around a brown sack on the
blacktop. It seems they've discovered their former selves' uneaten McDonald's dinners.
"What to do with these guys," you press Red, who seems flustered at her new dilemma.
"... I suppose you can take the boys to an old lakehouse I know," she suggests, "It's in the park; I'll show you the way..."
A lake in the park? You wonder how in the world you missed this whole place in all your years of living here.
"Exactly what is this house again, Red?"
"It's my grandma's summer cottage. I suppose the boys can stay in Wolfie's pen until the morning," she says as she starts rummaging through the tattered remains of
the boys' clothing. "... hmmmm... They can definitely still wear some of this."
Red inspects the clothing one-by-one. "Here's Aaron's tank top," she says, "What else... oh, Jerry's shorts made it off alright... hmmmmm.... no, not that... not
that... ewww, definitely not that..."
She picks up a shoe, "This looks alright; where's the other one?" You spot it, and show Red. The fabric of the second shoe has stretched, the strings have popped,
and it looks like the side of it was blown out. "Nah, this pair's trash," you say, "I'm sure the boys will want their hats back, though," you muse as you scoop up four
undamaged caps. Red facetiously glances a smirk back in your direction.
You and Red begin the choresome swineherding toward the lake, packing up all the salvageable clothes and tatters while prodding four pigs through seemingly
endless woods in an enigmatic park, which, in your opinion, didn't exist a week ago. The novelty of the fact that the pigs are actually four transformed preteen boys
has somehow worn off on you, and your apprehension toward this centuries-old snot has gradually disappeared as well.
"Do you have any towels at this house?" you ask, still bantering with the girl over the insignificant issue of the boys' nakedness. She shakes her head, no, "All the
towels come home with us in the fall."
You try again, "What about any blankets or sheets?"
"We have one bed in the guest bedroom, but you absolutely CANNOT under any circumstances touch anything in there," she says sternly, "That was my mother's
bedroom."
You stare at her curiously.
"My mother was killed about sixty years ago. Grandma is very superstitious about unnerving the dead, and... well, frankly, so am I... well, uh... just a little..."
As the two of you come to a clearing, you look out over the pristine lake before you. The view is fantastic! You can't imagine how so serene a location is anywhere
near the bustling city you call your home.
"The house is over here," she says as she opens a noisy wooden gate. One by one, she prods the pigs into the small fence, and shuts the door.
"There!" you exclaim, proud of your charity to the boys.
Red takes you inside the cottage. The place is extraordinarily clean, and although you suppose the air-conditioning could be a bit more than it is, you can't complain
with the strange convenience of shelter at all. Especially under these unusual circumstances.
Red is quick to point out her late mother's room. "Here! You are NOT to touch anything in HERE! Understand?"
"Yes," you say without hesitation.
"Good. It was nice to meet you. I trust you will find this suitable for the evening?"
"Yes," again.
"Good," again, "I'll be off. Good night."
You lay yourself down on the couch in the main room. There's nothing to do. The house is empty. You refresh yourself on the events of the evening: 1) discovering
strange new park in the city bigger than Delaware; 2) watching four boys transform into swine; 3) meeting a duocentegenarian; and 4) sleeping in this barren house
on a lake you don't know where the hell it came from, or where the hell you are, or what the hell you're doing, but you damn know for sure that those boys are not
going to wake up in the middle of some dew-stained forest lost and naked.
"Oh yeah," you remember, "sheets? sheets? sheets?" ....