“You’ve been a good neighbour, Gerard, and I don’t think this needs to come between us.” Mr. Hansen had an infamous habit of inadvertently calling on nearby farmhouses at undesirable moments, but 6 a.m. on a Sunday was invasive even for him. Indicating behind him with a jerk of his thumb, he lowered his voice to a rasping whisper, “But your new swamp monster is causing a ruckus.”

“My-” The bleary eyed farmer ducked around his neighbour to peer into the front field. The sight would have torn the breath from his lungs if he wasn’t still foggy in a morning daze. An enormous frame heaving with slimy vines swayed, tall as a twiny willow on lumbering stalks of legs. Thick ropes of algae-crusted shoulders gleamed slick in the early light and hung over a beady scaled face. Gerard managed to peep out an “Oh.”

Fortunately, the creature seemed entirely unconcerned with the conversation on the doorstep.

“It’s left a good trampling all over my lettuce, those big stumpy footprints it has,” Mr. Hansen started. The two men winced at the spine-rumbling thump it made in a cumbersome attempt to shake a thorny weed from the husk of its ankle. The weed squelched to a mush in a sprinkle of bog green kelp. “Lettuce is still green as ever. Mind you, slushier than before. And gives off this uncanny stink of… oyster?”

“H-hey, it’s getting to my chickens!”

In a few steps, the monster found itself toes-deep in grain, surrounded by the birds. It sputtered in confusion as if the clucking hens were a foreign fluffy force.

Mr. Hansen, ignoring its ungraceful progress through the farm, went on, “I imagine it wouldn’t do wonders for the produce value.” Thump. “Mine or yours. Surely you could arrange to keep it somewhere else.”

“Well—I’ve never seen a swamp monster before today.”

“Neither have I, neighbour.”

“And certainly no intention of keeping it anywhere… other than out of my chicken fences.”

A fervent chicken squawked in protest as the swamp monster clumsily clobbered its nest. Gooey egg slushed underneath it as it stomped in irritation, a flock of furious fowl gathering at its toes.

“Oh that’s a shame. Your swamp monster just crushed your chicken eggs.”

“It’s not my swamp monster—” Gerard swallowed weakly as they stared on at it, towering not 100 yards from where he’d slept the night before.