“They’ve been sitting in the diner since morning. Not saying anything. Just sitting.”
“Frog men.” He said. “Frog men?” She asked. “Definitely.” He said.
That night the twins crawled out of the house quietly. They slithered all the way to the lighthouse.
“The only real evidence is the complete absence of children in the village”, he said while jotting notes.
After twelve hours of trying every possible combination he started randomly punching in numbers, first tentatively then viciously.
At the back of the meeting, the old curmudgeon whittled quietly. Then he cleared his throat, stood, and told them how to lift the curse.
Villagers escorted them to the edge of the marsh. They were handed a lamp full of fireflies and a satchel of bear meat.
What was that in the distance? Metal lattice, dangling cables, but it might have had a tail too.
Bells were heard, then afterward, a gigantic sloshing noise.
Tables hurriedly pulled into the center of the room, giant steel coffee machine overturned and dragged into the middle. “Quickly” he urged.
The old man at the bar didn’t look at them, but said “You’ll have to give something up before you leave.”
There was rust around the edges, and the paint was peeling. But maybe with a little luck it would run long enough to get them out of town.
As they neared the lighthouse, the synesthesia became stronger, associating seemingly random things and senses with one another.
In the lighthouse there was the ceremonial hierarchy printed on aluminium placards for quick reference.
They stood on either side of the container. Carefully they flipped the latches and lifted up the cover.