A Box of Weeds

Hiding Out

My brother and I raced toward the gap, barely big enough for us to squeeze through.

“Hurry! In here!” Once safely inside, we relaxed a little.

“They’ll never find us in here,” I tried to catch my breath. It had been a long run. Our mischievous antics almost, once again, proved fatal. The ramshackle garden shed behind the abandoned house on the corner featured a big splintered hole in the back, which gave temporary shelter.

My brother and I were a well-known couple of neighborhood rascals. The urge to cause mayhem and destruction struck often, and there was no holding us back.

“Hey, Jasper, what was that stuff?” my brother asked.

“You mean the stuff he sprayed at us?”

He nodded. I had no idea. We were picking on Mr. Crowley’s chickens and he sprayed some reddish liquid at us from a can. We shot off and hid behind a bush and watched with amusement as some of the spray was carried by a breeze into the house.

Soon, the man’s wife and child began to cough, choke and practically foam at the mouth. We watched through the picture window. Our raucous laughter angered the man and he chased us down the street and through two lawns where we finally lost him.

I shook my head. “I don’t know what that was, but I’m glad we didn’t breathe it in.”

He agreed, and we both chuckled.

“Well, what should we do now?” I asked Roly. He was older, so he usually decided on our schemes.

“I’m tired. Let’s go take a nap.”

We pushed our rotund bodies through the hole and waddled home, careful to keep out of sight from any of the pesky humans.

The world was a dangerous place for rambunctious raccoons on the prowl.

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298 Words

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