PulpLit.net

Scary Toronto Fairytale

Was paid my first visit of the season by the Smog Frog today.

It can't be good that the phenomenon is common enough that a name naturally suggests itself.

The Smog Frog is like a little nuissance fairy that visits cities that love cars and lack any kind of geographically-induced ventilation system, so the only time the air is clean between June and October is for the first 10 minutes immediately following a thunderstorm.

After it's been warm for a few days, the whole city starts to feel greasy and grimy. The atmosphere thickens and sticks to your skin and if you look at the horizon, you think it might rain unless you follow the blackness up, way up, right over your head and see it fade to yellow where it ought to be blue or grey.

This is when the Smog Frog comes a-calling. He does not announce himself. He simply sits quietly while you work, as most frogs tend to do during daylight hours, and waits until you answer the phone. You go about your business, convinced that you're alone, and then, when you least expect it, as soon as you open your mouth to speak--

CROAK--

And you clear your throat and try to speak normally as you think to yourself, "That's funny, I don't have allergies or a cold." And that, my friends, is the work of the Smog Frog.

Next up: the Smog Frog's meanest little friends, Hairy the Headache and Barry-o-metric the Pressure Beast.