The Nuthouse, is Worser.

With a strength I’d never before seen, Hercuirrel, pulled the passenger door off the car like it was so much tissue paper.

Two flicks of its claws and my wife’s seat belt was in shreds and she’d been caught in one of the squirrels claws.

“How are you Atrian?” Herc peered hard at me. “Has this meathead treated you well?”

“Well, darling, you know what they’re like. They do their best you know.”

I blinked. My wife was getting decidedly smaller, and hairier.

“That’s good,” Herc said. “At least I won’t be forced to kill him.”

“Oh, no, darling don’t to that, he has to go back and look after the children.”

“Children?” Herc struck his breast as if in agony. “Have I been gone that long dearest?” He pulled my wife into a huge hug.

“Decades, darling, absolutely decades.”

“Hey, uhm, that’s my wife, er, squirrel you’re holding there.”

Ignoring me Herc picked up the rock with a note on it and read the message.

“One ton of English walnuts by midnight, or you’ll never see the kids again.”

View this story's 1 comments.