There was something about that chill autumn morning that didn’t sit well with Eli McTavish. Maybe it was the whale carcass that had appeared mysteriously on his lawn, or that the wind seemed to be calling his name, but he was put off by it.
While the coffee came to a boil, Eli stared out the window, through the mist, at the gigantic sperm whale that had crushed his pumpkin patch. Such a shame.
After breakfast, he shuffled out into the yard and found that the bloated beast was also blocking his garage door. As he stood there, looking perplexed, Eli heard insolent giggling, and the sound of a car peeling off down the street. He might have guessed it was them; they did this every year.
“Stupid punk kids!” Eli yelled after them, sucking on his dentures in disgust. “Throwing perfectly good whales at people’s houses! You’re wasting food!”