Chelsea Hunts a Squonk

Bart squatted by the fire, greasy grey hair tucked behind his ears. “The squonk should be sleeping now, but it’ll be up in a few hours. It ain’t afraid of people or smoke, so we won’t bother it none. They eat hemlock though, and this grove is the biggest in the area.”

Chelsea Lends a Hand

Chelsea pulled out a chair. “Morgan?”
“Chelsea?”
“So what are we hunting?”
Morgan sighed as big brown eyes studied the table. “Melon-heads.”
Chelsea stopped and blinked. “You serious?”
Another sigh started the answer. “Yes. They come out of the woods every ten years or so and they’re back now.”