Tiny croaks

The croaking of the frog didn’t bother her too much. Not at first, anyway. She lived in a rural area, not too far from town, but far enough that she could see plenty of wildlife if she looked closely enough.

She dimly heard the ‘ribbit’ of the creature from the comfort of her floral armchair. The television was on, of course, but she wasn’t paying too much attention to it. She was drifting, not quite sleeping and not quite not.

The croaking of the frog stayed steadily in the background, every so often capturing the woman’s attention for a few seconds before she was carried onward by other, louder sounds.

Nearly an hour after she’d first heard the throaty call of the frog, the woman rose from her chair, slipping quietly across her carpeted floor to her kitchen. She wanted a cup of tea; Lady Grey to be exact.

In the brightly lit, white tiled kitchen, adjacent to the TV room, the croaking was louder. Not tremendously so, but enough to cause a tic in the woman’s head. The sound, although not loud, was an annoyance, now.

The woman looked out the small window over the kitchen sink, but saw no tree frogs clinging to the mesh screen. She searched the low grass outside with her sharp eyes, but no signs of any toads there, either.

Sighing, determined to ignore the grating sound, the woman turned to the sink. She twisted the shiny knob, holding her battered tea kettle beneath the arched faucet. The water she expected to flow, didn’t.

The woman heard the water running through the pipes, but nothing was pouring out into the waiting kettle. She leaned forward, straining to hear over the croaking. But the croaking only grew louder.

When the brilliant green tree frog popped, with a wet sucking sound, from the faucet, the woman just stared in horror. When the second and third tiny frogs landed in her kettle, she dropped the metal and stepped backward. It wasn’t until the sink was full of emerald, lime, olive, yellow and red spotted frogs did she think to flee.

By then, it was too late.

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