Chapter Text
A goose stands ready on third base, feathered tentacles wiping gravel away. The sun, sacred sun, beats down as ought it should. But something obstructs it, tries to cover it over. It hasn’t quite managed it yet though, and shadows hang in crescents on the ground. The game moved on.
In a pub on Bishop’s Hill, Sutton Bishop, Somerset, Goose; a small crowd watched on TV. Nowhere near the whole town, just the most ardent fans. Could be the last game of the season after all, and they wanted to see just what their favourite player would get up to now they were out of the running.
The sky inched darker, the sun inched away; thinner crescents, fewer beams. Cut off by... something. The umpires glared deeper than normal. Sutton, for its part, honked. Someone’d just walked up to second, and couldn’t imagine the absolute surprise they were in for when they hit third. To be pecked in the shins by a mad goose, only oone of its three heads dulled by the blall in its mouth, while being tripped and having your hat and keys stolen simultaneously. Truly a unique experience to say the least.
But they’d never reach third base.
🌞
A field in the countryside grew dark, twilight dark. It was late, and young Bishop “Billy” Sutton was playing in a field. Cricket bat in hand he walked over to “catch” his blall. Picking it up from the ground, it occured how late it was. He must have been missing the game, but it’s okay. There’ll be another season.
Something bright stepped up to the plate. Hard to look at, but one of Sutton’s heads just stared and uttered a taunting Honk. It was the brightest thing on the field now, even the stadium lights dimmed. Solar powered after all, and now the sun was, finally, gone.
It was the first base ump that did it, barreling across the field with an inhuman, inaudible scream. It crossed the mound, tone lowering through the supersonic range now. Eugenia Bickle dove out of the way hoping it would pass, then turned as all eyes in the stadium did to follow. This had happened before, just this game, and they knew exactly what it meant. Their hearts all, together, sunk when they saw who.
One head focused on its next gaff, the trick for the runner on second. One poked around at the dandelions in the field, picking one up in its mouth. And one simply stared it down.
🌞
“Oi now, where’s the game?” Bishop Sutton Jr. Shouted over the disappointed cries. Mrs. Bishop Sutton-Dripping tried to shift the antenna to pull it in, someone just whacks the side of the old TV. The sky grows dark around the pub on old Bishop’s Hill.
The young boy tosses up another pitch and wallops it, cheering himself at the home run he knew he’d have hit, were it a game. He chases the blall over a hill, it sits just beyond the crest, and he bends to pick it up.
Then looks at the sky.
🔥
At the final moment, before the flames reach the eldritch goose, all its heads finally turn together, becoming one. It’s realized, as well somithing like it can, what’s happening. With comedic finality, Sutton Bishop lets out, dropping the dandelion as it does, one final Honk.
Everyone in Sutton Bishop, Somerset, Goose has run to the pub. All except little Billy Sutton, whose mother is still shouting out for him. It’s reached the edge of town now, already taking the barns and farms, the fields and roads. The fields where Billy was. A mother’s voice called out again into the inferno, swirling, spiraling around. Even the sky burned away, revealing some incomprehensible space too vast to understand beyond. A mother cried into the blaze. “Mum!” pierced the roar, and up the hill ran Billy Bishop, right into his mother’s safe arms.
They both pulled back into the pub, a little packed but still fitting them all comfortably. The TV buzzed in the corner, showing a small yellow dandelion tumbling through the air in a field of flame. As the eclipse ended, through the windows of the pub, they got their first glimpse of real, raw sun in years.
🔥
On Bishop’s Hill, Sutton Bishop, Somerset, England, there stands a small, lonely old pub, surrounded by a scorched valley all around.