Missy and Harry stand at the bank of a retention pond behind a small brick house.

"Can Nugget swim in it?" Missy says.

"Yeah, I think so," Harry says.

"It looks dirty, there are tires in it," she says.

"We will ask Stacy," he says.

"If Nugget can swim in it we should sign today," she says.

"Yes," he says.

"That would make it perfect," she says.

"It sure would," he says.

Missy bends down and picks up a very flat rock. She flings it sidearm at the water and it skips along the surface three times before disappearing.

"These are good skipping rocks," she says.

"They do seem that way," he says.

"If we move here, we will get really good at this," she says.

"We could have contests when we grill out," he says.

Harry bends down and picks up a rock of his own. It takes eight skips before sinking.

"Eight skips! Where'd you learn to do that?" she says.

"My brother, he taught me," he says.

"Oh," she says.

Inside they sit down on a linoleum floor in an empty room. The walls are paneled with wood.

"Is this the living room?" she says.

"I'd say so," he says.

"I've never seen floors like this in a living room," she says.

"We could really do something with this," he says.

"I can see us watching football in here," she says.

"Me too," he says.

"And our very first fireplace. Did your brother teach you to build fires too?" she says.

"No," he says.

Missy smiles. Harry's phone rings.

"Hello," he says.

"Hey Stacy," he continues.

"No problem at all, we are in here just looking around."

"Yeah, the back door was open."

"Take your time."

He ends the call and returns the phone to his pocket.

"He's running late," Harry says.

"Damn," Missy says.

"Fifteen minutes," he says.

"Maybe we should write down our questions," she says.

"I'll get my notebook out of the car," he says.

"Wait," she says.

"What?" he says.

"I thought Stacy was a girl," she says.

"Nope. He sounded upset. I don't think he's happy we are already inside," he says.

"The door was open," she says.

"That's what I told him," he says.

"We want him to sell it to us, we don't want to look desperate," she says.

"No notebook?" he says.

"No notebook," she says.

In an empty bedroom, Missy opens the blinds. The next-door neighbor is gardening.

"She would be a great neighbor I bet," he says.

"She could teach us to have green thumbs," she says.

"That would be perfect," he says.

"It would be," she says.

Stacy arrives in an old red pickup truck. They watch him from the window. He parks behind their car. He waves to the neighbor. She waves back. He stops at Missy and Harry's car and peers into the driver's side window.

"That's strange," he says.

"Yes," she says.

"He is older than he sounded on the phone," he says.

"Older and not a girl," she says.

They find Stacy examining the back door where they entered. He opens and closes it a few times.

"You must be Harry and Missy," Stacy says.

"That's us," Missy says.

"Nice to meet you," Harry says.

He examines the hinges and checks the locks. He shakes his head.

"Normally, I let the police deal with problems like this," Stacy says.

"Problems?" Harry says.

"The door was open when we got here," Missy says.

"Well, it wasn't me," Stacy says.

They glance at each other. Stacy notices. He takes off his glasses and massages his eyes.

"What kind of vacuum cleaner do you own?" Stacy says.

"The normal kind," Missy says.

"How often do you use it?" Stacy says.

"Once a week," Harry says.

Stacy laughs and puts his glasses back on.

"That's what I thought. Carpet is meant to be vacuumed daily. It's okay. You didn't know, most people don't."

Stacy leads them down a hall to a bedroom.

"How old do you think this carpet is?" Stacy says.

"I don't know," Harry says.

"Three?" Missy says.

"Add twenty to that," Stacy says.

"Twenty-three years old?" Harry says.

"And it looks brand new because it was vacuumed daily when me and my wife lived here," Stacy says.

"Wow," Missy says.

"I know," Stacy says.

Stacy looks at his watch and sighs.

"Well, you've seen the place on your own, do you have any questions?" Stacy says.

"Can our dog swim in the pond?" Missy says.

"Sure. I don't recommend it for you, but I imagine it's okay for dogs. Anything else?" Stacy says.

"No," they say together.

Stacy leads them into the kitchen and pulls a stack of papers out of a drawer. He slams it shut. Harry and Missy flinch.

"This is the rental application. I don't expect to see either of you again, and I can't afford to give one to everybody that comes in here. If you are truly interested, if you're ready to commit to vacuuming every single day, you can take one with you to fill out," Stacy says.

They take one. Stacy lets them out through the front door but stays inside. They get in their car and wait. Stacy's truck is blocking them from leaving.

"What an ass," she says.

"I wouldn't live in that place in a million years," he says.

"Never," she says.

"It's ugly," he says.

She crumples the application into a ball and throws it in the back seat.

"Wooden walls?" she says.

"Stacy as our landlord?" he says.

"Impossible," she says.

"What the hell is he doing in there?" he says.

"Probably vacuuming," she says.

They both laugh until they are teary-eyed. They stop and continue to wait.

"He doesn't realize he is blocking us," he says.

"I'll tell him," she says.

Missy jumps out of the car and heads back inside. She hears the vacuum cleaner the moment she opens the door. She grins. She can't wait to tell Harry she was right. Her smile is interrupted by another sound, someone singing, or maybe laughing. She walks into a hallway full of closed doors. At the end of the hall, one door is slightly ajar. Missy can see Stacy pushing and pulling the vacuum cleaner with his right hand while holding the cord with his left. He is too caught up in his task to notice Missy. The other sound is not a person singing. The other sound is not a person laughing. Stacy sobs as he maneuvers the vacuum cleaner around the room.

"He is in the bathroom," Missy says.

"You could've knocked and let him know," Harry says.

"I think he may be sick. Plus I didn't want him to shoot me through the bathroom door," Missy says.

Harry chuckles.

"You can get around his truck if you're careful," she says.

Missy stands behind the car and directs Harry as he steers around Stacy's truck. They drink too much at dinner, and Missy laughs at everything Harry says.

The end.

Marsha and Ann were notified after an unexpected discovery at their old research site. A bald cypress estimated to be over 2,000 years old. A discovery worthy of publication, overlooked by two biologists who specialize in finding rare trees. It didn't look good. They took a weekend trip to see the tree for themselves.

Ann maneuvered her truck down the muddy road and parked beside Marsha's hatchback. Marsha wasn't in her car, so Ann hiked towards the tree. She spotted it from 200 yards away. Ancient and gigantic, it was eighty feet tall and had a diameter close to ten feet. How had they missed it? Along the path she nearly stepped on a raccoon skeleton, picked clean and bleached white. Ann kept walking. She could see Marsha kneeling at the tree's base with her open hands pressed against the bark.

"Marsha!" Ann yelled excitedly.

"Ann! You've got to touch this tree. It's unique," Marsha said, giggling.

Her eyes were bloodshot. Her shirt was wet with dark yellow sweat.

"Are you drunk?" Ann said.

"Nope. Touch the tree."

Ann reached towards the tree. Marsha's smile stretched wider. Ann looked at Marsha's hands, which had not left the tree since she arrived. Something was off. Ann shook her head and pulled back.

"Touch the fucking tree!" Marsha screamed through her smile.

"Why?"

"Everything you've been carrying. It just goes away," Marsha said.

"Let go of the tree. You're not well."

"I can't," Marsha whispered.

Ann lunged and pulled Marsha's hands from the tree. For just a moment, her hands free, something cleared in her eyes. She looked at Ann. She looked at her hands. Then she growled and shoved Ann aside and grabbed the tree again.

"Please, don't do that," Marsha said.

"Do you understand what's happening?" Ann said.

"I think so," Marsha said.

"Okay. We're biologists. Talk to me like a biologist."

"We didn't miss anything. It wasn't here during our research," Marsha said.

"Impossible," Ann said.

"It's not a tree. It only looks like a tree."

"A carnivorous plant?" Ann said.

"Not a plant. I can feel its giant heart beating. It looks however it needs to look. Camouflage. When you touch it, it takes the pain away. Once you feel it, you can't let go," Marsha said.

"Venom?" Ann said.

"It waits to be touched, delivers the venom, waits for its prey to die. Then it eats," Marsha said.

"Why did you want me to touch it?"

"The feeling. It's indescribable. I'm sorry," Marsha said.

"I'm getting help!" Ann said.

Ann sprinted back through the forest. She'd have to drive to the main road for cell reception. When she touched the door of her truck, joy jolted through her body. No, it was better than joy. The worry. The sadness. The fear. All gone.

She looked down. Her hands weren't on the door handle. It didn't feel like metal. It looked like the bark of a cypress tree. She looked around. The forest. The tree. Somehow she was back at the cypress tree. Both hands were pressed flat against the bark. She thought about pulling them away, but the thought dissolved before it could take hold.

She could feel the venom moving through her. But she hadn't touched the tree? She thought about Marsha, grabbing her wrists, pulling her hands away. Had that been enough?

Marsha was beside her, arms wrapped around the trunk, cheek pressed against the bark, mouth hanging open, eyes fixed on nothing. A strand of drool ran down her cheek. Ann said her name. Then said it again. Marsha didn't blink.

Beside her, bones. A pile of them, small and large. She could identify at least three skulls. How had she missed them earlier?

She could still save Marsha. Somehow she knew that. But the thought was distant now, like something she'd meant to do a long time ago.

The heartbeat of the thing that looked like a cypress tree pulsated through her fingers. She knew she should be terrified. But all she felt was pure, beautiful magnificence. She smiled and waited.

Dr. Porch's idea was simple. Using existing technology, he would tweak the genes of an individual American toad (Anaxyrus americanus) to cause it to grow larger. An adult American toad grows to a length of approximately four inches. Dr. Porch hoped to create a toad that would grow to twelve inches.

The egg containing the modified embryo hatched, and the tadpole metamorphosed a month later. A toadlet the size of a pencil eraser began its terrestrial life. An undergraduate research assistant named him Bufo. Within a few weeks, Bufo was the size of a marble. At the end of year two, Bufo was thirteen inches long. There was a small celebration with champagne in the lab. A few newspapers wrote about the breakthrough.

Dr. Porch expected Bufo to stop growing, but Bufo started growing faster. At the beginning of year four, he was the size of a cocker spaniel. By the end of year four, he had eaten a cocker spaniel and was still hungry. In year five, Bufo created waves that destroyed cities while swimming across the Gulf of Mexico. By year six, he was too large to kill, no matter what the armies of the world tried. In year seven, the weather changed based on Bufo's location.

We have a clear view of the earth's surface from our vantage point on the International Space Station. It has been eleven months since we heard from Mission Control. I can see Bufo covering most of Africa. I can count the warts on his back. With Bufo's added mass, the earth no longer spins. It wobbles. The station's orbital path has become dangerously unpredictable. It is only a matter of time. If by some miracle there are survivors and someone reads this, tell my daught—

The End