Croak by Gina Damico

curtains, and an information counter boasting an array of brochures for local attractions and hotels. An elegant Oriental rug ran the length of the room to the hallway beyond, and the air was noticeably permeated with clashing scents of potpourri, owing to the multitude of bowls dispersed throughout.
    Lex crinkled her nose. “It smells like a candle store in here.”
    “I know, it’s disgusting,” Uncle Mort said, poking at a pile of dried rose petals. “But it’s best not to fight her.”
    “Who?”
    “Good morning, Mort!” A plump middle-aged woman with tomato-red hair popped up from behind the counter, a blinding smile plastered across her face. She wore a peacock-blue business suit and a necklace of shiny pearls. A massive flower corsage took up half her chest. “And who do we have here?”
    “This is my niece, Lex,” Uncle Mort said proudly. “Our newest rookie.”
    “How marvelous!” The woman clamped Lex’s hand like a vise and shook it vigorously. “I’m so pleased to meet you! My name is Kilda!”
    Lex looked to her uncle for help, but he had slipped off into the nearby hallway. She watched as he opened a door and began speaking to a man in a suit—a man who was staring directly at her.
    Though fairly certain she hadn’t done anything to offend him, Lex could feel his foxlike yellow eyes boring into her own with a distinct animosity. Tall and gaunt, with permanent scowl lines etched into his colorless face, he exuded the air of someone who hated this earth and everything on it and would be much happier if it just broke free of its orbit and hurled itself into the sun.
    Lex cringed.
    Meanwhile, Kilda was still squawking out a welcome, and though Lex tried to ignore her, it soon became very difficult to do so. She had never met anyone whose every sentence ended in an exclamation point.
    “I’m Croak’s director of tourism! And its public relations specialist! And to top it all off, its postmaster, if you can believe it!”
    Lex thought the hysteria might never end, but at long last her uncle interceded to pry their hands apart. “No time to chat, Kilda,” he said. “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. And you’ve got a lost Texan out there about to start asking for souvenirs.”
    “Well, that won’t do!” Kilda hurried outside, her lipstick-smeared teeth flashing. “Off I go!”
    Lex grabbed at her uncle’s sleeve. “What did I do to deserve that?”
    “She’s a lot to handle, I know. But Kilda’s a genius in her field. You should hear the bullshit she can sell to all the lost backpackers we get here.”
    “Who’s that man you were talking to?”
    “Oh, that’s Norwood. He was checking you in for your first shift. I’ll introduce you tomorrow.”
    She made a face. “No rush.”
    “I mean, you were scheduled to have a brief orientation with him today, but you know, you needed your beauty sleep, so we don’t have time. Are you aware, Lex, that sloth is a deadly sin?”
    She made a face at him, then glanced back at the hallway. She thought she could make out a bustle of activity behind the array of frosted glass tiles that lined its right-hand wall, but Uncle Mort ushered her out the front door too quickly for her to get a closer look.
    “Wait, we’re done here?”
    “Well, I was going to show you around upstairs as well, but—”
    “No time. Sloth. I get it.”
    “Deadly sin.”
    ***
    People often think that trees are boring. These people have obviously never feasted their eyes upon the eerily fascinating Australian Ghost Gum tree, or
Corymbia aparrerinja,
under which Lex now stood. Uncle Mort had led her to the middle of the field behind the Bank and instructed her to stay still while he spoke into his Cuff. The people she had seen earlier were gone.
    Lex, correctly of the opinion that trees are awesome, ran her fingers over the dead Ghost Gum’s trunk. Instead of a dark, rough bark, the surface was chalky and smooth. Its pure white color blazed in the radiant sunlight,