Special Delivery

Oh, no, Nana sighed as she pulled the Lincoln up to the post office building, What is it this time?

Willie Foot, looking all the world like a green haired Harpo Marx, was perched precariously on the roof in a patched and dusty old sport coat, clutching an umbrella in one hand and brandishing a headless flounder in the other. Fish blood had trickled down his sleeve and splattered on his shirt and he was yelling frantically at the sky, Rend not the fish!

Rescue efforts weren't going well by the time John Sullivan arrived. Willie continued to yell and when the Sullivan boys attempted to climb up after him, he pelted them with fish he almost magically produced from a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. The headless flounder came flying through the air and narrowly missed Miss Violet and Miss Victoria as they approached, arm in arm, causing Miss Violet to nearly swoon and Miss Victoria to shriek an unladylike if mild curse. Willie! my grandmother called sharply, Come down from there this instant! In response, Willie pulled a smallish green lobster from his bag, claws still waving, and flung it in her direction. To her credit, Nana caught it deftly and immediately returned fire, hitting the little man squarely in the chest and knocking him off his feet whereupon he slid ass backwards down the roof and over the edge, landing in Long John's waiting arms. Quite a throw you've got there, Alice, John remarked, depositing Willie unceremoniously on the dirt road, Didn't know you could pitch. Willie picked himself up, dusted himself off, and gave us all what my daddy would've called a withering look, then gravely laid out the remaining fish and the canvas bag at Long John's feet and with a cross eyed grin went hip hopping down the watery ditch toward The Point. Each enthusiastic step made a small spray of water and the sunlight passing through the sprays made tiny rainbows in his wake.

Mad as a hatter, my grandmother muttered.
'Spose so, Long John told her with a shrug, but harmless and happy as a mackerel.

It was later that evening when Uncle Shad heard sounds from his chimney, scratching and scrabbling noises as if some unwelcome intruder had come calling. He prepared to lay a fire to smoke out whatever trespassing creature might have found its way in when he heard a crash followed by a loud but very human howl of pain, and there was Willie, upside down and securely wedged in with a dislocated shoulder. A second canvas bag dangling in his one free hand was found to contain several cans of blueberry pie filling and yet another flounder. It took John Sullivan as well as his brother, several yards of rigging, a gallon of fish oil and most of the night to dislodge him - to the surprise of no one present, Willie resisted all efforts to free himself, fighting with the strength of ten and the iron will of madness. Like tryin' to snag an octopus in an oil slick, Uncle Shad related to Nana the following morning with a philosophical shrug, But leastways the chimney got cleaned and I kept the pie fillin'.