Grappling Hooks and Toasters

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“Till-Till, hear me out,” Fall said, leaning back in her chair. “Grappling hook.”

Agent Tillman paused typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “We investigate paranormal crime and haunted coats, Fall. We don’t need a grappling hook.”

“But what if the culprit is in a really tall tree?” Fall countered, spinning her chair in a slow circle. “Think of the tactical advantages, Tilly!”

“The tactical advantage of you with anything is zero,” Tillman sighed. “Now please proofread the incident report for the weeping cult. The Director wants it by four.”

Before Fall could formulate a counter-argument, a plastic squeaking echoed down the hallway.

Fall stopped her chair mid-spin, her eyes lighting up. “Ooh! Squeaky wheels. That’s either the mail cart or our favorite tiny cryptid.”

A second later, Miss Moth drifted into the office. She held her oversized plush by it's wing, her other hand was gripping the string of a plastic children's wagon.

Placed directly in the center of the wagon was a stainless-steel four-slice toaster.

Fall leaped out of her chair, sliding across the floor in her socks. “Moth! Conducting a high-level transport eh. What’s the cargo?”

Miss Moth paused. She looked at Fall, then the toaster. She patted the appliance casing.

The toaster let out a broken ding and promptly popped up two perfectly golden slices of toast.

Fall gasped, clutching her hands to her chest. “A breakfast anomaly! Tactical toaster!”

Tillman finally looked away from his screen, dragging a heavy hand down his face. “....That’s Jaksions toaster....It’s supposed to be in secure storage container. How did she even get the door open?”

“Magic clearly!” Fall said, plucking a piece of toast from the slot and taking a bite. “Cinnamon raisin? Heh you’ve tamed the wild beast, haven’t you, kid?”

Miss Moth gave a slow nod.

“Fall, do not eat anomalous evidence,” Tillman groaned, standing up ready to confiscate the appliance.

As his shadow fell over the wagon, the toaster clicked and it ejected burnt toast directly at Tillman’s chest. He barely caught it before it stained his tie.

“See? You offended it,” Fall scolded through a mouthful of raisin toast. “You have to approach it with respect. It’s a proud machine.”

Miss Moth tugged at Tillman’s sleeve.

When he looked down, she reached into her moth plushie and pulled out a packaged pat of butter and held it up to him, gesturing toward the burnt toast.

Tillman looked at the kid, then at the charred bread in his hand. His shoulders slumped.

“....” Tillman sighed, taking the butter. “Thanks kiddo.”

Miss Moth gave a small satisfied smile. She gripped the string of her wagon and turned around, the toaster dinging as she towed it back out into the hallway.

Fall leaned against the doorframe. “Who would've thought the anomalous moth swarm would be so nice.”

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Grappling Hooks and Toasters

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