FictFile 13B

Odd little Doodlebug

This was near where Leading Creek meets the Tygart. Senator Davis had sent myself and some others there, to give a scientific survey. It was an area Senator Davis and another Senator had an eye to develop for Coal and Timber. That morning I was surprised to find the stranger standing in the field near my canvas home, seeming content to simply admire the landscape. His arms were folded in the quirksome manner he employed, with his hands shoved up under his armpits as if taken with a chill. I was told later, by our cook, that my odd friend had been standing in that same spot for several hours. The cook had taken him for some sort of minister, given his square cut black suit. 

The stranger greeted me with the same cordial smile, and asked me several questions about the foliage of the area, many of which I found to be very specific and unable to give proper response to. He mentioned a fondness for a nearby mountaintop, though he confessed he did not know the local name for it. As we talked he took from his pocket what appeared to be a brass winged beetle about size of the palm of his hand. It’s ‘face’ was made from a chunk of amethyst, with the filigree body terminating in a frosted faceted quartz. The legs appeared to be segmented pearl, and it was covered in springs which seemed to continually tighten and release. The stranger then set the clockwork ‘insect’ into the grass where it immediately scurried out of sight. 

I inquired from him what he was hoping to detect with this new contraption. He simply looked at me with that bobcat grin of his and replied that this particular ‘critter’ didn’t actually detect anything, but rather assisted the others. He attempted to explain how this was the case, but I admit I failed to understand it with any certainty. We had coffee at the Kit, and as usual Cook’s coffee was poor and well burnt, but the stranger did not complain. I did note he added even more honey than his usual copious amount, which drew grins from several of the men working the survey. As we sat together the stranger again turned the talk towards the local foliage, which I was unfamiliar with. This seemed to disappoint him a little. Afterward he simply shook my hand and walked away from camp into the woods with the same manner a gentleman might stroll a street in Wheeling. 

It would be several weeks before I saw that stranger once more. I confess I never did see that little gold brassy bug again, though I frequently found myself looking for it about the camp.

-From the Journal of Professor Tot, 
Oct 1888



Author'sNote: FictFiles are works of Fiction. Recently I had been composing various stories to accompany different sculptures and jewelry I've been working on. After sharing them else-site, I was encouraged to collect and produce more of these stories. The FictFiles posts here in this blog are one of my ways of both sharing these stories with a wider audience, and collecting them in a easy to locate place.