The afternoon sunlight fizzled out halfway through the muggy layer of clouds hanging in the sky. The street itself smelled disgusting, like old oysters and rancid vomit on a hot summer's day. This was most likely because it was the middle of July in New Orleans.
The year was 1889, and Brian Oberland was pretty sure he'd already sweated through his suspenders. The horse he was leading seemed to mind the heat as much as he did if their rapid breathing was any indication. He gave the slack reins a little bit of a tug. "I know you're hot, Bessie," he murmured, "But you gotta keep moving so we can get you back to your owner on time."
The horse's name wasn't really Bessie, but the big girl's owner hadn't bothered to tell Brian her name, and Bessie was his default.
The inn loomed into view from behind another building, the wood boards leaking sap in the heat. A man stood just outside the door, sweating profusely in his black pants and jacket and tapping his foot impatiently. When he saw Brian, he hurried over, out of the meager shade provided by the slight overhang of the roof, and grabbed Bessie's reins out of Brian's hands. "What in tarnation took you so blamed long? I was roastin' out here waiting for you!"
"I do apologize, sir. There was trouble in the stable. Jimmy threw out his back, so I had to pick up the slack for him."
The man only huffed irritably, then proceeded to hook Bessie up to his buggy. Brian shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. There was a hole in his sock, he noticed absently. He could feel the tough leather of his shoe with his toe. He'd have to darn it up later tonight.
The man finished hooking Bessie up, then turned to Brian. "Well?" He demanded. "What are you still doing here?"
Brian narrowed his eyes at the man but otherwise kept his face neutral. "You be careful, sir," he said blandly.
The man huffed at him once more then climbed into his buggy. He flicked the reins and Bessy shook her head, then plodded slowly down the street, pulling the buggy behind her. Brian watched it go in silence, then turned away and started walking back towards the stable. "What an unpleasant person," he said, to no one in particular. Then he put it out of his mind. He needed to put more water in the black mare's trough, or she'd surely die of heat stroke, especially on a day like this.
After roughly ten minutes of walking, Brian stepped into the shade of the stable overhang. There was no time to rest, however. It was only a little past noon, and Brian had a lot of work to do. He wiggled his toe around the hole in his sock. He'd need to remember to fix that when he got home.
He didn't notice the ownerless shadow that flitted across the wall of the stable, then disappeared.
Around eight o'clock, Brian punched out. He'd had to stay later than usual, to fill in for Jim, but the old boy said he'd be fine in the morning, so at least tomorrow he'd have some help with all this.
He rolled his shoulders a bit as he walked, trying to ease a little bit of the pain from under his suspenders. He had a bit of a walk before he got home.
But as he turned into a nearby alleyway, he heard a sharp crack of sound, like a gun backfiring right beside his ear. Brian whipped around, bunching his hands into fists, only to see a man crouching in the middle of the road, and looking decidedly unthreatening, if a bit pretentiously dressed. He kept his fists up anyway and took a step forwards. This man had definitely not been there two seconds ago.
Brian stood there staring at the strange man for what felt like eons but must have only been a few moments, keeping his fists up and at the ready, but the man didn't move. He stayed completely still, kneeling in a puddle in his fancy black suit. Finally, after what felt like ages, Brian lowered his fists, his hands uncurling. "Who are you?" He asked.
The man's face jerked upwards in an instant and his eyes swiveled to lock onto Brian's, then widened imperceptibly. "No," he whispered.
Brian took a half step back warily. "I'm sorry?"
The man straightened up from his crouch and stood on his knees in the puddle, then proceeded to look Brian up and down, an expression of growing dismay spreading across his face. "No," he whispered again, his eyes flicking back to Brian's face.
This was quite possibly what Brian's mother would have called 'a bad situation.' Brian took another, larger, step backward. "Look, I… I'm just gonna… go," he said.
But just as he'd started to turn around so he could walk extremely quickly in the opposite direction of this man, he heard a voice call after him. "Wait! Please… if you could just tell me what year it is."
Brian felt himself stop and turn to look over his shoulder. "1889. It's July." Then he turned and, abandoning all pretenses, he ran down the alley, away from the figure still kneeling in the puddle.
The rest of the walk home, Brian felt jumpy. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting to happen exactly. It wasn't like the strange man, who he had decided to call Puddle Man if only because it made him seem slightly less terrifying, was going to leap out of the bushes and eat him. His worry was entirely preposterous. Regardless of how unnerving he'd found Puddle Man, at the end of the day, he was still just a very odd man.
Nevertheless, Brian took a far more roundabout way home than usual, and he walked around corners a little slower than he normally would. He wasn't exactly sure what he expected to be on the other side of the corners, but it was better safe than sorry.
When he finally did arrive at his house, it was over an hour after his encounter with Puddle Man, and Brian was significantly more relaxed. "It's stupid," he said to himself. "I bet I'll have a real laugh with Caroline about it later." He hung his hat on the hook beside the door, closing the door behind him as he did so. Gosh, but something smelled good. "Charlie!" He called, "I'm home!"
"In the kitchen!" His brother called back.
Brian pulled off his boots, then padded through the house to the kitchen, the smell of pork jambalaya only intensifying as he got closer. His stomach gurgled in anticipation, and he started walking faster.
"Charles, you'll never believe what happened on the way home from -" he walked into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks.
His brother waved from the stove. "Hey, Brian. Mr. Pines here is new to the neighborhood."
Sitting at the table next to the stove, smiling smugly at Brian over a steaming tin cup of coffee, was Puddle Man.
Puddle Man nodded at him in way of greeting, the smug smile still firmly plastered to his face. "Mr. Oberland. Your brother has told me so much about you."