I'd like to remind everyone that, again, I am not Jewish, and if I misrepresent the Jewish faith or people, IT WAS NOT INTENTIONAL.

Joe couldn't believe it. The girl moved fast, considering how heavyset she was. "What are we chasing?!" he hollered.

"I don't know yet!" panted the Red Lady. "I haven't been able to catch it!"

Up ahead, the flurry of orange hopped a barbed wire fence and disappeared into the distance. Joe and Red slowed to a halt, panting. "Damn! I was so close—I would've gotten him if it hadn't been for you and those tree trunks you call legs tripping me!" Red shouted at Joe.

"Me?!" Joe exclaimed in disbelief. "If you hadn't chased the bloody beastie into knockin' me over, I'd've ne'r tripped yeh with my 'tree trunk' legs!"

"Well, you-! Dah, never mind," said Red, trying to catch her breath. "There's no point in arguing about who let the thing get away—which was you, by the way." She grinned wickedly.

Joe stuck his tongue out at her. He was starting to like this American. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Told you before. The Red Lady."

"Oh, come on, I mean your real name."

Red shook her head, smiling. "Sorry, buddy. Only two people in this universe know that. Me, and a little English teacher from Blackpool."

Joe briefly wondered why Red put emphasis on the word 'this'. "But why be so mysterious?" he asked.

Red thought for a second, then shrugged. "For the aesthetic?"

Joe rolled his eyes.

"And your name would be?"

"Joe MacDonwald."

Red smiled. "Good to know ya."

Joe smiled back. Then he turned serious. "Why is there a monster traipsing about? You're not responsible for this, are ye?"

"No!" Red said, aghast. "I don't make monsters! I stop the monsters. I'm a hero." She grinned proudly, putting her hands on her hips.

"Wha', like The Phantom?" Joe said.

Red tilted her head consideringly. "Yeah, I guess so. No mask or Spandex, tho."

"I'd say so," said Joe, eyeing her clothing again. "No offense intended, but you're a bit indecent, aren't yeh?"

Red shrugged. "Not where I come from."

Joe shook his head. "Americans."

Red chuckled. Then her face turned solemn, and she looked off in the distance where the monster had disappeared. "Something's very rotten in the state of Denmark," she muttered to herself.

"Er, little lassie? We're in Scotland," said Joe helpfully.

Red smiled and rolled her eyes. "I have to find out what that thing is, and why it's here—but most importantly, how to stop it."

"Maybe the library'll have some information we can use to find out," said Joe brightly.

Red looked at him in surprise. "We? Who said you were invited?"

"Ay, you're not from 'round here. You need a guide, someone who knows the area. Plus, a young lass like you shouldn't be runnin' abouts without a man to watch out fer her."

Red looked at him in amusement. "Wow. It really is the 1940s…however, I do agree with the first half of that statement. Alright, kid, you can come with me. But you do what I say, when I say it, got it? I'm the boss."

"I'm no' a kid, I've got to be older than ye," Joe stated. "I'm 24!"

"I'm 27," said Red calmly. She smirked. "Nyah nyah nyah-nyah nyah."

"Oh that's real mature," said Joe, rolling his eyes as they started heading back to town.

On the way to the library, Red paused as they passed Mrs. Malcolm's house and peered into her garden at the crushed pumpkins, which were starting to rot in the sun. "Oof. What happened there?"

"Dunno," said Joe. "Mrs. Malcolm doesn't have any idea either."

"Hmm. Looks like something with the same size feet as our orange friend could've done it," said Red. "Either that or a bullet with butterfly wings." She cackled.

Joe looked at her in confusion.

"You get it? Because…Smashing Pumpkins?—oh, forget it," Red sighed. "I wonder why he destroyed this lady's vegetable patch, though."

"Maybe he was making an escape and ran through the garden," Joe suggested.

"Maybe. Maybe." Red spotted a puddle on the ground by the fence. "Aha…" She squatted. "Hypothesis confirmed. It's definitely our orange friend."

Joe looked down and saw that Red was inspecting a pile of orange glop, the same color as the monster. There was a large boot print pressed in it. Joe curiously lifted his foot and checked the bottom of his own shoe. Sure enough, the same orange glop was sticking to the bottom of his foot. "Oh, daingead!" Joe groaned. "I stepped in monster dung!"

"No, no, it's not dung," said Red, pinching some of the reddish-orange substance between her fingers. "It's clay. The monster is made of clay."

"He's a pottery monster?" Joe said, mystified.

Red stood up. "This is a good thing, big guy. Creatures made out of clay can't be common. That's gonna narrow down our search."

Joe cast a worried look to the house. "Mrs. Malcolm's always tendin' her garden this time o' day. Maybe I should check on her…"

"She's probably just sleeping in or having breakfast or something," Red said, tugging him along. "Come on. Let's get to the library."

Red groaned as she sorted through the small drawers. "Card catalogs. God, this is like the Dark Ages…"

"What are we lookin' for, Red?" Joe said.

"I wish I knew. I don't know if this is a creature of science or fantasy—so I guess we'll check everything." Red marched over to the bookcase of animal books and started pulling down volumes.

Joe sighed, looking around at all the books. "When I was a young'un, I spent all me free time here—which wasn't much. The library was the only way for me to get me hands on free books."

Red set her armful of books down on the table, smiling at him sympathetically. "Your family didn't have much money, huh?"

"Ah…no. Not when they were alive."

Red froze. "I'm sorry," she breathed.

Joe smiled sadly, shaking his head. "Me mam, me dad, and me brother…they died when I was 12. I've fended for meself ever since. I had to drop out o' school—never got me diploma. But luckily I still had books, and newspapers, to learn from. Sometimes someone I was workin' for would turn on the radio an' let me listen to the news."

"So you're interested in current events?" said Red.

Joe nodded. "When I was young, I thought reportin' the news would be a fun job." Joe's eyes fell to his lap. "The news isn't so fun at the mo', though."

Red bit her lip. "Let's, um…let's get to studying," she said, sitting down and cracking open a book. Joe did as well.

After several hours, they'd gotten no leads. Red sighed, rubbing her temples. "Maybe we should be looking in the realm of fiction—fairy tales, folklore, urban legends."

"Wha', you think the orange guy is a mermaid?" Joe chuckled.

"I don't know what to think," said Red. "But I do know that there are more things in heaven and earth than in your philosophy. Believe me, I've seen stuff you wouldn't believe."

Joe studied. "Somehow, I believe any story you'd tell me, no matter how far-fetched, is true somehow."

Red chuckled, stretching her spine. Her eyes fell on the clock. "Wow, it's already noon. We should get some lunch."

Joe gasped, standing up suddenly. "Mr. Ross! My job! In all the excitement I completely forgot!"

"Oh, shit," Red said quietly.

"I gotta go," Joe said, hurriedly, scooting out of there.

Joe raced into the store, running up to the counter where his boss was running the register. "Mr. Ross, Mr. Ross, I'm so sorry!" Joe panted. "I got caught up with…helpin' out a friend, an'-"

"Save it, boy," sighed Mr. Ross. "You break a whole crate of jars yesterday, you show up four hours late today—I cannae keep makin' excuses for ye, son."

Joe's heart dropped. "Please, sir-"

"I'm sorry, Joseph," said Mr. Ross resolutely. "But I have to let ye go."

Joe felt tears welling up in his eyes. "Yes sir," he whispered. First he lost his place to live, now his job.

Mr. Ross, looking guilty, touched his arm. "List me as a reference for your next job. I'll put in a good word fer yeh."

Joe walked out of the store slowly and dejectedly. He stared at the scuffed toes of his boots. Then he looked up as he realized, down the street, people were gathered out in front of Mrs. Malcolm's house. Curiously, Joe began to walk toward the crowd.

Joe caught sight of Rabbi Lennox, looking on with concern. "Rabbi," he said. "What's happened?"

Rabbi turned to look up at Joe with a sad, heavy gaze. "Mrs. Malcolm…she's passed on."

Joe gasped. "No!"

"It must have been some time in the night," said the Rabbi. "We can only hope she passed peacefully…don't weep for her, my son. She's with God and all her loved ones now. Weep for us, that we have lost such a dear soul." He sighed. "I should go. I have a minyan to prepare for the week." He turned and walked away.

Someone scoffed beside him. "She didn't 'pass on'," muttered Mr. Angus, the town butcher. "She was murdered. They found her with a broken neck and bruises, like she'd been choked. And covered in some sort of orange mud."

Joe froze. Mud. Orange. He cast a look at the dried puddle of clay he'd stepped in the previous night.

The monster had killed Mrs. Malcolm.