Hill-Billie Greentexts

THE PITCH

Welcome to Cowpie County, where every Tuesday brings a new cryptid sighting and every Friday brings another unexplained disappearance. Billie, our unassuming mud-controlling heroine, thought her biggest problem was keeping her pet possum, Dixi, out of Dixie. But things get a whole lot muddier when Grace, a perpetually bewildered city girl, is unceremoniously dumped at their eccentric aunt's dilapidated cabin, just a stone's throw from Billie's family home.

Grace Danson, whose closest encounter with nature has been a rogue pigeon, finds the holler's charming peculiarities quickly escalating into full-blown supernatural chaos. From sentient scarecrows demanding pie to a Bigfoot that only communicates through interpretive dance, strange events start terrorizing the small town. Billie realizes her unusual "muck-bending" powers might be the only thing standing between her community and total absurdity, and to her surprise, the cynical city Girl's unexpected observations sometimes offer a bizarre kind of clarity.

With the help of Billie's skeptical but ultimately supportive New friend, Grace's attempts to Wi-Fi connect with the local flora, and a local radio show host obsessed with alien abductions, the unlikely duo navigates a world filled with genuine supernatural threats and laugh-out-loud absurdities. They'll try to uncover who (or what) is behind Cowpie County's never-ending parade of peculiar problems, all while trying to keep Billie's mud-bending a secret and maybe, just maybe, showing the city kid that there's more to life than high-speed internet.

Prologue

The ancient, clunky car coughed its last wheeze outside what her aunt optimistically called a "cabin." Grace Danson stared out the window, past the dust-caked glass, at the veritable wall of trees.
Not the manicured, friendly trees of Central Park, but gnarled, shadowy things that whispered of forgotten things. Cowpie County. The name itself was an insult.
Her phone, a lifeline barely clutching onto a single bar, felt like a dead weight.
No Wi-Fi, no cafes, just... dirt. And trees. And the smell of something faintly resembling damp dog and wild mint.
This was going to be the longest summer of her life.
Unpacking was a blur of grumbling and tossing designer luggage onto creaking floorboards.
The cabin was exactly as advertised: rustic. Which, in Grace's dictionary, meant "actively trying to repel human comfort." By noon, the sheer, crushing boredom had set in.
She'd scrolled through her phone until her thumbs ached, tried to read a book, and even considered doing jumping jacks. Anything.
"Fine," she muttered, kicking open the protesting screen door. "I'll explore your stupid forest, Cowpie County. See what thrilling adventures a girl can have in the sticks."
She followed a barely-there path, the air growing thick and humid.
The silence was unnerving, broken only by chirping insects she couldn't identify. Then, from somewhere just beyond a particularly dense cluster of thorny bushes, she heard it.
A rapid, rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack, followed by a series of high-pitched, almost squealing giggles. It sounded… feral. And close.
Hesitantly, Grace pushed aside a low-hanging branch. Her eyes, accustomed to the artificial glow of screens, struggled to adjust to the dappled light. And then she saw it.
A small, wiry figure, no taller than a ten-year-old, darting between trees.
It had wild, brown hair and was moving with an unnatural speed, kicking at something unseen on the ground.
A flash of muddy overalls.
A gremlin. Her mind screamed the word.
It looked like a child, but it moved like something out of a horror movie. Grace blinked, rubbed her eyes.
"Must be the heat," she whispered, shaking her head. But the thwack-thwack-thwack continued, moving away from her, deeper into the woods.
Curiosity, a dangerous thing in the wilderness, tugged at her.
She followed, carefully, trying not to snap twigs. The sounds led her to an opening in the trees, revealing a sight that made her stomach churn.
A farm. Or what passed for one.
And it was a sea of glistening, sucking, brown mud. Everywhere. Her pristine white sneakers, a beacon of urban defiance, seemed to mock her.
She hesitated, her nose wrinkling in disgust. Mud.
Oh, she hated mud. But the sounds had stopped at the edge of this mucky expanse, and she swore she'd seen that "gremlin" disappear into it.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath that smelled vaguely of manure, Grace gingerly stepped into the mire. Her foot sank. "Ugh!" she groaned, trying to pull it out. It came with a sickening squelch.
"This is disgusting. This is just… so utterly disgusting. I hate mud. I hate dirt. I hate everything about this place," she muttered, each squelch of her shoes into the viscous earth punctuating her misery.
"Well now, what in the ever-lovin' tarnation are ya doin' trampin' 'round my family's front yard, lookin' all flustered like a possum caught in a corn crib? Ain't never seen a body so outta place, bless your little city heart."
Grace froze. The voice was unmistakably female, young, but with a twang so thick it could spread butter. She slowly turned, mud clinging to her shoes, and her eyes widened.
Standing just a few feet away, caked in mud from her bare feet to her elbows, was a girl who looked like she’d just wrestled a pig in a swamp.
She had a wide, disarming smile, a missing upper front tooth that made her grin look almost predatory, and in her arms, a very real, very unimpressed possum.
Billie. Her eyes, startlingly bright, held an unnerving mix of innocence and something far older, something that saw right through Grace's city-girl facade.
Grace stood there, rooted to the spot, a bizarre blend of confusion and genuine fear gripping her.

The Hillbilly and the City Girl

The next few days were a blur of restless boredom, punctuated by the lingering memory of that unsettling first encounter.
Then the dreams started.
Grace stood in a blinding white room.
Her parents, their faces stern and unyielding, loomed over her.
"Grace," her mother began, her voice echoing unnaturally, "we've decided. You're moving with Aunt Ellie. To Cowpie County. Permanently."
"No! No, you can't!" Grace screamed, her voice cracking with terror.
"Please, no! Take me back to the city! My friends! My life!" She shook her head violently, tears blurring her vision.
Then, from the corner of the blinding room, a familiar, gap-toothed grin emerged from the shadows.
Billie. Mud caked her bare feet and hands, just as Grace had last seen her.
"Yup, that's right, city slicker," Billie drawled, stepping closer, her smile widening.
"This here's your new life. You're stuck with me now. You're one of us."
"NO!" Grace shrieked, recoiling.
Billie chuckled, a low, guttural sound, and thrust something into Grace's hands. A small, cloudy mirror.
Grace stared at her reflection, and her blood ran cold.
Staring back was not the Grace she knew.
Her hair was wild and unkempt, a crooked, gap-toothed smile stretched across her face, and her pristine city clothes were replaced by muddy overalls.
She was a hillbilly. A wave of pure horror washed over her.
"No! No, no, no!" she screamed, the mirror falling from her trembling hands as she stumbled backward.
Grace shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The nightmare clung to her like a shroud. She scrambled out of bed, tripping over her tangled sheets, and rushed to the small, chipped mirror in the bathroom.
Her fingers flew to her teeth, then frantically patted her hair and felt her face.
A sigh of immense relief escaped her lips.
Her teeth were straight, her hair (though still a little messy from sleep) was its usual, slightly frizzy self, and her skin was clear.
The city girl Grace was still there.
Just then, a warm, lilting voice drifted up from downstairs.
"Grace, honey-child! Breakfas' is on the table, if you're ever gonna come on down!" It was Aunt Ellie.
Still slightly shaken, Grace made her way downstairs.
The cabin, which looked so dilapidated and forgotten from the outside, was surprisingly cozy and vibrant within.
Cheerful floral patterns adorned the curtains, hand-carved wooden figures sat on shelves, and stacks of old, rolled-up maps—topographical maps, nautical charts, even what looked like antique star charts—were crammed into every nook and cranny.
Aunt Ellie, Grace had learned, had a peculiar obsession with collecting them, a fascination Grace wisely chose not to inquire about.
She found Aunt Ellie, a woman with kind eyes and hair the color of spun moonlight, perched at the worn kitchen table, engrossed in an ancient, leather-bound book.
A plate piled high with fluffy biscuits and what smelled suspiciously like bacon awaited her.
"Mornin', Aunt Ellie," Grace managed, sliding into a chair. "Thanks for breakfast."
"You're mighty welcome, darlin'," Aunt Ellie replied, her voice a comforting Southern cadence, not looking up from her book.
"Sleep well? Make any new friends yet?"
Grace hesitated, thinking of Billie's unsettling smile and mud-caked appearance.
"Uh, no. Not really," she mumbled, picking at a biscuit.
Aunt Ellie finally looked up, her expression softening.
"Aw, well, don't you fret none, sweetie pie. It takes time to get settled in a new place. You'll feel right at home 'fore you know it."
The words sent a fresh shiver down Grace's spine.
'Right at home'? The idea of being "at home" in this forsaken place, surrounded by weird, muddy people like Billie, filled her with a new dread.
She opened her mouth to protest, to beg for a return ticket to civilization.
But before she could utter a word, Aunt Ellie reached under the table and pulled out a large, intricately cut wooden box.
"Well, if you ain't found no playmates yet, we can have our own fun," she said, her voice bright and motherly.
"How 'bout we tackle this here jigsaw puzzle after you finish up? It's a real doozy."
Grace just nodded, forcing down the rest of her breakfast.
Aunt Ellie's expression, however, shifted subtly.
Her eyes, which had been so warm, now held a glint of something unreadable, her tone dropping to a low, ominous murmur.
"You just be careful out there, Grace. Cowpie County… it ain't quite what it looks like." She watched Grace, a faint, knowing chuckle escaping her lips.
"But don't you worry your pretty little head 'bout it. Just try talkin' to that girl who lives yonder, on the other side of the creek. That Billie girl. I got a feelin' y'all are gonna be real good friends."
Grace swallowed, her fork clattering against the plate.
She didn't dare tell Aunt Ellie that she had met Billie, and that she'd essentially bolted in pure terror, convinced the mud-covered girl was about to, well, do something. Kill her? Turn her into a mud-person? Her mind reeled with ridiculous scenarios.
Best to keep that little detail to herself.
Breakfast over, Grace mumbled an excuse about needing some fresh air and retreated to the dubious sanctuary of her room.
She stared out the window, watching a particularly plump cardinal peck at something in the overgrown bushes.
Small, furry creatures darted through the undergrowth, their movements too quick to fully discern.
"Cowpie County... it ain't quite what it looks like," she muttered, mimicking Aunt Ellie's chilling tone. What did that even mean? Was it just country-folk superstition? Or was there something genuinely unsettling lurking beneath the surface of this ridiculously named place? The thought made a cold knot form in her stomach.
Just then, a flicker of movement caught her eye again.
There it was. The same brown-haired figure, darting through the trees at the edge of the forest.
This time, it wasn't just running; it was stretching, its limbs extending in ways that looked… impossible for a human. And it was holding something, a long, thin object, glinting faintly in the morning sun.
"A goblin?" Her mind whispered the word, even as logic screamed animal.
"But what animal? One that could stretch like rubber and wield a... what was that? A stick? A tool?" The debate raged in her head: ignore it, or investigate? The sensible Grace argued for safety. The bored, trapped Grace argued for anything that wasn't boredom.
"Grace, darlin'! Come on down, I found that old map of the Cowpie Caves I wanted to show you!" Aunt Ellie's voice chirped from downstairs, pulling Grace from her internal struggle.
Cowpie Caves. Maps. Lectures. The choice became clear. Chasing a mysterious, potentially mythical creature, even if it turned out to be just a strangely proportioned squirrel, had to be more interesting than a topographical sermon.
With a newfound resolve, Grace rummaged through her backpack, her fingers closing around the reassuring weight of her trusty Swiss Army knife. Its tiny, gleaming blade, compass, and various tools felt like a meager but vital shield against the unknown.
Armed with her miniature arsenal, she slipped out of the cabin, making her way towards the sounds she now faintly discerned – a series of high-pitched screeches, not entirely unlike the ones from her first encounter.
She pushed deeper into the woods, the trees growing denser, the air heavier.The ground was uneven, roots tripping her, low-hanging branches snagging her hair.
She walked for what felt like an eternity, following the fading sounds, her legs burning. Her sneakers, already sullied from the farm mud, were now covered in forest grime.
The screeches seemed to fade, replaced by the relentless buzzing of insects and the rustling of unseen things. After what felt like ages, panting and utterly exhausted, Grace stopped.
"This is ridiculous," she huffed, wiping sweat from her brow. "I'm done. I'm just going back."
She turned, looking for the path she'd taken, but the trees all looked identical. Panic began to claw at her throat.
She pulled out her phone, desperate. No signal. Zero bars. No internet. GPS was useless. Grace Danson, city girl extraordinaire, was utterly, completely, and terrifyingly lost in the Cowpie County woods.
"Oh, for the love of all that is holy and Wi-Fi enabled," Grace groaned, shoving her useless phone back into her pocket.
"You're an idiot, Grace. A colossal, goblin-chasing, wilderness-challenged idiot!" She kicked a loose stone, which barely moved in the thick undergrowth.
Her big city bravado was deflating faster than a punctured inner tube.
She tried to retrace her steps, scanning the leaf-strewn ground for the faint imprints of her expensive sneakers.
A glimmer of hope. There! A barely perceptible depression in the damp earth.
"See?" she announced to the unhearing forest, a burst of false confidence inflating her chest. "This isn't so hard. Just gotta pay attention."
Minutes later, the 'glistening hope' turned into a cold, clammy dread.
She swore she was standing in the exact same spot she'd rested moments ago.
A gnarled oak with a peculiar knot in its trunk. A cluster of unusually tall ferns. It all felt horrifyingly familiar.
She spun around, desperately searching for any landmark, any sign that she was making progress.
Nothing. Just an endless, green-brown maze.
Her legs screamed in protest. Defeated, Grace slumped onto a moss-covered rock, pulling her knees to her chest.
How long would it take for Aunt Ellie to even notice she was gone? And even if she did, with no signal, how would she call for help? The grim reality sank in: rescue wasn't coming anytime soon.
She pictured Aunt Ellie calmly working on her puzzles, oblivious, while Grace slowly withered away, becoming one with the cursed Cowpie soil.
A wave of profound loneliness washed over her.
"This is it," she whimpered, hot tears pricking at her eyes. "Lost. In this godforsaken place. With weird, dirty people and no internet. This is my life now."
Her self-pity was abruptly shattered by the distinct sound of twigs snapping, drawing closer.
Her heart gave a violent lurch, skipping an entire beat. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through her.
She snatched up her Swiss Army knife, fumbling with the tiny blade, her hands trembling so violently she almost dropped it.
"Listen up, whatever you are!" she squeaked, her voice cracking. "I-I'm not afraid to use this! I... I have a knife! A very sharp knife!"
Through the dense foliage, a small, humanoid shape, caked in mud and festooned with stray leaves and twigs, emerged.
It was the same brown-haired, goblin-like creature. It was coming straight for her. Grace braced herself, a scream forming in her throat.
Just as she was about to let out a full-blown shriek that would surely shatter every pane of glass in Cowpie County, the creature grinned.
It wasn't a malicious grin, but wide and gap in its teeth, disturbingly familiar.
Then, with an almost comical springiness, it dropped to all fours and began to violently shake its entire body. Mud, leaves, and bits of unknown forest debris flew through the air like a grotesque confetti explosion, some of it splattering directly onto Grace's face and pristine clothes.
As the muddy cloud settled, Grace blinked, rubbing her eyes. Standing before her, no longer a 'goblin' but unmistakably a little girl, was a miniature version of Billie.
Her brown hair, now mostly free of debris, covered her eyes, and she wore a tiny, mud-stained overall. She looked almost exactly like Billie, only smaller and with an even wilder, more unhinged energy.
The little girl, now somewhat cleaner, let out a series of high-pitched, gleeful screeches, like a feral animal that had just found a particularly interesting beetle.
She then launched into a rapid-fire torrent of what could only be described as gibberish, spoken in a hyper-fast hillbilly accent that made Billie's drawl sound like a dictionary recording.
Then, without warning, she got close to Grace, nose twitching, sniffing her like a curious hound dog meeting a new scent.
She screeched again, pointed a muddy finger at herself, and enunciated, as clearly as she could manage, "NELLIE!" Then, with frantic hand gestures, she pantomimed a taller girl and then pointed from herself to that mimed figure, clearly indicating she was Billie's younger sister.
"Oh god!" Grace said, a wave of profound, comedic defeat washing over her.

Hill-Billie: The Mystery of the Night Burglar

The morning sun, filtered through the thick leaves outside her window, painted Grace's room in dappled light.
She stretched, still half-asleep, the lingering unease from her nightmares about becoming a mud-covered hillbilly fading with the dawn.
Just as she was contemplating the sheer luxury of a full eight hours of sleep without a single siren, Aunt Ellie's voice, warm and lilting as usual, drifted up from downstairs.
"Grace, honey-child! Breakfas' is on the table, if you're ever gonna come on down!"
Grace shuffled into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Aunt Ellie stood by the open refrigerator, a gentle yet firm expression on her face.
"Mornin', darlin'. Now, if you ever get a hankerin' for a midnight snack, all you gotta do is ask your old auntie. No need to go makin' a mess like a coon dog in a garbage can."
Grace blinked, fully awake now. The kitchen was a mess. A half-eaten biscuit lay on the counter, crumbs scattered like tiny, edible snow, and the butter dish was askew. "What? But that wasn't me!" she exclaimed, genuinely shocked.
Aunt Ellie just chuckled, a soft, knowing sound.
"Oh, you don't gotta be embarrassed, sweet pea. We all get the munchies sometimes. Just remember, next time, you just holler. No need to sneak 'round like a fox in the hen house." She winked, clearly thinking Grace was just too shy to admit to a late-night raid.
Grace stared, utterly bewildered. It definitely wasn't her. She never ate in the middle of the night, and she certainly wouldn't leave such a chaotic trail.
Could Aunt Ellie be a sleepwalker? Did she, in her Southern-accented slumber, raid the fridge and then forget? Or, a more unsettling thought, had a wild animal somehow managed to get inside the cabin?
She shuddered. Shrugging it off as another Cowpie County peculiarity, Grace decided to document this oddity. Her diary, a sleek, leather-bound testament to her urban sensibilities, awaited her.
Meanwhile, across the creek, at the heart of the muddiest farm in Cowpie County, Billie and Nellie were already hard at work.
The sun had barely kissed the highest peaks, but the sounds of clucking chickens and grunting pigs were strangely muted.
Nellie, a whirlwind of brown hair and boundless energy, was feeding the pigs, but even they seemed off. They usually stampeded the trough like a tiny, squealing avalanche, but today they just stared, wide-eyed and twitching.
Billie, her hands already coated in a fine layer of chicken feed, was attempting to collect eggs from the coop. But the chickens… they were in a state of complete, feathery shock. They huddled in corners, clucking nervously, their eyes darting around as if a ghost had just offered them a banjo lesson. And not a single egg had been laid.
"Nellie-bug!" Billie hollered, her voice thick with that deep Appalachian drawl, "Did you go an' scare these here critters yesterday? They're all spooked up like a long-tailed cat in a room full o' rockin' chairs!"
Nellie, who had been meticulously arranging a pile of mud pies for the pigs, shook her head vigorously, a cascade of brown hair flopping over her eyes. She then pointed a tiny, mud-caked finger at Billie, then jabbed it repeatedly towards a suspicious cluster of muddy footprints near the chicken coop entrance. "You. Mud. No eggs." Her voice was quiet, a stark contrast to Billie's booming one, but her meaning was clear.
Billie's brow furrowed. "What in the tarnation are you yammerin' 'bout, Nellie? You sayin' I spooked 'em? Don't you go tryin' to pin this on me, you little mud-sprite!" She felt a flash of irritation. Nellie was always trying to blame her for somethin'.
Nellie, however, stood her ground, her small face earnest, her nose twitching as if she could smell the truth.
She pointed to the mud spots again, then mimed Billie's mud-bending powers with exaggerated hand movements, a silent, expressive demonstration. "Big mud. Chickens run."
Billie stared at the mud spots, then at her own hands, then back at the terrified chickens. A slow realization dawned on her face, like dawn breaking over a particularly stubborn mountain. Her eyes widened.
"Dag-gummit," she muttered, a sheepish grin spreading across her face, revealing her missing tooth. "Well, I'll be. You're right, ain't ya? I reckon I did get a bit carried away with that new mud-sculptin' trick last night. My bad, little sister. My bad." She ruffled Nellie's hair, a rare moment of concession.
"Now, what in the blazes spooked 'em so bad they ain't layin' no eggs?" Billie wondered aloud, looking around the suspiciously quiet farm. Her gaze drifted towards the creek, towards the cabin nestled in the trees.
"Reckon that city gal, Grace, might know somethin' 'bout this. She went to them fancy city schools and got herself a computer. She probably knows everything."

Grace, meanwhile, was curled up on her bed, a stylish fountain pen in hand, meticulously detailing the morning's bizarre encounter in her diary. This place is even weirder than I thought, she wrote, her elegant script a stark contrast to the rustic surroundings.
"First, I get lost in the woods and meet a tiny, feral version of that mud girl Billie. Now, Aunt Ellie is accusing me of being a midnight biscuit raider. Seriously, what is wrong with this town? Mistake. This was a colossal, unfixable mistake."
Just as she finished her sentence, a sharp ping against the glass of her window made her jump. Then another. And another. Pebbles.
She sighed, closed her diary, and cautiously approached the window, pulling aside the floral curtain.
A rogue pebble glanced off the glass just as she opened it, ricocheting and hitting her squarely on the forehead.
"Ow!" she yelped, rubbing the spot. She looked down and saw Billie, a handful of small stones clutched in her hand, grinning up at her.
"Mornin', city gal!" Billie called out, a wide, gap-toothed grin on her face. She waved a hand coated in what looked suspiciously like bacon grease. "Wanna come down an' talk a spell?"
Grace was about to slam the window shut and pretend she'd never heard a thing. But before she could, a voice called out from just below her.
"Well, land sakes, Billie! It's good to see ya, sweet pea! How's your ma an' pa? An' that new calf your pa was talkin' 'bout? He been eatin' proper?" Aunt Ellie stood on the porch, a coffee mug in her hand, her expression warm and friendly.
"Howdy, Miss Ellie! Pa says the calf's got an appetite like a broke-down tractor. Ma's doin' fine, just a little miffed at the chickens," Billie replied, her thick accent a perfect comedic foil to Aunt Ellie's gentle Southern drawl.
"Say, reckon that new gal, your niece Grace, could come on out and talk? Got a few things I wanna ask her about them city ways."
"Why, of course, darlin'!" Aunt Ellie beamed, turning to look up at Grace's window. "Go on, sweetie, go have yourself some fun! You need to make a new friend!"
Up in her window, Grace's mouth dropped open. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Instead, she just stood there, her body a frozen tableau of sheer, silent panic.
The universe, it seemed, was determined to make her life a living, breathing, mud-spattered nightmare.
Grace, still a silent statue of dread, watched as Aunt Ellie gave her a final, beaming smile and a gentle wave, as if sending her off on a pleasant picnic rather than to a social encounter with a hillbilly sterotype .
There was no escape. She slowly backed away from the window, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable. This was it. The moment she had to face her fears, or at least, the person who caused them.
Downstairs, she could hear Aunt Ellie’s voice, a little softer now, talking to Billie.
"Oh, she's just a tad shy, bless her heart. Been cooped up in the city for so long she ain't used to all this fresh air and good company."
Grace walked to the front door as if in a trance, her hand slowly turning the knob. The door swung open to reveal the smiling, slightly unnerving faces of Aunt Ellie and Billie. Billie's grin was even wider in person, revealing a missing front tooth that seemed to wink at her.
"Howdy again, city gal!" Billie said, her voice a low rumble. "Reckon we got some talkin' to do."
Aunt Ellie, seemingly oblivious to Grace's palpable terror, gently nudged her forward. "Now, you two go on and have some fun. Make sure you're back for supper, Billie! Y'all need to get to know each other!"
As Grace stepped outside, Billie turned and started walking toward the creek, not even waiting for a response. Grace had no choice but to follow.
The air between them was thick with a silence Grace found more terrifying than any loud confrontation. She glanced back at the cabin, where Aunt Ellie was already retreating inside, a contented hum echoing from the open doorway.
Once they were well out of earshot of the cabin, Billie finally spoke. "So," she began, her voice low and serious, "I got a real head-scratcher for ya. My chickens... they ain't layin' no eggs. An' my pigs, they just been sittin' there, twitchin'. Nellie says it's 'cause o' my mud-sculptin' from last night, but I ain't never seen my critters this spooked up."
Grace blinked, her brain struggling to process the bizarre conversation. "Spooked chickens? Mud sculpting? She was being asked to solve a farm-related mystery?', "Uh... I don't... I don't know anything about chickens. Or... mud," Grace stammered. "Why would you... why would you think I would?"
"Well, you got that there... that shiny little screen thingy in your pocket, right?" Billie asked, pointing to the bulge of Grace's phone. "Pa says you city folk got all the smarts. He says that there little screen has all the answers to the whole blamed world! So, I reckon you gotta know why my hens ain't producin' no eggs."
Grace's internal monologue screamed. "She thinks my smart phone is a magic knowledge box! She thinks I'm some kind of a chicken whisperer because I have a cell phone!" Grace took a moment to compose herself. "I... it doesn't quite work like that. It's for... you know, looking things up. I don't have a signal here."
Billie's face fell, her gap-toothed smile vanishing into a look of genuine disappointment.
"Aw, shucks. I thought you'd be a big help." She kicked a rock in frustration.
Suddenly, her eyes lit up again, a mischievous glint returning. "But I do got somethin' else to show ya. My new mud-sculptin' trick." She bent down She bent down, placing her hands and feet on the damp earth, getting into a crouched position like a frog on a lily pad.
"You're gonna love this."

"You're gonna love this." Billie stated, her hands and bare feet now planted firmly on the damp earth, a crouched position like a frog poised to leap.
Grace stared, her confusion escalating into full-blown bewilderment.
"What... what are you doing?" she managed, her voice a reedy whisper. "Was this some kind of country initiation? A pre-show ritual for a bizarre rural talent show?"
Billie took a deep, theatrical breath, her chest puffing out. Then, with a low grunt, she slammed her muddy hands flat against the ground. Slowly, deliberately, she began to lift her arms, her gaze fixed intently on the earth beneath them.
"Is this... some kind of a hillbilly dance move?" Grace ventured, a nervous laugh bubbling up. The sheer absurdity of the situation was starting to compete with her lingering terror.
Billie let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound like pebbles tumbling down a creek bed.
"Heh! Naw, city gal. Just you watch. See what's happenin' right in front of your very own eyes."
Grace’s gaze dropped to the ground, and her breath hitched. Where Billie's hands had been, the mud began to stir. Not just a little wiggle from her movements, but a definite, undeniable, independent stirring.
It began to form a circular shape, churning and swirling, glistening ominously. It looked... alive.
Grace's jaw went slack, her eyes widening to saucers. She was speechless. The mud was moving.
Her gaze snapped back to Billie. The girl was now moving her muddy hands through the air with fluid, almost graceful gestures, her concentration absolute.
It was as if she were sculpting an invisible form, and the mud below responded to every flick of her wrist, every flex of her fingers. Billie was controlling it.
Grace rubbed her eyes furiously, then pinched herself hard on the arm.
"Ow!" she hissed. This wasn't a dream. This was happening.
Billie, her eyes still on her muddy creation, looked up and flashed that unsettling, gap-toothed grin.
"Ain't that just somethin' else?" she drawled, her voice full of pride.
"Watch this here next part. This is the new trick!" With a flourish, Billie waved her arms outward, then pulled them down with a decisive motion.
The swirling mud responded instantly, surging upwards, shifting and shaping, until it solidified into a massive, crudely formed mud hand, which then, with an almost comical slow motion, lifted and waved at Grace.
"Ta-da!" Billie exclaimed, beaming.
Grace, who had been standing frozen in disbelief, finally buckled. Her legs gave out from under her, and she landed with an ungraceful thump on the surprisingly soft ground.
Her eyes were still fixed on the enormous, waving mud hand, then darted to Billie.
"You... you're a... a witch!" Grace stammered, scrambling backward on her hands and knees. "Are you gonna... use me in your potions? Turn me into a toad?"
Billie erupted into a fit of laughter, loud and unrestrained, echoing through the quiet woods. She clutched her stomach, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
"A witch! Heh! Oh, that's a good one, city gal! Naw, I ain't no witch. Don't do no potions, don't know no spells. Just... mud." She wiped a tear of mirth from her eye with a muddy sleeve.
"But... you just made mud move!" Grace protested, still incredulous.
"Normal humans can't do that! You... you literally made a hand out of dirt! That's not normal!"
Billie shrugged, picking a stray leaf from her hair. "Well, I just can. Ain't no big deal, really."
"Wait," Grace said, a new line of questioning forming in her rapidly spinning mind.
"You... you don't know how you got your mud powers?"
Billie shrugged again, a more pronounced, almost nonchalant movement.
"Naw. One day, I was just playin' down by the creek, makin' mud pies, and poof! Next thing I know, the mud was doin' whatever I wanted it to. Been doin' it ever since. Don't know why, don't know how. It just is."
Grace's brain felt like a hyperactive supercomputer, suddenly downloading a million new, contradictory data points. "Mud powers. No explanation. This girl. Her family. This... cursed county. Nothing makes sense!"
"Do your parents know?" Grace asked, almost whispering.
"Oh, I told 'em," Billie said, waving a dismissive hand.
"Pa just said I had too much sun, an' Ma said to go wash up 'fore I tracked mud in the house. Didn't believe a lick of it. So I stopped tryin' to convince 'em. Only one who knows is Nellie. But she ain't much for talkin', so... it's just our little secret." She winked, that missing tooth glinting in the sunlight.
Grace was utterly bamboozled. Her world, meticulously ordered and logical, was crumbling around her. She was stranded in a place where mud came to life, and nobody batted an eye.
Yet, a strange, undeniable curiosity began to replace her fear. This was more than just weird; it was fascinating. A genuine mystery.
"So," Billie asked, interrupting Grace's internal chaos, her voice now softer, almost hopeful, "now that you know my secret, reckon you wanna hang out a bit? See what else this mud can do?"
Grace hesitated for a fraction of a second. The rational part of her screamed "RUN!".
But the other part, the part that craved adventure beyond social media feeds and endless lectures, the part that was suddenly desperate to understand this inexplicable new reality, pushed through. Curiosity, it turned out, was a much stronger force than fear.
"Okay," Grace said, pushing herself up from the ground, her voice still a little shaky, "okay. Tell me everything.

Grace stared at her sneakers, now caked in a new layer of grimy mud. The once-pristine white of the soles was a distant memory.
This wasn't just dirt; it was a gooey, sucking, living thing that seemed determined to swallow her feet whole with every step.
All because she had said "okay" to a mud-controlling girl who thought her family's history was worth getting stuck in the swampy ground for.
Billie, however, was in her element. She moved with an easy, almost joyful rhythm, her bare feet splashing and squelching through the muck.
She gestured grandly to the vast, muddy expanse around them.
"Ain't this a beaut? You see this here mud, city gal? It's the same mud my great-great-grandpa, ol' Zebediah, won in a huntin' bet back in '32. Fella named Hemlock bet him his farm that he couldn't catch a ten-point buck with nothin' but a rusty nail and a pocketful of pecans."
Grace just stared. Her brain, accustomed to facts and figures and logical deductions, short-circuited at the sheer absurdity of the story.
A rusty nail and pecans? She had so many questions, but none of them felt worth asking.
"Yep," Billie continued, hands on her hips, her voice full of a deep-rooted, almost sacred pride.
"Ol' Zebediah outsmarted that ol' buck by lurin' it with the pecans and then usin' the nail to... well, let's just say it was a messy, glorious win. Point is," she said, her voice dropping a little, "this ol' farm, this here mud... it ain't just dirt. It's part of our family, you see. It's a part of me."
Grace's internal monologue screamed. She thinks dirt is her family.
"This is not what I signed up for." Her patience, already running on fumes, began to sputter.
She’d agreed to come here to learn about the magical, mind-bending mud powers, not to get a boring history lesson about a patch of swampy ground.
"Okay, so, the mud's great, got it," Grace interrupted, cutting straight to the chase.
"But what about... you know, weird stuff? Have you ever seen anything, like, unnatural around here? Besides, you know, your hand of mud?" Her heart pounded with a sudden rush of anticipation.
"Finally! A genuine mystery!"
Billie's cheerful grin faded, replaced by a thoughtful frown. She scratched her chin, her eyes scanning the horizon as if looking for a ghost.
Grace leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "What was it? A cryptid? An alien? A government drone?"
Billie looked at her with a serious, almost somber expression. "Reckon I have," she said slowly.
Grace held her breath.
"Once, I found a tomato out back behind the coop. It wasn't just shaped like a head, mind you... it had a little squiggly stem that looked just like a nose, and two tiny black seeds that were just right for eyes."
Grace’s shoulders slumped.
The dramatic tension she'd so eagerly built up in her mind evaporated into a puff of rural nonsense.
"A tomato," she sighed, defeated.
Just then, Grace's eyes landed on another figure in the distance.
Nellie stood perfectly still, half-hidden behind a dilapidated pigpen, her face obscured by her wild brown hair. She was staring directly at Grace. The girl’s nose twitched, and Grace, defeated and oddly intrigued, simply raised a hand and waved. Nellie didn't wave back. She just stayed perfectly still, a silent, watchful shadow in the chaos of the muddy farm.
Grace felt a new shiver, one that had nothing to do with being lost or covered in mud.
It was the feeling that Nellie wasn't just watching her.
she was smelling her.
"Reckon I've seen enough," Billie said, dusting off her hands.
"Chickens are spooked, mud's a mess, and ain't a single egg to be found. And Nellie here says the same thing."
Grace just stared at her. "So... what now? We call the police? The ASPCA?"
Billie just laughed. "Ain't no police for spooked chickens, city gal. The only ones who can fix this is us. I need ya to use that little black magic box of yours to look up what could spook a chicken so bad."
Grace's jaw dropped. "My phone? Are you serious? You think a phone can tell you why your chickens didn't lay eggs?"
"Well, ya got all them fancy doohickeys on it, don't ya?" Billie said, her eyes wide with a genuine sense of wonder.
"You can get on that World Wide Web thingy, right? My pa said it has all the answers."
Grace just sighed, defeated. This was it. She was officially in a fever dream.
But the look on Billie's face, a mix of childlike hope and pure faith in technology, was too much to resist.
Grace pulled out her phone, a tiny, useless brick in this signal-less land.
"It's not gonna work," she said, but she pulled up a search page anyway.
It just spun and spun, "No Connection" blinking like a mocking taunt.
"See?" Grace said, holding up the phone. "Told ya."
Billie's face fell, a cloud passing over her wide eyes. "Dagnabbit. So it's a real mystery then."
Grace's heart twinged. She couldn't leave Billie with such a sad face. "Fine," Grace said, rolling her eyes. "I'll help you. But first, let's look for clues. Where did you find them like this?"
"In the coop, 'round 'bout where all that mud is," Billie said, pointing to the spot they were already standing in.
"And Nellie here said she saw somethin' runnin' 'round here last night."
Grace's brain clicked into gear. She dropped to her knees, looking closely at the mud. She saw something the size of a cat or a small raccoon, and it had run circles around the chicken coop.
The prints were smaller, almost like little footprints, and it looked like something had been dragging its tail in the mud, as well.
Billie, along with Nellie, watched as Grace followed the tracks, her nose almost to the ground.
"Nellie said it was a little goblin," Billie said, her voice filled with a hint of fear.
"A goblin?" Grace laughed, the sound hollow in the eerie silence of the farm.
But as she followed the tracks, she noticed something else. A small, shiny object, partially buried in the mud. She dug it out and held it up. It was a silver locket with a strange symbol etched into it.
"What in tarnation?" Billie asked, her voice a low whisper. "That ain't from 'round here."
The locket was cold in Grace's hand. It felt ancient and held a strange energy.
She looked at Billie, then at Nellie, a new kind of terror bubbling up inside her.
This wasn't just a silly mystery about chickens anymore.