Hognapped by Michel Lee Garrett

Ray and Johnny were freezing their nips off at Gobbler’s Knob in the morning’s wee hours. Children played games, vendors hawked wares, adults chugged Sam Adams, and from the central stage, a band blared Top 40 pop parodies about Groundhog Day.

Instead of a beer, Johnny, a hyperactive redhead with cheerful eyes, produced a weed pen. The smoke was indistinguishable from his breath, fogging the frigid air. Ray, a scruffy fellow in worn cowboy boots and matching Stetson hat, followed suit.

“Why did you drag me here?”

“It’s a grand Pennsylvania tradition, Ray!”

“It’s cold. I swear, if that rodent sees his shadow, I am going to freak out.”

“That’s not the worst thing that can happen on Groundhog Day. I’d be more worried about getting stuck in a time loop.”

Ray had never seen the movie. “Wha?”

A man in a top hat and tuxedo suddenly rushed by, mumbling frantically.

“Oh dear, oh dear…!”

Johnny pointed. “We should check that out.”

Ray rubbed his temples. “Johnny, can we go somewhere, for once, without getting dragged into some bullshit?”

“But what if we have to save Groundhog Day!?”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of…”

Johnny pulled him, following the tuxedoed man behind the stage where a gaggle of top hats had gathered, but a security guard blocked their passage.

“Area’s closed to the public!”

“Something wrong?” Johnny asked.

“Not at all!” the guard replied, grimacing.

“Groundhog Day is ruined!” wailed one of the gaggle. “The people will riot!”

Johnny went to elbow Ray in an I-told-you-we-had-to-save-Groundhog-Day sort of way but found Ray had already snuck past the guard.

“Howdy,” Ray said, business cards ready. “Name’s Raymond Reynolds, private detective. Couldn’t help overhear your cries of panic and doom and such. Maybe I can help.”

The behatted men exchanged glances and whispers in debate.

“Very well,” relented a magnificently silver-bearded man. “My name is Merrill Klepperbottom, president of the Inner Circle, sole interpreter of Groundhogese, sworn protector of our mystic rodent, and I regret to inform you that… Punxsutawney Phil has been hognapped!”

“Every time,” Ray muttered. “Every time we go anywhere.”

“Is this the scene of the crime?” Johnny asked, running up.

The gaggled parted, revealing the cage where Puxatawney Phil was kept until the appointed hour — empty, door open.

“I can’t believe I let this happen!” the security guard blubbered.

“What happened?” Ray asked, scanning the scene.

“A woman ran up to me, frantic — said someone stole her husband’s wallet. Dragged me into the grounds but disappeared into the crowd. When I got back, our blessed hog was already gone.”

“Describe her.”

“Short? With black hair, wearing a groundhog onesie.”

“There’s dozens of people here in groundhog onesies!” Johnny despaired.

Ray knelt, looking closer. He nudged one of the Inner Circle to take a step back and plucked a small item from the grass: a little rubber unicorn charm.

“I think she’s also wearing Crocs,” Ray said.

Ray and Johnny asked around without luck until they inquired at the line of yellow busses on loan from Punxsutawney Area High School, ferrying tourists to and from town.

“There was a woman with those dumb rubber slippers,” said one of the drivers, his bus filling up. “She was hollerin’ at her family in a genuine panic, practically pushed them on the bus.”

They climbed aboard.

“After them!” Johnny said.

At the park downtown, they caught wind of a rumor of a woman who must’ve had “a raccoon or something” trying to escape from her onesie, running toward the historic brick Shadow Hotel next door. Their sacred mission earned them entry past the front desk, and they soon honed in on the sound of an argument unfolding behind one of the guest doors.

“Bethany, what have you done?!”

“It all happened so fast!”

“We’re going to be arrested!” yelled one child.

“Way to go, mom!” yelled a second. “Stick it to the man!”

Ray knocked on the door. The arguing went silent.

A man with glasses and a blonde beard appeared. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We already have fresh towels, so…”  He began to close the door.

Ray stuck his cowboy boot in the way. “We know you have the rodent.”

The man reluctantly opened up. “It’s over,” he said. “The cops are here.”

Inside, one kid hopped on the bed. “Beat it, pigs!”

Another wept. “Don’t arrest my step-mommy!”

In the middle, cradling a groundhog in her arms, stood a woman in a groundhog onesie and heavily charmed Crocs. She looked between Ray and Johnny, on the verge of tears.

“We’re not cops,” Ray said. “We’re just here for the hog.”

“Why’d you do it?” Johnny asked.

Bethany admired Phil with love. “I just wanted to hug him! I heard the guard coming back and panicked. I didn’t mean for it to go this far!”

Johnny scratched Phil beneath the chin. He grunted.

“You know what,” Johnny said, “I get it.”

“I’m not interested in getting you in trouble.” Ray took Phil from her. “I just have to save Groundhog Day.”

“Bye-bye, baby,” whispered Bethany to Phil. “I’m sorry I hognapped you.”

Phil grunted in response.

On the school bus back to Gobbler’s Knob, Johnny prodded Ray. “You gotta admit, he is pretty cute.”

Ray would admit no such thing. Phil rested his head on Ray’s shoulder. It was probably just the weed, but he swore he heard him whisper: “Thank you.”  

“You’re welcome,” Ray whispered back.

“What?” Johnny said.

“What?”

Merrill Klepperbottom burst into tears at the sight of Phil. “Righteous rodent, you are returned to us!”

The celebration carried on without incident. When Merrill held Phil up, he locked eyes with Ray. The crowd cheered for an early Spring.

In spite of himself, Ray smiled.

When they finally went to bed, Ray drifted into a contented sleep. He opened his eyes the next day but somehow found himself standing next to Johnny in the wee hours at Gobbler’s Knob, freezing his nips off.

“Wait. What the f—”