Sam Moorcock loved frogs, especially bullfrogs. Every day, he explored the pond near his home, looking for bullfrogs to play with. One day, he came across a bullfrog who was larger than usual. It hopped up to him and said, “Ribbit.”
The sound wasn’t too surprising because frogs are supposed to croak like that, but the way this one croaked was odd. It sounded almost human. Sam knew his neighbor’s son liked to play tricks on people, so he called out, “Hello? Who’s there?”
No answer came, except for the frog, which loudly repeated, “Ribbit!”
Sam stepped closer, picking up the frog and turning it to face him. “That couldn’t have been you, could it?”
The frog stared into his eyes and, in the same eerily human way, croaked, “Rib… bit.”
Startled, Sam dropped the frog. As it hit the ground, he could have sworn it croaked, “Drammit!”
Sam gasped, “What?!”
The frog hopped toward him, glaring up with wide eyes before letting out another croak. “Grod-drammit!”
“A talking frog? No way!” Sam leaned in closer. “If you really can talk, tell me your name.”
“Jerroomiaa,” the frog croaked.
Sam clapped his hands in delight. “Jeremiah? How is that you can talk? And why are you talking to me?”
Jeremiah stared at Sam for a moment, then crawled in a circle three times before looking up and croaking again, “Rollo.”
Sam blinked. “Rollo? The candy?”
The frog lashed its tongue across Sam’s face to silence him, clearly frustrated. Looking him in the eyes, he croaked again, “Ro! … Frollow.”
Sam frowned in thought, then gasped. “Follow! You want me to follow you?”
Jeremiah turned and hopped away.
“Hey, wait for me!” Sam cried, chasing after him.
The frog led him to the edge of the pond, stopping to extend a webbed forelimb toward the water.
“Rook,” Jeremiah croaked.
Sam peered into the water, seeing both his reflection and Jeremiah’s. Then, he noticed something lurking beneath the surface. As he reached out, a massive frog, bigger than any he’d seen, erupted from the water, and shot out its tongue before he could even flinch.
The last thing Sam saw was the creature’s belly.
When he woke, it was nighttime, and he was covered in slime. He glanced down at his hands and found a bottle of wine and a strange book made entirely of plastic. Opening the cover, he discovered a note scribbled inside:
Sorry for attacking you, but time was running out. The enemy of the universe was approaching the pond, and we had to hide. This diary was written by an ancient friend of the Bullfrogi, translated into your language. Please share the wisdom it holds.
Your friend, Jeremiah the Bullfrogi.
P.S. Drink the wine—it’ll help you recover from the sleeping venom.
Sam stumbled home, his head pounding.
Stripping off his slimy clothes, he hopped into the shower, but the headache only worsened. Desperate for relief, he grabbed a bottle opener and popped open the wine mentioned in the note.
He took the book, the wine, and a glass out to his porch. After pouring himself a drink and taking a sip, he sighed. “This is a mighty fine wine.”
Settling in, Sam opened the diary. The first page held a note that read:
I am the last survivor of my clan. We were slaughtered for refusing to submit to the wicked one, who used trickery to convince our neighbors to worship him. These notes record the “miracles” performed by the false god, Jesi. Please share what I have witnessed to open the eyes of our brethren to the truth. Maybe one day, joy will return to the world.
All my hopes,
Zaba Volsci
[1] Diary of Miracles (Jesi Saga)
This story is part of a collection of narrative entries, eyewitness records, and sacred illustrations documenting the rise and fall of the false god known as Jesi. This account spans many pages and includes artistic depictions and individual miracle stories recorded by a witness whose voice grows ever more strained under the weight of truth.
This story is part of one continuous chronicle. Treat each section as a chapter within the same diary. Each page is part of a fragmented gospel of a false messiah, exposed through the steady hand of one who dared to witness.
As you read, keep in mind that this is not a story of salvation. It is a cautionary record, and like all cautionary tales, its lesson may arrive only after it’s too late.
Leave a Reply