Waves of Grain

The whale is a cunning and vicious beast," the old man in the long coat said, leaning in close enough for me to smell his sour, beery breath. He was unshaven and red-eyed. "I've tracked it across the waves for years, and now, at long last, I've run it down. Here. Tonight."

I glanced around the dimly-lit bar. "We're in Kansas," I said. "Land-locked."

"You see why it was so difficult to find!" The captain leered, then froze. "Thar! Thar she blows!"

Beneath our feet, the wooden planks of the floor bent, bowed, and - one by one - began to snap...