A detour between Wednesday and Thursday

The Midnight Moo Mission

Blue had just closed the day’s report when something beneath the stairs made a very suspicious noise.

Mark stopped walking. Shanna lowered her phone. Angie looked toward the sound with the expression of someone who had already paid sixty dollars for birds and was not interested in buying a cow.

“That’s the bathroom,” Shanna said.

A second moo answered. Then a tiny voice said, “Wrong button. Try the snort.”

The three of them went down the steps.

At the bottom, where there should have been an ordinary door, stood a purple entrance with a banana-shaped handle. A sign read: MIDNIGHT MANAGEMENT. PLEASE WIPE YOUR HOOVES.

“I’m wearing slippers,” Angie said. “That’ll have to do.”

She turned the banana.

Behind the door, the resort was being run by pigs.

Blue sat at a reception desk, wearing a headset over one ear and holding a clipboard. Yellow operated a switchboard labeled TOWELS, ROOM SERVICE, and EMERGENCY SNACKS. Red was testing the announcements.

“Moooo.”

“That one again?” Blue asked.

“The buttons are very close together.”

Their rainbow companion hurried past carrying a stack of pool towels in every color of the rainbow. For once, somebody matched the laundry.

Shanna pointed at Blue. “So you DO exist.”

“Only authorized guests are supposed to see this floor,” he replied. “Do you have identification?”

Angie reached into her bag, then stopped.

“We are not doing the passport thing again.”

Mark stepped forward. “I’m extremely photogenic.”

Blue examined him, then swiveled a small camera around.

“Finally. Someone with useful qualifications.”

Mark raised an imaginary drink. The camera flashed. A machine printed a passport bearing his picture and the words: IT’S A GIFT.

“Valid in all participating mirrors,” Blue said.

Two parrots guarded the next doorway. One held a little payment terminal. The other wore reading glasses.

“Sixty dollars,” said the first.

“For what?” Angie demanded.

“Looking photogenic in a restricted area.”

“I already paid for pictures!”

The parrots conferred. Shanna folded her arms. Mark kept posing, just in case the passport required renewal.

Angie reached into her bag and produced the coffee she had won at bingo.

The parrot in glasses gasped. “The champion.”

Both birds stepped aside.

“Why didn’t you say you were the Coffee Queen?”

Blue made a note. “Banana Queen. Coffee Queen. We’ll need a longer badge.”

Beyond the parrots was a ballroom full of cows.

Each cow sat at a tiny table with a bingo card. A band played onstage. The singer leaned toward the microphone and announced “Careless Whisper,” but every instrument made a different kind of moo.

Shanna looked at Mark. Mark looked at Angie.

Angie sighed. “I did say we were turning into cows.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Blue said. “Red accidentally connected the dinner menu to the guest directory. Everyone who ordered steak has been assigned a stall.”

“An ocean-view stall?” Mark asked.

“Don’t encourage him,” Shanna said.

There was only one way to reset the system: win the midnight bingo game and pull the golden lever behind the prize table.

Angie took a seat.

Shanna reached toward a card.

“Don’t clear it,” Angie said immediately.

“I haven’t even touched it!”

Blue passed out markers. The rainbow pig helped until he realized the colors were so flattering that he wanted to wear them.

The caller read the first number.

A cow lifted its hoof. “Moo?”

“That’s not a number,” said Shanna.

“It is here,” Blue replied. “Local rules.”

Mark turned his card sideways, then upside down.

“Is there a prize for best picture?”

Angie ignored him. She had three markers in a row, then four. The next call made her slap the table.

“BINGO!”

A bell rang. The cows applauded with their hooves. Red tried to release confetti and instead printed forty-seven room-service receipts.

Angie marched toward the lever.

The parrot with the glasses blocked her path.

“One prize per guest.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” she said. “That was yesterday.”

“Technically,” Blue whispered, checking a clock shaped like a pineapple, “it is now midnight.”

The parrot studied the clock. It had twelve little bananas instead of numbers.

“I hate the night shift.”

He stepped aside. Angie pulled the lever.

Every cow in the ballroom turned into a perfectly ordinary resort guest—except one, who asked if the grass buffet was still open.

“Vegetarian,” Yellow explained. “Leave him alone.”

The floor began to rumble.

“Please tell me that’s the ice machine,” said Shanna.

Blue looked up. “We may have reset the transportation system too.”

The giant woven egg chair came floating down the corridor.

Angie recognized it at once. Plenty of room to stretch out. Excellent cushions. Very questionable steering.

“Everybody in!”

Mark climbed aboard. Shanna followed. Angie took the most comfortable spot because, in her opinion, she had done the work.

Yellow reached for a cushion.

“Headquarters naps?” he asked hopefully.

“Next flight,” said Blue.

The rainbow pig glowed beside the chair like a tiny runway light. With a tremendous snort, the egg rose through an opening in the roof and sailed over the palms.

Below them, the parrots chased along the path.

“Sixty dollars for the aerial photograph!”

“Send it to the cows!” Angie called.

Mark leaned toward the moonlight. “This is probably my best angle.”

Shanna gripped the woven edge. “I almost got taken out by a wave today. I am not getting taken out by patio furniture.”

The egg swooped toward the pool. A coconut weather station came into view. Its coconut swung violently.

“Windy,” Angie announced.

The coconut spoke. “Obviously.”

A phone began ringing inside her bag.

“Jerry?” she said.

The phone rang again. The palms blurred. Somewhere nearby, a voice said, “Are you ready?”

The egg chair stopped flying.

Someone opened their eyes.

There was no secret headquarters. No midnight bingo. No bovine room assignments.

It had all been a dream.