A Shell for the Smallest Crab

The tide had gone out far enough to leave a pool shaped like a shoe. Moss, a hermit crab, lived near the heel. When he set off across the pool that evening, he found that his shell scraped against a stone it had slipped past the day before. He tried again, sideways this time, and still he could hear the scrape.

Moss had grown. He had known it for a few mornings, when the narrowest part of the shell felt too close. He liked the old shell because he knew every line inside it. If he closed his eyes, he could tell which way was up by a small notch next to his left foot.

At the toe end of the pool he found a shell the color of pink sand. He turned it over to look inside. It was wider than his old one, and Moss thought for a moment that he’d found a place where he could stretch every leg at once. When he tried to lift it, the edge fell into the sand. To carry it home he would have to leave one claw underneath the whole way.

He set it back where it had been. A little fish swam up to look inside. It turned around in one flick and went out the same way. Moss decided that the pink shell could stay where it was. It made a good place for the fish to turn without being seen.

The next shell was small and very smooth. Moss liked the way the moon shone on it. He walked a few steps with it on his back. A wave slipped into the far end of the pool and left a little water inside the shell, right where he wanted to tuck his feet. He shook it out and found that the opening faced up. There would be a wet spot there after every wave.

The last shell was half buried where two rocks met. There was sand in the opening and a dark stripe around the middle. Moss had to dig with both claws before he could see how deep it went. A grain of sand stayed inside. He tipped the shell and waited until the grain came rolling out of the point.

He looked around for a place to try it on. Under one of the rocks there was a wide, empty corner with a strip of shadow along the entrance. He put the old shell down and slid into the new one. There was room to turn a little before he tucked himself inside. He tried opening and closing one claw, then the other. Nothing rubbed.

Moss carried his new shell back to the heel of the pool. He took the long way round so he could feel how it sat on the stones. It stayed steady even when he went past the narrow spot. When he reached his sleeping place, he turned and went back for the old shell. He remembered the grain of sand in the new one and thought somebody might appreciate a shell they could see right into.

He brushed the sand off the old shell and propped it against the rock so the water wouldn’t fill it. It looked smaller from outside than it ever had from inside. He touched the notch one more time. From there he could see a trail of tiny marks in the sand. Somebody smaller than he was had walked through earlier that evening.

Moss left the shell beside the trail. He walked home across the one dry bit of sand that was still warm. At the heel of the pool, he found a smooth place to sit with the point of his new shell tucked into the shadows. The small waves made a rim of moonlight around the rocks. One light went out when he closed an eye. The other went out when he closed the second.