Wolf! Happily Ever After?

by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

  Walt went to the window of his apartment and stared out over Main Street. A lot of families were leaving now that the shows were over and hour was so late. Some of the guest, though, would not be making that sad trek toward the exits. They were already in their hotel-like rooms inside Sleeping Beauty Castle or in one of the luxury huts high up in the Treehouse.

  With a tilt of his chin, Walt indicated all the people who flowed through the tunnels under the train tracks. “They have to be protected, Wolf. How could I live with myself if something happened to any of the guests? This is supposed to be a safe, happy place.” Frustrated, he turned away from the window, a worried frown between his eyes.

  Wolf nodded. “I know, Walt, and it always has been safe. But, like you said, nothing like this has ever happened before. Do you think we need to talk to Peter Brentwood?”

  Still thoughtful, Walt agreed. “Peter is doing as good a job as his mother and father—and grandfather,” he added with a sad smile, “did as Guardians. Lance and Kimberly trained him well. Yes, he should be apprised.” Looking back out the window, Walt shook his head as he considered the possibilities of what might come. “But, I don’t know what any of us can do. This is way out of our league.”

  Wolf’s blue eyes shone with his anger. “I’m sure we will think of something. But, one thing is definite. We’ll have to provide a united front.”

  Walt turned sharply at his words, suddenly angry. “No! There is no ‘we’ this time, Wolf. This is my fight. Just like Mickey and the dragon over there at Fantasmic! I will do what I have to. Alone!” he stressed.

  Aware that this was not the time to argue, Wolf said nothing in reply, just a simple nod of his head. “I’ll go talk to Peter.”

  He got no answer. Head down, Walt was deep in thought, his outline framed by the glowing white lights outside the window.

  They both knew they had only one day to figure something out.

  “This is my dream!” Mickey cried out the next night as the Fantasmic! show progressed. His wand pointed at the tall, fire-breathing dragon that towered over him and, right on cue, a shaft of sparkling light streaked toward the dragon.

  Always mute, the dragon suddenly, inexplicably screamed back at him. “Not this night, Mouse!” She turned her huge head and blew a fireball straight at the nearby Mark Twain depot. The century-old white building immediately burst into flame. Her head back, the dragon began to laugh in an odd, cackling sound as she gleefully looked at the burning building.

  The watching crowd, whose only perception was that something was new and different, ooh’d and aah’d as the flames climbed higher into the night sky. They applauded the new special effects and cheered loudly. A panicked crowd-control member, however, was not in awe and, knowing something was terribly wrong, sent a silent alarm to the fire crew backstage.

  The cast member inside the Mickey costume froze in place, not knowing what to do. After making a few, futile attempts to get back to the script, she was too frightened by the laughing, screaming dragon in front of her. In years past, occasionally the dragon would do odd things, like bend over backward or not rise fully from the underground storage box. But this…. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

  The female cast member, talking into her voice-altering microphone so she sounded like Mickey, tried to end the show. “S…S…Sorry, but we’re experiencing a little technical difficulty, folks, so, that’s all for tonight! Thanks for coming! See ya real soon! Bye now!” she squeaked out, trying to cheerfully wave the white-gloved hand good-bye and keep it from visibly shaking.

  Immediately spurred into action, Wolf and his security team tried to get the attention of the people who still thought they were watching part of the show. Security needed to get the crowd moving toward the Adventureland exit, away from the hot flames. However, the guests didn’t want this exciting version of the show to be over. When all the lights on Tom Sawyer Island suddenly went out, they did, finally, accept the directions given by the insistent security team and began to file out in an orderly fashion.

  Still wondering what was going on, some of the guests turned back to look just as the dragon pushed off from Tom Sawyer Island. The platform and lift system was smashed into a hundred pieces as she took to flight and streaked upward into the night sky. As the dark form of the dragon disappeared into the smoke-filled sky, those excited guests began to talk to each other as they were briskly herded toward the exit. “Wow! This was a great addition to the show,” they unanimously agreed, and they were hopeful that “the Imagineers would get the bugs worked out before the show tomorrow night.”

  Over in Fantasyland, the fireworks show over Sleeping Beauty Castle had just gotten underway. The second call Wolf had radioed in was to stop the fireworks and close the Park. The first hurried call had been to Peter to tell him what was going on and who was behind it.

  The backstage areas of Disneyland were now open to allow the mass of people to move even faster toward the exits and the waiting hovercraft trams that would take them to the parking garage. The guests, once unhappy by the abrupt end of their favorite show and the early closing of the Park, were now engrossed in seeing what was usually behind closed gates and out of their sight. They gawked at what the cast members saw everyday—the plain backside of the stores, lockers, vending machines, and most exciting of all, the stairs that lead up to Walt’s old apartment above the firehouse.

  Because they ignored the beeping of their transmitter, there were three cast members who didn’t realize what had happened in another part of the Park. High on top of the Matterhorn, two cast members were still helping Tinker Bell get ready for her nightly flight over the Castle. Her harness was a high tech marvel that allowed her amazing freedom of movement from the old wire they used to use. Now she could even fly out over the audience if she chose to, and drop a handful of multi-colored pixie dust from a pocket in her costume as she soared above their heads. Just as she was ready to push off, the spotlight that always lit her flight was suddenly pulled away from her exit point. It was aimed at something else in the sky as the rockets exploded over their heads. Their curiosity turned to concern as the spotlight illuminated a huge, dark dragon that slowly circled the Castle. While they were wondering about this new, unannounced addition to the show, the dragon screamed in anger as the fireworks exploded around her. A stream of reddish/orange fire blew out of her mouth and instantly dissolved a rocket that was coming straight at her.

  Eyes wide, Tinker Bell dove back into the Matterhorn and quickly started to remove her harness. “I ain’t going out there. If you want Tinker Bell, you be Tinker Bell!”

  “I’m with you, Anne. We’d better get out of sight. Hurry up, Ken! Get that elevator door open!”

  In mere moments the three cast members were out of sight and inside the elevator inside the mountain that would take them to the underground tunnel and to what they hoped would be safety.

  As Main Street emptied, the scream echoed off of the vacated buildings. Far enough away, the crowd didn’t panic. There was still the feeling of being safe in the Magic Kingdom despite the menacing flames that still rose from the ruins of the Mark Twain depot. Something was different, but they felt secure in the knowledge that it was all Disney magic and that it would somehow be fixed if it was out of order.

  As the fire department worked to quell the fire that acted differently than any fire they had ever faced, an older man quietly stood in the shadowed background and watched. His shoulders were hunched as if he was in pain. Had they seen him, they might have wondered why a lone tear streaked down his forlorn face as he watched the entrance to the Mark Twain turn into a sodden pile of gray ashes. No!Not this place!Why did it have to be here? While his heart broke, special memories of a special occasion on that very spot suddenly flooded through his mind and threatened to bring him to his knees.

  Disneyland — 1955

  Early in the summer of 1955, almost three hundred friends, celebrities, studio heads and executives received this invitation
:

  “Tempus Fugit Celebration

  Where: Disneyland…where’s there’s plenty of room…

  When: Wednesday, July 13, 1955, at six o’clock in the afternoon…

  Why: Because we have been married Thirty Years…

  How: By cruising down the Mississippi on the Mark Twain’s maiden voyage, followed by dinner at Slue-Foot Sue’s Golden Horseshoe!

  Hope you can make it—we especially want you and, by the way, no gifts, please—we have everything, including a grandson!

  Lilly and Walt”

  Joe had arrived early on July thirteenth to make sure that his pride and joy, the Mark Twain, was ready to make her maiden voyage all the way around Tom Sawyer’s Island. She hadn’t been tested on the River yet and he was a little worried about this first sailing that would be experienced by the cream of Hollywood’s society.

  Once onboard the boat, he was immediately handed a broom by an unknown woman who was busy with her own broom and dustpan, sweeping the sawdust, shavings, and dirt off of the new deck. Barely glancing at the man, she told him to get busy and help her so it would be clean in time for all the guests who were coming.

  This was the first time Admiral Joe had met Lillian Disney.

  At the front gate, as the anniversary guests began to arrive, Walt happily directed all of them to waiting horse-drawn surreys. With a steady clip-clop, clip-clop, the horses pulled the excited guests down the glittering avenue of Main Street—that was almost finished and ready for the Grand Opening two days later. Once through the open gates of Frontierland, they were guided aboard the waiting ship.

  All decked out with sparkling white lights, the pristine Mark Twain was filled with happy, mingling people. A Dixieland band entertained them while waiters served an endless supply of mint juleps.

  With a blast of the whistle, the ship slowly pulled away from the dock and the huge paddlewheel in the back provided a soothing swish-swish-swish in the green water. There were no lights on Tom Sawyer Island yet, but the guests still felt like they were transported into another place and time. The Admiral needn’t have worried. The trip was smooth and pleasant, a good omen for the new park.

  Once back to the dock, the Golden Horseshoe Saloon had her doors swung open and waiting. Dinner was served within the gilded wallpaper, red and white light fixtures, and carved wooden accents of the showroom. Walt and Lillian sliced the beautiful four-tiered white anniversary cake as family and friends looked on, smiling at the happy occasion and having a wonderful time.

  Slue-Foot Sue started her show with a song and then introduced her Can-Can girls. When the Irish tenor had finished his song, the Traveling Salesman came onstage with his hilarious vaudeville routine. The finale came too soon and Pecos Bill made his appearance, six-guns in hand and shooting at the audience.

  Walt had slipped away by then and reappeared on the upper balcony, pointed his finger like a gun at Pecos Bill and yelled, “Bang! Bang!”

  The audience loved it and called for him to come down and give a speech. Enjoying himself so much, Walt stayed up on the balcony. When the band started to play again, his family came on stage and began to dance with different guests.

  Watching the scene below onstage, Walt seemed to finally realize that his dream of an amusement park that the whole family could enjoy together had finally come true.

  For Walt, there had never been a more heartwarming, magical party than that night.

  Disneyland — 2042

  “I miss you,” he softly whispered into the night. “I miss all of you.”

  The memory of that special occasion faded as Walt realized everything he had worked for, struggled for, gave up for was being threatened. It didn’t matter to him that he was being threatened. He could deal with that. But, not his Park, though. This was his Park, and he wouldn’t let anyone or anything take that away from all the happy guests who came from all over the world to visit it. He knew it was a magical, special place that meant so many things to so many people.

  Walt brushed the tear from his cheek with a determined finality and balled his hands into fists. No, she wasn’t going to destroy anything else. He would fight her with everything he had. He gave a wry smile in the darkness. He had fought dragons of different kinds before. Some of them had won.

  Not this time.

  Anger coursed through him as he resolutely turned away from the charred mess. It was going to stop. And it was going to stop that night.

  Hurrying around the corner into Adventureland, he almost ran through the empty street as he headed for the cast member area behind the shops on Main Street that would take him to his apartment.

  To fight a dragon you need a sword.

  Wolf and a small band stood together, hidden from sight inside the entrance to the Penny Arcade in the middle of Main Street. Its white lighted curved entrance was a vestige of the good, the positive, of everything the Park stood for. Looking in the direction of the Train Station, they could see a lone figure, dressed in casual slacks and a limp cardigan, come into view, walking slowly toward the Castle.

  Rising further into the air, the dragon circled the silent Matterhorn and came back to the Castle. She sat on the uppermost turret as her claws closed around the spire. Just for fun, she set fire to two of the swan topiaries that had sat on the bank of the moat for over fifty years. “That’s better,” Nimue chuckled, her eyes glowing yellow. “I hate swans.”

  She recognized Walt as he casually approached down Main Street, his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t have a care in the world. With a delighted scream, the dragon took to the air, hovering high over the bronze replica of the man who approached her. She let out a fireball that immediately melted the metal head and sent rivulets of molten bronze streaming down the statue. “Come to me,” she coaxed as she flew into the air to circle the Castle. “Come to me and deliver what is mine, or that fate shall be yours!”

  As Walt strode past the entrance of the Arcade, so intent, so focused on the menacing figure that filled the sky with the smell of decay and evil, that he was unaware of the movement that started behind him. Had he looked, he would have seen some familiar and some not-so-familiar faces as they marched united out onto the pavement and fall into position behind him as an army would behind their general.

  Coming in right behind The Man was the first Guardian, Wolf. He matched Walt step for step as they continued down Main Street. Next came Lance and Kimberly, holding hands with set, determined looks on their faces. As they fell into the marching tempo set by their leader, Adam and Beth joined the ranks. Their gray heads were held high as their hands fisted in anger that all they had worked for was being threatened. Carrying his ancient sword upright in his unwavering hands, Wals quickly joined in behind them, ready for one last battle. The final Guardian, Peter, kept his green eyes narrowed on the dragon. Matching him step for step was his wife Catie, Adam and Beth’s daughter. There was no trace of fear on any of their faces as they maintained their positions. Their silent message was clear: We stand together. We will succeed.

  Laughing now, an evil sound that came from behind her forked tongue, the dragon surged toward them, flying low to intimidate, her claws just above their heads.

  Walt did look back now, and smiled with gratitude at his loyal friends who had fanned out behind him. Resolute, confident, he took another few steps forward and faced the Castle.

  “Behold The Man!” the dragon called from high above, as she turned and swooped in low, the tops of the manicured trees swaying in the blast of air. “You have what is mine. I will take it now or you will die. You will all die!”

  “No.”

  The single word was said in a low, firm voice, a voice that had led animators and directors and artists to do their best. They had listened to that voice and knew the strength and belief behind it. They had listened and had done what everyone told them could not be done, what they had at first believed was impossible. That voice had not changed.

  Unaffected, Nimue laughed again and flapped her
ragged wings up to a great height. “Then prepare to die,” she shrieked.

  Turning as if a graceful sparrow and not a huge, lumbering dragon, the sorceress arched back toward the small army. Just for spite, she knocked off one of the golden spires of the It’s a Small World attraction. With a terrifying scream she dove straight at them, leveling off as she opened her huge mouth and blew a steady stream of hot, yellow fire right at Walt.

  Walt could feel the heat building as it got closer and closer to him. The tips of his hair and the fabric of his sweater began to singe and smoke. Standing resolute, unmoving, he brought out the hand that had been in his pocket the entire time. Lifting his hand in front of him, he raised it high over his head and opened his fingers. The ancient chain dangled from his fingertips and the red, heart-shaped diamond swung back and forth in the blast of air that preceded the inferno.

  The red and yellow flames got closer and closer to its intended victim. But, as soon as she saw that the diamond—her diamond—was in the line of fire, the dragon screamed, “No!” and clamped her mouth shut to stop the flow of the flames. Her claws reached out toward Walt, frantically moving back and forth in her efforts to weave a spell.

  In an instant, the flames were diverted around the band of Walt’s people and swept past them all the way down Main Street, the heat prickling at their skin until, at last, the blaze was gone.

  Current Day — Columbia — 1940

  Someone must have thrown more wood on the fire during the long night. It was probably to keep the mosquitoes at bay, possibly for a feeling of security. For whatever the reason, the flames blazed higher, the heat more intense, and the smoke drifted over the clearing and those sleeping near the fire. Some of the animators who slept closest to the fire shifted uneasily in their makeshift beds. Groggy and unaware, they turned away from the intensity of the heat to allow their cold backs to absorb the warmth while their flushed faces cooled in the night air.