by Tim Greaton
turning into a dragon but the nightmares from earlier supported his theory. He remembered the poor cliffhanging creature from his dreams, and the way he had scorched and crunched it down like a chicken dinner. His stomach roiled at the thought. He couldn’t let this happen. He had to do something—fast!
He stripped his pants down, and pain burst like a fire hose into his head! Doubling over with the ferocity of it, he struggled to breathe as his shoulders broke into a blazing itch. Zachary yanked his pants back up.
The agony stopped.
Slowly, he let the jeans fall again. Excruciating pressure swelled his skull. He pulled them up, and the distress ended. Knowing he couldn’t survive many more experiments, he came to a silly but obviously true conclusion: his blue jeans were magic. But who ever heard of magic jeans? And why would they have become magic all of the sudden? He had worn the same jeans dozens of times.
No, there had to be another explanation.
He groped around and discovered a lump in his back pocket, a pocket he never used. Reaching in, he drew out a black disc embossed with the image of an old man in flowing robes. The man leaned heavily on a staff and seemed to be standing against a hurricane wind. The image was so detailed that Zachary could see individual hairs on the old man’s beard. He flipped the medallion over and found the exact same view only from the back. The metal loop on top suggested the disc was meant to be hung from a chain. So how had it gotten into his pocket?
The answer was obvious: Madame Kloochie. She must have slipped it into his pocket after the dragon bit him, likely when she “accidentally” shoved him from behind. He flipped the coin over several times. Apparently it warded only against pain because it hadn’t stopped dragon scales from forming on his shoulders. And that probably also meant it would not keep him from turning the rest of the way into the fire-breathing monster from his dreams. Closing his hand around the medallion, he tried to force the memory of his midnight snack from his mind. But he could still hear the helpless creature’s screams and taste its charred flesh as he crunched its bones—
He had to do something!
Zachary finished changing then hurried to the living room where Madame Kloochie was just sitting up. Her hair, newly died purple, was matted down on one side like a damaged helmet and drool had caused one corner of her thickly applied red lipstick to run like tomato sauce down her chin.
“Did you put this in my pocket?” He held up the medallion.
“Why would I do something like that?” she asked, a mocking grin curling her thick lips.
“Look what happened to me.” Zachary leaned down and pulled the collar of his tee shirt back so she could see the golden scales. He tapped on them, letting the hollow rapping further make his point.
Madame Kloochie shrugged. “Could be worse.”
“Worse than turning into a dragon?”
Suddenly, her face contorted in anger.
“You’ve no idea what could be worse! Try skin like crust, immovable limbs, thoughts so slow they might not exist at all!”
Zachary backed into the dining room. Though always borderline insane, she wasn’t usually quite so over-the-top angry. Then, as though nothing had happened, Madame Kloochie’s fury melted away. Calmly, she used her remote to change the TV from news to a cartoon.
“You’re planning on opening the store on time, I hope,” she said.
“Sure,” Zachary said and returned to his room.
Even though she had to be the one who had slipped the wizard’s disc into his pocket, she obviously didn’t intend to talk about it. Sitting on his bed, he threaded a heavy string through the medallion’s hole then draped the resulting necklace around his neck. He paused to examine the old man on the medallion again.
Somehow the wizard had moved and now held his staff above his head!
Was it safe to wear? What if the old geezer tried to poke him with his staff, or worse? Knowing the alternative would be to have his head explode with pain again, Zachary sighed and let the amulet fall beneath his shirt. It wasn’t as though he had any choice.
“I’m going to Bret’s for a few minutes,” Zachary said as he hurried through the dining room.
Thinking Madame Kloochie wouldn’t be ready so early, he was surprised when her right arm snapped back and hurled something straight at his head! Zachary ducked and expected dough and frosting to strike the wall beside him. Instead, he heard only a deep belly laugh. Confused, he looked over at the couch.
“You thought I shot something,” Madame Kloochie managed to breathe between bursts of laughter. “You really thought I shot something.” She was laughing so hard Zachary had to smile. For the first time since arriving in New Hampshire, he thought he might learn to like this woman whose moods were as volatile as Boston weather.
Zachary hurried out the door, down the stairs, and across the street. Along the way, he wondered how long it would be before he started to grow wings. He shivered, realizing that his time was running out.
He came up short when he saw both Volvos parked in Bret’s driveway. The sun was just coming up and his parents were both there. Before he could figure out his next move, his scrawny friend opened the door and slipped out onto the porch. Already, he had on his trademark button-up shirt and slacks, but only brown dress socks adorned his feet.
“I saw you out the window.”
Meeting his friend on the porch, Zachary nodded and pulled back his tee shirt collar. He rapped on the golden-red scales.
“Whoa!”
“D’you ask M-Madame Kloochie about it?” Bret asked.
Zachary nodded.
“If she knows anything, she’s not saying.”
Bret moved to the stairs and sat down on the top one. “Wh-What are you th-th-thinking?”
“I’m thinking I need to find a cure for dragon poison before I start eating pets.” He wanted to smile but couldn’t force the expression. Apparently, there was little humor in becoming a monster.
“Y-You need a doctor!”
Zachary had already thought of that. “I can’t imagine someone like your mother or father being able to help.”
“Wh-What about the doctor you already s-s-saw?” Bret pointed at his cast.
“No way! Doctor Gefarg is the one that told Krage how to find us in Boston. I don’t need him showing up here at Station End.”
“But he knows about magic, right?”
Zachary nodded.
“M-Maybe you can call him th-th-through that little c-c-coffin.”
“You stutter when you’re upset, you know,” Zachary said.
“Are y-you going to use M-M-Medusa?”
“If it will get rid of these shoulder pads,” Zachary said, “you bet I am.”
He hurried back across the street and up the stairs. By the time he grabbed his father’s U-Ghoul unit, dodged a maple donut and rushed downstairs to open Madame Kloochie’s Store, Bret was already waiting at the front door, a grim look on his face.
2) Three Eyes and a Monster
“What about your parents?” Zachary asked as he let Bret into the store.
“They didn’t get in till early,” Bret said. “I doubt they’ll wake up before noon.”
Zachary led Bret to the back of the store between a bureau with a missing drawer and a pool table lacking cloth on the top. Before opening the casket lid, Zachary waited for Bret to take several steps back. Maybe seeing Medusa the last time hadn’t put him in the hospital, but that didn’t mean he wanted to get too close. As always, snake-haired woman and the disgusting ghoulish hands were there to greet Zachary as he settled into the U-Ghoul’s seat.
“You have seven thousand and twenty-two messages,” the olive-skinned lady. “All are from His Lordship Ker Sevikrage. There are no messages from Roger Penbolt Pill, Francis Neddleson Pill, or anyone else.”
Zachary heart sank as it did every time he talked with her. No news meant that his father and maybe even his uncle could be locked in a life or death struggle with Krage or worse. Instant anger fueled Zachary’s de
sire to know more about magic. He would have carried the fight to Krage if he had any idea how to do it.
“Zachary Roger Pill,” Medusa said coolly, “I assume you do not want to review your new messages.”
“No,” Zachary said, shaking his head, “but I need to contact someone. Can I do that?”
“Yes,” Medusa said. “You simply need to summon the person you want to reach. As long as that person is in our U-Ghoul data core, I can put the communication through. If he or she is not available, you will then be able to leave a smoke impression.”
“A smoke impression?”
“A message,” Medusa said.
“And I can talk the same way I’m talking to you,” Zachary said.
Medusa nodded. “My image will disappear so that you can converse unobstructed.”
“But you’ll be listening?” Zachary asked.
“The U-Ghoul system hears everything,” Medusa acknowledged, most of her snakes nodding in agreement, “but your Deluxe Privacy Package ensures that all information will remain confidential. Who would you like to summon?”
“Doctor Gefarg,” Zachary said. “Is he in your system?”
“Of course,” Medusa said. Her eyes turned momentarily white. “Doctor Bullwark Boffal Gefarg does not list a personal portal, but I can connect you to the main portal at the Chicago Enclave Clinic.”
“Fine,” Zachary said, anxious to find a cure for the dragon venom.
Medusa, true to her word, disappeared and was replaced by a bizarre woman with a third eye in her forehead.
“Chicago Enclave Clinic,” she said. “Oh. Hi, Zachary.”
Zachary