The Troll Who Cried Wolf

by Rob Harrell

  Sierra went sprawling into the wall, and I dove at the wolf with my ball of cheese. I smashed it into the side of his face, and noted with pride that a good portion went into his ear.

  Big Bad recoiled and roared.

  He was shaking his head and smacking his palm on it like a swimmer with water in his ear. Sierra took the opportunity to unwrap her ball of cheese, lunge forward, and ram it straight up Big Bad’s nose.

  The huge wolf reacted with the strangest mix of fury and disgust I’ve ever seen. He bared his fangs, roared, and swatted Sierra across the side of her head—but then fell back snorting and huffing like Chester’s dog does when he eats peanut butter.

  I turned and grabbed a lamp off of Kevin’s bedside table. It was shaped like his favorite circus clown, Stucco, but I thought he’d forgive me. I hauled off and smashed that lamp as hard as I could over the distracted wolf’s head. Big Bad fell back onto one elbow, dazed—and I saw our chance.

  I yelled at Sierra to get going out the window. I could see part of her wanted to stay and fight—but a couple of good swats from Big Bad had shaken her pretty bad. She just nodded and scrambled out the window.

  The wolf was getting to his back paws as I climbed up to go out the window right behind her. I felt him grab for me at the last second and had to dive out for the rope.

  I grabbed on as tight as I could, but the cheese all over my paws made the rope slippery. I almost dropped off as I fought to kick my legs up to grab on.

  When I finally had a good grip, I fell in right behind Sierra, going paw after paw as fast as I could. In the yard, the last of the wolves were being chased, yelping, off into the woods by the SQUAT team. Sierra and I were maybe ten feet out when I dared to look back.

  Big Bad came crashing through the window, splintering the frame as he squeezed his considerable shoulders through the opening. One of the shutters came loose, and I watched with horror as it fell to the patio below and shattered into four or five pieces.

  Sierra and I were picking up the pace when the wolf leaped from the roof and grabbed the rope in one quick, graceful move. We both hooked ourselves around the rope and held on for dear life as it bucked and jumped around like a Flopping GoopWalrus. (I’ve only seen a Flopping GoopWalrus on TV, but they’re supposed to be super-hard to ride.)

  While I waited for the rope to settle down, I was able to look forward and see that Kevin and the others had made it to the Ferris wheel. Goldie and Chester were still in the top seat, urging us on, but the others were scrambling down the emergency ladder on one of the supports.

  I felt the rope bouncing and looked back. Big Bad was coming at us at an alarming rate—like scrambling along under ropes was a walk in the park for him.

  I saw and heard an arrow fly past the wolf. Then another. Goldie was trying to take him out.

  And then he was close enough to reach out for me. I saw his big paw coming and kicked out as hard as I could, knocking it away. I ended up letting my feet drop from the rope so I could use both legs to kick. Then he let go with his front paws and grabbed me around the legs.

  This is probably tough to picture in your head, so here’s a sketch I did to show you what kind of a situation we ended up in.

  Seeing the predicament I was in, Sierra yelled for me to hold on—and started working to climb up onto the rope.

  “Hang on, Zarf. Just haaang on, buddy.”

  Then, in an amazing move that I only half saw, she got to her feet, crouched low with her arms out wide like a tightrope walker. She took one small step, bringing her to where I was holding on. She went to step past my paws and it unbalanced her. Realizing she was going to fall, she dove over me and landed on the rope next to the wolf’s legs.

  “Hang on, Zarf—like your life depends on it. ’Cause . . . y’know . . . it probably kinda does.”

  Thanks to the troll blood now going through my system, I was able to pull myself up and get my arms around the rope.

  “Mr. Wolf and I are about to have some fun.”

  Sierra grabbed one of his back paws.

  • 24 •

  THE HARDER THEY FALL

  Apparently, Sierra’s mom, Red, had trained her well. She skipped right past tickling and went straight to pulling out the tufts of fur between Big Bad’s paw pads. Big Bad started yelping and cursing at her as he kicked his legs, trying to knock her loose.

  But Sierra wasn’t going anywhere. “This is for my grandmother.

  “And this is for my mother, and the life on the run you forced her to live. And this is for me and the normal childhood I never had and for making my mom bring me to live with my HORRIBLE AUNT!”

  Okay . . . Clearly Sierra was working through some stuff.

  I heard Big Bad yelp and saw his feet slip, so I had a brief warning before my arms almost got pulled out of their sockets—and I was supporting the wolf’s weight as well as my own.

  His big arms started to pull on my wolf-jeans, and I thought, “If I’m going to die, please let me at least have pants on.” I could almost hear Sten Vinders now.

  As the full weight of the wolf settled in, I heard the joints in my shoulders groan and let out a couple of gross pops. I was either going to have to let go or my arms were going to get pulled off. I looked down and saw we were above the tents of the darkened festival. In fact, the Dunk-a-Wolf booth was pretty close down there. If I started swinging, I might be able to aim for it.

  That’s when I felt the first thud. Something slammed into the wolf, and I felt the vibration through my body.

  I looked down in time to see a full quart-sized can of Smutton smack into the side of Big Bad’s head.

  I looked to where the cans were coming from. And there, thirty or forty feet below me, was Kevin—the pitching wonder. He was standing next to an open freezer, throwing cans as fast as he could.

  “HAVE SOME ARTIFICIAL MEAT, YOU BIG SACK OF FLEAS!!”

  An extra-large can exploded as it made impact with the wolf’s shoulder, and I felt his grip loosen for a second.

  “STOP IT PIG, OR YOU’RE NEXT!” Big Bad’s claws were out and he was digging into me trying to get a better grip. Suddenly I was less worried about getting pantsed than getting skinned.

  I looked back in time to see Kevin pull out the largest can yet. He went into his dunk booth Zen trance as Big Bad hurled his insults.

  “You’re BACON! Do you HEAR ME? I will eat you and your whole stupid family if you don’t stop throwing that disgusting fake meat at once!!”

  In a blur, Kevin wound up and let rip with that can. I knew before impact that it was a bull’s-eye. It caught Big Bad square between the eyes, and I swear I saw his eye turn into a pinwheel something I thought only happened in cartoons.

  As he fell, I had a quick thought about this being the ultimate wolf dunk booth. Big Bad somersaulted through the air toward the tank, which seemed like a really appropriate place for him to wind up.

  But then I realized the trajectory wasn’t quite right. With a sound like a gunshot, Big Bad’s shoulder crashed into the steel lip of the dunk tank and he crumpled like a rag doll. So did the tank.

  There was a huge explosion of glass and water as the wolf landed upside down on the ground and 300 gallons of water rushed over his limp form. He twitched and whimpered a couple of times and then went still.

  Score one for the pig!

  I was too exhausted and in too much pain to cheer as Sierra helped me get my legs up and wrapped around the rope. I could hear Chester going nuts—whooping and yelling and yahooing—but all I could focus on was getting off of that rope.

  Slowly, we made our way to the big wheel. Chester crawled out and helped us the last twenty feet or so. As he and Goldie pulled me into the top car, I collapsed into the seat with Sierra right behind me. My arms were somehow both numb and throbbing. I felt Goldie, sitting with Chester on the railing behind our little car, ruffle
my hair and heard her call out.

  “Bring us down, Mr. Littlepig, if you’d be so kind!”

  There was some yelling and scurrying around on the ground before the ride came to life. It lurched, and the out-of-tune calliope music started up as we slowly began to descend.

  Sierra, leaning against me, reached up and flicked my nose.

  I realized, somewhere in the back of my overworked brain, that I was finally getting that Ferris wheel ride with Sierra—but I was too busy trying not to barf to enjoy it.

  Okay . . . That’s not true.

  I enjoyed it a little.

  • 25 •

  SAME AS IT EVER WAS

  We hobbled our way over to where Miss Flett and the Littlepigs had gathered around the fallen wolf. Mr. Littlepig had grabbed a support rope from one of the tents and was using it to tie the groaning wolf’s big paws behind his back. I noticed he was tying them extra-tight—really putting his back into it.

  I heard my mom’s voice and turned as she, my dad, and Gramps ran out of the woods—my mom leaving a trail of used Kleenex behind her. She was crying so hard, I could barely understand her. “Oh, Zarf. We came as soon as we heard what was going on.” Then she swept me up in a huge hug.

  It was a sweet moment, until she let go and started swatting me with her purse. “Why do you do this to me? I swear you’ll give me a heart attack before you’re out of middle school.” I had a paw up, shielding her light blows, when I saw my dad and Gramps behind her—all but bursting with pride. My dad gave me a smile and wrapped a SQUAT blanket around my shoulders as Gramps pulled my mom away.

  “I think th’ boy’s been through enough withou’ you beatin’ him to death with yer handbag.”

  Kevin walked over and—without saying a word—got Sierra and me in a hug. Feeling a little awkward, I gave him as much of a hug back as my ruined arms would allow.

  “That’s a heck of an arm you’ve got there, buddy.”

  Kevin stepped back and hiked up his pants.

  It was such an un-Kevin thing to say, I had to laugh—though the laughing hurt and I realized I might have a busted rib or two.

  Mr. Littlepig was tying up Big Bad’s feet when I heard a winded voice coming down the hill behind me. You know—THAT voice. The sniveling one.

  “I . . . I command you apprehend this wolf-beast at once! On my orders! As the commanding officer of this operation!”

  I cringed and turned around. Prince Roquefort was running up—and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Everyone stood staring at him. He was still in the process of turning back from a teapot and the effect was pretty unsettling.

  “WHAT?!” He looked furious and maybe just a touch panicked. “What are you all gaping at?”

  He zeroed in on me. I’ll admit I was having trouble stifling a laugh.

  “If I had arms I would throttle the living daylights out of you!”

  And that did it. We all broke up. I’ve never been thankful for the prince before or since, but that cut through the tension and we all dissolved into laughter—which of course enraged the teapot-prince even further. He started stomping around and huffing and puffing.

  When two members of the SQUAT team came back from chasing the other wolves, they found a bound villain, a steaming-mad half-pot prince, and a yard full of us sitting on the ground, wiping away tears of laughter.

  * * *

  I’d love to tell you that we all returned to school to a hero’s welcome, but I think we’ve come far enough that you know that’s not the way we roll here in Cotswin.

  No, school the next day was pretty much business as usual—except for the buzz in the air that the Big Bad Wolf was alive and well. That had everyone pretty good and freaked out.

  As I was making my way to my locker, Sten Vinders came up behind me and slipped a live, flopping Lumpy Snapper down the back of my shorts.

  If there was some kind of symbolism to the fish in the pants, I missed it—but Sten has never been known for his keen wit. In a weird way, I took it as him saying thanks in the only way he knew how . . .

  On my way into Miss Flett’s class, I passed Sierra. She stopped and we looked at each other for an extra-long moment, smiling knowingly.

  Sierra tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. We’re hoping word of Big Bad being alive and his capture get to my mom—wherever she is. But she can’t come back, even if she’s still . . . you know . . . alive. There’s still a lot of wolves out there, and they hold grudges worse than a sixth-grade Cheer-Maiden.”

  “Yeah, great.” I swallowed hard, realizing we were both probably on a wolf hit list somewhere.

  “So you’re stuck with your aunt for now?”

  She shrugged. “For the meantime. But now that the Big Grand Secret’s out, she seems like she’s being a little nicer. She’s fine . . . She’s just not my mom.”

  We stood there thinking about that for a long moment.

  Then she hauled off and gave me a friendly punch in the arm and went on in to her seat.

  I laughed and went on in too, and sat there rubbing my arm where she’d hit me until I caught myself and stopped.

  I glanced over at the prince, but he was sitting low in his chair, staring straight ahead.

  Miss Flett blew into the room just before the bell rang. She set her purse and bags down on her desk and turned to the class with a warm smile.

  “You honestly have no idea how happy I am to be back.”

  Then she addressed Chester, Kevin, Sierra, and me. “I spoke to John this morning. He’s back, and he said someday soon, he’ll figure out how to thank you all properly.”

  Just then the PA system gave off a squeal of feedback, and we could hear Principal Haggard clearing his throat.

  I won’t bore you with the whole long thing. He thanked those of us who participated in taking down Big Bad as well as a number of other wolves. He gave us an update that the SQUATists had captured most of the wolf gang, and chased the others back past Snuff’s Pillow—leaving the ones that got away with a few arrows in their backsides as souvenirs.

  The captured wolves had been thrown into the kingdom’s dungeon system for the time being. As for Big Bad himself, he was in a maximum-security dungeon under constant surveillance. Additional measures had been taken to ensure he would never get free.

  Then he blathered on for a while about what a great school and student body we had and blah blah blah.

  When the announcement was over, Miss Flett just sat on the desk and smiled at us all for a bit.

  Finally, she clapped her hands on her thighs and stood up. “Okay! Let’s get things back to normal! Pull out your books and flip to chapter fifteen.”

  I opened the top of my desk to get my book out, and heard a strangled little gasp from my right. I looked over and the prince was staring down into his desk. Anger flashed across his features as he reached in and pulled out a single teabag.

  Then he reached in and started pushing teabag after teabag out onto the floor. Leaning just a bit, I could see that someone had literally filled his desk with the things. He pulled out his book and maybe thirty bags fell out.

  Behind me, I heard Chester.

  The room was quiet for just a second as I spun in my chair to face Chester. He gave me a wink so fast, I almost missed it.

  My jaw was hanging open in total shock as the entire class let go and started laughing—and Prince Roquefort struggled down from his seat and stormed out of the room.

  I couldn’t believe it, but I had to admit it. It was happening.

  Chester was getting funnier.

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rob Harrell created and drew the internationally syndicated comic strip Big Top, as well as the acclaimed graphic novel Monster on the Hill. He also writes and draws the long-running daily comic strip Adam@Home. He survived middle sch
ool and now lives with his wife in Austin, Texas. Visit his website at www.lifeofzarf.com.

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