Cure for Wereduck

by Dave Atkinson

  “Quiet down, Jones,” ordered the officer. “Mr. Bragg is only going to be here until he remembers the reason he was dangling out the open door of a moving train.”

  The men jeered as the officer pulled a set of keys from his belt.

  “I’m telling you, it was the duck, the wolf, and the blind girl!” said Dirk. “Check my camera!”

  “Camera?” said the officer, holding the door to an empty cell. “Bragg, we searched the train. We didn’t find a camera.”

  He shoved Dirk into the cell and locked him in. The heavy door to the cellblock closed with a loud thunk as the officer left the room.

  “I wonder if he’ll be a crier,” teased one of the prisoners when the guard was finally out of earshot.

  “Do you think he misses his mommy?” mocked another.

  The other men laughed.

  Dirk sat on a bench in his cell. He rested his head in his hands.

  “Hey, wait a sec,” said the prisoner in the cell across from Dirk’s. “I recognize this guy. You’re that…what’s your name? That guy from the TV.”

  Dirk looked away.

  “Yeaaaaaah, that’s you,” said the man. “The werewolf guy!”

  “I saw that!” said another man.

  More laughter rang out from the cells.

  “Yeaaaah,” said the man opposite Dirk. “That was real funny. What was that song you sang again?”

  “I remember, I remember!” said a man with a gravelly voice. “My wheels belong to the road….”

  The rest of the prisoners joined him for final line of the chorus: “But my heaaaaaart belooooooongs to yooooooooou!”

  All four men laughed and jeered at Dirk. One man rattled his metal drinking cup against his cell bars. Another threw a dirty sock into Dirk’s cell.

  Dirk closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise. He reached down to tend a sore spot on his ankle that had been bothering him since the train.

  “Ow. What the—” he said, pulling up his pant leg. Dried blood stained his skin and sock.

  Dirk’s mind raced through the last day. The train. The scuffle with the kids. Being dragged by the ankle into the bathroom…by John.

  Dirk whistled softly.

  “Bit by a werewolf,” said Dirk to himself. “That can’t be good.”

  I always thought the best part of becoming an author would be the moment I first held my book in my hands. And while that moment was amazing (let’s not kid ourselves, it was amazing x1000), it was nowhere near the actual best part. I have met so many awesome kids and have watched them get so excited about this crazy story that popped into my head one day. Wereduck pals, thank you for being the best part.

  Everyone I’ve worked with at Nimbus has been terrific. Penelope Jackson is the funniest person to ever touch a keyboard, and I’m honoured to call her my editor (no matter how she spells Internet). Jenn Embree’s illustrations are perfect. Every time I pick up a copy of Wereduck, I can’t believe this cool-looking book is mine. Whitney Moran is a charter member of Team Wereduck. Her support as an editor (and later, as managing editor) has always made me feel like Nimbus is the perfect home for Wereduck. Emily MacKinnon worked tirelessly to promote Wereduck, and I’m so proud that Nimbus saw fit to make her an editor. She deserves ALL the Adventure Time gifs.

  Thanks to my son, Henry, for reviewing an early version of this manuscript. I owe him many sandwidges in repayment. My daughter Jane helped me come up with the name for Wacka (Hey, Jane. “Babar.”). My youngest daughter, Alice, once told me she couldn’t believe her dad was a real live author, and my heart nearly exploded with pride. May her pickle jar never empty.

  Erin. Oh goodness. I can’t even, so I won’t even try. Find a dictionary, pick out all the best words, and apply them to yourself.

  -Dave Atkinson, June 2016-