The Rightful Heir

by Jefferson Knapp

  Benjamin cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry about the way I acted earlier. I just miss Pugsly so badly, and whenever I wear that collar…it makes me feel close to him.”

  “You need to let him go, son. He lived a long and good life, but we all knew he’d die someday. Everything that lives dies, sweetheart.” Carol stirred the bubbling spaghetti sauce with her big wooden spoon.

  “Mom, you’re not going to go into that stuff about you and dad dying, now are ya?” He hated the few times his mom had given him a life lesson on mortality.

  “No, I’ll spare you this time.” Carol smiled.

  “What’s this about your mom and me dying?” From his favorite chair Tom Biggs’s eyes looked over his newspaper through the bar opening of the kitchen.

  She leaned over to look at him. “Nothing, dear. I haven’t made plans to off you yet.” She grinned evilly. His eyes widened and slid behind the paper.

  “So…” Benjamin began, “Is this old lady a nice person?”

  “Yes, yes, I believe she is. I see her at church but I don’t think she has any friends. And I know she’s in need of money. She was telling me about her sick little dog and how she didn’t have enough money to take him to the vet.”

  “Poor thing.” He tried his best to look concerned about the no-good mutt wearing his beloved dog’s collar.

  “So I went over to her house this morning—it’s actually not too far from here—and gave her a little money and Pugsly’s old collar. It definitely made the dog look better!” Benjamin felt a pang and grimaced. Carol raised her eyebrows. “Kind of a cute little dog… kind of.”

  “Well, I hope her dog appreciates it.” He stared at the floor and wanted to stomp his foot through it, but contained himself.

  “I’m sure it does.”

  “It was really nice of you to help that poor old lady, Mom.” He faked an admiring smile.

  “Thank you, sweetie”

  Benjamin wasn’t any good at tearing up on demand but tried his best, mustering just enough sincerity to be believable. “Mom…I feel sorry for her. Do you think she could use a few chores done around the house?” He couldn’t look his unsuspecting mom in the eye.

  “Honey,” and her tone made him worry that she knew what he was up to, “that’s a very nice idea! I’m sure she’d love to have a young man come over to help…And now that I think about it, her lawn needs mowed badly!”

  “Well, good grief, Mom. I wouldn’t mind mowing her lawn after school tomorrow.” Again he looked at the floor, hoping he’d have the pleasure of mowing the old lady’s lawn—and yanking that collar off her nasty little dog!

  “Okay, Ben, I’ll give her a call.” She grabbed the phone book and flipped through the pages. Benjamin went into the living room to sit with his dad. While Tom talked about the buzzard in the windshield, Benjamin tried to listen to the phone conversation.

  “Mrs. Crane? Hi, it’s Carol Biggs.… Carol Biggs! I was over at your house earlier today.… I’m calling because my son would really like to help you out around the house.”

  Geez, Mom, I don’t know if ‘really’ is necessary!

  “I mentioned to him that maybe you’d like your lawn mowed.… No, he doesn’t want money so you don’t have to worry about that. Do you have a lawn mower?… Okay, then. Ben will be over tomorrow after school.… Alright. Thank you, Mrs. Crane. Bye bye.”

  “I mean…a buzzard, for crying out loud!” His dad snorted.

  The boy ignored him and shot up off the couch, running to the kitchen. “Well, what did she say?” He was a little too energetic.

  His mom smiled. “You can mow her lawn.”

  “Yes!” His fists pumped the air.

  She arched an eyebrow suspiciously. “You know, Ben, I have never seen you so excited about mowing someone’s lawn before.”

  “I love to mow, Mom, you know that!” he laughed nervously.

  “Do you want me to drive you over there tomorrow?”

  “How far is it?”

  “She lives where Hopkin’s Switch road begins. You know where it is?”

  “By that big water tower?”

  “Yes, and it’s the first house on the…actually it’s the only house out there. Probably a little over three miles from here.”

  “Oh, I’ll just take my bike, then.”

  “Okay, sweetie. I think she’ll really appreciate this.” He started to walk away. “Oh, and Ben…” He turned around hoping his plan wasn’t just foiled. “I’m very proud of you!” He tried not to laugh as he left the kitchen but the thought of him actually being excited over mowing an old lady’s lawn was just too much!

  After dinner he went to his room to work on homework and then go to bed.

  ACROSS THE ROAD, the kingdom was a downright mess.

  “What? A thousand?!” Miss Nightingale’s long, colorful feathers ruffled high over everyone at the startling news.

  “Yes, you all heard me right. A thousand,” Clementine confirmed.

  “Give or take…” Felix added, trying to ease the impact.

  There was an uproar from the animals at the thought of so many more residents in their kingdom. “There simply is not enough room, Clementine!” a brown squirrel yelled.

  “Where is King Benjamin?” shouted a basset hound from the middle of the crowd. “He should have the final say on this.”

  Roscoe and Clementine exchanged a glance. They hadn’t told anyone about the lost collar. Felix stood a safe distance behind the pig, the angry crowd staring at him. Clementine cleared his throat. He knew everyone was suspicious because Benjamin hadn’t stayed to talk to all the animals earlier. “Ahem. Well, you see, it’s kinda funny—”

  “No, it’s not,” Roscoe murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Shut up, Roscoe!” Clementine said quietly, then addressed the others. “King Benjamin kind of, um…well, lost his collar—”

  “The Royal Collar!?” the old badger called out.

  “Yeah…” The pig looked down and softly kicked the ground, “… that royal collar.”

  Everyone gasped in unison, but Felix didn’t understand what the big deal was. “What’s so special about his collar?”

  Clementine had to talk over the complaining crowd. “It’s belonged to every king we’ve ever had. And…it’s the reason King Benjamin can understand us.”

  “And…” Roscoe chimed in. “It apparently has a knack for getting lost or stolen!” The goat shook his head in disbelief.

  The fox’s eyes widened, “Ohhhhhh, I see. And he can’t talk to this supposed heir without it?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, when will he get this collar back?” the fox asked bluntly.

  Roscoe sighed. “We don’t know…so I guess we just wait.”

  Felix sighed. He didn’t like the thought of waiting for a new king. The animals complained until they got tired. The fox watched as, one by one, they lay down and fell asleep. “Well, I guess I’ll sleep here for the night. I sure hope the others are safe.”

  Roscoe overheard. “The thousand others?”

  “Yeah. We all haven’t had a good night’s sleep for a while now, worrying about…well, whatever it is lurking around.”

  Roscoe yawned. “Okay, I’ve heard enough for now. When King Benjamin comes back, we’ll hear the whole story. Until then I’m gonna pretend that everything’s just fine.”

  Felix curled up between goat and pig. “Okay. Thanks for letting me stay for the night. It’s cozy in here. I’m sure I’ll have the best rest I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Apparently you’ve never snoozed next to a sleep-talking pig.” Roscoe rolled over and Felix heard a mumble come out of the sleeping pig’s mouth.

  “Goodnight, Fox.”

  “Goodnight, Roscoe.”

  “Goodnight, Fatso.”

  “Muhhh…buhhmuhhh…”

  Roscoe lightly snorted.

  THE BUZZARD LANDED INSIDE the gaping black opening of the old barn as the harvest moon ascended above the
trees. No longer worried about a twenty-five-foot long snake, it felt safe on the ground talking to the smaller snakes.

  “Siloam? Are you in here?” the buzzard asked in the darkness.

  A rattle shook in the hay. “I heard a human hasss killed a buzzard.”

  “Yes. I was told not too long ago. Horrible!”

  “I’ve not heard, however, any newsss about King Pugsssly’sss heir.”

  “I found him, Siloam!” The buzzard stretched his long wings and yawned, causing the other snakes to rattle. “He lives at a house near the tall water tower in the far west.”

  “Good! Hisssssssss. Tomorrow you will take me there. Be ready when I call for you.”

  “Yes, My Lor—Yes, Siloam!” The buzzard flew out the opening and joined the others in the trees.

  “He almossst called you Lord, Ssssiloam!” an amused snake in the corner said.

  “After I kill the heir, perhapsss I will be!”

  Satisfied hisses sounded in the darkness of the barn as the orange moon climbed into the cloudy night.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Old, Stiff Mrs. Crane

  THE ONLY THING on Benjamin’s mind the whole next day, besides the bus ride with Jessica Howell, was getting back the collar. School dragged on, but after hours and hours of waiting he saw that the ending bell was finally one hour away from ringing.

  Social studies was at least somewhat interesting. Mrs. Dyer was an energetic middle-aged lady who always tried to spice up the lesson. Formerly a kindergarten teacher, she decided she needed a change and took on more mature students, although she still treated her seventh and eighth graders like kindergartners.

  Entering the classroom Benjamin saw a huge box, covered in aluminum foil, resting on a sheet of plywood over two sawhorses. A strange, foil horse’s head stuck out the front of it. Someone had drawn a horse’s face on it with colored markers. The students took their seats when the bell sounded, every set of eyes glued on the box in front of Mrs. Dyer’s desk. “Neeeeeeeigh! Neeeeeeeiigghh!” They stared at the sound.

  “Hey! Did that sound just come from that box?” a girl whispered to her friends.

  “Neeeeeeeiigghh!” En masse they rose from their desks and approached the crude horse. Some touched it, some kept their distance. Then all of a sudden, POP! Mrs. Dyer jumped out as the flaps flew open. The children screamed in surprise as she grabbed a fat boy named Christopher and held a cardboard sword up to his neck. Flash! The students turned to see Mrs. Webster snapping a photograph of Mrs. Dyer in action.

  “That’ll be a good one!” Mrs. Webster laughed as she left the room.

  “And that, my little children, is how the Trojan Horse trick happened!” There was applause as Mrs. Dyer took a bow. Benjamin honestly hated to hear the ending bell ring. He found the story of the Trojan Horse quite fascinating. But he had a very important chore after school.

  The school bus bumped along. Jessica Howell’s intoxicating shampoo filled his lungs as Al hit every pothole in the road. When she got off, Benjamin did his thing (prompting Al’s comment) and watched the Watermelon Queen pick up the tan pug with one black foot. “I’ll see you tonight!” Benjamin said confidently under his breath.

  When they reached his house he raced in, told his mom “hello” and “good-bye,” and got his bike, leaning against the garage. He pedaled north, past Jessica’s house, until he saw the high water tower, which he’d walked by weeks before with Roscoe and Clementine, and turned left onto Hopkin’s Switch Road. It took only a minute to spot Mrs. Crane’s. Just as his mom had said, it was the only house around. And a rickety old house at that.

  Old, chipped, faded white paint peeled off every rotted board of its two stories. A white car in front of a small shed was in worse shape than the house beside it. Junk of every sort was crammed up to the opening of the shed. And sure enough, the half-acre front yard might as well have been called a jungle. The wildest and strangest weeds raised their heads high over the tall fescue grass as they claimed their lordship in the overgrown yard. Lucky for Benjamin, four towering cedar trees scattered around the front yard had managed to kill the grass under them with their fallen needles.

  Benjamin rode his bike to the shed and rested it on the ground. What a dump! He scanned the junk heap and frowned, then sighed when he spotted a push mower that looked like a wheel of rusty metal blades on a stick. He ran up onto the porch and immediately his foot cracked a loose, moldy plank almost in half. Walking carefully to the front screen door, he could smell a skunk close by. He looked down and saw a hole at the edge of the porch big enough for an animal to crawl into. He hoped the skunk was not underneath him.

  He looked through the screen, although half of it hung down. A TV show hummed in the background, a soap opera from the sound of it. He spotted the back of an old lady’s blue-gray hair, full of pink curlers, in a chair.

  “Um…hello?” Benjamin said through the screen. There was no reply. “Mrs. Crane, it’s Benjamin Biggs. My mom called you yesterday.” The boy coughed loudly, then grabbed the door handle and wondered whether he should go inside uninvited. He waited half a minute, then opened the unforgiving door, its bottom scraping the floor. He walked in, one eye on the back of her head, the other looking around him. She must have collected all this old junk for over a thousand years! A dusty, stuffed, and mounted owl that glared at him…a black and white Cheshire Cat wall clock, whose eyes moved back and forth with every tick…old metal magazine stands with hundreds, maybe thousands of magazines that only old ladies read. An oak china hutch with lime green and white plates and bowls took up a whole wall. To complement the room was a smell Benjamin could only compare to a nursing home.

  He cleared his throat as he walked in front of the old lady. “Hi, Mrs. Crane. I’m here to mow your—” Benjamin not only stopped talking but altogether stopped thinking. Old Mrs. Crane was in front of the TV, eyes rolled back and mouth half open, sitting just a little too still.

  The hairs on the back of his neck pointed straight out and a freezing shiver climbed his spine. “Um…M-Mrs. Crane?” the scared boy barely got his words out. He wanted to clap his hands in front of her face to see if she was alive but was too afraid. Instead, he watched her to see if she was breathing at all. She wasn’t. Her arms rested stiffly on her bulbous gut over a pile of lottery scratch-off tickets that had fallen on the lap of her gray sweatpants.

  Benjamin started to panic. “Oh no, oh no, oh no!” He scanned the room for a telephone but didn’t see one…only the faded yellow walls of the kitchen through the walkway in the corner. Oh, this can’t be happening! He ran in and checked the walls, the rusted stovetop by an old refrigerator that hummed unusually loud, and a folding table covered with old newspapers and lottery tickets. No telephone. It took a second before he looked down at the warped green linoleum floor that folded along the edges. He smelled old canned cat food and saw a little brown bowl of it rotting next to his shoe. And next to that was a not-yet-rotting, stiff-as-a-board, dead Siamese cat.

  Benjamin instantly took off for the front door and kicked it open, the phone forgotten. He jumped off the porch, ignoring the two steps the old lady had used millions of times…when she was alive. He stopped to catch his breath when the jolt of adrenaline wore off, there in Mrs. Crane’s front yard.

  Looking down the road in both directions, he hoped to see some sign of a house nearby. There was nothing but pasture and trees. He heard a strange noise behind him and jumped, hoping it was just his imagination and not Mrs. Crane coming back to life as a zombie. Trying to ignore it, he went to his bike and pulled it upright. He heard it again. What was that?! He didn’t feel like being brave and going back inside, but he called out with a shaky voice, “M-Mrs. Crane, is that y-you?”

  Ruff! Benjamin gasped. It came from the porch. He walked over to the hole. Two little eyes looked up at him. “The dog!” He’d completely forgotten his reason for being there. Finding an old lady dead in her chair made you forget just about anything.

  Benjamin leaned
over. Jonah whimpered and retreated from him in fear. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt ya. Come here, boy.” He held out his opened hand in the hole to let the dog smell it. The head came forward and the sunlight showed Benjamin the dog’s hideous features. “Oh man, you are one ugly mutt!” The dog quickly withdrew. “Hey, I’m sorry. Come back!” Benjamin started whistling and snapping his fingers, all the while glancing at the screen door in fear. “Come on, boy. Come here!” The head again peeked out, and as it moved forward a little more, there it was— Pugsly’s collar. “Come here!” Benjamin snatched Jonah by the neck with both hands, pulling him out of the hole carelessly.

  Jonah kicked and yelped as his claws scratched Benjamin’s arms. The boy struggled to undo the belt clip fastened around the sickly neck. “Just hold on. Stop scratching!” He finally got it undone, dropping the dog to the porch.

  “That’s my collar! Give it back!” Jonah shouted angrily.

  “No!” Benjamin replied as he looked the collar over.

  “Give it—” The confused dog tilted his head awkwardly. “Did you say ‘no’?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “H-How can you understand me?”

  The curious little dog followed the boy off the porch. Benjamin walked up to his bike and turned it around to face the road. “This collar is property of the kingdom and it belongs to King Pugsly’s son, not you!”

  “Where are you going?” Jonah ran up beside Benjamin’s bike.

  “Home.” Benjamin gave a few hard pushes on his bike pedals as adrenaline once more rushed through his scared body.

  “Wait! Where is this kingdom?” Jonah watched Benjamin head down the driveway. “Hey! Did you hear me? Where is this kingdom?!” He stood by the shed recounting the words the boy had just spoken. “King Pugsly’s son?” His eyes shifted around, looking down at the rocks on the weed-covered driveway. “King Pugsly?…Pugsly…Pugs—” Jonah gasped as he took off toward the road, reaching it just in time to see the boy turn the corner and head right. Benjamin disappeared quickly behind the hedge tree row. But Jonah kept running, never looking back at the decrepit old house where the cat and old lady, who had treated him badly his whole life, were dead from the rattlesnake attack he had eluded earlier that afternoon.