A Boy and His Dragon

by Michael J. Bowler

  They very soon passed the forest of twinkling lights, rolling hills, jutting spires, and clanging cable cars that was San Francisco, and Bradley Wallace was speechless with awe at the phosphorescent beauty of the great Bay surrounding it. They soared out over Oakland, which looked much better from the air than it did on the ground, and on toward Stockton. A chill wind whipped against Bradley Wallace’s face, piercing his tender skin like tiny needles, and he shivered despite his heavy jacket. His hands were glad he’d remembered the gloves.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have much time to dwell on the weather, or even on his involvement in tonight’s unsavory hunting expedition. So enthralled did he become with the blazing cities and slumbering country sides passing beneath him that their destination loomed just ahead before he realized it. How long had the flight lasted, he wondered? An hour and a half? Naturally he’d forgotten to wear his watch again.

  Alerted by Whilly, who had made the entire trip fighting to control the vast rumbling of his stomach, Bradley Wallace looked out ahead, and gasped. Just ahead lay the greatest expanse of forest the boy had ever seen, dark and moonlit in a strangely eldritch fashion, stretching back as far as the eye could see over sloping hills and huge tracts of flatland. It suddenly occurred to him that he’d never seen this many trees together before, and the sight was truly awesome.

  Whilly increased his speed, anticipation of a satisfying meal propelling him onward toward the boundless woodland. In moments they were above the trees, and the dragon slowed to a more leisurely pace, rapidly scanning the blackened forest below for a suitable landing spot. I will drop you off someplace while I hunt, he informed Bradley Wallace rather bluntly. I can’t maneuver very well with you on my back.

  “Since when?” the startled boy blurted out.

  I can hunt better on my own, was all the reply he received, and that in a tone as sharp and cold as before. Bradley Wallace, irked by the dragon’s attitude, took immediate offense, his anger beginning to bubble to the surface.

  “You don’t have to get nasty about it, you know!” he snapped. “I get the message!”

  He settled into a deep sulk, not understanding the dragon’s sudden rude behavior and unwilling to try. He refused even to help locate an open space or clearing so they could land. How dare Whilly talk to him like that? What had he done to deserve such treatment? He came along on this trip not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t want his friend out here in this strange place alone. And this was the thanks he got? He felt stung, as though his best friend had suddenly punched him in the stomach, and he brooded in steamy silence.

  Whilly either intentionally ignored the boy, or was too intent on his search to notice his rider’s flaring temper.

  Bradley Wallace, interested only in his own hurt, was caught completely off-guard when the dragon suddenly dipped and shot toward the trees below like a plummeting airplane, descending between a group of the towering trunks to land gently on the soft, mossy earth of a small clearing surrounded by massive trees. The smell of pine needles was pungent in the chill air.

  This is a good place for you to wait, Whilly succinctly informed him in that same infuriating tone.

  Bradley Wallace’s nostrils flared like an aroused bull, and he angrily leapt off the dragon’s back onto the soft ground cover. “I’ll be just fine!” he shot back, whirling to stomp venomously through the piles of fallen needles to the edge of the clearing where he glared off into the darkened woods beyond. Very little moonlight penetrated those thick, towering trees, giving the resultant dark shadows free reign over the forest and the boy’s vivid imagination.

  I will not be gone long, Whilly announced, as though Bradley Wallace had asked. He didn’t care if the stupid beast ever came back!

  When Bradley Wallace refused to answer, Whilly felt the dragon’s equivalent of a smile and rose lithely from the forest floor, the sound of his flapping wings cutting through the total stillness of the night like a helicopter rotor. Its intensity caused Bradley Wallace to jump slightly. But he refused to give the dragon the satisfaction of a look back or even a thought. Sometimes he just didn’t understand that dragon. Why should Whilly act that way? Even taking into account his hunger pangs, he’d never treated Bradley Wallace so rudely before. The more he dwelled on the insult, the angrier he became. And that anger festered within his heart like a malignant, cancerous growth.

  Some say the world will end in fire . . .

  There was that stupid poem again. Why did it always pop into his head whenever he became angry?

  Some say in ice . . .

  He turned and glanced about the clearing, trying to rid his mind of fire and ice and Whilly. Luckily he’d brought along a flashlight. Detaching it from his belt, he directed the beam in a circular path about him. Nothing but trees and rotting old pinecones.

  How could he just sit here in an empty, boring old clearing for who knew how long while his royal highness Whilly went exploring without him? So intense was his anger that he overlooked one small detail the dragon hadn’t - he’d never wanted to go hunting with Whilly anyway!

  But such a minor detail seemed insignificant. If he himself had elected not to go, that would’ve been different. But to be told, and in such a rude fashion . . . Well, he wasn’t just going to wait around here. He’d go exploring on his own, that’s what he’d do. Let the stupid dragon come looking for him, he didn’t care. Without even thinking the matter through, or even finding the path of least resistance, Bradley Wallace plunged forward into the thick, brooding forest.

  With no thought of stealth, the boy pressed forward noisily, his rapid footfalls snapping twigs and crunching piles of dead pine needles. His tiny flashlight beam wavered back and forth, seeking any openings between the massive, lofty tree trunks, all of which were thicker than Bradley Wallace was tall, and which seemed as though they extended all the way up to the stars. As he became more cognizant of his surroundings and the possible perils his hurried flight might generate, the boy’s anger began to abate and his pace slowed. Turning back over his shoulder, he sought the clearing he’d just quitted. But all he saw were trees and more trees, and no pathway.

  It was as if the forest had swallowed him. He flicked his flashlight in every direction, but each looked the same as the last. He began to feel the first pinpricks of fear creep up his spine and glanced nervously about him. The darkness was so totally blanketing, and now suddenly very threatening. With a lump in his throat, Bradley Wallace realized he was hopelessly lost.

  Whilly soared just above the treetops some distance away, searching carefully for any movement below, any sign of life, satiating his overwhelming hunger his prime concern. At least he didn’t have to worry about Bradley Wallace. The boy was safe in that clearing; angry, yes, but better that than sickened by the sight of a slaughtered deer. Suddenly the trees thinned out ahead, and the sharp-eyed dragon spotted something moving beneath him. He glided in slowly and silently, coming in against the wind so the animal wouldn’t pick up his scent. Moving lower, he could see a faint, lithe outline and large, branchlike protrusions from the creature’s head. Licking his chops in drooling anticipation, the swift and silent dragon moved in for the kill. Yes, thankfully the boy was safe.

  Bradley Wallace tramped slowly through the darkened woods, completely lost and furious with himself for being so stupid. And then he cursed Whilly for getting him into this mess. If the dragon hadn’t treated him so badly, none of this would’ve happened.

  As the surrounding trees became thicker, the only light piercing the solid blackness was the single, insignificant beam of his flashlight. It wavered slightly as his hand shook from the cold, and, though he wouldn’t have admitted it, fear. The exhausted boy had no idea how long he’d been lost, or how far from the clearing he’d come. Adding to his unease was the irrational fear that Whilly would glut himself and then fly away in a self-satisfied daze, leaving Bradley Wallace behind.

  Naturally his imagination took over, and his frightened mind conjured a myriad
of terrifying creatures and psychopathic madmen with bloodied axes lurking behind every tree, or stalking him from behind, just waiting for the right moment to leap out and hack him to bits.

  Snap!

  He whirled, sucking in a deep, terrified breath. That had been a branch, somewhere behind him. It sounded like a rifle shot. He played the wobbly flashlight beam over the dense brush and trees through which he’d just come. Nothing. But the sound had been there, or had it?

  Fighting to control his shaking hand, the boy turned and slowly, ever so cautiously, made his way forward again. But now he listened, listened more intensely than ever in his life. Fear turned his feet to lead and his heart to ice.

  Snap!

  Another twig. And this one was close. He didn’t even turn, just flicked off his flashlight and darted behind the nearest tree. Its tremendous trunk was easily wide enough to obscure him completely. But which direction? The sound seemed to have come from behind him. But had it really? He held his breath and waited. The forest was so quiet. Like a graveyard. He’d never known any place could be so unmoving, so totally devoid of sound. Except a graveyard. Even the wind had died, and the previous rustling needles high above now stood still and silent. It was as if the whole world had stopped, and the only sound was his frightened breathing.

  And still nothing stirred. Whatever was out there must be waiting - waiting for him to make the first move. He pressed his body hard against the security of the tree trunk, every muscle tensed, like a cat ready to spring, and began turning his head ever so slowly, as though even the faint cracking of his neck muscles would give away his location.

  Cautiously, oh so cautiously, he peered around the trunk, the rough bark scraping painfully against his face like sandpaper. Though his eyes had adjusted to the near total darkness, he could make out no trace of movement. For some bizarre reason he thought of the night before Christmas, when not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. What had he heard stirring out here? He somehow didn’t think it was a mouse.

  Beginning to ache from rigidity, and not even certain how long he’d been planted against the tree, Bradley Wallace decided to muster up what courage he could, flick on his flashlight, and then run like the devil. Perhaps he could out run it, whatever “it” was, by catching it off-guard.

  Taking a deep breath, Bradley Wallace eased his finger along the shaft of the flashlight to the on/off switch. He slipped his other hand over the bulb and carefully switched on the beam. Tiny shafts of light filtered between his fingers and his hand glowed red. Bit by bit, as though in slow motion, the terrified boy turned around. Expelling a deep breath, he took another, and gradually slipped his shaking fingers away from the light. The beam was exposed now, but still nothing moved. Still that damned silence. Gripping the flashlight like a club, Bradley Wallace raised the beam from the needle-covered ground into the thicket of trees just ahead. He gasped, and froze, rooted to the spot.

  Bearing down on him through the trees, snapping off massive branches as though they were tiny twigs, was a creature like nothing the boy had ever seen before, or even imagined. A monster, that’s what it was, his petrified brain told him.

  A demon - hideous, misshapen, and huge, with long, scaly arms and legs as thick as the boy’s entire body. Its head was crowned by rows of sharp horns, and its face appeared blotchy and covered with scales. Saliva dripped from enormous fangs in its gaping jaws. It lunged for the frozen child’s exposed throat, and that’s when Bradley Wallace shrieked.

  Dropping the flashlight, the boy bolted from the tree, ducking under the creature’s outstretched arms, almost gagging from the putrid stench it emitted, and plunging headlong through the blackness of the forest. He could hear behind him the sickening rake of razor-sharp talons against the trunk where he’d been standing. Another two seconds and that would have been him. He ran like the wind, unheedful of trees or other obstructions. His heart was pumping frantically, and adrenalin coursed through his veins. He plowed through the night, running for his very life. The creature, he knew, was following.

  The crashing of enormous feet behind him grew closer every second. How could he hope to outdistance such massive strides?

  The creature could obviously see him as well, and it was gaining fast. Frantic and desperate, Bradley Wallace called out to Whilly.

  “Whilly!” he shrieked wildly, “Help me!”

  But his words only echoed back at him mockingly from the very tops of the towering trees. Glancing back over his shoulder, Bradley Wallace could see the demon gaining on him, could practically feel the creature’s hot, rank breath on his face and neck. In a moment those raking claws would catch him, and slash him to shreds. He pumped his legs harder, and turned to look straight ahead once more, determined not to give up without a fight. But as he turned, a massive form loomed directly in front of him.

  He fought to brake his speed, but momentum propelled him forward toward the massive tree, which stood before him like an angry giant. He smacked hard into the trunk, the impact flinging him off to one side and sending him sprawling helplessly amongst a mass of dried pine needles. Pain shot up his back as he crashed down atop a pinecone and rolled over before ending up on his side. The last vision he saw before blackness took over was the hideous, contorted face of the fiend, and those claws of death, bearing relentlessly down on him.

  The voice echoed through his brain like the distant labor of anvils, an irritatingly familiar voice, a frightened, anxious voice. “Wake up, you fool!” it said repeatedly.

  Wake up? Aren’t I dead?

  “Of course not!” it snapped. “Now wake up! There isn’t time for your usual simpleminded questions.”

  That voice. Now he recognized it. Josette! But where was she? Why couldn’t he see her? All he saw was the pitch of blackness. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids felt like lead, cumbersome and unwieldy. Josette? Is that you?

  “Of course it’s me!” came the snippy reply. “Who else would bother to come to your rescue?”

  Rescue?

  “Will you come to what few senses you have? That thing is killing Whilly! You’ve got to stop it!”

  Me? What thing?

  “It’s killing him!” the voice repeated, and suddenly those words penetrated his befuddled stupor.

  Cracking his eyes painfully open, Bradley Wallace sought to collect his senses. His entire body sang with numbness, and at first when he couldn’t move, he feared he might be paralyzed. Like Ironside, this cop on TV. But then he realized his legs were operational, and sought to focus his blurred vision. His head was a solid mass of throbbing pain and his swollen, bloodied face sent waves of agony through his mind with each tiny movement.

  And then he heard it.

  Horrible, inhuman screams and the ghastly sound of rending flesh. And crashing, snapping branches. Slowly, every movement causing his body to convulse with pain, Bradley Wallace rose to a half sitting position. Where was Josette? She had been here, hadn’t she? Or had he only dreamed it?

  Another banshee-like shriek directed his attention to a small clearing off to his right, and he gaped in horror at the sight before him: Whilly locked in mortal combat with the demon! My God, it looked like something out of the movie “Lost World.” The dragon’s main advantage, his ability to fly above his land-bound opponent, was severely restricted in the tight quarters of the constricting pine trees.

  The demon snatched one of the dragon’s legs as Whilly flapped awkwardly above trying to scratch out its sunken eyes, and yanked him hard to the ground.

  Momentarily stunned, Whilly was vulnerable, and the thing pounced. It gripped the dragon in massive, muscular arms and slashed madly at Whilly’s exposed throat with its enormous, saliva-dripping fangs.

  A burst of searing flame from the dragon’s open mouth sent the creature reeling backward and dislodged his death-grip. To Bradley Wallace’s amazement, the concentrated fire caused no visible damage to the hideous, demonic monster, not even a faint singeing. But Whilly didn’t wait for the cre
ature to rise to its reptilian feet. He lunged lithely, snapping his own powerful jaws and slashing viciously at the beast with his formidable talons. The demon was amazingly fast, and saw Whilly’s lunge. It rolled to one side and clutched at Whilly as the startled dragon descended. The two creatures struggled for an advantage.

  Bradley Wallace watched with growing horror as the combatants rolled over several times, slashing and gripping and snapping, each seeking that split second of weakness that would spell destruction for his opponent. Unfortunately, Whilly suffered from the disadvantage of never having been in a real fight before, and Bradley Wallace feared that inexperience might be his undoing. He also feared his own weaknesses in the fighting area, as well as his mild-mannered nature, might also hinder the dragon’s chances. But dragons should have some natural instincts for survival, shouldn’t they? Mr. O’Conner said people did; so why not dragons?

  Whilly! his mind called to his friend. The dragon was losing, and Bradley Wallace wracked his brain frantically. He had to do something!

  A sudden turbulence, like wildly cascading water, flooded his desperate mind, and all conscious thought processes ceased; all that remained was the image of Whilly and the creature locked in combat.

  He saw the demon, in all its misshapen putrescence, towering above him like one of these massive redwoods.

  Then, in a sudden flash of insight, sensed another being behind it, a being somehow controlling the beast.

  A human being.

  But then the insight vanished, and the creature alone dominated his tunnel vision. And he wished it dead. With all his might he wished that gruesome thing destroyed.

  A surge of power, like a vast electrical charge, rose up within the boy, an awesome, uncontrollable power that felt strangely familiar and pleasurable. His blazing eyes locked firmly on the battling duo directly ahead. And he wished the thing dead.

  The demon had gained the clear advantage, Whilly struggling helplessly in its vile clutches, and moved its dripping fangs in toward the softest part of the dragon’s throat. There was a sudden burst of iridescent red light that so illuminated the forest that Whilly had to squint his sensitive eyes shut. It was like the sun had suddenly appeared. The demon exploded, raining bits of rotten flesh in every direction. Then the light vanished.