Wolf! The Legend of Tom Sawyer's Island

by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

  Eyes opened to small slits, Wolf watched and waited patiently until all movement inside the other room stopped. Knowing how lonely she was, he would have preferred to sit by the fire to dry off, listening to Rose recite the events of her day. But, he needed to get back. He would make it up to her next time. When her breathing evened out, he padded into the bedroom to make sure she was down for the night. He then checked that the fire had been properly banked. Last thing we need is this cabin burning again, he thought. When he was satisfied that all was well, he left the cabin through his private hatch.

  Walking slowly toward the River, Wolf sniffed the sky. The fog was thick now just as he expected it to be. It was almost time. He could feel the electricity in the air as it caused the thick hair along his spine to stand straight up. Entering the River, he slowly swam with the current, waiting. Wolf was almost to the beaver dam when the lightning first streaked across the sky and touched the River, sending up a huge array of pink sparks. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes when it overtook him and swept him into the vortex.

  Disneyland – 2007

  “Paddles up! As we round the bend near the Mark Twain, this is the last break you’ll get. Paddles up!” Walter Davis, or Wals as everyone called him, loudly repeated as he stood in the bow of the Davy Crockett Explorer Canoe to face his fifteen teenage passengers. “Paddles….all right, quit paddling!” he ordered, getting exasperated. “Fourth row, that means you too. HEY! Quit splashing the guide in the back…. Guys! Knock it off!”

  The fourth row continued to ignore Wals, using their paddles to send cascades of water over their friends in the rows behind them. Wals quickly glanced over his shoulder at the Mark Twain and the huge paddlewheel slowly churning the water behind it. They were not allowed to continue until the Mark Twain had left its berth for its own trip around Tom Sawyer’s Island. The bigger the boat, the bigger its right-of-way.

  Trey, the guide in the back of the canoe, had resorted to back-paddling to try and maintain their proper distance from the Mark Twain. He threw a desperate look for help to Wals. Some of the other teens had taken up paddling again while others had joined the water fight. None of them were paying any attention to Wals. Strain already showing on his face, Wals knew Trey wouldn’t be able to keep up his back-paddling for very much longer.

  Coming up with a not-quite-recommended solution to their dilemma, Wals leaned his paddle against the front row seat. Crouching down, he grasped the sides of the canoe and began rocking it violently side to side. With yelps of fright, all the teenagers quit their various actions and grabbed their seats to hold on. Their eyes got big as the edges of the canoe got closer and closer to the greenish water. Even though the teens were drenched with the river water, they still had no desire to actually fall into the River—into water that they actually thought of as “dirty.”

  When the desired quiet had finally been attained and all eyes—sullen as they were—were on him, Wals calmly stood back up. “Well, that was refreshing, wasn’t it?” he asked with a big grin. Only he and Trey knew two important facts: 1) The River was only about four feet deep at that point, and 2) The stabilizers on the canoes prevented them from actually being tipped over by the action Wals had just used. “Now that I have your attention,” he announced with a voice dripping with sarcasm, “I would like to ask you to please refrain from paddling until the Mark Twain resumes her journey. Thank you so much for your cooperation. Enjoy the lovely scenery.”

  Trey, wiping the sweat off his face, was desperately trying to hide his amusement. If the kids saw him laughing, they would know it was a ruse and start in again. However, the unknowing teenagers sat stiffly in their seats, afraid to move, waiting until such time as they could get off this horrible ride. The ones near the back spent the time trying to wipe the water off their faces, and, in the case of the girls, trying to fix their dripping hair as best they could and to pull away their tops that were now plastered to their bodies.

  Once the stately triple-decked Mark Twain was well on her way and there were no Tom Sawyer’s Island Rafts in their path, Wals gave the command to resume paddling. The subdued teens applied themselves as they had never done before just so they could get this ride over with as soon as possible. Wals smiled to himself as they sped along. Any faster and someone could probably water ski behind us!

  After one more bend in the River, Wals told them, “Paddles up! Please keep your hands and feet inside the canoe as we approach the dock. I don’t want our freshly-painted dock to get all scratched up.” He jumped out as soon as the canoe entered the loading area, picked up the tow rope, and brought the canoe to its proper loading spot on the dock. “Paddles in the bins on the left, please. Thank you so much, and please, please come again,” he called after the departing horde of teenagers. Only one of them looked back at Wals’ parting remark and casually flipped him off.

  Trey came up to him as he and Wals swapped places with the next two canoe guides on the dock. His mustard yellow costume was plastered to his body, his dark hair dripping into his eyes. “Man, I hate Free Friend Day,” he muttered so only Wals could hear him.

  Wals glanced at his watch—his waterproof watch. He had learned the hard way the first week he worked canoes that he needed a waterproof watch. Happily, he saw it was time to close the ride. After making sure the rope was in place to block the entrance to the canoe dock, he answered his friend, “Yeah, I know. Me, too.” He watched as the last canoe of the evening slowly drifted its way past the lower level of the Hungry Bear Restaurant. The front guide, Chloe, standing in the front of the canoe and facing the passengers, was busy explaining the proper way to paddle a canoe and listing the three rules of canoeing. “Rule Number One,” she loudly proclaimed, “Keep paddling at all times. Rule Number Two: Keep paddling at all times. And, Rule Number Three: Remember Rule Number One.”

  Wals chuckled. He used those lines many times, but liked the somewhat-threatening inflection Chloe always managed to convey. As the guests began their awkward paddling, oars bumping into each other in the water, Wals turned back to Trey. “Hope Chloe has a better group than we did. She takes it personally when they don’t follow her directions.”

  Trey grinned at that. He’d been dating Chloe for a couple of months now. “That is true. Want me to hang around with you until her canoe comes back?” He wrung out his imitation coonskin cap and slapped it against his leg.

  Not averse to having a few minutes alone on this peaceful stretch of the River, Wals shook his head. “No need. You go ahead and clock out. It’s getting colder. You need to dry off.”

  Trey nodded his agreement and turned to leave. “Oh, Wals,” he turned back. “Are you coming to the party tonight? Maxx is playing at The Club.”

  Maxx was their favorite local rock band. They proudly proclaimed themselves “The Band of the ‘80’s” who was “so good they didn’t need to write their own music.” Even though the current year was 2007, Maxx decided to go with a good thing and kept the same repertoire. The only thing that regularly changed was the female lead singer. The band was constantly getting new ones.

  “Can’t tonight. I’m on the late shift for Fantasmic! Say hi to Diane for me.”

  Trey smiled. “Sorry, Wals, but she’s gone. Had a fight with the bass player she was dating and left the group.”

  Wals shook his head and scowled. She’d been really cute. “Figures. Have fun without me.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Wals watched as his friend walked up the ramp and headed over toward the Briar Patch gift shop across the walkway in Critter Country. There was an access door to the cast members’ backstage area that allowed them to get from their assigned ride in that part of Park to the lockers and costume department. This backstage area was designed by Walt Disney himself so a cast member dressed in a Tomorrowland costume could walk freely to another area without spoiling the illusion of a different land, like Fantasyland. And, as not designed by Walt, it was also a popular area to meet a girlfriend or boyfriend out of sight of t
he guests. There was even an unseen grassy nook on top of the Briar Patch that was frequently used as a private picnic area for cast members desiring a little alone-time.

  Wals settled against one of the realistic wood-like posts of the ride enclosure to wait for Chloe’s canoe to return. He spoke to a few guests who had hoped the ride was still running and had to turn them away. Within ten minutes, Chloe was back and smiling. Either hers had been a good canoe-load of guests, or she was thinking about the fact it was the last canoe-load of guests.

  When the last guests had left, Chloe turned to Wals. “I saw something odd on the Island near the Settler’s Cabin just as we went through the Rapids. Not sure what it was. Wasn’t moving or anything. Just something dark on the edge of the trees that shouldn’t be there.”

  “Do you think it was someone hiding out for the night?” Every now and then, a guest attempted to hide in various places inside the Park just so they could brag to their friends they outsmarted Security or got a free day in Disneyland the following morning. They were hardly ever successful. The area Chloe described was considered No Man’s Land for guests roaming over Tom Sawyer’s Island. Someone would have had to either climb over various fences and gates to get to that particular secluded spot or jump off one of the River boats or canoes.

  Not really caring, Chloe tiredly shrugged as she pulled at the collar of her fringed shirt. She was done for the day and wanted to get out of her costume. “I don’t know. Should I call it in to Security?”

  Wals looked toward the bend in the Frontierland River that hid the cabin from their view. “No, that’s okay. Let me check it out first. I have some time before we have to set up for Fantasmic!”

  Fantasmic! was a spectacular water and light show held on the Rivers of America in front of New Orleans Square once or twice a night, depending on the season. Huge fan-shaped sprays of water erupted from the River and the story was projected onto the back of the spray. It was the classic story of Good versus Evil that combined lasers, pyrotechnics, floating rafts with dancing characters, a huge thirty-foot tall fire-breathing dragon, and the Sorcerer’s Apprentice himself—Mickey Mouse. It was an extremely popular show. Wals, along with a group of fellow cast members and a few security guards were always on hand when guests came hours early to stake out a spot for the best viewing. Thousands of people would be seated on the walkways and planters watching and applauding, Wals and that small, determined group of cast members would be there, attempting to keep the walkways in the back open, keeping the guests seated in the front, and helping the mass of people exit smoothly when the show was over, just about the time for the fireworks to begin over Sleeping Beauty’s Castle.

  Without a backward glance, Chloe headed for the same exit as Trey had used. She knew he would be waiting for her at the second bend to the right, hoping to jump out and scare her.

  Wals bypassed the thirty-five-foot long canoes used by the guests that were now placidly tied to the quiet dock and walked toward the neighboring building. There were two small eighteen-foot canoes hidden at the far end of the lower level of the Hungry Bear Restaurant. Pulling his ID tag out of his wallet, he slid it through the lock on the concealed door and pushed through to the access ramp. The two canoes bobbed easily in the water. Painted to match the larger canoes used by the guests, most people assumed these were extra canoes to be brought out when needed as the Park filled with more guests and the ride became more popular. However, these were smaller canoes without the stabilizers necessary when twenty inexperienced guests were attempting to paddle around the Island. Wals untied the first canoe and waved to the kids who had stopped eating their dinner to watch him. With a few powerful strokes, he entered the gentle current of the River.

  He enjoyed being out alone like this on the Frontierland River, or Rivers of America as it was also called, so he took his time paddling. He wasn’t needed for another hour for the Fantasmic! show’s crowd control. There would be no other traffic on the River now. Both the huge sailing ship Columbia and the riverboat Mark Twain were stopped out of sight, being readied for their participation in Fantasmic! The sky was mellow as dusk settled around him. Wals noticed the temperature had become cooler and he could feel a breeze picking up. The steam train’s whistle broke into his reflective mood as it passed the Hungry Bear Restaurant and chugged slowly down the tracks. He could see the flash of a camera as someone tried to take a picture of the Settler’s Cabin across the River. Good luck with that! he thought with a smile. They were way too far away for a good shot.

  He steered his canoe over to the left bank. Standing on a realistic-looking log protruding out over the water, stood an animated shaggy white dog slowly wagging his tail, watching a Native American boy as he leaned down to peer into the dark green water, his eyes following the fishing line tied to his hand. Wals chuckled to himself. Over the years cast members had come out alone after dark—as he now was—and attached something or other to the end of the fishing line. Then it was up to their friends to retrieve it. Once the little white dog had sported a pair of Mouse ears for three days before they were removed and a stern warning given to all the wide-eyed, innocent-looking river workers. Wals now wished he had thought to bring something with him. It would have been the perfect opportunity to set it up.

  His attention was again diverted as the gentle breeze suddenly became a gusting wind and the temperature started to drop more rapidly. Glancing up at the sky, he was surprised to see fog coming in from the west. He knew it wasn’t in the forecast. Wondering if it would affect the 8:30 showing of Fantasmic!, he knew there would be a lot of disappointed guests that would have to pacified if the show was canceled at the last minute. Wals glanced at his watch, having to push the button for the backlight to see what time it was. It still read 5:30, the time he had come in from his last run. The watch must have gotten too drenched this time. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he saw that it, too, read 5:30. Odd, he thought as he turned the canoe toward the Island. If he didn’t hurry, it might be too dark to find whatever it was that Chloe had spotted.

  The wind now pushed against him, the usually slow-moving current in the River seemingly reversed. He had to fight the current to keep the canoe aimed toward Tom Sawyer’s Island and the neglected dock he knew was on the east side of the Settler’s Cabin. He dug in with all his strength to make it into the secluded haven of mature trees that surrounded the little dock. Climbing out of the canoe, he had to keep a firm hold on the tow rope to fasten it to the metal tie rings. This dock had once been used to berth the extra Keel Boat at night, but now that ride had been gone for ten years.

  Pushing through the overgrown tree branches, he was assaulted by the full force of the wind. The faux-fur coonskin cap he wore as part of his costume was instantly blown off his head and disappeared into the darkness behind him. The halogen spotlight that was supposed to light the Settler’s Cabin at night sputtered on and off, giving the isolated area an eerie strobe-light effect. Years ago, this cabin used to be lit by real flames that burned day and night to go with the storyline told on the Mark Twain and other riverboats as they passed by, but time and use had corroded the gas pipes that fed the flames and they were never replaced. As the spotlight flickered on again for a moment, Wals spotted the dark pile of something over near one of trees. It was partially covered with carefully arranged branches and leaves as if it was purposely hidden. He started over to the mound wishing he had brought his Fantasmic! crowd control-issued yellow flashlight with him. Just when he reached it and realized it was a pile of clothes, a flash of lightning lit the dark sky. Wals’ head jerked in the direction of the wooden Mill that was across the River from the Mark Twain dock and where Fantasmic! would be centered. It couldn’t possibly be time for the show. Another flash tore through the sky. Only, he then realized, the flash had come behind him—in the opposite direction from where Fantasmic! would be shown.

  Not one to be easily startled, Wals looked back toward the silent cabin, and then to the River. The pile of clothes fo
rgotten, he walked slowly toward the cabin and the fiberglass brown horse standing silently behind the split-rail fence next to it. The fog was now so thick he couldn’t even see across to the River to the Native American chief seated on a mustang, raising his hand in greeting to the different boatloads of guests. Wals then realized something else—there was no BOOM of thunder after the lightning. Before he could work out that mystery, another jagged bolt of lightning flashed and ripped along the surface of the River, sending green water and an odd shower of pink sparkles flying in every direction.

  Shielding his eyes from the brilliant light, he turned away, feeling the hair on his head stand away from his scalp. Then, as suddenly as it came, the lightning stopped, the wind died down, and the last of the sparkles burned themselves out in the River. Fog still swirled around the water’s edge as Wals approached the River, wondering what in the world could have caused that phenomenon. He took up the walkie-talkie attached to his belt to report to Security, but only heard static on the multiple frequencies. Replacing it, he looked to the left toward the direction of the Hungry Bear Restaurant and the canoe dock but could see nothing through the fog. Even the screams coming from the huge drop at the end of Splash Mountain were muted, making them sound as if they were coming from the other side of the Park.

  What he could hear clearly, though, was a groaning sound. He hurried over to the other edge of the clearing, near the rocks of Keel Boat Rapids. The Rapids was a channel just wide enough for the canoes to go through in their trek around the Island. Using air pipes, the water would be turned into bubbling, frothing “rapids” to make it more exciting for the guests. Across the small channel he saw someone submerged in the water and clinging to one of the rocks.

  Plunging into the waist-deep water, Wals rushed over to the prone figure. Another groan was heard and the dark head turned when Wals put a hand on a man’s bare shoulder.