Attack of the Vampire Weenies (13 page)

“Movie time,” he said, grabbing Freddie's arm. “Sound good?”

“Count me in,” Freddie said.

“Me, too,” Mark said, joining them.

There were six of them gathered together by the time they headed down the street toward the Shangri-La Theater. Chuck was in the lead, as usual, followed by Mark, Freddie, Lou, George, and Herb. “Anyone know what's showing?” he asked.

“New movie,” Freddie told him. “Don't remember the name.”

They had the answer in a minute.
“Demons from Below,”
Chuck said, reading the sign. “Sounds good to me.” He dashed ahead, getting to the ticket booth first. “Last one in is a rotten egg,” he called as he hurried into the theater. He gave his ticket to the woman by the inside door, then walked down the aisle, noticing that there was almost nobody in the place.

He heard the door open and close behind him as the others came in. Chuck sped up, went to the front, and grabbed his favorite seat. In a moment, the rest of the guys had joined him. A moment after that, the movie started.

“There are demons below,” a really bad actor Chuck recognized from a dozen other films said as the opening credits rolled.

“Where else would they be,” Freddie said. He laughed.

“Ssshhhhh.” Chuck smacked him.

“Hey, that hurt,” Freddie said.

“Just keep quiet.” Even if it was a bad movie, Chuck wanted to hear it.

“I'm getting some soda.” Freddie stood and walked up the aisle.

“Sounds good,” Lou said. “Me, too.” He headed toward the aisle.

“Hey,” Mark called after him. “Get me some popcorn.” He handed Lou a couple dollars.

“Anyone else want anything?” Lou asked.

“No,” Chuck said. He returned his attention to the screen, where a bunch of coal miners were digging deeper than anyone had ever dug before. Another bad actor was warning everyone that they didn't know what lurked in the depths of the Earth.

“Have to hit the bathroom,” Herb said. He got up and left.

A minute later, Mark said, “Where's Lou with my popcorn?”

“Why don't you go find out?” Chuck asked, annoyed at the constant chatter.

“I think I will.” Mark got up.

Then George stood. “Bathroom,” he said. He looked back at Chuck and added, “Last one out is a rotten egg.”

“Yeah, right.” Chuck heard the door slam shut at the top of the aisle. A moment later, he realized that it had gotten very quiet. There was the sound of the movie, of course, but absolutely no other sounds. He looked around. There was nobody else in the theater. Everyone had left. Chuck thought about following them, but that would make him the last one out. He wasn't about to play that role.

Then he smelled it.

“What the—?” Chuck looked around. It was a familiar smell, but not one he expected in a theater.

Rotten eggs?

The ground at his feet began to crack. A hiss of steam rose from the crumbling concrete. The steam smelled of rotten eggs.

Sulfur?

That was the smell.

A hole opened at Chuck's feet. The smell of sulfur, of brimstone, filled the theater. Chuck started to crawl over his seat, trying to get away from the hole. The row of seats tilted toward the pit. A screech of tearing metal ripped through the air. The seats dropped out from under Chuck just as he rolled over them. He landed on the edge of the pit, his feet dangling over the steaming opening. He got to his knees and started to stand.

A hand grabbed his leg. Not a hand. Chuck looked back. Hands aren't bloodred and rippling with tiny blue and yellow flames.

The claw pulled him down toward the hole.

“First one in,” a voice said from below, “is a rotten egg.”

For the last time, Chuck was first.

 

DRAGON AROUND

Princess Emerald strongly suspected
she'd been snatched by a dragon. She couldn't tell for sure, since she was dangling below her captor, but the
whoosh whoosh whoosh
of giant wings was a clue. Hawks didn't grow this large. Emerald could barely see the tips of the wings on each downstroke. They seemed to be covered with scales. Her rapid rise above the ground and—egads!—above the clouds, was another clue. She'd always wondered whether clouds looked different from above. If the price of this knowledge was a feature role on a dragon's dinner menu, then she would have preferred to remain in the dark.

“Hello?” Princess Emerald called. As she spoke, she realized she didn't even know whether she was clutched in jaws or talons. All she knew was that something had hooked the back of her gown and lifted her away from the castle courtyard. If she was held in the mouth of the dragon, it would be unwise to start a conversation.

But apparently, that's exactly what she had done. “Hello,” the dragon said.

“What, exactly, are your plans?” she asked once she'd assured herself that she wasn't plummeting toward the ground.

“Well, dear Princess,” the dragon replied in a deep and somewhat hissing voice, “I plan to take you to my cave. That will draw out every hero in the realm. They'll come to save you, for that is what heroes must do. And I will sear them into crispy pieces with my fire, for that is what a dragon must do.”

“How horrible,” the princess said with a shudder. She had, of course, been taking shuddering lessons from the royal tutor, along with math, science, alchemy, divination, curtseying, weaving, sewing, fainting, tea sipping, gnome watching, tapestry gazing, curse dodging, and, as she recalled a bit too late, dragon ducking. Thinking back to the moment of her capture, she realized she'd dodged when she should have ducked. Now, thanks to that one slight slip, she was going to be used as hero bait.

“It's not horrible,” the dragon said as they passed above the highest of the clouds into the warming rays of the sun. “Is a frog horrible when it eats a fly? Without frogs, the world would be filled with flies. Without flies, frogs would starve. There's a delicate balance to our lives.”

“But heroes aren't flies,” Princess Emerald said.

“They're worse than flies,” the dragon told her. “Flies are just pests. If heroes get out of control, the world would become a terrible place. Those wicked heroes would wipe out all the dragons. Then, in search of more sport, they'd do the same to the trolls and the goblins. Once they wiped out everything else, they would start fighting wars amongst themselves and wiping each other out. In the process, much innocent life would be hurt. Forests would get burned, fields would be trampled, animals would lose their homes, even innocent humans would be harmed.”

“Still, there must be a better way.”

“There is always a better way,” the dragon said. “But it is easier to go along with things the way they are. If you are smart enough to suggest a better way, I'm all ears. Small ears, but all ears.”

“I'll think of something.” If nothing else, it would take her mind off her current situation.

The dragon tucked his wings against his flanks and dropped sharply toward the side of a mountain. They gained speed at a frightening rate. Just when Emerald thought she would have to scream, the dragon opened his wings again and swooped into a cave.

He landed with the lightness of a whisper, then set the princess gently down.

“Pretty impressive flying, don't you think?”

Emerald, who hadn't regained her breath, just nodded. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd had any breath. What she saw in the cave would have stolen it away. The huge chamber was filled with gold and jewels. There were hills of coins and mountains of pearls. There were treasures of all sorts taken from unfortunate heroes: swords, spears, entire suits of armor, lances, maces, and other weapons of destruction. There were rugs and tapestries and countless yards of beautiful cloth. There was even a small catapult.

“So soon,” the dragon said.

“What?” Emerald asked.

“Do you hear that?”

Emerald listened, but she heard nothing.

“Sorry, I forgot that you humans are sadly limited in your senses. Poor things. But I can hear the rumble of the first heroes already. They will arrive in less than an hour. They're coming to save you from the fierce and nasty dragon. Oh dear, oh dear,” the dragon said in pretend panic, “whatever shall I do?”

Emerald tried sneaking away, one tiny step at a time, but the dragon stretched out his tail and stopped her. She plopped down onto a pile of sheepskins, feeling terrible about the fate of the heroes. “Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”

“Only if you can find another means of keeping the world in balance.”

Emerald put her chin in her hands and kicked her leg in frustration. Her foot struck a small crown that was lying on the floor. It bounced against the wall of the cave and rolled back against her feet. She desperately wanted to find a solution. The problem was that the dragon seemed to be right. Knights really did love a battle, or any kind of contest. She kicked out again. The gold glimmered in the crown as it bounced against the wall. An idea glimmered in her mind.

“Easy on the merchandise,” the dragon said.

“I do have an idea,” Emerald told the dragon. “But you'll have to trust me.” She explained her plan.

The dragon didn't speak for several moments. Instead, he closed his eyes. Emerald was afraid he'd fallen asleep. But, a moment later, he opened his eyes and said, “Try it. But hurry.”

Emerald leaped to work. She grabbed a piece of sheepskin and stuffed it with cloth, then tied it with leather strips. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Next came the hard part. “I need to disguise myself,” she told the dragon. “They mustn't recognize me.”

“Over there, by the silk tapestry,” he said. “Armor would be too heavy, but try the chain mail and a helmet.”

Emerald slipped into the chain mail, then put on a helmet. It was dark inside, and smelled like the farthest corner of a stable—the one that never really gets a good cleaning. She took the stuffed sheepskin and walked from the cave. At every step, she expected the dragon to grab her and pull her back.

“Good luck,” the dragon said.

“Thank you.” She headed down the hill.
I'm just in time,
she thought as the first horse and rider burst out of the forest. Within moments, the clearing was filled with heroes. They were already arguing among themselves about who should have the first chance to rescue the princess. Emerald wove her way to the middle of the crowd and put the stuffed sheepskin on the ground.

She kicked it. It sailed through the air and landed near Sir Frothy of Lakeland. He glanced down at the ball. Then he kicked it hard and high. The sheepskin ball bounced twice, then got a solid kick from Prince Yackety of Running Mouth. The ball skittered across the field until it was stopped by Count Bighead of Meemeemee.

Her part done, Emerald returned to the cave. “I hope this works,” she said to the dragon.

“It appears to be going as you planned,” he replied.

In a short time, the heroes were all kicking the ball. A short time after that, they divided into two teams. Mere moments later, they came up with a set of rules for sheepball. Shortly afterwards, they erected a stadium with bleachers for the crowds that just seemed to show up.

Sheepball!

The heroes had found a new passion.

“Nicely done,” the dragon told Emerald as they watched the heroes. “That should keep them happy and occupied for a century or two.”

“Thank you. I thought it might work.” Down below, Emerald could hear the knights arguing about where to put the refreshment stand.

“Would you like a ride back to the castle?” the dragon asked. “I suspect I am going to have a large amount of free time on my wings.”

“That would be lovely,” Emerald said, hopping on the dragon's back.

And off they went.

 

LOST AND FOUND

“Hey, look at this,”
Dale said when he noticed the white square of folded cloth lying by the side entrance to the mall. “Someone lost a handkerchief.”

“Yuck,” Kirby said. “Don't touch it.”

“No, it's not that kind.” Dale bent down and picked up the handkerchief. “See, it's a fancy one.” He pointed to the initials that were embroidered in one corner. The letters
HCX,
stitched in dark red thread with lots of fancy loops and swirls, stood out against the bleached whiteness of the cloth.

“What's that mean?” Kirby asked.

“It's someone's name,” Dale said.

“Then what's that?” Kirby tapped the corner of the handkerchief.

Dale looked below the initials. In much smaller letters, in the same red thread, he saw
YFFI
. “I don't know.”

“Yiffy?” Kirby said. “Yuhfie? Whyfee? How do you think you say it?”

“Who cares? It's not important,” Dale said. “But I'll bet we can find the owner. Maybe there's even a reward.”

“How are you going to do that?” Kirby asked. “Anybody could have dropped it.”

“Easy,” Dale said. “The last name begins with an
X.
There can't be a whole lot of people with those initials. Let's go to my place and check the phone book.”

Kirby walked along next to Dale, chanting, “Yiffy, sniffy,” for a block and a half before Dale smacked him and told him to stop.

When they reached his house, Dale got the phone book from the drawer in the kitchen. Sure enough, there was less than a page of people with last names beginning with an
X.
This was going to be even easier than he'd thought.

He ran his finger down the listings. “Here we go. Harold C. Xantini. He lives on Bowie Street. That's not far from here.” Dale couldn't help grinning. He felt like one of those detectives he saw on TV shows.

“Are you going to call him?”

“No. Let's surprise him. I don't want to give him a chance to think.”