Maybe it was the stress of knowing that the ultimate battle was about to take place within the next forty-eight hours. Maybe it was the fact that he'd been searching so intently that he hadn't had a proper night's sleep in months. Maybe it was the knowledge that he would have to kill something if he was going to stop the slaughter in Buster B. Bayliss County, something he felt responsible for creating. Maybe it was simply because Russell could be such an annoying little pain in the … but whatever it was, Mr. B. felt something he hadn't felt in years. He felt a strange moisture coming into his eyes and a strange stuffiness coming into his nose.
Once again, sounding very much like a certain soul singer on a certain quadrillion-dollar bill, he said, “Please. Please. Please. I'm begging you. A leaf. Any old stupid leaf.”
Russell said, “Oops! Okay. There! The third leaf from the left, the greenish brown one with a big hole in it.”
Mr. B.'s woodsman mind instantly registered, “Maple. Chewed on by male caribou. Bad lower left molar.”
He sighted, aimed, drew and released.
THRU-U-U-U-U-M-M-M!
Once again the arrow flew with a flawless trajectory.
Russell saw it make contact dead center with the leaf before the same tremendous flash of light forced him to turn his head and close his eyes.
He knew what was next and had his ears covered by the time the BOOM reached him.
He looked at the waterfall and saw that it had stoppedflowing! A great cloud of steam rose from where the arrow had struck the leaf. Russell said, “Wow! Bull's-eye! You nailed …” He turned to look at Mr. B. and fell silent.
Buster B. Bayliss grimaced.
“Is it your arm?”
Smoke oozed from the burns on the woodsman's arm.
Russell poured the rest of the water onto the wounds. But something more seemed to be bothering Mr. B.
“What's wrong? You hit dead center on the leaf, your aim was perfect!”
“No. It hit dead center. I aimed for the lower left corner. We'd be dead by now if I'm that far off tomorrow.”
Russell couldn't help thinking this was an exaggeration, or what Great-great-grampa Carter's dictionary would call “hyperbole.”
He said, “Well, the good thing is you were real close. But I'm glad you blew that leaf up. It looked a lot like that time in gym class when my rotten teacher, Mr. Williams, was throwing dodgeballs at a bunch of us kids and the only place we could hide from him was behind this big poster from the circus.”
Mr. Bayliss's entire body stiffened. He grabbed both of Russell's arms and whispered, “What? What did you say it reminded you of?”
Russell said, “It reminded me of that time the only place we could hide from Mr. Williams was behind the circus poster that had the purple elephants on it.” He felt a coldness run through Buster B. Bayliss's hands. Then he saw alook on the woodsman's face he'd never seen before and hoped he'd never see again. It was a look very close to fear.
Fear is like a virus. When one person gets it, everyone around them does. Once again Russell fell into an instinctive mode. He instantly called out, “Mummy!”
Buster B. Bayliss said, “The final omen. The final rhyme:
“There'll then be a day when an instructor of play Will search for the way to young children flay.
And though they will squirm and wiggle like worms,
He'll hunt them like germs around blue pachyderms.
They'll answer the call and one by one fall And be plastered to walls by brown, rubbery balls.
“It means the tables have been turned.”
GULP!
“The Ursa knows.”
GULP!
“He knows what I want to do.”
GULP!
“He knows I have the bow.”
GULP!
“He's no longer the prey.”
GULP!
“He's now hunting us.”
GULP!
Buster B. Bayliss scanned the east and the west, the north and the south. He took the final arrow and quickly nocked it into the bow.
GULP!
“The attack is moments away!”
Even though Russell's gulper was darn near exhausted (you try gulping seven times in a row. No. Try it. Seriously. See?), it was like it was going to keep gulping until it blew up.
GULP!GULP!GULP!GULP!GULP!GULP!GULP! GULP!…
Buster B. Bayliss wet a finger, put it in the wind, then put it to his nose. The look of fear was back. “The cabin,” he said. “It's waiting to ambush us near the cabin!”
The Horror
or
The Revenge of the Ursa Theodora-Saura
AS THE TWO WOODS GUYS began a mad dash back toward the cabin, Russell tried to tell himself that the situation wasn't as dangerous and close to hopeless as Mr. B. was making it seem.
“Mr. Bayliss?”
“What is it?”
“How can you be so sure you have to hit the Ursa Theodora-Saura exactly in one little piece of his heart to kill him? Seems like if that exploding arrow hit anywhere near his heart, he'd be outta here.”
Mr. B. stopped running. “You know what? Since those may be real close to the last words you'll ever say, I guess it wouldn't hurt for me to explain something to you.”
Russell tried to gulp but apparently his gulper wascompletely worn out. The only sound he could come up with was half a gulp, GUH … !
“Don't forget, buckaroo, we're in Ourside, not back on Earth. And we're in the H.A.L.F. Land district of Ourside, sort of the same way your city of Flint is located in Michigan.”
“Okay.”
“Not only that, but we're in Buster B. Bayliss County of H.A.L.F. Land.”
“Sort of like we're on the north side of Flint.”
“No! Nothing like ‘we're on the north side of Flint.’ Hush and pay attention.”
“Oops.”
“Remember, the only way anything gets to live in H.A.L.F. Land is if it was a character or a place in one of my books and I never finished writing about it.”
“I remember that.”
“Which is the reason why I know the only way to kill the Ursa Theodora-Saura. I created him, so I know that the only way to stop him instantly is to shoot him right in the upper right quadrant of his heart. Not the lower right quadrant or the upper left one. To stop him from attacking after he's been wounded he must be hit dead in the upper right quadrant of his dime-sized heart.”
Russell scratched his head.
“Man, Mr. Bayliss, I'm not trying to be rude, but why in the world would you make a monster so terrible and so hard to stop?”
“Good question. One I've asked myself every night for the past six years. But don't forget, I never did use him in any of my stories, that's why he's here and not living in a book.”
“But that doesn't tell why you made him.”
“All right, listen. When I was cutting hair, I used to get so upset when some of the brothers would start telling these unrealistic, romantic stories about bears. You know how it goes. They'd talk Winnie the Pooh stuff, Yogi Bear, Smokey the Bear, the Care Bears, the Berenstain Bears, all those cute, cuddly teddy bear things.
“About the only person who ever got it right was this half-bald guy who used to tell about Winnie the Pooh's evil twin brother, the Wool Pooh. Brilliant brother.
“People just don't realize a bear is a dangerous predator. It doesn't see you as much more than a ham sandwich with clothes on. I got so sick of hearing that mess that I wanted to create something to serve as a warning, to let people know that bears aren't cute. That even the ones that are trained are thinking, ‘One chance, all I want is one chance to show you this trick that'll make you disappear.’ So I wrote about this horrible, nearly indestructible creature. I created this thing that was a giant, bad-attitude bear on steroids. The Ursa Theodora-Saura. And now it's up to me to destroy him … or to be destroyed by him.”
He paused. “Well, actually I guess it's up to me and you.”
GUH … !
>
Buster B. Bayliss kept his eyes moving along the woods, his bow at the ready.
“It didn't take long for me to realize I'd gone too far. This creation was simply too terrible. I quickly stopped writing about him, never used him in a book. Didn't know he would come here and cause so much death and destruction. Never realized I was writing about the very thing that may end my life.
“End our lives.”
GUH … !
They silently ran on and finally reached the last hill before the cabin.
Buster B. Bayliss stopped and said, “Since he's hunting us now, he's going to be waiting at the cabin, or he may try to ambush us. This is the perfect place for him to strike. I don't want to scare you, little buckaroo, but the Ursa Theodora-Saura is just over that hill”—he used the ready-to-fire bow to point in the direction of his cabin, then swept the bow all the way around them—“or he's watching us at this very moment. Watching and waiting. Waiting to separate us from our lives. Waiting to make his charge.”
Russell studied the look of determination and strength that came over Mr. Bayliss, and for some reason he wasn't afraid anymore. It was as if he too realized that nothing could stop what was about to happen. And it brought about a new feeling in Russell's gut. A feeling that made his insides tighten and rumble with strength. A feeling that seemed to sweep over him in waves. He was feeling something new. New and exciting.
It was courage.
Either that or the beginnings of a really bad case ofdiarrhea brought on by eating tons of uncooked mosquitoes.
Whatever it was, it took the fear right out of him.
“Mr. Bayliss, I'm ready to do whatever I have to do to stop this monster from killing any more people and bunnies.”
Buster B. Bayliss never took his eyes off the woods around them. He said, “That's the spirit, buckaroo.”
He pointed the bow and arrow back up the hill toward the cabin. “Climb the hill, see if there's anything fishy around the cabin. Observe. Notice everything. Look for even the smallest detail. The slightest change. I'll stay here in case he's waiting to attack from the rear. Now tell me what I said so that I can be sure you got it right.”
Russell repeated, “Observe. Notice everything. Look for small details. Look for the slightest change.”
He looked Mr. Bayliss in the eye, stood at attention and saluted him.
Then he bravely turned to walk up the hill. He'd gone three steps when Buster B. Bayliss said, “Kiddo?”
Russell turned around and saw that Mr. B. was holding his Russ-whacking mitten.
Uh-oh!
“Yes, Mr. Bayliss?”
“You've grown. I guess we won't be needing this anymore.”
He threw the mitten into the woods.
“I'm proud of you, kiddo.”
Russell felt a glow in his heart. A spreading warmth. It was the fact that someone he'd admired for years admired him too. It was an acknowledgment of one of the strongest desires in human beings, the desire to be accepted. To be understood. To feel as though you are a part of a family.
It was that or the first twinges of severe heartburn caused by the incredibly filthy habit of eating bloodsucking parasites.
Either way, it made him stand a little taller. It made him a little more determined to get this over with.
He saluted the great outdoorsman again and continued his trek up the hill. To whatever awaited at the cabin. To his destiny.
He repeated, “Observe. Notice everything. Look for slight details. Look for small change.”
Russell thought, “Gee, Mr. Bayliss's books must not be selling so hot if he's got me looking around for small change.”
When he got near the crest of the hill, he flattened himself to the earth and began crawling the last few feet. He crept toward the large rock that sat right on the top of the hill. Once he was behind it, he'd be able to see clearly into the valley and Buster B. Bayliss's cabin.
When he reached the rock, he paused. He rolled over, flat on his back, trying to catch his breath. He didn't realize how hard he'd been breathing. He hadn't noticed how tiring the run up the hill had been. How much stress he was under.
After two or three minutes he'd calmed himself. He leaned on his elbows and peeked around the rock to see if there were any differences around the cabin. Anything that might give him a clue that the Ursa Theodora-Saura had been there. Russell was observing. Noticing the slightest detail.
His eyes quickly scanned the valley, then settled on the cabin.
Nothing unusual.
The table, right where it belonged.
A ribbon of smoke rising from the chimney, like always.
Mr. B.'s whittling chair still sat near the cabin's front door. Right next to the humungous, twenty-five-foot-tall stuffed teddy bear someone had leaned against the cabin while they'd been out in the woods.
Nothing unusual.
His eyes swept behind the cabin.
Nothing unusual.
The clothesline, still strung from the cabin to the big tree. Still hung with thirty feet of Buster Bayliss's drying clothes. Just as it had always been.
Nothing unusual.
Russell's hammock, still swinging lazily between the trees. Right next to the twenty-foot-tall grazing moose that had a rack of antlers wider than the entire cabin.
Nothing unusual.
Russell began to slide back down the hill to tell Mr. Bayliss the coast was clear when something a little unusual did happen.
The huge moose began walking toward the front of the cabin, then froze in midstride. It noticed the teddy bear. It raised its head high, then snorted and bellowed loudly twice. The sound reverberated throughout the valley.
Startled birds in the woods threw themselves skyward.
The moose dropped its head and, never taking its eyes off the teddy bear, viciously slammed its front paw into the ground seven or eight times.
Not only could Russell see and hear the power of each blow, he could also feel the ground beneath him tremble. From a hundred feet away.
“Wow!” Russell thought. “Now that's coo …”
Then something really unusual happened.
And Russell froze in midsentence.
The giant, brown, cuddly-looking teddy bear turned his head and peered in the direction of the furious moose!
A stuffed teddy bear turned his head!
The teddy bear staggered onto his cute, chubby back legs. His head towered ten feet over the cabin!
“Oh, man!” Russell thought. “What a great toy teddy bear! It must have a remote control somewhere to make it move!”
The moose pawed the ground four more times.
Russell knew exactly what was about to happen and couldn't bear to watch.
He barreled down the hillside toward where Mr. B. was.
“Mr. Bayliss! It's horrible! You've got to stop it!”
Buster B. Bayliss kept the bow raised toward the crest ofthe hill, waiting for any kind of movement. He said, “You saw him? You saw the Ursa Theodora-Saura?”
Russell looked in his friend's eyes and shook his head. “No!” he said. “This gigantic, horrible, mean moose is about to rip a real big, cute, cuddly stuffed teddy bear to shreds! Hurry up and come shoot him!”
Buster B. Bayliss's face changed, and for a second Russell thought he saw the woodsman's hand tremble a bit on the bow.
Mr. B. blinked the sweat from his eyes, swallowed once, then whispered, “So this is how it ends, not with a bang, but with a …”
He never finished his sentence.
The drumming sound of enormous hooves pounding into the ground could be heard from the other side of the hill. From the area of the cabin.
Russell thought, “We're too late, the moose is charging! He's going to ruin that cool toy!”
Exactly fifteen times the hooves dug into the dirt. Fifteen steps for the moose to cover the ground between itself and the teddy bear.
Fifteen drumbeats before the most horrible, pain-filled scream either of them
had ever heard pierced both of their souls.
Trees seemed to sway.
Rocks seemed to tremble.
Then it ended.
But the echo of pain rolled across the valley.
And it changed every living thing that heard it.
Mr. Bayliss scrambled up the hill. The woodsman positioned himself behind the rock.
In no time at all Russell was standing beside him.
Buster B. Bayliss peeked from one side of the boulder and Russell Woods peeked from the other.
The moose had missed! It must've been bluffing, it must've just run off into the woods! The toy teddy was all right! The only thing that looked different was that now the bear looked like he was wearing some kind of great big hat!
Then the teddy bear let out four of the most disgusting belches Russell had ever heard!
“Man,” Russell thought, “whatever toy company made this teddy bear sure didn't give him any kind of manners.”
And to make matters worse, after each of the four belches the teddy bear spit out something that was three feet across and shaped like a giant hockey puck!
Russell looked to Mr. Bayliss for an explanation.
“Moose hooves. The filthy thing ate the moose whole. Then made a hat out of his antlers.”
“You mean that's the …”
“Russell Woods, meet the dreaded Ursa Theodora-Saura!”
The monster stood on his rear legs again. His adorable little button nose sniffed the air. He'd caught the smell of the two hunters, but he couldn't pinpoint where the scent was coming from.
In his frustration he roared, and every hair on both Russell's and Buster B. Bayliss's heads stood straight up! (And if you've ever seen a set of dreadlocks stand straight up, you know you've seen something pretty special!) In fact, a quarter-sized patch of hair in the front of Russell's head turned snowy white!
And two of the gray dreadlocks on the front of Mr. Bayliss's head turned jet black!
Mr. Chickee's Messy Mission Page 14
