Prisoner of the Giant Boona Bird (A Griffin Ghostley Adventure Book 2)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  All that, and we hadn’t even moved a hundred yards yet.

  And out of the corners of my eyes, I noticed that the furry, light brown creature immediately plugged two fingers into her ears as if cutting itself off from civilization. It began to rock back and forth and mutter to itself, apparently having no desire to associate with the boona bird, the two drivers–and no doubt at the top of its list–me.

  So this is how it was all going to play out. I was to be driven to my doom enveloped in the noisy silence of this cart while under the watchful eyes of an overexcited, feathery blue blob. Life, indeed, wasn’t fair. Fate had tackled me to the ground, leaving me crushed, bruised and utterly defeated.

  An Unexpected Detour

  I’ve reached Boredom Level 12 right now, and that’s on a scale from one to ten. I’ll soon reach Level 13, no doubt. This endless trip, simply put, is endless. The dull, sleep-inducing weather isn’t helping me any either. And as for my traveling companions, well, they’re the last thing from entertaining. First there’s the continuous yakety yakking from the two creatures in front. Add to that the icy cold, ready-to-snap silence from the one sitting in back. All that, plus the blue boona’s unpredictable schedule between sleep sessions and constant pestering–of me–force me to use every ounce of self-control to keep myself from going crazy.

  I ponder my situation, take a deep breath and sigh, realizing that maybe I’m not the ideal traveling companion either. I’m imprisoned, yes. But might I be required to accept some of the blame for being here in the first place? After all, I did trespass into Miss Lemon-Yellow’s secret sanctum, though I was partly forced to while being pursued by the boona bird. Still, I suppose that’s not a totally valid excuse, but I mentally chew on that nugget for a bit before I settle upon an answer. But I never arrive at one. There’s trouble on the road ahead and my interest is quickly diverted.

  The trouble is in the form of rocks. Many rocks. And some are rather large. A few are bigger than the cart we’re riding in. We stop behind a line of other carts. Everything is at a standstill. The large leathery one slips out of its harness and steps onto the road to assess the situation. Being curious, I open the back gate and hop out. Big Blue, roused from another nap, glances my way as if worried about my safety.

  I approach the driver and we both gaze with interest down the road, which at this point gently weaves between two grassy hillsides dotted with half buried rocks and a smattering of small, scraggly trees. Ahead of us is the rocky obstruction, let loose down the hillside on the right by the force of gravity, and for us travelers, bad timing. Fortunately, it appears no one was in the direct path of the rocks when they tumbled, yet no one will be able to pass by until the mess is cleared away.

  Over a dozen official looking creatures mill about the scene, all sporting coats of coffee-colored fur. They are in charge of the situation. Some go from cart to cart, speaking to each driver with grave expressions. Others move about the fallen rocks, no doubt discussing their swift removal. Then one of the creatures approaches our vehicle, ready to deliver its news.

  We are to be detoured along with everyone else. Luckily, there is a narrow, hilly road just ahead that turns off to our right. Every driver is being directed to use that route, like it or not. And most of the drivers I see in passing, including our own, definitely do not like it. The chorus of grumbling voices and array of frustrated expressions indicate to me that all are being sent far afield from their intended destinations. But we have no other choice. Soon the line of carts begins to proceed reluctantly, but obediently, up this unexpected avenue.

  As we turn off the main road, we head up a narrower one that appears poorly maintained. Our mostly smooth ride so far is now getting super bumpy in spots. Tall pine trees lined up on our right lean in as if ready to rush in for a tackle. To the left is a steep, grassy hillside we must maneuver around to find a way back to the main road beyond the rock fall if the creatures are to reach their destination. But achieving their goal only brings me closer to my punishment at the end of this trip.

  And if the detour wasn’t fun enough, Big Blue is getting antsy again, and I’m putting that kindly. Whiny is more like it. After the excitement with the fallen rocks and being on this strange road, the boona bird no doubt realizes that something is wrong. Even a few sips from its water bowl do little to calm its growing sense of unease. After a quick consultation between the tall leathery and furry white creatures, the cart pulls off the road to the right in a grassy clearing among the pines. We all hop off the vehicle, grateful for a short break.

  Big Blue immediately runs around to let off steam, unlike my furry, light brown nemesis who sits upon a large rock and silently stews with a finger firmly placed in each ear. But Miss Lemon-Yellow glances up occasionally, keeping tabs on everyone instead of ignoring us. Our two drivers likewise keep us in view as the leathery one scribbles a map in the dirt with a claw, no doubt discussing various travel routes.

  Maybe just having missed running into a rockslide has ignited a heightened sense of concern in them for their fellow travelers. Perhaps in all of us. Even the boona bird and I don’t stray too far from the cart as we enjoy a quick game of toss-the-pinecone rather than run around like madmen trying to hide from each other. And as a bonus, the throbbing in my big toe has subsided, too.

  At one point, Big Blue misses catching the pinecone by a mile. In fact, he hasn’t caught one yet, though it does get an A+ for trying. But anyway, the pinecone lands near Miss Lemon-Yellow’s feet, so I decide that that is a lost ball and prepare to look for another pinecone lying around nearby. But to my utter surprise, she gently hops down off the rock and playfully kicks the pinecone back in Big Blue’s direction without a word, then resumes her head bobbing after getting back up on her stony perch. As I glance her way, I detect a faint smile upon her face, the faintest of faintest smiles, mind you, but it shocks me nonetheless. I quickly look away, pretending not to notice, wondering if I had just imagined that. But I know it was for real.

  My, but how things have changed since just this morning.

  The blue boona grabs the pinecone with its bright orange beak and then awkwardly throws it my way. The object makes a wobbly somersault through the air and veers to my right, so I lunge toward it and make the catch. Surprisingly, this is one of Big Blue’s better throws as most of them veer widely to my left or right or sail way over my head.

  But to mix things up a bit, I decide to add a little more excitement to our game. I charge at the boona bird with the pinecone tucked securely in one arm, exaggerating a loud growl as I run toward the bird now excitedly jumping around in its comically clumsy way. Just before I’m about to plow into the boona, I spin around once like a tornado and shoot off to the right, racing past Big Blue and then crossing an imaginary goal line I visualize as clearly as the grass and trees around me.

  And the crowd goes wild! I jump for joy while holding aloft the football, having just scored the winning touchdown. What a glorious moment in the sporting world, one that will be talked about for years to come, if not decades. Well, at least in my mind that’s how things play out. Big Blue, however, cackles hilariously at my antics while jumping up and down, waiting for me to throw the pinecone back to him. I do so, and amazingly, he catches it.

  And the crowd goes wild again! But this time for real. Our two drivers, having just finished studying their map, happen to look up when the boona bird makes its astounding catch. And Miss Lemon-Yellow, whom I notice has been sneaking glances our way, no doubt intrigued by our game, jumps up and begins to applaud Big Blue’s fantastic catch as well. All crowd around the feathery blue bundle of energy to offer their hearty congratulations as the bird soaks up the praise, deservedly so.

  It was a wild game, short as it was, but the clock has expired. The leathery one signals for everyone to return to the cart as it is time to get back on the road. Big Blue drops the pinecone and rushes back to the vehicle as we all follow. I trudge back slowly under gray skies, my momentary burst of joy and ex
citement quickly fading.

  I do, however, stoop down and pick up the discarded pinecone and slip it into my jacket pocket. It’s the winning game ball, after all, and should be kept as a special souvenir, a pleasant reminder of the spirited competition I had just played in. Sadly, and on today of all days, it is probably the only game like it that I will get to see. So I’ll take my good memories wherever I can get them, even those of a pretend, five minute game with a bouncy boona bird on the side of a rutty road.

  Moments later we drive away, again captives to the monotonous landscape along each tedious mile of this seemingly endless journey. And while my fellow travelers may look forward to reaching our destination, I don’t foresee any joy awaiting me at the end. I sigh with overwhelming hopelessness as I feel myself drifting off to sleep.

  Roadside Repairs

  I slowly awake from a nap to the sound of wooden wheels rolling steadily along a hard, dirt road. How long had I been out? Not too long, I conclude. Big Blue is still sound asleep beside me, a faint smile upon its face, perhaps happily dreaming about the big catch. And the two drivers in front are cheerfully engaged in another bubbly conversation in their second strange language, no doubt having figured out where to go after our unexpected detour.

  And as for the third creature? Well, no change there either. Fingers in ears. So business as usual on this endless trip to Boringville, somewhere smack in the middle of Dreary County. I turn over on my back and notice something through one of the cracks in the side of the cart.

  At least one thing has changed anyway. It has started to snow.

  Just a few flurries dancing about on a slight breeze. But it is a welcomed change in scenery from the grassy, hilly fields to our left and the endless stretch of towering pines on the right keeping us company on this new route. And though other carts from connecting roads rattle by now and then, there is still a depressing sameness to everything. All is cold and gray, just like my prospects at the end of my road.

  Then we are rocked by a sudden jolt.

  PHUUUMPTH! Thlock thlock thlock thlock thlock thlock thlock…

  Everyone snaps to attention. My heart races for a moment, and I assume that is the case with everyone else, too. Something has gone terribly wrong.

  The cart veers to the right and slows down. Soon we are at a standstill on the side of the road. Big Blue glances this way and that in confusion and fear. Even Fingers-in-the-Ears looks around curiously, perhaps wondering with mounting irritation about the cause of this unscheduled stop. But to be fair, I note a heightened level of concern in her eyes. The furry white creature in front repeatedly scans the faces of everyone in the cart, worriedly chattering away all the while.

  After calm returns, the leathery one unfastens the harness from around itself and ducks beneath the crossbar, eager to take a closer look at the vehicle. While moving around the cart, it quickly discovers the problem and shouts out. Moments later we all disembark to take a peek. The problem is obvious–one of the wheels is broken. We’ll be going nowhere fast in this condition, not that I really mind.

  And even though a few other drivers stop to check on us, the leathery creature waves them onward as if confident that the situation is under control. It makes its way around to the opposite side where a spare wooden wheel hangs from a metal hook. Unfortunately, there is a split in that wheel and the creature rules out using it as a replacement. But the one in charge is not discouraged in the least.

  It hurries back to the front and fishes out a small, wooden, cone-shaped device from a small box nailed to the side of the cart. It looks like a tiny megaphone of sorts. The creature holds it in one hand and walks to the edge of the road as snow flurries fly. It carefully raises the object to its lips, aims it along the path of the road, and then calls loudly through the opening.

  “Aaaaahhh oooooooooooo! Aaaaahhh oooooooooooo!”

  Its desperate yet determined call echoes across the land like a blaring foghorn or the mournful song of a whale through watery depths. It repeats the action, and then we wait. We are entertained only by an occasional passing cart and the acrobatic snowflakes tumbling through the air. Big Blue, slightly nervous, nuzzles up to the furry white creature who soothingly caresses its feathers. Even my nemesis whispers a few words to the driver, for the moment joining us in the real world, both its ears visible and fingerless.

  Several minutes pass. But just as I’m about to speak up, wondering if I’ll even be understood, everyone’s attention shifts to a point farther up the road. Another cart rapidly approaches and all become visibly excited. Our driver’s call into the wild has been heard.

  Two other creatures soon steer their vehicle off the road in front of ours and join us outside. A large assortment of wooden wheels is piled on back of the cart, one of them most likely a fit for ours. The creature in charge, a short, stout character with graying black fur, consults in rapid fashion with our leathery driver about what had happened. Soon they are examining the collection of wheels with much interest.

  The other creature who accompanied the first, sporting a sleek, reddish-brown coat, is much younger, no doubt the son of the one in charge. It immediately takes notice of Miss Lemon-Yellow, who likewise can’t help but return a playful gaze. Moments later they are engaged in a private conversation just off to one side. My nemesis laughs softly from time to time as she fusses with her locks, apparently fascinated with every word uttered by her newfound companion who leans casually against a tree and seems to grin an awful lot. It’s as if she has instantly transformed into a completely different entity from the one who has been accompanying me on this depressing journey–the very same one who had eagerly pointed a finger at me in the farmhouse and pronounced my doom.

  I roll my eyes, surprised that such a display of pleasantness has found its way to the surface of her being, guessing it will only be temporary. Big Blue, however, is even more upset than I am, but not just because of this. The boona bird has been trying to get the attention of anyone, calling out in a voice which grows more annoying by the second.

  It first inches up to Miss Lemon-Yellow who chats with its new friend. But without even a glance at Big Blue, she quickly motions for the bird to go away with an icy flick of its hand. Then the miserable blue boona hurries toward the two individuals discussing prices and features of the various wheels piled on the cart. But before it can interrupt them, the soft, furry white one runs some interference and blocks the boona bird from bothering them.

  The feathery blue blob nearly throws a temper tantrum at being dismissed as the center of attention in any of these various interactions. I can’t help but appear a little amused that this feathered dictator seems to have been temporarily striped of its power and charm over others. But my amusement vanishes as the boona bird trudges back toward me. It seems that I am its companion of last resort at the moment. Ah, lucky me.

  Big Blue nudges its head against my arm a few times, gazing up with large, sad eyes. I instantly connect with the isolation I sense it is experiencing and relent, stroking its downy head. The bird calms down at once, content to stand there quietly at my side, quite unlike the boona bird who had pursued me with a vengeance only hours ago. Like Miss Lemon-Yellow, it has assumed a new personality because of a change in circumstances and doesn’t seem to be such a bad companion right now.

  Several more minutes pass in relative calm, and then our leathery driver and the wheel selling creature arrive at an agreement. Soon the short, stout creature signals to his son for assistance, and as swift as a snapped football, the two are busy at work removing the broken wheel and replacing it with the new one.

  The rest of us watch with interest, happy to be entertained with a show of any kind amidst such dreary surroundings. My lemon-yellow adversary seems the most delighted of all, whispering and giggling all the while next to the furry white creature who has placed an arm around her shoulder like a comforting mother.

  Big Blue notices at once and will have none of it, marching over and trying to slip its jealou
s head between the two of them until they relent and shower the bird with some attention. I’m content to watch in silence, happy that a sense of order and friendship has enveloped our little group.

  A few minutes later the work is completed and our cart is once again road ready. The leathery driver pays the wheel creature with a bag of acorns stored in the back, and soon he and his son bid everyone goodbye and are on their way. As they drive off, Miss Lemon-Yellow flashes a smile at the younger creature and waves, appearing sad to see him go yet cheered at the same time by this brief acquaintance. Her stern features have softened as if some burden has been lifted from her shoulders. Her spirit seems renewed and at peace, if that is at all possible.

  In time we are all back in the cart and again on our way to our destination, yet something seems different. Despite the gray clouds overhead, a smattering of snowflakes, and the cramped quarters upon this bed of dry straw, a sense of lightness and possibility lingers in the air. I glance past the boona and am shocked to see the light brown creature sitting peacefully against one side of the cart, simply gazing outdoors through a crack in the wall, a faint smile upon its face and no fingers stuck in its ears.

  Even Big Blue has calmed down, for the moment quiet and sitting peacefully, no doubt relieved that order has been restored to the cart. And our two drivers softly converse among themselves, again in their strange language that only the two of them seem to understand. But they appear quite content, for a moment in a world of their own.

  Then three round, red objects are gently tossed back to us from up front. Miss Lemon-Yellow, the boona bird and I each catch one with ease–three sweet, juicy red apples to get us through the rest of this journey, however it may end. We return silent smiles of thanks, and for the moment, all of us are happy.