“I’m Pearl Petal.”
“I’m Ben Silverstein.”
“Well, Pearl Petal and Ben Silverstein, before we proceed, you must sign this.” The man pulled out a piece of paper from his vest pocket.
“I’m not supposed to sign anything without my mother or father reading it first,” Pearl explained as she refused to take the pen Mr. Tabby offered. “I signed some papers once, and we ended up with a big satellite dish on our roof. I was grounded for two weeks. No computer. No candy. No nothing.”
The man wiggled the pen. “You cannot go into the Identification Room if you do not sign this paper. If you do not sign this paper, I will have to take the hatchling and leave you here.”
“I’ll sign it,” Ben said. He handed the cookie tin to Pearl. Then he read the paper while Pearl looked over his shoulder.
“Vaporizing?” Ben asked. “Wait a minute. That sounds dangerous.”
“Oh, it is dangerous. Extremely dangerous. And painful.” Mr. Tabby pulled out a little device from his vest pocket and typed something on its keypad. “But according to my creature calculator, there are no vaporizing creatures currently in the hospital. The odds of your being vaporized today are zero.”
“But what about these other things?” Ben asked. “Shredding? I don’t want to be shredded.”
“I think crushing sounds worse,” Pearl said.
Mr. Tabby frowned. “I cannot guarantee your safety. That is why you must sign the paper.” He held out the pen. “You cannot accompany the hatchling into the Identification Room unless you sign. Both of you.”
Ben signed. Pearl hesitated but then signed. Mr. Tabby tucked the paper into his vest pocket. “Now, if you’ll please follow—”
A roar filled the room—the kind of roar that should be capitalized and followed by at least three exclamation marks. ROAR!!! It went on for a very long time, as if the creature making the sound had the largest lungs in the world. Cobwebs drifted down from the ceiling as something stomped on the floor above.
During the roar, Ben thought about all sorts of things. He thought he’d like to run in the opposite direction of the roar and keep running until he ended up back at his grandfather’s house. Then he thought that he shouldn’t run, because that would make him look like a chicken. But then he thought that it was better to look like a chicken than to be stomped, or crushed, or shredded.
“What was that?” Pearl asked as the roar faded.
“I dare not say.” Mr. Tabby smoothed out the front of his vest. “Now, on to business.” As he opened the door to the Identification Room, he said to Ben, “Would you be so kind as to bolt the front door?”
As Pearl followed Mr. Tabby into the Identification Room, the cookie tin still in her hands, Ben hurried across the lobby. He grabbed the dead bolt, but it wouldn’t budge. He didn’t have dead bolts in his house back in Los Angeles. Instead, there was a security keypad that activated an alarm system. Ben pinched his fingers trying to slide the rusty bolt into place. After a few tries, he gave up. The door was closed—that was good enough. Besides, he didn’t want to miss one second of whatever was going on in the other room.
10
Please set the patient on the identification table,” Mr. Tabby said.
The table sat in the middle of a cluttered room. A wide conveyor belt ran from one end of the table to a huge hole in the wall. The hole led into a tunnel of some sort.
Mr. Tabby handed Ben and Pearl each a fire-fighter’s helmet. “We must take precautions. Even a hatchling can produce a powerful flame.”
“It did,” Ben said. “It almost fried my face.”
Mr. Tabby set a helmet on his head, then lowered the face shield. Ben and Pearl did the same. “Step away, please.” The kids stepped back as Mr. Tabby removed the lid of the cookie tin.
The baby dragon arched its neck and turned its face, looking up at Mr. Tabby. A watery hiss emerged from its mouth, but no flame. Its head fell back onto the green-stained paper towels. Mr. Tabby removed the helmet. “No need for concern. It is too weak.”
Ben and Pearl took off their helmets and set them aside. Mr. Tabby slid on a pair of white gloves, then grabbed a pair of tweezers from the table drawer.
“I thought it might be a bat,” Ben said.
“That is understandable. The color, the wings…” Using the tweezers, Mr. Tabby gently stretched out the bad wing. “But just as I suspected, it is a wyvern. My nose is rarely wrong.”
“What’s a wyvern?” Pearl asked.
“A wyvern is a winged dragon with two legs,” Mr. Tabby said. “They appear in many medieval stories from the area of the Known World called Wales. The wyvern was popular with knights in shining armor, who often wore its image on their shields and in their coats of arms.” Using the tweezers, he delicately uncurled the hatchling’s tail. “This sort of dragon often has a barbed tail.”
“Can you fix its wing?” Ben asked.
“The wing is easily mended,” Mr. Tabby said. “As is the puncture wound in the tail. Do you have any idea how it became injured?”
“My grandpa’s stupid cat caught it.”
Mr. Tabby narrowed his eyes at Ben. “Stupid cat? You dare call a cat stupid?” A low growl arose in Mr. Tabby’s throat.
Ben thought that stupid was a perfectly good way to describe a cat, along with mean, nasty, and rotten. He didn’t like cats, ever since the neighbor’s cat ate his first hamster. All that had been left was the end of the hamster’s tail. “I don’t like cats.”
Mr. Tabby’s mustache flicked with annoyance. “My dear boy, perhaps cats don’t like you.”
“The baby closed its eyes again,” Pearl said, pointing.
Mr. Tabby mumbled as he typed on his creature calculator. “Species: dragon. Breed: wyvern. Age: approximately three days.”
“Is the other dragon its mother?” Pearl asked.
“What other dragon?”
“The one Ben and I saw flying. The one that landed on the factory roof.”
“That is a bothersome question that I shall ignore,” Mr. Tabby said. “This hatchling was in our nursery. The cat must have gotten in somehow.”
“Probably through one of the broken windows,” Pearl said.
Ben still couldn’t believe they were talking about dragons. Real, living, breathing dragons. “I don’t understand something,” he said. “If this is a worm hospital, how come you had a baby dragon in your nursery?”
“Another bothersome question.” Mr. Tabby removed the gloves. “The hatchling will need surgery to treat the broken wing and the cat bite.”
“Can I have it back after the surgery?” Ben asked.
“No.”
“But—”
“If I gave the hatchling to you, I would be breaking the law,” Mr. Tabby said. “Creatures from the Imaginary World are not allowed to live in the Known World. Look what happened with the Loch Ness monster.”
“What?” Pearl said with a gasp. “You’re telling us that the Loch Ness monster is real?”
Mr. Tabby cleared his throat. “Again, I shall ignore that question.”
“But the big dragon is living here,” Ben pointed out. “In the…Known World.”
“The big dragon has Dr. Woo’s permission to live here. Oh dear, I shouldn’t have told you that.” Mr. Tabby folded his arms and stared at the two kids, who wore equal looks of surprise. “Even if I agreed to give you the hatchling, which I would not do, but even if I did, how would you take care of it?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said with a shrug.
“I could keep it in my bedroom,” Pearl said. “I have a big bedroom.”
“My dear girl, do you live in a castle?”
“No, I live above the Dollar Store.”
Mr. Tabby raised a red eyebrow. “The tiny creature you see before you will grow to be fifteen feet long, with a twenty-foot wingspan and the weight of one ton. When it reaches puberty, more barbs will sprout on its tail. Flames will shoot from its snout when it is frightened, angry, or
simply bored. Unless the Dollar Store is made of stone, you will have constant visits from the fire department. And then there is the issue of feeding it.”
“We can make dragon’s milk,” Ben said. “We can use your recipe.”
“The recipe will only help you for a few days. The milk must be served boiling hot, which is a dangerous feat. The hatchling will grow very quickly and will require fresh meat. Squirrels, rats, and rabbits will do at first. But a full-grown wyvern will eat a cow a day.”
“Wow,” Ben said. “That’s a lot of meat.”
“Exactly.” Mr. Tabby picked up the cookie tin and set it on the conveyor belt. “I will send the wyvern to the surgery room.”
“But you said that Dr. Woo is making a house call,” Ben pointed out. “Who will do the surgery?”
“The splinting of a wing and the stitching of a wound are simple matters.” He pressed a button, and the conveyor belt began a steady roll, carrying the cookie tin and its occupant into the tunnel. Ben wanted to grab the tin and not let it go. But he knew the baby dragon was going to get the help it needed. He and Pearl stood at the tunnel’s entrance, watching until the hatchling disappeared.
“I didn’t even get the chance to hold it,” Pearl said sadly.
“Good-bye,” Ben whispered.
“Now I will escort you two from the building. Most certainly your parents are wondering about your absence.”
“I’m supposed to get home to do chores,” Pearl said. “I’ll be in big trouble if—”
An alarm rang and a nasal voice shot out of a speaker that was set high in the wall. “Emergency code yellow, emergency code yellow. Sasquatch escape. All personnel needed immediately.”
Pearl and Ben shared a stunned look.
Normally, someone shouting “Sasquatch escape” would have made Ben laugh. But very few “normal” things had happened since he’d come to Buttonville.
“Oh dear,” Mr. Tabby said. “Well, no need to worry. As long as the front door is bolted, we should not have any cause for concern.”
Ben gulped. His mind raced to the front door and its rusty bolt. “Uh…”
“Emergency code red, emergency code red,” the loudspeaker voice announced. “All personnel needed immediately. Sasquatch has left the building!”
11
Mr. Tabby hurried into the lobby with Ben and Pearl at his heels. A cool breeze tickled Ben’s face. The factory’s front door stood wide open.
“Oops,” Ben said.
“Oops?” Mr. Tabby asked, his eyes flashing.
“The bolt was rusty,” Ben started to explain. “I tried, but I couldn’t—”
“Do you know what you’ve done?” A soft growl rose in Mr. Tabby’s throat. “You’ve made it possible for an Imaginary creature to enter the Known World.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Ben said. He slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “I tried to bolt it, but it jammed.” He looked down at his shoes, hoping to avoid Mr. Tabby’s glowing eyes. What was that on the floor? He reached down and picked up a tuft of coarse brown fur.
“A sasquatch’s fingers are too thick to grip a dead bolt. That is why we put them on the doors.” Mr. Tabby stood in the doorway, shaking his head slowly. “No sight of it. This is a dreadful turn of events.”
“What’s a sasquatch?” Pearl asked.
Ignoring the question, Mr. Tabby began to search through a pile of boxes. “It is my responsibility to keep things in order while Dr. Woo is making house calls. She will be very disappointed.”
“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “I tried to bolt it. Really, I did.”
“What’s a sasquatch?” Pearl asked again.
“It’s a big, hairy ape,” Ben said, holding out the tuft of fur. He remembered a TV show about a group of sasquatch hunters. But he’d thought the show was pretend.
“You mean there’s a big ape running around Buttonville?” Pearl asked. “Cool.”
“A sasquatch is not a big ape,” Mr. Tabby said as he continued his search. “Apes are Known World creatures. Sasquatches come from the Imaginary World.”
Ben stuffed the tuft into his pocket. He would be the only kid in his neighborhood who owned a genuine tuft of sasquatch fur, which was way better than the shark tooth his friend Warren was always bragging about. “Don’t some people call it bigfeet?”
“Bigfoot,” Mr. Tabby corrected. “The sasquatch is also called bigfoot.”
“Does it only have one foot?” Pearl asked.
Mr. Tabby moved to a different stack of boxes. “Of course it does not have only one foot. What a ridiculous question.”
“Then why do they call it bigfoot instead of bigfeet?”
Mr. Tabby stopped searching and stared at Pearl. His whiskered mustache twitched with annoyance. “You are full of bothersome questions. Don’t you children study Imaginary creatures in school?”
“No. Never,” Pearl said. “We study real creatures. We dissected sheep eyeballs in biology.”
“What a shame,” Mr. Tabby said. “Your teacher would have served you better with a hydra’s eyeball or a minotaur’s eyeball. Sheep eyeballs are so ordinary.”
“And slimy,” Pearl said. “Mine slipped out of my fingers and flew across the room and landed in Ms. Bee’s hair. I got detention for three days because she said I threw it on purpose. But I didn’t. It slipped.” She smiled mischievously at Ben.
“Ah, here it is.” Mr. Tabby pulled a cardboard box from the stack and set it on the floor. Pearl and Ben gathered around as he removed the lid and lifted out a small metal box about the size of a loaf of bread. The engraved label read:
“Normally the doctor would take care of this matter, but as I mentioned earlier, she is on a house call. So, seeing as you are the one who did not bolt the door…” He thrust the kit at Ben.
Ben gulped as the box landed in his arms. “You want me to catch the sasquatch?”
“Indeed.”
“For the millionth time, will someone please tell me what a sasquatch is?” Pearl demanded with a stomp of her foot.
Mr. Tabby cleared his throat. “Sasquatch, also known as bigfoot, is a large, hairy, humanoidlike creature that inhabits the forests of the Imaginary World. It has a sloping brow and a small brain. It can stand six to ten feet tall and weigh in excess of five hundred pounds.” He pulled out his creature calculator. “This individual, however, stands at seven feet four inches and weighs four hundred and ten pounds. Dr. Woo is treating it for foot fungus.”
“Gross,” Pearl said.
Ben looked out the front door. “People will start freaking out if they see it.”
“Yes, they will,” Mr. Tabby said. “People always freak out when an Imaginary World creature steps into the Known World.”
“Maybe we should call the police,” Ben suggested.
“My aunt Milly is a police officer,” Pearl said. “I could call her.”
“That is a terrible idea,” Mr. Tabby said. “Such a call would most certainly lead to tragedy. The authorities would take the sasquatch away and lock it up. And then the sasquatch would never get back to its home in the Imaginary World, where its family is waiting. You must keep this a secret. We must work together to protect the sasquatch.”
Ben and Pearl nodded.
“Do not worry. The sasquatch is gentle by nature. It will not hurt anyone. Not on purpose. And it will not go far. Sasquatches are lazy. They don’t like to travel. They prefer the forest and will almost always choose it as a place to hide and sleep. I suggest you begin your search there.” Mr. Tabby returned the cardboard box to the pile, then smoothed out his vest. “I have much work to do while Dr. Woo is away. I will rely on you two to bring the sasquatch back to the hospital safe and sound.” He held out a small brass key. “This will open the Sasquatch Catching Kit.” Pearl’s hand shot out faster than Ben’s and grabbed the key.
And with that, Mr. Tabby turned on his polished heels and opened the EMPLOYEES ONLY door. The door closed behind him, leaving Ben and Pearl alone in the lobby.
“This has got to be the weirdest day ever,” Pearl said.
“The weirdest,” Ben agreed.
“Well, we’d better hurry.”
12
Ben and Pearl huddled on the floor of his bedroom. Grandpa Abe was at the senior center, so Ben’s bedroom provided more privacy than Pearl’s bedroom, which sat above the busy Dollar Store. And when you’re about to open a secret Sasquatch Catching Kit, it’s best to have some privacy.
“Your hamster’s cute,” Pearl said as Snooze chewed on a cheese puff. “My mom won’t let me have a hamster, because she says it’ll make my room smell like a dirty diaper.” She shrugged. “Your room doesn’t smell like a dirty diaper. Not really. Well, maybe just a little.”
Ben was used to the pungent scent that drifted from the hamster cage, so he wasn’t insulted. “Go on,” he urged, since Pearl still had the key. “Open it.”
She slid the brass key into the lock. It clicked, and the box lid sprang open. With an excited breath, Pearl pulled out the first item—a little leather-bound book: Dr. Woo’s Guide to Catching a Sasquatch. Pearl opened the book and read the following text out loud.
This book will help you catch a sasquatch. This book will not help you catch any other two-legged creature, such as a yeti or a troll or a leprechaun. Please refer to my other guidebooks if you are trying to catch something other than a sasquatch.
“ ‘A yeti or a troll or a leprechaun’?” Ben interrupted. “Does it really say that?” Pearl showed him the page, then continued reading.
Before trying to catch a sasquatch, there are a few things you must know.
First thing: The sasquatch is not as stupid as it looks. And it looks pretty stupid. It enjoys puzzles and likes to arrange things by color.
The Sasquatch Escape Page 4
