Guardians of the Gryphon's Claw

by Todd Calgi Gallicano

  Sam stood as still as a statue. The answers were before him, but he had forgotten the questions. He tried to form words as the creature stared down at him. He could feel its warm breath against his face.

  And then he heard the faint sounds of an overcaffeinated radio deejay.

  “Good morning, Benicia! Wakey, wakey! This is your wack-wack-wacky morning zoo with Bob and Bob!”

  “Oh no. Not now…,” Sam groaned, realizing his alarm clock had gone off. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. He fought to stay in the dreamworld, to ask the questions he had been saving up these past two weeks. Even the creature seemed disappointed as Sam drifted back to reality.

  Sam awoke in his bed, alert and practically vibrating. He slammed his hand down on the alarm to silence it, then slipped out from under the covers and headed straight for his bookshelf.

  Sam’s room was a testament to all the efforts he had made to find his special gift that would enable him to stand out. A guitar and a drum set sat in one corner, the discarded remnants of his attempt to find his musical muse. A short distance from the instruments was a collection of sports paraphernalia: a hockey stick, a soccer ball, even a cricket bat. His most recent endeavor was positioned in front of the sports equipment—an easel holding a canvas. From the looks of it, Sam appeared to be documenting his lucid werewolf dream in acrylic. But even by subjective standards, the result was an unmitigated disaster.

  The rest of Sam’s room was devoted to animals both real and imaginary. Dragons and pandas, panthers and abominable snowmen, it was a hodgepodge of creatures represented through posters, figurines, and stuffed animals. For as long as Sam could remember, he’d always had an affinity for animals, especially the mythical variety. He thought they were cool, and he loved that each was special in its own unique way, a trait he no doubt envied. Some would later note that Sam’s specialty lay all around him and he was simply oblivious.

  Sam’s bookshelf was chock-full of tales of fantastical creatures. Through picture books, encyclopedias, and graphic novels, Sam’s obsession sprang to life. He ran his finger along the spines of his impressive collection until he reached his selection. He pulled it out and cracked it open. The book was titled The Visual Guide to Extraordinary Animals and provided an illustrative catalog of creatures most people considered make-believe. Sam shuffled to his destination, spread the pages wide, and gazed at the creature from his dream. The artistic rendering was so vivid it could have been a photograph.

  “A gryphon,” Sam said aloud as he read the page heading. His eyes shifted to the description:

  * * *

  One of the most ancient and powerful of all extraordinary animals. Highly intelligent and immeasurably strong, the gryphon is the guardian and protector of the world’s magical creatures. Few men have laid eyes on a gryphon and lived to tell the tale. Those who have survived reported unusually good luck in the days that followed. Even those individuals who didn’t actually see a gryphon but were merely in its presence experienced a surge of luck, often related to wealth.

  Although they are not violent by nature, a gryphon will attack if provoked. Examples of provocation include endangering the creatures a gryphon is sworn to protect or threatening a gryphon’s gold. Gold is considered a weakness of this extraordinary animal. It is highly attracted to the precious metal and is known to horde it in massive amounts. As such, most of the human deaths associated with these creatures are due to a victim’s foolish attempts to steal the gryphon’s gold.

  * * *

  It was always every man for himself at breakfast in the London household. Sam was usually the first one downstairs, and he’d snag himself a bowl of cereal or the occasional doughnut—if by some miracle they had made it into the grocery cart that week. This morning he sat at the tiny kitchen table and sipped a glass of orange juice as he thought back on his nightly adventure. He wondered if just dreaming of a gryphon would bring him good fortune. God knew he and his mom could use it. She had been working two jobs for as long as Sam could remember. During the day she was an art teacher at the local high school and at night she taught art history at a nearby community college. She happened to be an extraordinarily gifted artist, and Sam had always hoped her talent had been passed on to him. The werewolf painting had effectively dashed those hopes. As for working two jobs, his mom claimed it was necessary in order to save money for Sam’s future. She constantly encouraged her son to dream big and dream often, and she wanted to make sure he never felt trapped in any way.

  “Oh good, you’re up,” Sam’s mom said with relief as she entered the kitchen.

  Her full name was Odette Alexandra London, but everyone called her Ettie. She was thirty-five years old, with long auburn hair, crystal-blue eyes, and a slender, if lanky, build. Ettie was pretty, even prettier when she smiled, which she did often. Sam’s mom was exceedingly upbeat. Though Sam couldn’t help but believe there was something missing from her life. Like him, Ettie didn’t have many friends. She also never dated, even though she had been single since Sam was a baby. She didn’t talk much about Sam’s father, Marshall London, and Sam had no memory of him. The only picture Sam had of his dad was taken before he was born. It was of Ettie and Marshall at Fontana Lake in North Carolina. The two of them were smiling happily as they stood beside each other on the shore with ducks, geese, and swans floating in the distance.

  Sam wondered what happened to that seemingly happy couple. Although he was curious about what led his father to leave, he rarely discussed the topic with his mother. He didn’t believe she had totally gotten over it—as evidenced by the fact that whenever he asked about his dad, Ettie would respond with “Let’s not dwell on the past, Sam” and quickly change the subject.

  “I was worried you hadn’t showered yet,” Ettie confessed, adding with a tinge of guilt, “I’m pretty sure I used all the hot water.”

  Sam wasn’t surprised. She always used all the hot water. Her concerts often went long and apparently required a lot of steam. Ettie grabbed the carton of OJ from the fridge and poured herself a glass. She settled in across from Sam and exhaled. Sam remained quiet, his mind in overdrive.

  “I picked up cookies yesterday,” she offered. “The variety pack you like. They’re in the cabinet. You want to take a package for lunch?” Sam nodded, still not entirely present.

  “I just said the word ‘cookies’ and you didn’t even blink. What’s wrong? You’re not sick or anything, are you?”

  “No, I’m fine, Mom. I’m just thinking.”

  “Thinking? This early in the morning?” She considered him. “You had that dream again, didn’t you?”

  Sam nodded. “And this time it was different.”

  “It was?” Ettie said, intrigued. “Talk to me.”

  “You really want to know?” Sam asked.

  “Are you kidding? Of course I want to know. I’ve had to hear about this dream every day for the last month—”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Well, it’s felt like a month. What was so different?”

  “I saw something,” Sam said in a cryptic manner.

  “Okay. What?”

  “It was a…gryphon,” Sam responded tentatively.

  Ettie smiled and nodded, as if she’d been expecting this. “Oh. A gryphon. One of those lion-bird things, right? That’s cool.” Sam spotted the underlying skepticism and quickly countered.

  “It’s not like that, Mom. I think it means something.”

  “And I think it means something too, sweetheart. I think it means you read a lot of those books. And have all those posters plastered on your walls.”

  Sam had known she was going to say something like that. And maybe she was right. But something inside him didn’t think so. He thought it meant there was something special about this dream, and it was up to him to find out what.

  * * *

  SL001-180-20

  Form FD-11

  DATE: ********

  Ettie dropped Sam off at Benicia Middle School and headed the few
short blocks away to Benicia High School. Sam’s hometown of Benicia, California, was quaint and historic. It happened to be one of the very first capitals of California, serving in that capacity between 1853 and 1854. It sat on the north side of the Carquinez Strait, which was a narrow waterway that connected to the Suisun Bay. It was just enough to give the city a coastal feel.

  * * *

  Sam hadn’t been asleep very long when his teacher, Miss Capiz, nudged him awake. If that wasn’t bad enough, the unsightly pool of drool that had formed on his desk had now become evident to nearly everyone in the class. It sparked much laughter among his classmates, along with a few cries of “Eww!” from the female students. The whole episode was awfully embarrassing, and more than enough to get him held after class. Miss Capiz questioned Sam about his sleeping habits at home and he told her about the desert and the gryphon. Sam wouldn’t normally divulge this sort of information to a relative stranger, but the Philippine-born teacher was supportive of his obsession, even letting him do a book report on Secrets of the Loch Ness Monster.

  At the mention of the gryphon, Miss Capiz widened her dark oval eyes, which appeared even darker when framed by her pin-straight black hair. She relayed the tale of the sarimanok, a mythical bird creature from her home country that, like the gryphon, brought good luck. At least it was a happy story, Sam thought, unlike the time when Miss Capiz recited the frightening tale of the aswang, a mythical vampire-werewolf that craved human flesh, especially that of children. He had nightmares for a week. Miss Capiz seemed to enjoy telling these stories, so Sam always did his best to listen and nod appropriately. He liked to stay on her good side as much as possible. Sam knew a few students who had gotten on her bad side early in the school year. Ever since then, she reported every detail about their classroom behavior and performance to their parents. Miss Capiz asked Sam to keep her apprised of his research and sent him off with a warning—another class-time nap would trigger a call home. He was pleased to have avoided her wrath.

  When the lunch period arrived, Sam chose to skip the afternoon meal in favor of a gryphon-centric fact-finding mission in the school library. He narrowed his search to a few books he found through the catalog system and took off through the maze of shelves. Sam’s stomach grumbled angrily as he pulled The Great and Powerful Gryphon by Dr. Henry Knox from the shelf. The author was familiar to Sam—and to anyone who fancied fantastical creatures. Knox was a well-known cryptozoologist and wildlife biologist who had written dozens of books on the subjects of both magical creatures and cryptids. Cryptids are animals or plants the scientific community doesn’t recognize as actually existing. The study of cryptids is known as cryptozoology and is considered by some a pseudoscience. Knox’s work in the discipline was unusual, given his position as a respected scientist. Sam remembered reading that he had attributed his interest to that of a hobbyist and nothing more. According to Knox, whether or not these creatures existed in our world, they lived in our imagination, and that was worth acknowledging and exploring.

  Sam’s interest was immediately piqued by the illustration on the book’s cover. He gasped as he gazed upon an uncanny drawing of the gryphon from his dream. There was no mistaking it—this was the same gryphon he’d seen last night. A caption below the image read “Phylassos—the father of all gryphons, protector of magical creatures, and guardian of good.” The emptiness in Sam’s stomach made the pit that was forming even larger.

  Sam wondered if perhaps he had seen the picture before in one of his many books by Knox and it had lodged itself in his subconscious, just waiting for the right moment to appear and have the most impact on his sanity. His rational side loved that explanation. The mind likes to play tricks, he thought. This had to be a trick. Of course, the other side of him was screaming the opposite. It was telling him he was right to believe this was more than just a trick. This inner debate raged until the bell rang him back to reality. Lunch was over, and his teacher would be expecting him in fifth period in six minutes. He borrowed the book on his way out, intent on learning everything he could about gryphons. His homework would have to wait.

  * * *

  Like every other weekday, Sam’s mom dropped him off at home before heading off to the college to teach her night class. Sam was happy to have the alone time. He grabbed a cookie from the variety pack, switched on the television, and dropped onto the couch in their living room/home office/dining room. Space was tight in the two-bedroom condominium his mother rented, but it was cozy, clean, and most importantly, cheap. He retrieved the gryphon book from his backpack, eager to pick up where he’d left off.

  Sam had just begun his quest for knowledge when the noise of the television distracted him. The voices on the TV were making it difficult to read. Music would be better, he concluded. Sam grabbed the remote to switch over to a music-only channel but hesitated when he noticed a story on the local news. A reporter was standing in front of a gas station where a winning lottery ticket had recently been sold. What made the story particularly newsworthy was that this station had already sold several winning lottery tickets in the last two weeks. As a result, a mass of people were now lined up outside, many having driven hundreds of miles to buy a ticket at the “lucky” gas station. Lottery officials had launched a formal investigation, since the chances of the same merchant selling multiple winning tickets were astronomically low. The reporter interviewed a few of the dedicated lottery players, who had made the trek all the way out to Death Valley, a remote area in Eastern California. The cameraman panned to show just how isolated the station was. And that was when Sam’s life got exponentially more exciting. The “lucky” gas station was the gas station from his dream! Not only that, the pan revealed the rocky outcropping that was the very same pile of rocks where the gryphon had appeared.

  It was real. The desert he had found himself in every night for the last two weeks was none other than Death Valley, California. Sam knew he had never been there before. He hadn’t even seen it in photos. His rational mind waved a white flag. The fact was, his dream had come to life. But the question remained: to what extent? Sure, the gas station was there, and the rocky outcropping as well, but what about the gryphon? Was the legendary Phylassos standing atop those rocks, awaiting Sam London’s arrival? There was only one way to find out.

  When you find yourself in a place with the word “death” in its name, it’s hard to feel hopeful. Sam had arrived in Death Valley National Park, after an eight-hour bus ride from Benicia. The bus was one of two daily coaches that provided service between the Bay Area and Las Vegas, Nevada. As a result, it was mostly filled with retirees looking to gamble a portion of their fixed incomes and enjoy a ten-dollar surf and turf. Sam had purchased his ticket online using the prepaid credit card he’d earned for taking care of his neighbor’s cats when she went on an around-the-world cruise. It was a job Ettie had initially wanted Sam to do for free for the retired economics professor who lived next door, but the neighbor insisted on paying Sam for his work while teaching him “a valuable lesson about managing money.”

  Even with the printed ticket in hand, Sam knew that his age, and the fact he was riding alone, would raise a red flag with the driver. So he pretended he was traveling with the old woman who was boarding in front of him. He also made sure to sit next to her for the entire trip. The old woman, on the other hand, was under the impression Sam was nineteen years old and suffered from a rare condition that stunted his growth and caused him to appear very young. Sam relayed this tall tale as they waited to board, and only after the woman had expressed concern he was a runaway.

  Lucky for Sam, this bus route to Sin City ran right through Death Valley on Highway 190. It also just happened to have a scheduled stop at the famous gas station—one of two breaks the bus took for snacks, bathrooms, and to “get in a stretch,” as the driver put it. When the bus rumbled to a stop near the station, the first part of Sam’s plan was complete, the second was just about to begin, and the third hadn’t even been contemplated—namely, getting
home and explaining himself to his soon-to-be nervous wreck of a mother.

  Sam had hatched his plan the night before, soon after the television news report and accompanying revelation. He’d stayed up most of the night researching Death Valley, reading about gryphons, and determining how he was going to reach his destination. When he did eventually fall asleep, it was only for a spell, and he didn’t dream, or at least, he didn’t remember dreaming.

  That morning had brought the first real test of whether Sam’s scheme had any chance of working. He’d had to convince his mother he was too sick to go to school, but not sick enough to trigger a visit to the doctor; after all, his mother was a consummate overreactor. One false move and he’d spend the day languishing in a doctor’s waiting room. As a teacher, Ettie was particularly sensitive about students claiming to be sick simply to miss class. That meant if Sam had any chance at all of persuading her, he would need to use a unique kind of deviousness, a kind Sam had little to no experience employing. After much deliberation and with some reluctance, he determined that success required—no, demanded—a painful sacrifice.

  “I ate too many cookies and I don’t feel very good,” Sam said woefully as he stood in his mother’s bedroom doorway. He clutched his stomach and displayed his best sick face, which consisted of a furrowed brow and pursed lips. He knew this unorthodox strategy would mean the end to the celebrated cookie variety pack, but a kid has to do what a kid has to do, especially if that kid has a date with a mythical creature in the middle of Death Valley. The occasional moaning and a few frantic runs to the bathroom were added to close the sale. It was touch and go as Ettie questioned him about his symptoms, but Sam took great care to avoid mentioning any that could indicate a more serious affliction. He even went the extra step of throwing out the pack of cookies in dramatic fashion and declaring unequivocally, “I don’t want us to get these ever again!” Ettie finally bought it.