by Matthew Ward
The Komodo dragon fell to all fours with a wobble. Armor-plated skin or no, nobody likes to be smacked in the face.
“Nice shot, Arthur!” Ruby cheered. “That’ll teach him!”
But her cheering did not last long.
As the lizard recovered from its momentary daze, it turned its head and promptly noticed two new tasty morsels— plumper, juicier, and altogether more accessible than the one in the tree.
“Um, Arthur,” said Ruby, “I don’t like the way it’s looking at us.”
The monster locked its eyes onto the two children now only four yards away and shifted its ten-foot frame to face them.
“Me neither,” Arthur agreed. He felt as though the hairs on the back of his neck were trying to make a break for it. They seemed to have the right idea.
Without warning, the lizard lurched forward.
“Run!” cried Arthur, scrambling over his heels in retreat.
The children darted in opposite directions, hoping to split the creature’s attention, but the lizard quickly opted for the slightly larger slab of meat that was Arthur.
Arthur glanced backward and caught a glimpse of the beast charging after him with grotesque, ungainly strides.
“Arthur!” screamed Ruby.
“Go . . .” Arthur cried between panicked breaths, “help . . . Abigail!”
“I’ve got her,” Ruby shouted back. “You keep running, Arthur! Whatever you do, don’t stop running!”
Now, as lizards go, Komodo dragons are exceptionally fast, with a top land speed of 12.4 miles per hour. Luckily for Arthur, the top land speed of a twelve-year-old boy running for his life from a hungry Komodo dragon is just about the same.
When Arthur realized he was maintaining a short but steady distance between the lizard’s jaws and his own heels, he began to think he might be able to run the beast in circles just long enough for help to arrive. Sadly, his plans failed to consider the slender but rigid length of rubber root arching out of the ground just ahead of him.
The next moment, Arthur found himself sailing through the air. It was then the true terror struck him.
As Arthur landed face-first in the artificial underbrush, his skin prickled at the feeling of utter defenselessness. He seized the first object his fingers touched and flipped himself onto his back.
Luckily, he’d grabbed a sturdy, sizable Sim-o-Tree branch—because barely an instant after he’d shifted into position, the beast was upon him.
He braced the four-foot limb against his shoulder and thrust the opposite end into the rushing reptile’s face, crumpling the creature to a halt at his feet.
Now angrier than ever, and seriously tired of being bashed in the face, the Komodo dragon bit off the end of the faux tree branch and began clawing its way forward.
“Ahh!” Arthur cried in terror.
The monocle over the beast’s right eye was now cracked and crooked, its velvet jacket hanging in tatters—along with any semblance of sophistication the show lizard may once have possessed. As the creature chomped through the rubbery tree limb, thick strands of saliva dropped from its mouth and seeped into Arthur’s clothes.
“Ughh!” Arthur cried in disgust.
He struggled to back away from the oncoming creature—but his feet lay trapped beneath its scaly underside. He thrashed at the lizard’s snout with the ever-dwindling Sim-o-Tree branch, but hard as he tried, he could not stave off the terrible truth: this was not a battle he would win.
As hope drained from Arthur’s heart, a faint tinkling sound began to swell in the back of his mind.
The monster wrenched the synthetic stick back and forth, straining to rid its prey of the meddlesome object once and for all.
Arthur clutched the branch for dear life as the tinkling sound grew louder. He wondered if, being so near to death, he might be hearing the chimes of heaven filtering through from the other side.
With one final tug, the Komodo dragon ripped the branch from Arthur’s grasp and flung it into the trees.
A blast of putrid breath stung Arthur’s nostrils, and he felt the monster’s tongue flick against his cheek. The tinkling chimes of heaven rang out louder than ever.
It was then that Arthur noticed the giant dog leaping toward him through the Sim-o-Trees.
Like a hound out of Hades, the Whipples’ Great Dane, Hamlet, bounded into the moonlight, dragging a jingling chain behind him—along with the uprooted stake to which it was attached.
“Sic him, boy!” shouted a voice to Arthur’s rear.
It was Abigail. With Ruby rushing in alongside her, Arthur’s sister cried again, “Sic him!”
There was a flurry of furious barking, followed by a brutal collision.
As Hamlet’s jaws clamped down on the lizard’s throat, the force of the attack flung the creature through the air and onto its back, freeing Arthur from the monster’s clutches.
Arthur scrambled to his feet and ran to Ruby and his sister. There, the children watched powerlessly as the two titans of the animal kingdom battled for dominance, one determined to devour them—the other to defend them.
It was a terrible, savage sight. The monstrous lizard, unable to free its throat from Hamlet’s grasp, thrashed and writhed, pulling the towering dog to the ground beside it. The Great Dane struggled to stand, but the lizard’s constant flailing kept him from rising. Still, the dog held his grip.
“Get him, Hammie!” Abigail shouted through glistening tears. “Good boy, Hammie!”
As the beasts rolled across the fake forest floor, the dragon clamped its jaws onto Hamlet’s front leg. The dog yelped but kept his hold and quickly resumed his snarling.
“Hammie!” cried Abigail. “Don’t let him get you!”
Each creature clung to a mouthful of its opponent’s flesh as reptile and mammal struggled to outlast the other’s grip.
The battle raged on for several moments, and then, little by little, the flailing subsided. From where the children stood, it was impossible to tell which creature was weakening: the lizard, the dog—or both.
Abigail buried her face in Arthur’s tattered shirt. “Oh, Arthur,” she wept, “he’ll be okay, won’t he? He’s got to be okay!”
Arthur wrapped his arm around his sister, but said nothing.
The once thrashing creatures were all but still now, their savage sounds reduced to muffled gurgling. Arthur held his sister close and exchanged a woeful glance with Ruby.
Then the dog began to stir.
“Abigail, look!” Arthur cried.
As the girl turned her head to see, Hamlet drew his hind legs beneath his body and, with a quick twist of his mid-section, raised his hindquarters into the air. With far greater difficulty, the dog straightened his front legs and hoisted his neck off the ground. In his jaws, Hamlet still gripped the wrinkled throat of the Komodo dragon, its head now dangling to one side.
“Hammie!” cried Abigail.
The dog gave the lizard’s neck a feeble yet triumphant shake, then tossed its lifeless body to the ground. With his tongue hanging happily from his mouth, Hamlet stepped over the carcass and limped toward his human companions.
As the dog drew near, Arthur sensed something amiss in his appearance. In the light of the moon, he could just make out a large dark patch of matted fur on the dog’s chest and left front leg.
When he reached the children, Hamlet licked Abigail’s face, then collapsed exhaustedly at her feet. As the dog lay panting proudly, the little girl knelt down beside him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her nose into his fur.
“Good boy, Hammie. Good boy,” she whispered.
“Thanks, boy,” said Arthur, scratching the dog between the ears. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be lizard food.”
There was a rustling noise from the nearby Sim-o-Trees, accompanied by the bobbing beam of a flashlight. The n
ext moment, Uncle Mervyn burst into the clearing.
“I heard screaming. . . .” he spluttered.
His flashlight beam quickly shifted from the children’s filthy faces and torn clothes to the massive, twisted corpse of the Komodo dragon.
“Oh my!” he exclaimed, rushing toward them. “Children, are you all right?!”
“We’re fine, Uncle Mervyn,” said Arthur. “Thanks to Hamlet.”
“And Arthur,” added Abigail. “The lizard would’ve grabbed me long before Hammie could get here, if it weren’t for him . . . not to mention Ruby. She helped me out of the tree—and she’s not even a member of my team.”
Ruby smiled bashfully.
“Well done, all of you,” said Uncle Mervyn. “Your parents will be horrified when they hear what’s happened.”
Uncle Mervyn raised his megaphone to his mouth and depressed the button. “Game over!” he called, his voice echoing through the empty night air. He removed a pistol from his pocket and shot a burning red flare into the sky overhead. “I repeat—the game is over! There has been a serious incident! All competitors reconvene at once!”
Before he had even finished the announcement, Mr. and Mrs. Whipple and several of their children rushed into the clearing.
“What’s happened?” inquired a distraught Mrs. Whipple.
“We heard screaming and barking from the other side of the estate,” her husband added. “We came as fast as we . . .”
Uncle Mervyn shined the flashlight on the monstrous heap of scales and teeth. Arthur’s parents gasped.
“Abigail! Arthur!” cried Mrs. Whipple. “Are you—”
At that moment, Rex and Rita Goldwin rushed in with a group of their children. Each of their faces was smeared with camouflage paint, and leafy Sim-o-Tree branches had been fastened to their clothes, so that—though they were only standing a few yards away—Arthur could hardly see them.
“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded Rex Goldwin, his voice devoid of its usual charm. “Here we are, well on our way toward the Longest Time to Remain Hidden in a Regulation Game of Hide-and-Seek, and your man calls the game! Someone better have been killed, or I’m reporting this to the Intercontinental Hide-and-Seek Commission!”
“Indeed,” said Malcolm Boyle, the Ardmore lawyer, as he stepped out from behind his client, “this is in clear violation of Section 83 of the IWRF Officiator’s Manual.”
“Honestly,” Rita Goldwin added, “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of such—” Her face filled with horror as she noticed the body of her prized show lizard. “Ridgely!” she shrieked.
She tore the branches from her clothes and rushed to the lizard’s side, cradling its drooping head in her arms. “What have you done to him?!” she howled.
“He just appeared out of nowhere,” said Abigail. “He had me trapped in a tree, and he was going to eat me—but Arthur and Ruby saved my life. Then he trapped Arthur, and he was going to eat him too—but then Hamlet came to the rescue.”
“I see,” Rupert Goldwin said, scowling as he turned to his father. “Ridgely was the World’s Largest Living Lizard, and now their dog has murdered him!”
“Precisely,” Rex agreed, turning to face Mr. Whipple. “Have you any idea how difficult he was to acquire—or how important that record was to us? You should never have brought that slobbering dog with you in the first place!”
“I must say I’m rather glad we did bring him, Mr. Goldwin,” snapped Arthur’s father. “If we hadn’t, what would have become of Abigail and Arthur—or your daughter Ruby? Are you honestly suggesting you’d rather have had your lizard eat our children?”
“Well, no,” Rex said curtly. “But your dog didn’t have to kill him!”
His daughters Rosalind and Roxy pulled each other close, scrunching up their faces in dramatic sorrow.
“What choice did he have?” demanded Mr. Whipple. “It was the children or the lizard. You’re the one who chose to house a deadly Komodo dragon on your estate. Which reminds me—how did it get out, Mr. Goldwin?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Rex. “Being the last to leave Ridgely’s living quarters, your animal-obsessed daughter failed to lock the door behind her, and the poor critter simply followed her scent, unaware of the terrible fate that awaited him. Komodo dragons have a phenomenal sense of smell, you know—just another of the many traits that make them so endearing.”
At this, Rita Goldwin’s sniffling swelled to a sob, but Mr. Whipple remained unmoved. “Hmm,” he said. “And would you include your lizard’s hunger for human children among those traits as well?”
Rita’s sobbing reached another crescendo.
“How dare you mock Ridgely’s memory in our time of grief!” snarled Rex.
“Forgive me, Mr. and Mrs. Goldwin,” Arthur’s father growled. “It’s just that I’m beginning to believe you are somehow mixed up in my family’s recent misfortunes—including this latest mishap!”
“Really, Charlie!” cried Rex. “First your mangy dog murders our beloved family pet, then your record-certifying crony robs us of a well-deserved world record—and now you’re suggesting I’m guilty of sabotage? I resent the implication! Face it, Charlie—you’ve never forgiven me for Norbury, and now you’re blaming your present failures on me as well. Surely it’s not my fault your family is cursed!”
Arthur’s father took a threatening step forward, but Mrs. Whipple held him back—then stepped in front of him.
“Mr. Goldwin,” Arthur’s mother declared, “while I am grateful to you for saving my husband’s life at our Birthday Extravaganza, I’m afraid your actions since that time have negated any good turns you have done us and voided whatever good will we may have owed you. I have tried my best to be neighborly, however insulting you and your wife have been, but I refuse to endure it any longer. Though I do not entirely know what transpired between you and my husband in the time before I knew him, as far as I can tell, he has been right to mistrust you.”
“Well!” huffed Rita Goldwin.
Mr. Whipple placed his arm around his wife and nodded. “Thank you, dear.”
A guileful grin slowly stretched across Rex’s face. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Whipple,” he said, the unctuous charm returning to his voice. “And I thought we were getting on so well.”
By this time, all the hiders and seekers had arrived on the scene and grouped themselves into two divided lines. Mr. Whipple turned to the line that had formed behind him and announced, “Come now, Whipples. Some of us require medical attention—and it seems we’ll get no help from our new neighbors. Mr. and Mrs. Goldwin, allow us to show ourselves permanently off your estate. Henry and Simon, would you assist our wounded hero?”
Arthur’s brothers nodded and turned to Hamlet, who still lay panting proudly at Abigail’s feet. The dog’s tail began to wag as the boys drew near, but when Henry wrapped his arm around Hamlet’s front legs, the dog let out a sharp whine.
“It’s all right, boy,” Henry said softly. Then, with Simon’s help, he hoisted the Great Dane into his arms.
“Roland! Rupert!” called Rex Goldwin, gesturing to the deceased Komodo dragon.
His sons walked to the giant lump of lizard flesh and heaved it off the ground. This proved a far more awkward task than they’d expected, but they managed it with as much dignity as possible for two boys with dead lizard limbs poking out of their arms in every direction.
“Well, Charlie,” Rex concluded, “it appears our friendly rivalry has just been escalated to a blood feud. I’ve always thought blood feuds were the very best sort of feud—haven’t you?”
Mr. Whipple did not answer.
Mr. Boyle removed a sheaf of papers from his leaf-covered briefcase and handed it to Arthur’s father. “I’ll need this Blood Feud Escalation form completed within the next twenty-three hours, as per Article 48 of your Intention of Rivalry form.”
Mr. Whipple took the papers and stamped off to gather his children.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Boyle,” said Uncle Mervyn. “You’ll have it before the ink has even dried.”
“Or shouldn’t Blood Feud Escalation forms be signed in blood?” snapped Mrs. Waite. “Afraid it might take a while to draw blood from all the Whipples; I’m sure they’d be more than happy to use yours instead, Mr. Boyle.”
The corners of Mr. Boyle’s mouth twitched upward.
As the two families marched off in separate directions, Arthur looked to Ruby just in time to share a fleeting, troubled glance.
• • •
Cordelia had barely bandaged the last of her brother’s wounds when Arthur bolted from the Whipple house.
“Thanks, Cordelia,” he called behind him as he threw open the garden doors and burst outside.
“Easy, Arthur!” his sister called back. “You’ve had quite a shock and—”
But Arthur was too eager to get back to Hamlet and the others to heed her warning.
He hurried off across the estate and eventually arrived at the facility where Mr. Mahankali, manager of the Whipples’ private zoo, cared for sick and injured animals. As Arthur rounded the corner, however, he heard a noise that spun his head toward the thick copse of trees that abutted the menagerie wall.
His heart stopped as he watched a giant shadowy figure disappear behind a tree trunk.
Arthur’s mind raced. The impossible height of the figure left little doubt. It could belong to no other person but Mr. Overkill, the mysterious giant clown who—along with his dwarfish partner, Mr. Undercut—always seemed to turn up whenever the Whipples were plunged into terror.
“Hey!” Arthur shouted. “What are you doing here?! Why won’t you leave us alone?! Come back here!”
He suddenly felt so outraged he completely forgot to be afraid. He charged after the retreating figure, ready to capture the giant and dwarf once and for all—or to die trying. But when he rounded the tree, he saw no sign of anyone. He darted to the next tree—and then the next—searching frantically for another glimpse of the figure, but again found nothing. Arthur panted in disbelief. Either his mind had been playing tricks on him, or the giant had simply vanished into thin air.
