The Troll Who Cried Wolf

by Rob Harrell

  “What’s the problem?” he shouted at me as we bobbed and weaved through someone’s backyard trees, knocking the small branches out of our way.

  Between my heart being in my throat and the running, it was hard to keep yelling. But I managed to get it out.

  “I knew something wasn’t right with that sheep! Think about it,” I gasped. “The teeth! The smell! The way his clothes didn’t fit him right! That wasn’t a sheep, Chester. Mr. Woolentail is a wolf, and he’s gotten himself alone with a Littlepig!”

  Chester’s eyes grew wide.

  He put his head down and ran even faster.

  * * *

  As we came flying across the Cotswin school parking lot, Goldie was out front washing the windshield on her Grub-Mobile. She looked up, startled, as Chester and I started yelling.

  “Call anybody! Kevin’s in trouble! WOLF!”

  And then we were past her. The entrance door banged open and echoed like a cannon in the empty halls as we dashed for the stairwell. We took the stairs four at a time and careened off the poster-covered wall at the bottom. I could see the door to Miss Flett’s room was closed. My heart, which had been lodged at the back of my throat, dropped into my feet.

  Chester reached the door a hair before me and threw it open. We tumbled into the room in a cloud of sweat and fur and panic . . . and probably some BO, I’ll admit. We were pretty ripe by then.

  Kevin looked up. He was sitting at his usual desk, calmly making notes. He looked mildly confused. “Hey, guys.”

  I was so out of breath, I could hardly speak.

  “Mr. Woolentail” was casually leaning against Miss Flett’s desk.

  “Did you guys decide you need some help with the ol’ studyin’ as well?” He stood up and walked behind the desk. “I was givin’ my good buddy Kev some pointers, and he was telling me a bit more about some of your classmates.”

  “Kevin,” I said, as calmly as my heaving chest allowed. “I need you to go stand by Chester.” Woolentail flinched as I took a few steps toward him.

  Kevin just sat there. “You guys have no idea how much help Mr. Woolentail is being. He’s—”

  I jumped onto a chair, grabbed the top of Woolentail’s head and yanked. A hood pulled back, revealing a startled, mangy-looking wolf.

  Kevin started screaming in a higher pitch than I thought he could.

  But Kevin’s scream died in his throat as he saw the wolf’s darting eyes go from stunned to furious in a flash.

  “BACK OFF, TROLL!!” He jerked away from me. “I’ll tear yer mangy throat out ’fore you can raise yer paws.” And now that I was face-to-face with a wolf for the first time in my life, I believed him.

  He went on, and I noticed that high nasally voice hadn’t been part of his act. “So ya caught on. Well BRA-freakin’-VO, Scooby-Doo.” Then he yelled over his shoulder to the windows.

  Chester and I fell for his trick and looked out the windows—there were no other wolves out there. But that was all the time the wolf needed. In a wickedly smooth move, he swept Kevin up under his arm and was out the door of the classroom.

  Chester and I hit the hallway at a sprint. Kevin was squealing in a way that I hoped would bring out other teachers or Principal Haggard, but the building seemed as good as empty.

  We followed them up the stairs and down the main hallway. We had to catch him before the front doors. We were gaining on them when we passed the overflowing trash cans outside the cafeteria—where Chester stepped on a half-empty carton of Porridge-in-a-Box.

  He slid a good twelve feet—a move that would have been worthy of applause under any other circumstances—and smashed into one of the trophy cases by the front alcove. The entire case came down on him in a crash of jousting and archery trophies. I spun to see if he was okay as the wolf and Kevin pounded through the main doors. Chester was trapped under the heavy case. He’d had the wind knocked out of him and his ankle had been smashed pretty good, but he was frantically waving me on.

  • 9 •

  CHASING THEIR TAILS

  I slammed my way out of the front doors and my heart sank. The wolf, with Kevin squirming like a fish under his arm, was all hunched up on a stupid little electric Gnome-Ped and getting away fast. Or as fast as one can on a tiny electric gnome bike.

  Had the wolf brought a Gnome-Ped? Stepping over the discarded sheep costume, I spun around to look for a bike or something when I spotted the Grub-Mobile. Goldie was nowhere in sight—I thought she was probably in the office getting Principal Haggard—and the little key was in the ignition.

  I swerved onto the sidewalk with the gas pedal floored. I could hear the spring from that giant pie sign skreenking around like crazy, and hoped that pie wasn’t heavy enough to pull the cart over.

  Kevin and the wolf were a little ahead of me, but I felt like I could catch them. I was yelling at the golf cart and urging it to move faster.

  I will admit that a chase between a golf cart and a Gnome-Ped lacks some of the dramatic elements of a Hollywood blockbuster. It doesn’t have the pulse-pounding soundtrack, or the roaring engines, or the explosions . . . or the speed, for that matter. What it does have is the quiet whir of the electric motors, the annoying sound of the pie sign creaking back and forth, and the clank of a few cans of Smutton rolling around the floor of the cart. But my heart was pounding plenty.

  I felt that oh-so-familiar angry troll blood pumping its way into my brain, and I let it keep right on pumping.

  I was right behind them as they pulled onto the main street. A family of elves had to step out of their way, into the street. They seemed more irritated than alarmed, until they realized it was a wolf at the wheel. Then they lost their ever-elven minds.

  The wolf looked back and I saw my chance. I reached around the windshield and grabbed on to Kevin’s curly tail. I pulled and it stretched out farther than I expected.

  I slowed down, hoping Kevin would pop out from under the wolf’s arm like a cork. But the wolf must have had a tight grip, ’cause Kevin just shouted louder.

  Then my paw slipped and Kevin’s tail popped free with a loud POINK sound. They pulled ahead again. I gunned the engine and slowly started pulling up beside them as we passed the candlestick maker’s shop. Stunned faces were flashing by in the windows. I readied myself and crammed a large Smutton can between the gas pedal and the bottom of the dashboard. Then, feeling like Indiana Jones and a flying squirrel all rolled up into one, I jumped.

  I landed on the wolf’s back like a spider monkey. He let out a startled yelp and started reaching back and swatting at me as we zipped past the butcher shop. I heard Goldie’s cart crash into something behind me, but I just squeezed my eyes shut and clung to him like a cheap sweater. The Gnome-Ped started swerving around the sidewalk, forcing a business-gnome to dive for cover in a big ceramic planter.

  I got an arm over the wolf’s eyes and pulled back as hard as I could. The Gnome-Ped swerved to the left and dropped off of the curb. The wolf overcorrected—and we went hurtling straight through the huge front window of the Notswin Bakery.

  We were lucky in that the baker, Mr. Schmidt, had opened the windows that day in hopes that the smell of baked goods would draw in customers. We were not lucky in that the front window was also displaying an array of sticky cinnamon rolls, pies, pastries, and one of the largest wedding cakes Mr. Schmidt had ever baked.

  The masterpiece didn’t stand a chance. It exploded as we blasted through it.

  The three of us landed on the store floor covered in cake, under a shower of pastries and pie filling. As soon as Kevin landed, he scrambled—hooves slipping in icing and cake—out of the wolf’s grasp.

  Mr. Schmidt and a handful of customers hurried out of the store—even faster once they got a look at the angry wolf wiping custard out of his seething eyes.

  The wolf kicked out with his hind leg and drilled me hard in the chin. Then he was goi
ng after Kevin, again, growling. “Come here, ya little bacon-flavored Snausage!”

  Kevin squealed and backed up as far as he could against a counter, kicking at the wolf’s paw. There was nowhere to go. He grabbed a squished hot cross bun off of the floor and chucked it at the wolf’s head.

  Ignoring the icing in my nose and the ringing in my ears, I grabbed a heavy cookie sheet and stepped up behind the wolf.

  Just as the wolf got a grip on Kevin’s ankle, I reared back—angry troll blood surging through my body—and smashed him so hard, they heard it two kingdoms away.

  • 10 •

  WE HAVE WAYS OF MAKING YOU TALK

  I slid across the floor to Kevin, who was tucked up in a little ball and looked like he might lose his sanity at any moment.

  “You okay? Are you hurt, Kev?”

  I realized he was starting to shake. I grabbed him by the shoulders and got right in his face. “It’s okay now. Everything’s okay.” I looked at the pastry-splattered chaos around us. “I mean . . . relatively speaking.”

  Kevin looked up at me, and I could tell he wasn’t all there. His brain must have been firing at about ten percent.

  “. . . but I’m pretty sure that was a wolf,” he whispered.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, you think?”

  Kev leaned out slightly to look behind me at the unconscious wolf.

  “I’m . . .” It was actually kind of heartbreaking to see him coming to terms with being face-to-face with his worst nightmare. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out now.”

  And he did.

  Goldie, the Knoble Knight, and a limping Chester showed up a few minutes later. By that time, Kevin was coming around and I had tightly bound the unconscious wolf in an entire roll of baker’s twine. Mr. Schmidt was over in the corner, noisily lamenting the demise of his huge cake.

  Goldie rushed in and gave Kevin and me bear hugs as I launched into an apology.

  She smiled and put a stubby finger against my icing-covered lips. “Zarf, Zarf, Zarf. Shut yer cake hole. The Grub-Mobile will ride again.”

  John gave me a hearty pat on the back. “You did great, Zarf. You did really great.” He squatted down between Kevin and me.

  So, between Kevin and Chester and me, we did. It took a while, and Mr. Schmidt got us glasses of ice water and a plate of huge, castle-shaped pastries before he went back to cleaning up the colossal mess we had made. At one point, the wolf came to and started making demands.

  John walked over and casually shoved a wadded- up apron in the wolf’s mouth and told us to continue.

  The sun was starting to set when we finished our story. John had a grim look on his face.

  “I hope I’m wrong, but I’d imagine this wolf knows the whereabouts of Miss Flett.” He turned and glared at the wolf, who glared right back. “I think it’s time for some answers.”

  Chester made a rude noise with his mouth.

  A strange grin slid across the knight’s face. “Oh, there are things we can do to get a wolf to cooperate.”

  * * *

  Three minutes later, we had the wolf up on a well-used butcher block under a bright kitchen light.

  John turned to address us. “Okay. This may not be pretty, but we’re going to get answers.” We all nodded solemnly.

  He reached over and yanked the apron out of the wolf’s mouth, who immediately started growling and cursing at us.

  “Just try it!!” The wolf was aiming his hate right at John. “Tickle me and lose a finger at the very least! Maybe a hand! I have the bite power of fourteen Snuffweas—”

  But right then John stepped up and put the tips of his fingers against the bottom of the wolf’s bound feet—right on that ticklish fur that sticks out between the pads. That shut the wolf up. “Ground rules: You so much as nip at any of us, we tickle you harder. Got it? Shall we begin? Let’s start with your name.”

  The wolf’s eyes were darting between his feet and the knight. “NEVER!”

  John fluttered the wolf’s back paw fur. “Tickle, tickle.”

  Immediately the wolf broke into loud, agonized laughter. “HAA-HAA-HAAAAA! All right, all right! HA-HA! Stop! I’m the Awkward Awful Wolf!!”

  The knight stopped and smiled. “Not quite the Big Bad Wolf, huh?”

  The wolf was trying to regain his composure. “Listen, little knight.” He paused, out of breath from the laughing jag. “There will only ever be one Big Bad Wolf. How dare you even say His Name!”

  John started up the tickling again.

  Then he peed a little from laughing, which didn’t make Mr. Schmidt very happy.

  I’ll spare you the rest of the interrogation. A crowd had gathered in the front window, so if you want gory details, I’m sure there are some gossips that’ll tell you the whole thing.

  At one point, it seemed like the wolf was getting used to the tickling. This didn’t faze John, who had apparently done this kind of thing before.

  “Mr. Schmidt? I know you make savory pastries here as well. Do you by any chance have any . . . BLUE CHEESE?”

  The reaction from the wolf was unbelievable.

  Mr. Schmidt went to his fridge and came back with a huge tub marked “BLUE CHEESE—EXTRA SMELLY,” while John just smiled, watching the wolf squirm around.

  “Little-known Fact Number Two: Blue cheese skeeves wolves right the heck out. It’s like their Kryptonite.”

  The wolf went nuts as John took the lid off the tub. “Don’t you get that—rrretch!—stuff anywhere—GAGGG!—near me!!”

  All John had to do was wave a spoonful of that cheese under the wolf’s nose and he was telling us everything we needed to know.

  “To get the subsititute gig!” The wolf retched loudly. “To get to the students.”

  Chester stepped up. “To get Kevin? Revenge against the Littlepigs? Why didn’t you just sneak in and grab Kevin at the festival?”

  The wolf rolled his eyes and looked at Chester like he was addressing an idiot. “It’s not about the stupid pigs, brainless. He just put himself out there on a platter! He was telling me all about his—gag—classmates. And I mean, sure—taking out a Littlepig would have been a juicy little bonus—but it was all about getting our paws on Red Ridinghood’s stupid kid.”

  That shut us all up.

  “Come again?” John asked as he grabbed the wolf’s chin, prepared to wipe blue cheese on his upper lip. “Red Ridinghood never had a kid, and if she did, why would she live here? Last I heard, Red left the country . . . and I don’t think she ever stepped foot in Cotswin.”

  The wolf tried halfheartedly to jerk his chin away. “Like you all don’t know. Like it isn’t the best-kept secret in the kingdom.”

  We all stood there looking at one another for a few moments, confused.

  The wolf looked around at us, amused. “Wait. You honestly didn’t know? That’s HILARIOUS!”

  John started in with the tickling, and the wolf started talking again.

  “Look, look. Here’s the deal. Th’ one thing we know fer sure is that Red Ridinghood’s kid lives here. Attends Cotswin. And we WILL have our revenge for what her mother, Red, did to Big Bad. Remember the storm I said was coming? It’s a wolf storm, okay? Big ol’ storm of wolves, comin’ at ya. It’s not gonna stop—and you’re not gettin’ your precious Miss Flett back—’til you hand over the Ridinghood child.”

  I’ll never forget the look on John’s face as he leaned over the wolf. It was a glare that could have melted glass. He scooped up a handful of cheese and prepared to shove it into the wolf’s muzzle.

  “This is where you tell me where they have Miss Flett—or you’re gonna be smellin’ blue to the end of your days.”

  “Whatevs.” The wolf just smiled and turned his head. But three seconds later, you could have heard his cheese-muffled screams from three blocks away.

  �
� 11 •

  MALICE IN CHAINS

  Things wound down quickly after that. The Royal Ogre Guard showed up in their horse-drawn paddy wagon to arrest the wolf. For once in my life, I found the ogres’ thuggish ways kind of entertaining as they shackled the criminal, manhandled him out of the shop, and tossed him like a bag full of rotten turnips into the back of the wagon. The gathered crowd was cheering and yelling wolf-related insults the whole time.

  John was all business, barking out orders into his phone. Within minutes, several of his best men had assembled in front of the bakery with the knight’s trusted steed. His suit of armor was disassembled and hanging off of the side of the saddle.

  He mounted his horse and backed up to where Kevin and Chester and I were standing by the curb.

  He smiled, but it didn’t really reach his eyes. He looked off down the darkened main street. His horse was pawing at the ground, ready to get going.

  “I’m gonna go get your teacher. I’d tell you all to stay out of trouble, but I know you guys. So just promise me you’ll be careful. It sounds like this may not be over.”