The Troll Who Cried Wolf

by Rob Harrell

  After that we stopped in the kitchen, where he ooh’d and ahh’d about the size and contents of the fridge. “Flumploaf! Guacamole! Liverwurst!”

  As he cracked open a Black Cherry Whizz, I heard Chester in my earpiece talking with the group in the woods. “It’s true. Those pigs love some soda. I don’t know how they have any teeth left.”

  Horrible drained the can in one gulp as he led me into the TV room, where he crumpled it and dropped it on the floor. “Lookit that flat-screen! That thing’s bigger’n the front door!” I was a little distracted by the eight or ten rough-looking wolves lounging on the Littlepigs’ furniture.

  Huge clawed feet were all over the coffee table. Coasters were not being used. One of the wolves belched loudly and threw a bottle at the TV—currently showing some kind of cooking show. This resulted in a loud, fang-baring shouting match that left my knees shaking a bit.

  “Get bent! They’re doing pork ribs in the next segment!”

  I tried to make sure the gang on the hill was getting all of this.

  “Boy . . . Look at all these wolves lounging in the Littlepigs’ TV room!” I said, a little too loud, aiming my voice toward my wrist.

  Horrible Hideous gave me a funny sideways look that lasted a little too long for my taste.

  Clearly I needed to be more subtle with my reports.

  “Hey!” He slapped his paws together. “Wanna see the hostages?”

  I gave my best fake sinister laugh as we started out of the kitchen. “Heck yeah I do!”

  I heard Goldie in my ear. “Here we go.”

  As he led me up the stairs, Horrible explained the situation. “Now, unfortunately, we ain’t allowed to eat any of ’em, yet. Boss says that’s for after we get the Ridinghood brat.”

  I was flooded with relief. It sounded like they were all okay—at least so far.

  We turned down a familiar hallway and saw another wolf sitting guard outside a familiar door—Kevin’s bedroom. His jacket identified him as the Mad Malicious Wolf.

  “Hey, Awkward! I thought you was dead or in jail!” He stood up and cuffed me on the ear hard enough that I saw stars. “Wanna see the scared little piggies?” Then he started making a snorting noise as he turned around and opened the bedroom door.

  I stepped inside and my heart broke.

  Kevin and his whole family were there, huddled up on the bottom bunk of Kevin’s bed. His mom, his dad . . . and his little sister, Ima.

  They were all staring at us, terrified, as we walked in the door. Kevin’s eyes went wide when he saw me—or who he thought I was. “YOU!! How did you get out of—?”

  I cut him off before he could bring up any more awkward questions. “SILENCE, PORK!”

  Wow, it felt awful to yell something like that at Kev, but I had to keep up the illusion. He clammed up, and he and his sister cowered, shaking. It made me feel so bad, I thought I might barf.

  Horrible stepped into the room. He snarled and bared his teeth a bit, getting a kick out of the response this got. Then—and this was weird—he started singing and doing a happy little dance in front of the Littlepigs.

  As he went on, Ima turned and buried her face into Kevin’s chest. I was trying to catch Kevin’s eye—maybe I could will him to see the me inside my eyes—when something shifted on the top bunk and I realized there was someone up there in the shadows.

  It was Miss Flett. Wait. Miss Flett? How could she be here and at Snuff’s Pillow at the same time? Were there two of her??

  The wolf stopped his dancing and reared back, laughing. “That’s my name, toots!”

  I heard Goldie in my earpiece yelling to her fellow SQUATists. “Miss Flett is in the house!! The Snuff’s Pillow story was a lie to lure our knights out of town!”

  I had to admit that made more sense than the Miss-Flett-being-cloned theory I’d been forming. Horrible stopped dancing and grabbed me by the back of the neck. “Let’s get you up to see the boss. He’ll be glad to see you in one piece.”

  But I had an idea. With Horrible behind me, I looked Kevin right in the eyes. He was peeking over a pillow, so I had to work fast before he hid his face again.

  “Say, Horrible. You know if these pigs got any FAZZLE BARS?” And when I said “Fazzle bars,” I pointed at my chest.

  I said it too loud and patted my chest. Kevin’s eyes looked a little confused, like he wasn’t sure what was happening.

  Horrible Hideous was pulling at me. “I don’t know, man. We’ll check.”

  I stood my ground, staring at Kev. “I don’t want some disgusting CABBAGE AND ONION SOUP, y’know? No FLUMPLOAF. I want me a FAZZLE BAR!” I pointed like crazy at myself on the words Fazzle bar.

  Kevin’s eyes were darting back and forth.

  This is something he does when he’s thinking really hard—making connections in his brain. He also does it when he needs to go to the bathroom really bad, but I didn’t think that was the situation this time.

  Suddenly his eyes got huge. Something had clicked. But the look of wonder quickly turned to terror.

  “ZARF’S SPIRIT IS IN ITS STOMACH AND HE’S TRYING TO COMMUNICATE WITH ME!!”

  Dang. So close.

  But then the wolf yanked me out of the room. “Man, what is it with you and Fazzle bars? Jeesh. They’re tasty. You like ’em. We get it.” He was leading me farther down the darkened hall. “Now let’s go let Big Bad know you’re okay.”

  It took a second for my troll brain to absorb that.

  Did he just say what I thought he said?

  Then I heard Chester screaming in my ear—“JUMPIN’ SWAMPFROGS! The Big Bad Wolf is ALIVE!!”—and I was pretty sure I’d heard right.

  • 18 •

  WHO’S AFRAID. . . ?

  When we stopped in front of the large door to the Littlepigs’ bedroom, my heart was beating so loud, I was worried Horrible Hideous could hear it.

  Goldie and Chester were whispering in my ear for me to breathe slowly and stay calm, which was only making me more nervous.

  The door opened a few inches to reveal a short wolf looking up at us with suspicious eyes.

  When he got a better look at me the small wolf opened the door to the room and let me in, leaving Horrible behind. The first thing I noticed was the haze of cigar smoke. The bed looked as if every throw pillow in the home had been brought up to make a nest for a large, important someone. The lights were dimmed and trays piled with food had been set up all over—but fortunately the bed/nest was empty.

  “He’s in here.” The small wolf—Alert Attentive, according to his jacket—started toward the door in the corner, where I heard a slosh of water.

  Attentive let me into the large bathroom and my heart stopped. There, surrounded by bubbles in the Littlepigs’ enormous in-floor Jacuzzi tub, was . . . The Boogeyman. The Terror. The one we tell campfire stories about. Alive and well and chomping on a huge cigar.

  The Big. Bad. Wolf. How was he alive??

  I’ve never had to fight harder to not turn and run in my life. Imagine finding yourself face-to-face with Dracula and a giant grizzly bear all rolled into one. That’ll give you some idea how I felt.

  He was larger and more terrifying than I had ever imagined. His left eye was covered in a dirty-looking patch and a good part of his right ear was missing.

  Big Bad squinted at me with his one good eye and then started to chuckle. A cold sound so deep and rumbling, it made the floor shiver under my paws.

  “So you’re alive after all.” He stubbed his cigar out on the tile floor. “We thought you got your idiot head shot off.”

  I realized I was supposed to speak. “Umm. Nope. No. Not dead. I’m . . . alive. Here I am. Livin’. Breathin’. All that.”

  I was babbling like an idiot. But Big Bad just chuckled again. “Awkward and Awful as always.” He snapped his fingers. “Hand me a towel.”

&n
bsp; I turned around and grabbed one of the big monogrammed towels off of the rack and tossed it to him. He snatched it out of the air with an enormous paw and started to stand up out of the bubbles. He signaled for me to turn around, which I was more than happy to do.

  “I don’t suppose . . . and I know this a long shot here . . . that you got any info on the Ridinghood brat like you were supposed to, did you?”

  I took a small step toward the door. “Well . . . not exactly. I . . .”

  Big Bad shouted and brought his fist down so hard he broke the marble countertop, put a crack in the wall mirror, and made one of the faucets start running. I whispered as quietly as I could into my wrist mic, “You getting this?” and was surprised by how quivery my voice came out. I heard Goldie assure me they were getting every word.

  I realized my whole body was shaking and my wolf tail had involuntarily curled up between my legs—like Chester’s dog Pudding when he knows he’s in trouble. I couldn’t control the stupid thing.

  I listened closely as Big Bad put on his jeans and slid into his enormous leather jacket. When he put his arm around me, I nearly jumped out the window.

  “Awkward . . .” he started in a syrupy-sweet tone.

  I nodded, afraid to look up.

  “Have you seen my eye? And my ear? I mean, have I ever given you an up-close and personal look at that Ridinghood girl’s handiwork?

  I had no idea if he had or hadn’t, so I stayed quiet. I knew I didn’t particularly WANT to see it.

  “No? Well, listen. This isn’t a game to me, Awk. I’m gonna call you Awk now.” The sweetness had dropped back out of his voice. We were walking through the bedroom toward the door. “So, I don’t know how this is going to happen, but . . .” He swung open the bedroom door and shoved me into the hallway. “You’re gonna have to PROVE to me that you’re WORTHY of being in this gang . . .” He suddenly crossed the hall and smashed me against the wall by my throat so I couldn’t breathe.

  He held me there—my breath cut off—as he huffed and puffed in my face for what felt like forever. His stare was so intense, I had to squeeze my eyes shut.

  Then he let go. I slumped to the floor as he crossed back into the bedroom and slammed the door. My head was pounding and I was seeing stars as I gulped in air. I don’t think I actually passed out, but I was close as I sat there listening to Chester in my earpiece.

  • 19 •

  INSIDE TROLL

  I was about to answer when I realized someone was standing over me. I looked up to find Horrible standing there with a big cheese-eating grin on his face.

  I tried to pull my wits together as quickly as I could. “He wasn’t too happy.” I got slowly to my feet.

  “Is he ever?” Horrible laughed and started toward the stairs. “Come on. We’re going to talk about shifts. And you look like you could use a can of Flumpfruit Splash.”

  After a short stop in the kitchen, we headed into the dining room, where most of the wolves had gathered. The table was littered with playing cards, overfilled ashtrays, and a range of soda and beer cans. They were arguing over who should take which shifts.

  I, on the other hand, was trying to figure out how to drink a soda with this long muzzle. I kept going to put the can to where my troll mouth would be, and ended up with Flumpfruit Splash down my neck. Then when I got it to my lips, it just felt unnatural. It was like using a burrito for a straw.

  The voices in the room were getting louder. A couple of wolves were snarling and gnashing their teeth about having to take the night shift when I realized I’d better pipe up.

  “I . . . I’ll take th’ night shift watchin’ them hostages. I don’t mind none.”

  The whole room stopped and looked at me. Then at one another. Then a few of them started laughing.

  “And then we come up in the morning to find you in an empty room all stuffed full of pig meat.” It was the one called Sinister Sneaky. “They call me Sneaky and even I wouldn’t trust you watching the henhouse.”

  There was more laughter, but I kept on trying. “Ha. No, no. I know my reputation. But as you all prolly heard, Big Bad ain’t too pleased with me right now.” This at least got their attention. “He says I need to prove m’self.”

  One of the dirtier, mangier-looking wolves in the corner chimed in. “Look. If doofus wants ta take that night shift, I ain’t gonna complain none. I need my beauty rest.”

  He let loose with a way-too-loud, wheezy laugh—like this was the funniest thing anybody’d ever said, ever—that broke the other wolves up. There were high fives and “I hear that!”s all around, along with some loud belches and lots of back slapping.

  * * *

  Most of the wolves had crashed for the night when I took my post outside Kevin’s room at midnight. The wolf before me handed me the key and took his book with him, but there was a stack of Mrs. Little- pig’s Fairytale Inquirers beside the chair. I picked one up and tried to look like I was reading it while I listened and waited for the house to go quiet.

  Chester chose this time to try and tell me a few jokes to help calm me down. It took everything I had not to beg him not to.

  “Okay, Zarf. What do you call an alligator wearing a vest?”

  They got worse from there.

  Around one o’clock I heard the downstairs TV shut off, and twenty minutes later the house was silent, other than some pretty impressive snoring from down the hall. I forced myself to wait another half an hour until I put down my magazine and turned to the door.

  I’d thought about how I could get in there without Kevin and the others (okay, mostly Kevin) taking one look at me and squealing bloody murder. They’d wake every wolf in the place.

  I got down on the floor and cupped my paw by the opening at the bottom. Then I whispered as loud as I thought I could.

  I listened for a minute but didn’t hear a response. “Kevin!” I put my ear to the crack and thought I heard some rustling around in there. “If somebody’s hearing me, it’s Zarf. Get Kevin.”

  There was more moving around and some whispering. Then the light in the room went on and I could tell someone was on the other side of the door.

  “Kevin?”

  “Hey, Kev. It’s me. I’m gonna get you guys out of here.”

  There was a long pause. “You don’t really sound like Zarf.”

  I sighed. “Well, that’s the thing. I don’t look like him either. That was me in there earlier.”

  I explained about the switch. We went back and forth a few times, as my worrywart of a friend was having a hard time trusting me.

  Time was slipping by, and I was getting frustrated. And my wolf knees were starting to hurt.

  Kevin’s whisper came back from under the door. “Okay. Tell me something only you and I know.”

  Listen. I was under a lot of pressure. I had no choice.

  “YOU POOPED YOUR PANTS DURING OUR SECOND-GRADE VALENTINE’S DAY PARTY AND I RAN HOME TO GET YOU A NEW PAIR, OKAY??”

  The silence from the other side of the door stretched out for an eternity. I knew I’d been sworn to secrecy on that one—but come on. Desperate times call for desperate measures. When the answer came back, the tone was icy.

  “Come on in.”

  I quietly unlocked the door and opened it. Everyone had been gathered around the door, but quickly backed up when they saw me—just in case. For a moment they just stared.

  Mrs. Littlepig was the first to step forward. She reached out and touched the side of my wolf muzzle.

  I laughed. Mrs. Littlepig was the only person other than my mom who still called me that. “Hi, Mrs. Littlepig. It’s me.”

  Kevin tried to come over and thank me, but I could see that part of his brain was still arguing that there was a wolf standing in front of him. Finally, he dashed in and gave me a quick hug—then promptly passed out.

  After he came back around,
I made a quick check of everyone to make sure they were okay. Miss Flett said she had some bruises from being grabbed at the festival, but assured me she’d gotten some pretty good punches and kicks in on the wolf that nabbed her as well.

  I quickly laid out my plan for getting us out of there and assured them that we wouldn’t get a better chance than right then. Two minutes later, we were creeping as quietly as we could down the hall to the back stairs.

  • 20 •

  A LATE-NIGHT BITE

  We had to stop a couple of times on the stairs because of a few small squeaks from floorboards and one bigger squeak from Kevin. When we reached the bottom, I checked the route to the back door. The guard there was flipping through a Rapunzel’s Secret catalog—and very much awake. Which meant we’d have to make our way through the kitchen to the front and hope for a snoozy guard there.

  One by one, we slipped around the corner into the laundry room, unheard. When we’d all regrouped, I led everyone into the dark kitchen. We were feeling our way along the counter when the door of the refrigerator against the other wall opened, casting the room in light.

  We all dropped to our hands and knees behind the counter, but someone bumped the floor too hard and it made a thump. I cringed, holding my breath.

  “Who’s there?” I knew that deep growly voice all too well. My heart kicked up to a speedy gallop.