A Boy and His Dragon

by Michael J. Bowler

  But then he considered that possibility. His mother always kept the freezer well stocked with meat so she wouldn’t have to shop often, and he wondered how much he could take without her noticing right away. The dragon cried out again so loudly and pathetically that the boy knew he had to do something. He couldn’t just let the poor thing starve.

  Besides, if he didn’t shut the beast up, the whole neighborhood would swoop down on this warehouse like hawks moving in for the kill. And he was sure they’d just be afraid and call the police or the army or something.

  Grownups were always afraid of anything different, he knew,

  and they would probably kill the poor thing. Bradley Wallace felt an immediate, inexplicable bond with this lone, unbelievable creature, and determined to help it.

  “Okay, okay,” he tried to mollify the shrieking beast, “I’ll get you food. But you’ve got to be quiet while I’m gone. You can’t let anyone else hear you or see you. Understand?”

  The red eyes twirled back at him from under those bony ridges, and the dragon suddenly fell silent. Bradley Wallace shook his head in amazement. It was like the creature understood exactly what he said. But that wasn’t possible, was it?

  “That’s better,” he stammered, and began backing up toward the slit. “I’ll be right back.” He smiled hesitantly at the unmoving dragon, which kept its scarlet eyes fixed on him imploringly.

  Bradley Wallace suddenly felt nauseated with hunger, but knew he, himself, wasn’t hungry. “I’ll bring your meat, don’t worry,” he reassured the silent dragon before turning to duck through the slit out into the darkening Gully. He’d sure have to be fast, he knew, in order to get back here with the dragon’s dinner and still make it home in time for his own.

  Dashing madly up the incline to the street, Bradley Wallace felt overwhelmed by feelings of hunger and excitement. He’d stumbled onto something no one else ever had, something special and thrilling and mysterious, and he wasn’t about to let anyone take it away from him. Not this time. Slipping in through the gate to his back yard, the boy darted around to the sliding door into the playroom, which was the furthest spot from the kitchen and family room where he could enter the house unseen.

  Employing whatever stealth abilities he possessed, Bradley Wallace tiptoed down the hallway past the bedrooms, through the entry hall, and managed to duck into the laundry room, where the freezer was kept and which was adjacent to the kitchen, without being detected. It had taken him much longer than usual, and his fear of being caught caused his mind to play and replay something he heard Mr. Spock say once on “Star Trek”: “It is a fact, Doctor, that prowling by stealth is more time consuming than a direct approach.”

  More nerve-wracking, too, the frightened boy added silently, as he eased the laundry room door shut, listening intently to his mother clattering about in the kitchen. Phew!

  Snapping open the freezer, Bradley Wallace scanned the well-stocked shelves. Let’s see, there was chicken, steak, and hamburger, even a leg of lamb. That would be too noticeable if it disappeared. But maybe one steak, three packages of hamburger, and one whole chicken would satisfy his friend without arousing immediate attention from his mother.

  Next to the upright freezer was a pull-out hamper containing assorted rags and numerous paper and plastic bags. He pulled the hamper open quietly and extracted a large plastic “Livingston’s” bag with carry handles, into which he carefully loaded the food. He then closed both hamper and freezer, and moved to the door.

  It creaked slightly as he eased it open, but Bradley Wallace was still able to slip out of the laundry room and scurry silently back down the hall without attracting his mother’s attention. He breathed a sigh of relief as he passed through the back gate and, clutching the handles of his sack like a life preserver, hurried up the street.

  Bradley Wallace sensed the dragon probing his mind before he even re-entered the warehouse, but joyfully noted that it wasn’t shrieking anymore. Pulling himself inside and dragging the sack behind him, the boy tried to hurry across the darkened structure to where he’d left the creature, and stumbled blindly on a large metal machine part. The bag flew from his grasp as he flung his arms out to break his fall. But suddenly he wasn’t falling anymore. Something caught the collar of his shirt and yanked him upward, then carefully set him down on his feet. The pressure on his shirt relaxed, and by this time his eyes had adjusted to the dim light. He turned to face his scaly savior.

  The dragon mewled at him, and Bradley Wallace could almost see the question Are you all right? reflected in those bright red eyes. In fact, he could almost hear those words in his mind, and responded without even thinking, “I’m fine, thanks.” Realizing how dumb that must have made him look, Bradley Wallace smiled sheepishly at the gentle beast facing him. How dragons ever got the reputation for being monsters he never knew; this one was certainly anything but.

  Just then another tidal wave of hunger washed over him and he remembered the food. Scrabbling around in the dark - he should’ve brought a flashlight - Bradley Wallace located the fallen sack. Moving back to the anxious dragon, the boy fished around inside the bag and brought out his gifts one by one.

  “Look what I’ve got for you,” he boasted proudly, displaying the Foster Farms chicken. “This is chicken.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before the famished dragon snatched up the chicken in its jaws and swallowed it whole, wrapper and all.

  “Hey,” Bradley Wallace exclaimed in surprise, “those were frozen. Don’t you even want to wait till they thaw out?”

  He could’ve sworn he heard a No from the beast, but the dragon nuzzling his bag distracted him from that notion. Boy these things can eat, he thought as he reached into the sack and pulled out the steak and hamburger. He stared in wonderment as the shiny red creature wolfed down every last morsel, even the T-bone in the steak.

  Man, this thing could eat faster than David Oulette, this fat kid in Bradley Wallace’s class who shoveled food into his mouth so fast that he hardly ever knew what he was eating.

  As he watched the bulky, but lithe, dragon inhale the food he brought, Bradley Wallace finally began to consider the future, and what he saw left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. What was he going to do with a dragon? He couldn’t exactly keep it as a pet, and his parents didn’t like pets anyway. And he certainly couldn’t say he’d won the creature like a goldfish at some carnival. No, he couldn’t even tell his parents. He’d already realized that. He couldn’t even tell Mr. O’Conner, and he trusted him more than anyone. So what did that leave him? The dragon was big already, and if the mythology was any indication, it would be immense when fully grown. He couldn’t keep it here in the warehouse for very long - too many kids hang out around here. Besides which, he didn’t even know what to call the beast.

  I think my name is Whilly.

  Bradley Wallace started, whirling around to stare at the darkened Masher behind him. “Who said that?” he challenged the empty warehouse.

  I did, came the hesitant reply. But he didn’t hear it with his ears, he heard it with his mind. But how. . . ?

  He scrutinized the shadowy confines of the dilapidated structure, and finally satisfied himself that he and the dragon were the only living things present. Could it have been a ghost? He somehow didn’t think so. He’d spent enough time in this warehouse to know if it was haunted or not. But if it wasn’t a ghost, and it wasn’t him, then it had to be . . .

  The thought trailed off as he slowly turned back to face the inevitable, a sinking feeling bathing him in a cold sweat. He felt weak in the knees and short of breath as he gazed into the dragon’s shimmering red eyes, which reflected his own incomprehension.

  He struggled to control his tremulous voice. “It wasn’t really you who said that, was it?” His voice cracked embarrassingly, but he didn’t care.

  It must have been since there’s no one else here, entered the boy’s mind, and fear gripped his heart. He sensed confusion in that other voice, confusion that mat
ched his own. But he was also deeply afraid.

  “This isn’t possible.” The words were barely a whisper. “Even I know animals can’t talk. They can’t.”

  I am not an animal. I am a dragon. The creature cocked its head and regarded the boy with interest, obviously bewildered and unsure of itself.

  Bradley Wallace dropped weakly to a sitting position on the outstretched metal arm of The Masher, his mind whirling with a thousand questions. The dragon wasn’t talking in the human sense of uttering vocalizations, yet the boy could hear him clearly, as though from within himself. It was an eerie, frightening sensation.

  “How can I hear you when you aren’t really talking?” he forced himself to ask, his voice still unsteady.

  I am not really sure, came the confused reply. We are somehow together even though we are separate. I do not understand it. I can see inside of you, I can see all that you are. You are still young like me, are you not?

  His brain muddled and incoherent, the astonished boy shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand any of this. How do you even know English?”

  The dragon shook his own large head. I do not know. I just seem to know what you know, like I am part of you. His red eyes flashed incomprehension.

  The boy shook his head again and gazed in fear at the impossible creature before him. “This can’t be happening. I’ve gotta be dreaming.”

  I am still hungry, suddenly popped into his swirling head, but the boy was almost too numb with incredulity to comprehend those simple words.

  “What?” he mumbled stupidly.

  I am still hungry the dragon repeated impatiently, his thoughts of hunger assailing the boy like a pelting hail storm and causing him to back away from the beast, as though to shut out those growling pangs with distance.

  “Hey, cool it!” he practically shouted, his stomach doing erratic flip-flops. “You’re making me sick.” Suddenly the overpowering hunger sensations ceased instantaneously, as though someone had slammed a door on them.

  I am sorry. the dragon apologized. I did not know humans were so . . . he considered what word to use, sensitive? Is that right?

  “Look,” Bradley Wallace began once his stomach stopped doing its impression of a gymnastics team, “I brought you all the food I could get away with. As it is, my mother’ll kill me when she finds it all gone. How am I ever gonna explain it?”

  Thoughts of his mother suddenly made the boy realize how late it must be getting. If he was late for dinner again . . . “Oh, God, what time is it?” he wondered aloud, leaping to his feet.

  I do not know, Bradley Wallace Murphy, came the unexpected reply. You forgot to wear the new watch you got for your birthday.

  The boy glanced at his bare wrist, and then stared dumbfounded at the silent, watching dragon that, he felt certain, was as bewildered by this meeting as he was. “How did you, oh never mind. Look, I’ve gotta get home for dinner or I’m dead meat.” He stopped suddenly, momentarily wary because of the expression he’d just used; it wouldn’t eat him, would it, if it got really hungry?

  “I really do have to go,” he repeated, becoming fidgety with worry. “Will you be all right till I get back?”

  The dragon nodded its imposing head. I will look for something to eat.

  “No!” the boy shouted instinctively, clapping a hand quickly to his big mouth. Damn! He tells the dragon to keep quiet and then he goes and screams bloody murder. Good job, Murphy! “Look,” he tried to explain, “you don’t understand. There’s no such things as dragons anymore. You’re the only one.”

  No dragons? the suddenly childlike creature repeated, obviously confused.

  “No,” Bradley Wallace reiterated sharply, edging his way nervously backward toward the slit. “People would freak out if they saw you. You’d be shot or experimented on or something. You have to stay hidden; it’s the only way. Do you understand?”

  He gazed deeply into the plaintive red eyes for any sign of comprehension. But rather than see it, he felt it, felt the dragon’s mind in his own, and knew that it understood at least some of what he’d said.

  I am still hungry, Bradley Wallace Murphy.

  “Blast your hunger!” the boy barked angrily. “I’m already gonna be late cause of you.” But the gentleness mirrored in the dragon’s eyes softened his ire. “I’ll smuggle you out what I can from dinner,” he promised. “But you stay here!”

  He ran a hand through his sweat-drenched hair and examined the wetness on his palm. “Maybe if I’m lucky they’ll think I was out playing football or something. Look, I’ve really gotta go.”

  He stumbled hurriedly to the slit, but turned before exiting to gaze

  back into those beseeching eyes. The dragon reminded Bradley Wallace of a puppy that’s been kicked around too much, and he flashed the friendliest smile he could.

  “What did you say your name was?”

  Whilly, I think.

  “Whilly,” the boy repeated, turning the name over in his mind like a flapjack. Then he realized why it sounded so familiar. “Hey, that’s the name of Barnabas Collins’ friend!” he exclaimed in amazement.

  I am sorry, the dragon apologized, but it is the only name I know. And I am not sure where it came from.

  Bradley Wallace felt a surge of sympathetic kinship for this poor, confused creature that seemed so lost and forlorn. He smiled reassuringly, and then ducked through the slit. He high-tailed it for home, and amazingly enough, was right on time for dinner.

  As expected, his parents quizzed him on how he came to be drenched in sweat and saturated with dirt. He lied and said he’d been running around the hills above the schoolyard (San Pedro School, located a few blocks from the house and accessed by a tunnel under the heavily-trafficked San Pedro Road) and had run all the way home from there when it got late. He’d considered telling them he was playing football with the other kids, but decided they probably wouldn’t believe him. And he had no real confidence in his ability to lie, anyway. Why could other kids tell lies like that as easily as breathing and get away with it when he always got caught? He just wasn’t cool enough, he’d decided long ago. But he was going to have to get better at lying if he was to conceal Whilly from the rest of the world. Yes, sir, he’d better learn fast.

  Anxious to return to his newfound friend, and uncertain what the feisty young dragon might do in his absence, Bradley Wallace was silent and fidgety all through the meal. His father took the silence for sullenness, but didn’t know how to breach the wall between himself and his son to discover the reason. So he joined the others in their nonessential conversation. His mother talked of her bridge group, and Katie babbled incessantly about school, how this teacher did that and this student did this. Bradley Wallace just tuned them out.

  After all, he had the biggest news in the whole world and all he could do was listen to mindless prattle about crummy bridge players and mean teachers. It didn’t seem fair, somehow. He picked aimlessly at his spaghetti, ordinarily another favorite of his. But the butterflies tracing continuous circles in his stomach seemed to leave little room for food. His mother finally stopped chattering to eye him with a chagrined smile.

  “I know why someone at this table isn’t hungry tonight,” she said.

  “Yeah, “ Katie immediately chimed in. “Most of that leftover birthday cake is gone.”

  All eyes turned to Bradley Wallace. That’s not all that’s gone, he thought with sudden amusement. But of course, he couldn’t say anything, even though he’d only eaten one piece of cake.

  “What a pig, Bradey!” his sister added with disgust.

  As if on cue, his father piped up. ”You know, son, your mother goes to a lot of trouble to fix a good dinner. You shouldn’t spoil it with snacks beforehand.” His ruddy features seemed to shine under the illumination dropping from the large, globular light directly above the table.

  “I’m sorry,” the boy apologized. What else could he say? “But it really wasn’t the cake I had. I’m just not very hungry tonight.”<
br />
  “After all that running around you were doing,” his father went on between mouthfuls of spaghetti, “you should be starved.”

  “You’re not coming down with something, are you?” his mother asked, her face wrinkling with concern as she clapped a hand to the boy’s forehead.

  “Yeah, after being out so late last night,” Katie reminded everyone. Why couldn’t she keep her big mouth shut?

  “That’s enough, Katie,” Jack admonished sternly. “We went through all that last night.”

  Way to go, Dad, Bradley Wallace thought. Satisfied he had no fever, Marge took her hand away, eyes narrowing as she thoughtfully regarded her son’s tight, drawn appearance. “Well,” she admitted, almost regretfully, “You don’t have a temperature. But you stay inside tonight, hear?”

  He nodded. What else could he do? He also knew he wouldn’t

  obey her. There was no way he could; he just had to get back to Whilly before the dragon wandered off or something. He set down his fork and sat back with a sigh.

  “I can’t eat anymore, Mom. Can I have the rest in a doggie bag?” His voice cracked again, making him sound like he was straddled on a picket fence. The others laughed, though he wasn’t sure if they were laughing at him or at his feeble joke. He excused himself and retreated to his room.

  He agonized over his math homework while waiting for the household to go to sleep. Only then would he be able to slip out undetected. Boy, he hated math. Actually, if he really thought about it, he didn’t hate math. He just didn’t like it very much. The logistics of the subject never came easily to him. As such, he was in the “B” group at school - translation: the dummies who continually fell behind the rest of the class. But at least he could say, with satisfaction, that Wagner was in the same group and was even dumber.