Good Ogre

by Platte F. Clark

  “The poor misunderstood monster,” the Jan Man continued. “Just needed a friend to tell me how wonderful I am and everything’s all better. What’d you do, read that in a comic book or something?”

  Dirk bristled at the remark. “Don’t go mocking comic books.”

  The Jan Man raised the handkerchief over his head and began swinging it like a sling. “Poor little children. I think you just need some friends to play with. I make friends, you know . . . just like I make the urinal cakes. Kind of ironic, since urine a lot of trouble.”

  “That’s like the worst pun ever,” Melvin remarked.

  The Jan Man frowned and continued swinging the urinal cake over his head, taking aim at the group.

  “What the heck’s a urinal cake anyway?” Sydney asked.

  “It’s that stupid thing in the bottom of boys’ toilets. Like a deodorizer or something,” Dirk answered.

  Sydney frowned, looking even more confused. “Why would anybody name that cake?”

  “No idea, but maybe not the most important thing at the moment,” Max called back. “I think we better take cover!” He pointed to the blue door. “In there!”

  Nobody argued. Max ran to the blue door just as the Jan Man launched the urinal cake. It careened toward them, then dipped and smashed on the floor.

  “Incoming!” Dirk shouted.

  Max pulled the door open and held it as the others scrambled in. The Jan Man had loaded a new urinal cake in his makeshift sling and was preparing another attack. “Hurry up!” he shouted, not liking the idea of being exposed while some kind of urinal cake projectile was being flung at him. The others ran past; only Sydney stopped in the doorway, her eyes wide.

  “I can’t go in THERE!” she protested.

  There was a whizzing sound as another urinal cake flew down the hall. This one also seemed to veer off course and slam to the floor. Max was about to think the Jan Man was a pretty horrible shot when he noticed something was growing out of the black, pulsing marble—something very much the consistency of a blue urinal cake, only with a head, torso, and arms. To his disbelief, the urinal cakes were turning into urinal . . . men? That seemed like the absolute worst name for a monster ever.

  “Sydney, get in there!” Megan shouted behind her pixie sister.

  “I can’t! It’s the boys’ bathroom!”

  Max watched as the urinal man moved forward, stepping out of the strange marble stone like it was climbing out of a swimming pool.

  “We don’t have time to argue about this!” Megan shouted, giving her sister a shove through the doorway.

  “Eww!” Max heard her scream as she flew inside.

  The urinal man started toward them as another began to grow from the projectile remains. The Jan Man whooped and sent a third projectile flying in their direction. The urinal cake smashed into the ground and exploded just as the others had.

  Max followed Megan into the boys’ bathroom. He slammed the door and called the others over. “Hold this while I try and lock it!”

  The others ran to the door and pressed their weight against it.

  BOOM!

  The door opened a few inches as the urinal man crashed into it, but the group managed to push it closed again. Max opened the Codex and began looking for a locking spell.

  BOOM! This time the door opened further before they were able to shut it. “That felt like more than one!” Dwight grunted through clenched teeth. “Hurry it up, Max!”

  Max moved through the old spell book as quickly as he could: level four spell of Grass Leveling; level twelve spell of Insect Speak; level twenty spell of Pantaloon Protection.

  BOOM! The door flew halfway open.

  “Dude!” Dirk yelled as he and the others tried to force the door closed. Blue hands wrapped around the door as the magical creatures fought to force their way in.

  Max flipped the page and found what he was looking for: level twenty-two Dead Bolt of Extreme Awesomeness. “I think I’ve got something—just get the door shut!”

  “Oh, sure, good idea,” Dwight exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that?” The dwarf groaned as he and the others pushed against the bathroom door.

  “They’re too strong!” Megan called out.

  Puff had backed into the door and was pushing with all he had. He looked down at Moki, who was standing upright with two paws on the blue surface. It was more cute than actually effective. Then Puff had an idea. “Moki, why don’t you try flinging a few fireballs at them?” The fire kitten nodded, liking any idea that involved making fireballs, and left his spot to circle toward the opening. He produced a small orange flame and closed his eye, taking aim.

  Max began uttering the spell under his breath.

  BOOM! This time the door flew open and the group fell backward. But Moki was ready, and began flinging softball-sized fireballs through the opening. The volley went on several moments before the urinal men slipped back, their blue skin melting from the heat. Dwight sprang to his feet and shoved the door closed.

  Max followed with the spell. Suddenly a giant dead bolt, made from heavy iron and a complex series of gears, materialized in the door. The gears spun, and a heavy bar slammed into place, locking the door with an impressive clank.

  There was a collective sigh of relief as the others stooped to catch their breaths. The pounding on the door resumed, but the lock held fast. The door, however, was another matter. Eventually the urinal men would break through.

  Max turned to take a better look at the bathroom. It was definitely a boys’ bathroom, with a long row of urinals along the wall and bathroom stalls that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, but each had a heavy key lock attached to the front. Sydney noticed the locks as well. “Wait a second, boys get locking stalls? No fair!”

  “I wish,” Dirk said, climbing back to his feet with the others. Max approached the first stall. “Weird . . . these are much bigger than I remember.”

  Meanwhile Sydney had inched toward the closest urinal and peeked in. “Oh, so that’s a urinal cake. Boys are gross.”

  Melvin frowned. “Maybe we should, you know, use the facilities as long as we’re here? There seem to be plenty of private stalls.”

  “True,” Dirk said, walking toward one of them. “No one can be truly heroic with a full bladder.” He turned and pulled on the handle, but it refused to open. Shrugging, he moved to the next, but with the same result. There were at least twenty stalls stretched out along the blue tiled bathroom, and not one of them appeared to be open. “Now I get it!” Dirk exclaimed. “All these toilets and they’re locked? The Maelshadow is a true monster!”

  In response to Dirk’s cry, a voice came from one of the closed stalls. “Hey, who’s out there?”

  Max and the others shared a look, then cautiously moved to the door. In the background, the pounding of the urinal men against the door continued.

  “Who are you?” Max asked.

  “Max? Max Spencer?”

  “Nice try,” Dirk said. “Max is out here.”

  “No duh,” the voice continued. “And you’re Dirk, aren’t you? Figures.”

  Suddenly Max knew exactly who it was. “Ricky? Ricky Reynolds?”

  “Yep.”

  Melvin frowned.

  “Ricky ‘the Kraken’ Reynolds?” Megan asked. “That’s who’s in there?” Max nodded. Of course Megan, Sydney, and Melvin had no idea of his history with Ricky, but that didn’t matter. Ricky’s reputation around the school with kids like them was bad enough.

  “Well, that’s easy,” Dirk said. “As long as he’s locked in there he’s not a problem.” But something didn’t seem right to Max. Why was Ricky locked inside a bathroom stall that was more like a prison cell?

  “What happened?” Max asked through the door.

  “You tell me. We were just in the bathroom after practice and everything went crazy. We g
ot sucked into these stalls. I’m going nuts in here—you gotta get me out, Spencer.”

  “What else changed?” Dirk called out. “Are you like some horrible creature with tentacles now?”

  “What? What are talking about?”

  “Is your skin more scale-based than usual,” Dirk continued, “or do you now have more talons than you used to?”

  “Max,” Ricky cried out, “I don’t know what Dirk’s talking about. Get me out of here . . . please.” Max had never known Ricky to use the P word before. Things must have been really desperate in there.

  “So you’re still . . . you?” Max asked. He really didn’t know how else to put it.

  “Of course—what are you talking about? What’s going on out there? This has something to do with you, doesn’t it?”

  “Why would he say that?” Melvin asked.

  “Dude, it’s a long story,” Dirk answered. “But Ricky knows that Max is a wizard.”

  Megan frowned. “Who else knows? Is this like some secret the whole school knows except for us?”

  “Nobody else,” Ricky answered through the door. “At least I never said anything. Why would I? Who’d believe me?”

  Max considered his options. The bane of his existence, his archenemy, the kid who terrorized him and everyone like him, was locked safely away on the other side of the door. And he claimed to be his old normal human self—a very muscular, athletic, and proficient-at-delivering-pain self. But if he had been turned into some kind of horrible monster like most of the town, why would he be locked in a bathroom? Maybe a freak accident . . . maybe not.

  “Hey Max,” Ricky continued, “I know I’m kind of a jerk, okay? I don’t know why I do what I do.”

  “It’s not a big mystery,” Melvin said, leaning toward the stall door. “I mean, if you really want answers, you pick on people like us because you have no self-esteem. Being the best athlete and winning all those trophies doesn’t cut it for you. You don’t like yourself—for whatever reason—so you hurt the people who can’t fight back. You’re a bully—but it has nothing to do with us. We’re fine. Your problem is with you.”

  There was a moment of silence as Melvin’s words sunk in.

  “So you going to let me out or what?” Ricky continued, but his voice had softened. “Look, I get it—if I were you I totally wouldn’t let me out either. You have no reason to trust me. But I have no interest in hurting you. That’s the truth.”

  Max turned to the others and considered them for a moment. Here they were, the nerds and geeks—the kids on the lowest rung of the social ladder—and they were doing their best to save the world. He thought back to what Dirk had said when they found the gracon helpless in the basement. If you become the thing that you’re fighting against, what’s the point? Nobody said being the good guys was easy. He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder:

  “Dirk, you’re like one of the wisest people I know.”

  Dirk nodded as if Max’s compliment was the most appropriate thing he could have said at that moment. “As a bard, I probably have like a sixteen or seventeen wisdom. So yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “What would you do with old Ricky here?” Max asked.

  “We let him out. And if he’s lying to us, that’s not very smart. He’s seen what you do, Max, when you’re all wizardly and stuff.”

  Max nodded and turned to the others. “I agree.”

  “Are you sure?” Dwight asked. “This is the same guy who took you to the Tower as a prisoner. The same guy who fought alongside Rezormoor Dreadbringer and tried to destroy you.”

  “Maybe,” Max answered. “Or maybe not.” He turned to Moki. “Moki, can I ask you and your tail to do us another favor?”

  Moki beamed at the thought of being helpful. “Do I get to burn something?”

  “Absolutely. Would you mind melting through this lock? You know, like you did at the Tower?”

  Dirk lifted the small fire kitten to the stall door. Moki produced the bright blue flame on his tail and inserted it into the mechanism.

  “You’re letting me out?” Ricky asked.

  “We’re letting you out,” Max confirmed.

  Moki turned the metal lock bright red and then withdrew his tail. “It’s all gooey now.”

  Max looked at Dwight and the dwarf understood. “I’ll draw my axe and stand here, just in case.” The others moved back as Dwight took his place. Max moved back as well, recalling the combustion spell he’d memorized long ago.

  “Okay, open it,” Max said.

  There was no resistance from the lock as the door swung open. Max had been prepared for all kinds of monstrous things to come spilling out, but instead Ricky just stood there, dressed in his wrestling singlet, with dark rings beneath his eyes. Not everyone was built to pull off wearing the skin-tight wrestling singlet, but somehow Ricky did. He didn’t have the huge, hulking muscles that Wayne had, but he had the thick neck, broad chest, and powerful arms of a kid with the right genetics and a lifetime spent in the wrestling room.

  “Can I come out?” Ricky asked.

  Max nodded and Ricky walked out of the stall. He paused at the sight of Dwight holding his axe at the ready. The dwarf shrugged. “Hey there.”

  “Uh, hey.” Ricky went to the sink and turned the water on, cupping his hand beneath the faucet and drinking for at least a minute. When he finished, he turned the faucet off and wiped his mouth dry.

  “I guess you were thirsty,” Melvin said.

  Dirk nodded knowingly. “Toilets . . . lots of water—but probably not worth drinking.”

  “Yeah, pretty much,” Ricky admitted. He then looked the group over. “So I guess you guys hit a costume store on the way here? I sort of get what you were going for, except for Grandpa.” Ricky smiled at Max. There was a heartbeat or two of silence; then everyone looked at Max and began to laugh.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PENUMBRA

  AS IT TURNED OUT, RICKY wasn’t the only wrestler locked in the bathroom. Five more of his pals (other kids in the school might have used the word “gang”) were also trapped. They had had a similar change of heart when it came to how they viewed their rescuers—even if those rescuers were dressed like they’d walked off the set of a fantasy movie. Apparently spending the night in a toilet stall presented a lot of time for soul-searching.

  Dirk took on the job of getting the wrestlers up to speed. “I am a bard, after all,” he announced. “Storytelling is what I do.”

  Meanwhile the pounding on the door continued. Max had grown quiet, sitting near a shiny silver garbage can and flipping through the pages of the Codex. He paused when he saw the next heading, then carefully read on:

  On the maelshadow

  EVERY CENTURY OR SO A HERO, wizard, or other champion decides it is their destiny to challenge the Maelshadow and defeat the Lord of Shadows for the good of the three realms. Such individuals have probably been spending too much time pondering their greatness while neglecting their studies. As a result, their quests have ended badly. The Maelshadow, you see, is wholly unnatural (much like the McNugget). And therein lies the problem: You can’t simply poke a noncorporeal creature with a sword. Shadow cannot be harmed.

  There is a legend, however, as old as language itself. It whispers not of a chosen boy, descended from the bloodline of an arch-sorcerer, who finds the courage to defeat the Maelshadow with a ragtag group of friends and a magical book (sorry to get your hopes up), but rather that a creature born of the Shadrus might ultimately defeat the Ruler of the Shadrus: “For only shadow may drive shadow to light.” Either that or the legend is actually a marketing slogan for sunscreen.

  So whether going into battle against an intangible malicious entity who commands great reserves of dark magic, or avoiding red, painful skin due to spending too much time outdoors, try to get a little shadow working on your side. Because without it, you don’t
stand a chance.

  Max sighed and closed the book. He’d been struggling to figure out a way to defeat the Maelshadow, and the truth was, he really didn’t know much about him. He remembered Rezormoor Dreadbringer’s words when the sorcerer threatened to turn him over to the Lord of Shadows: There’s something about your blood, and I believe the Lord of Shadows would like to make a withdrawal. What was it about his blood that was so important? Max had thought everything was connected to the Codex of Infinite Knowability, but now he wasn’t so sure. Dreadbringer was the one who wanted the magical book, and the one who had been secretly working against the Maelshadow. That thought suddenly gave Max an idea.

  “I have a plan,” he announced to the group. Puff blinked at him several times.

  “You mean you didn’t have one before?”

  “Er, not so much.”

  “There’s always the headlong-rush-into-battle-and-just-hope-it-works-out strategy,” Dirk said.

  “And does it?” Megan asked. “Work out, I mean?”

  “Not without a lot of respawning,” Dirk admitted.

  Max put his hands up to stop the discussion. “It doesn’t matter, because now I have a plan.”

  “So you think you know how to defeat the Maelshadow, then?” Dwight asked. “I saw you reading from the Codex. You figured it out?”

  “No, not really,” Max replied. “You see, the only thing I know about the Maelshadow is that it doesn’t seem interested in the Codex like everyone else that’s been chasing me. The Maelshadow is after my blood.”

  “Gross,” Sydney added.

  “You think the Maelshadow is a vampire?” Dirk asked. “Because that would be—”

  “No it wouldn’t,” Megan interrupted, knowing exactly what Dirk was going to say.

  “Maybe a little,” Dirk said, sulking.

  “But that’s not the point,” Max continued, getting the conversation back on track. “I may not know much about the Maelshadow, but I know a lot about the person who tried to destroy him.”

  “Rezormoor Dreadbringer,” Puff said.