Tim Greaton
1) Venomous Consequences
Zachary watched the page slip to the floor where the vicious golden-red dragon image faded, leaving nothing but a blank sheet. He wanted to warn Bret not to touch any of the pictures but his mouth wouldn’t work. He felt as though a pump was forcing air through his ears, and the growing pressure inside his skull made him dizzy. His arms felt heavy and wouldn’t respond.
Distantly, he heard Bret say, “Ar-Are you okay?”
Within moments, the pressure in Zachary’s skull had grown into a full-fledged headache. He wanted to ask for help, but couldn’t move. Helpless, he could only watch as Bret stared back at him.
“Z-Zach. Zach?”
Zachary couldn’t answer, couldn’t even blink. His forehead throbbed and the tops of his shoulders began to burn. He tried again to speak but his jaw was locked in place. Had he turned to stone?
“Wh-What’s wrong?” Bret asked. “C-Can’t you t-t-talk?”
Unable to respond in any other way, Zachary shifted his eyes downward toward his pinky. Bret’s blue eyes followed his gaze and grew larger at the bite marks that they saw.
“It-It bit you!” Bret exclaimed. “I-I’ll get Madame Kloochie!”
By that time, Zachary’s burning shoulders had begun to itch as though being assailed by a thousand biting mosquitoes. Between that and his pounding head, he didn’t think he could stand much more. Bret had already gone. Rustling and banging noises from the direction of the dining room mingled with the animal sounds on the floor all around him. How was it possible for pictures to be alive? If only his father had taught him more about magic.
He heard cabinets and drawers opening, closing and banging sounds. Madame Kloochie must have been searching for something. Moments after the noise stopped, the big woman stomped into his room, strode past him and shoved him from behind, nearly tipping his rigid body over.
“Don’t be so clumsy,” she said, grabbing his arm in her strong grip.
Strangely, Zachary felt better, much better. Both the headache and the itching had disappeared.
“A dragon picture bit me!” Zachary said, now that his mouth would work again.
Madame Kloochie roughly lifted his hand and squinted at his pinky.
“It’s just a paper cut,” she said.
“I never heard of paper coming alive to do the job,” Zachary countered. He shook his arms and bent down to rub his legs. Everything seemed to be working. Madame Kloochie’s eyes swept across the room, taking special interest in his father’s box and the pictures spread across the floor.
“Nothing but trouble,” she said. “You’d be best off to throw all this crap right in the trash.” She pointed to the cloth bag of marbles on his bed. “And those little buggers are sure to be trouble. I’d toss every last one of them into the river.”
“You know what’s in the bag?” Zachary asked, not sure if he was angry at her for snooping or more curious about what she knew.
“I don’t have time for this,” Madame Kloochie huffed as she tramped from his room.
Zachary thought he heard one of the pictures grunt as her heel struck it on her way out. Bret offered to help pick up the pictures, but Zachary could see his friend’s hand tremble as he reached for the first one.
“I’ll get them, Bret,” he said. “It’s okay.” Though he had agreed to let Bret help, he didn’t intend to put his friend in any danger that could be avoided. Besides, it didn’t take long to gather up the picture sheets. Though a few lashed out with tiny paws or growled at him, by lifting only the corner of each page, he was soon able to gather them safely back into a pile.
“I think that’s enough fun for one day.” Zachary sucked a tiny bit of blood from the tip of his pinky.
“Yeah, I should probably get home before my parents call,” Bret said, his stutter gone once again. In just a couple of minutes, the boys had returned everything to the box. Zachary slid it back into his closet and closed the door.
“You okay?” he asked Bret.
His friend smiled. “Yeah, I’m alright but I am kind of hungry for instant noodles.”
Just the thought of noodles reminded Zachary of the worm-filled spaghetti he and his father had shared. That wasn’t a meal he intended to ever repeat.
“See you tomorrow,” Bret said.
After his friend left, Zachary cleaned Madame Kloochie’s evening mess, including the chocolate frosting she had smeared on the refrigerator and the jelly she had somehow gotten on the dining room ceiling. The whole time his finger ached. Though not deep, the tiny dragon bite was surprisingly painful. He finished up his day watering plants and pruned several leaves from a large peace lily he’d had since he was eight years old. Though he’d tried several locations, it still seemed to be getting too much light so he moved it to the top of his bureau, the side furthest from the window.
Too tired to change into pajamas, Zachary settled down onto his bed fully clothed and reached under his pillow for Robin’s picture. Even his throbbing finger couldn’t keep him from falling almost immediately to sleep…a sleep filled with horrible dreams…
From his perch atop the mountain, Zachary could see several creatures moving in the stormy green ocean below him. His studied their sleek movements and determined none were large enough to make a satisfying meal. Sniffing, he recognized the musk of something better, something bigger. He inhaled again and listened for the telltale sounds of claws scrabbling along the cliff face below him. At first he thought he might have been mistaken, but then he heard it again, several hundred feet below him. His stomach rumbling in anticipation, he spread his wings, leapt out and dove! Zachary rushed downward and saw his prey clinging up the mountainside. Fire shot from his lips and singed the creature’s black fur just before his claws ripped its shrieking form from the cliff. It was still screaming when his fangs pierced tasty warm flesh—
Horrified, Zachary struggled to wake! But instead the scene changed…
He was standing in a wide tunnel facing hundreds of dirty creatures with blue skin and bloated bodies. Though shorter than him, their bodies were muscular and stout, and they held massive clubs and axes in their thick grips. At any moment, he knew the trolls would attack. Unafraid, he opened his jaws and spewed fire at the first dozen—
Zachary jolted awake! Moonlight trickled through his plants in front of the window and left patches of light on the walls and ceiling. He could hear Madame Kloochie’s steady snoring from two rooms away. The horrible dreams faded as he lay there with his blanket pulled up around his chin. The clock on his bureau claimed it was four o’clock in the morning. He held his wounded finger up in the moonlight, but in the dimness couldn’t see any evidence that the golden-red dragon had bitten him at all. He rubbed the gash back and forth across his thumb and realized it didn’t hurt anymore. Had he imagined the whole thing?
Suddenly, the memory of biting into that poor animal filled his mind. He could still taste its burnt flesh! The thought made him gag. No, those dreams came from someplace, and he felt certain the dragon bite was to blame.
Desperate to get that aftertaste out of his mouth, he sat up, rubbed his cheeks and ran fingers through his green locks. Forcing himself to his feet, he gathered fresh clothes and hurried through the dark house to the bathroom where he kicked enough of Madame Kloochie’s dirty laundry away to make room in front of the sink. After brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth twice, he started to undress. First went his tee shirt, then his sneakers and socks, and finally Zachary stripped off his pants—
Pressure rushed into his skull!
Gasping, he recognized the pain from the dragon bite the day before. It grew more agonizing with every passing second. The fiery itch was also back and spreading across his shoulders like a thousand biting ants. He wanted to scratch, but more desperately needed the pain in his head to stop. He had to do something!
Preparing to run for help, he yanked his pants up—
And the pain stopped. The itch also disappeared.
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nbsp; Relieved, Zachary splashed cold water on his face and shoulders. Something about his reflection caught his eye. Confused, he leaned into the mirror and saw a golden-red color staining his shoulders. When he tapped the discolored area, it thumped like wood.
Wood?
He ran fingers from his bare chest to his collarbone. Somewhere near his neck the skin grew stiff and hard. Zachary tapped again and prodded for several minutes, but he couldn’t find a seam. The hard covering blended right into his skin. He rubbed the textured surface and tried to remember why it felt so familiar. Then it came to him. His shoulders felt like the slumber guard’s hide! He must have caught a disease from the alligator the night the bats had attacked in Boston. Horrified, he wondered if that meant he, too, might turn hollow and half-dead. He thumped his shoulder again and shivered at the prospect. Staring at his discolored flesh, it made sense: the hard crust, the texture, everything…but the color—
Zachary’s breath caught.
He knew where he had seen that color before. It was an image that would stay with him for a very long time. His shoulders had the same hues as the dragon from the picture. He hadn’t caught a disease from the slumber guard. No, he had contracted toxin the old fashioned way: through a bite—a paper dragon’s bite!
Forgetting the shower, Zachary yanked on a fresh tee shirt. He had to see Bret. He didn’t want to believe he was