In the Land of the Lawn Weenies (4 page)

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Authors: David Lubar

BOOK: In the Land of the Lawn Weenies
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O
ne day, as Patrick was walking home from school, he noticed a tree with a door in its side. He'd walked past this same tree many times, but there had never been a door before. A man stood next to the tree. He looked like a soldier, but he wasn't wearing a uniform. He wore black pants and a black shirt with black buttons. The only color in his outfit was a gold buckle on his belt in the shape of a shield. His black hair was cut short. The man stood straight and stiff, but his eyes scanned slowly back and forth as if he was waiting for someone.
“What's this?” Patrick asked, pointing to the door. It looked like a small version of a castle door. It was built with planks of wood. That was the only part that made sense to Patrick—if a tree had a door, the door should be made of wood. The
planks were braced with crossbars of iron. There were large hinges on the left side and a heavy bolt on the right.
The man didn't say anything.
“What is this?” Patrick asked again.
“You don't want to know,” the man said.
“Yes, I do,” Patrick said. He took a step backward, remembering that he wasn't supposed to talk to strangers.
“I really shouldn't tell you.” The man turned his head away, as if pretending that Patrick didn't exist.
“Tell me,” Patrick demanded. “Or …” He paused, trying to find the perfect threat. Sometimes he had to shout, sometimes he had to beg, and sometimes he had to whine. Sometimes he even had to pretend to be nice. But he always found a way to get whatever he desired. A ripple of excitement raced through Patrick as he thought of the perfect words. “Tell me or I'll scream that you tried to kidnap me.”
“Would you really do something so nasty?” the man asked, still facing away from Patrick.
“Do you want to find out?” Patrick almost hoped he'd have a chance to start shouting.
The man sighed and turned back toward Patrick. “Very well. I'll tell you. But you must promise not to reveal my secret to anyone. Do you swear?”
“I swear,” Patrick said. That was no problem. He'd grown very good at making promises, even when he had no intention of keeping them.
The man leaned forward and whispered. Patrick
strained to hear. “Evil,” the man said. “This is where evil is stored to keep it away from the innocent people of the world.”
“You're crazy.” Patrick enjoyed the chance to be rude to this stranger.
“Perhaps,” the man said. “But I am one of the guardians who have been given the task of protecting the world from evil.”
“Yeah, right.” Patrick was nearly certain that the man was crazy. But he couldn't walk away without finding out for sure. If the man was telling the truth, there could be something fabulous inside the tree. Patrick wondered what evil looked like—did it have claws or wings? Did it have snakes for hair? He wasn't afraid of such things—he was attracted to them. He had to see what was behind the door.
There was no reason to ask. It would be easier to just
take
what he wanted.
Patrick dashed forward and grabbed the bolt. He slid it free, then yanked hard. The door opened so fast Patrick almost lost his balance. He held onto the bolt and steadied himself, eager to see the evil.
There was nothing inside the tree.
“Hey, it's empty,” Patrick said. He felt his jaws tighten as he gritted his teeth. It was all just some kind of stupid joke. The man would pay for tricking him. “You liar!” he screamed. “You stinking liar! This doesn't hold any evil!” Patrick's mind raced to find the best way to get even with the man.
With surprising suddenness and strength, the
man pushed Patrick. He lost his grip on the edge of the door and stumbled inside the tree. “This doesn't hold any evil!” Patrick shouted again as the door slammed shut, sealing the chamber in darkness. From outside, he heard three words.
“Now it does.”
There was a scraping sound as the bolt slid into place. Then Patrick heard quiet footsteps, fading, fading away.
 
 
W
hen I woke up this morning, I was a lizard. I realized something was wrong the moment I rolled out of bed. The frame of the bed broke under my weight. I jumped as the mattress crashed to the floor, but I jumped too high, cracking my head on the ceiling and cracking the ceiling with my head. At the same time, my tail lashed the wall, knocking a large hole next to the window and spreading a shower of plaster. That made me sneeze, and I blew another hole in the wall.
“Hey, what's going on up there?” Dad shouted from below.
“Nothing,” I tried to say. But it came out
“Arrrrannnggg.”
This situation definitely had possibilities.
“Just keep it down,” Dad said.
I made my way into the hall, doing only a little damage to one side of the door frame. I wish I could say the same about the toilet, but it shattered under the force of my you-know-what. Personal hygiene proved to be a challenge. I discovered I could pick up my toothbrush if I clutched it between both claws. It took almost the whole tube to clean all my teeth, but at least when I was done my mouth felt minty fresh. You wouldn't believe how bad a lizard's mouth can taste first thing in the morning.
Breakfast time.
I was hungry enough to eat a house.
Mom was making pancakes. “Hi, hon,” she said as I crashed my way into the kitchen and crushed down onto a chair. “Help yourself to juice.” She slid a plate stacked with pancakes onto the table.
I looked at the fridge and at my claws. The juice just didn't seem worth the effort. Luckily, I was able to hook the pancakes without too much trouble. They tasted so good, I even licked my claws.
“Oops,” Mom said, glancing up at the clock. “Better get moving. You don't want to be late for school.”
“Yes, Mom,” I said. It came out as a low growl, along with a stream of fire that shot across the kitchen and melted the garbage can. Oops.
I snagged my backpack with one claw and went through the door. The warm sunlight felt great on my scales. As soon as I crashed through the front gate, I learned that the sidewalk along the street was made of pretty thin concrete. The stuff just
crumbled under my feet. It was like walking on Rice Krispies. Actually, it made a pretty neat sound.
I was having so much fun crunching the concrete that I was almost late for school. The bell was just ringing when I smashed through the narrow door.
Sitting at one of those tiny desks was out of the question, so I stood in the back of the room. When Mrs. Franzski came in, she just glanced over at me and said, “Oh, Bradley, I see you've found a new spot. Well, as long as you're comfortable.”
She was very big on making sure we all had the proper “learning environment.” She even let Danny Mitty sit on the floor sometimes.
I didn't raise my claw during class. I was pretty sure that if I said anything, I might be unable to avoid adding a stream of fire that would fry some of my classmates. While I wasn't exactly buddy-buddy with everyone, there weren't any kids who'd done anything bad enough to deserve being flamed.
After our reading lesson, we had gym class. We were doing our physical fitness tests today, so my size and strength came in pretty handy. I ran faster than ever before. Even though I had tiny arms, my powerful shoulders allowed me to do great at pushups. I did well at everything except sit-ups. Somehow, I just wasn't built for them.
The rest of the morning went fairly smoothly. Lunch, however, looked like it might be a problem. They always served these really small portions in the cafeteria. Here I was, starving,
ravenous, monstrously hungry, and the lady behind the counter plops this tiny little scoop of chicken surprise on my plate. Sorry. Not enough. I reached over the counter and grabbed the whole pan. Let me tell you—I must have been starving. Even the chicken surprise looked good. And, compared to the normal taste inside a lizard's mouth, it wasn't all that bad, either.
Back in class, I wondered whether there was any point in paying attention. I mean, my future was pretty much not going to be changed by my ability or inability to name all the state capitals. The career options for giant lizards would be more along the lines of knocking down buildings or making tunnels through mountains. But I'd been a kid all my life and a lizard for just a day. Old habits are hard to break and old fears are very powerful. So I stayed in class.
As we were leaving the room at the end of the day, Mrs. Franzski called to me. “Bradley, you didn't seem to be with us today. I hope you can pay more attention tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I said, though it came out as a bit of a roar.
She smiled, then went back to grading papers.
I headed home, walking along the same trail of crumbled sidewalk. Mom was making dinner. Dad was still at work. I went up to my room and melted all my toy soldiers, one at a time, with little puffs of breath. I hadn't played with them in years, so it was no big deal if I ruined them.
Dinner went pretty much like breakfast. It was fried chicken, so Mom didn't make a fuss when I
ate with my hands. Lucky thing she hadn't made meat loaf—or soup.
I slept really well. All that crushing and crashing must have tired me out. When I woke, I got out of bed carefully. But I realized I didn't have to be very cautious. I wasn't a lizard anymore. This morning, I was a robot. Good thing, too. We're having a math test today.
 
 
“
COME-UH, COME-UH, COME-UH! COME AND TRY YER LUCK.
” The shout of the barker rang over the thousand other noises filling the cotton-candy air of the traveling carnival. “You there; yeah, you,” he called as he leaned forward and pointed at Derek. “Give it a try.”
Derek paused. He knew he should have kept walking, but he couldn't ignore someone who was talking to him. It was a curse. He was too polite. “No thanks,” he said, a half smile nervously spreading across his lips.
“Everyone's a winner,” the barker said. “Come on, what are you afraid of? I won't bite you.”
Derek shrugged. What was he afraid of? It was only a game. Just skee ball, as a matter of fact. It looked easy enough to beat the score—250 points
for a small prize, 300 for a medium, and a tough 420 for a large. Heck, Derek was sure he could hit 250 standing backward and tossing with his left hand. He dug in his pocket past the crumpled ride tickets and gum wrappers until his fingers found a quarter.
“That's the way,” the barker said. “You can't win if you don't play.”
Derek dropped the quarter in the slot. It hung for a second before being swallowed by the machine. There was a clunk, followed by the rumble of the nine balls rolling down toward Derek. He began to play. Derek winced as he got off to a bad start. The first shot was pretty poor. He took a breath and looked around. Nobody was paying the slightest attention to him. He rolled another lousy shot into the ten-point hole. Then he hit a thirty.
“Guess I needed to warm up,” he said, half to himself and half to the barker. His next couple of rolls weren't bad. He hit a thirty and two forties, then rolled three balls in a row perfectly for fifties.
Twenty more,
Derek thought, holding the last ball in his hand. He was at 280, more than enough for a small prize, but he knew it would be junk. An easy twenty points and he'd move up from totally worthless junk to worthless junk, or maybe even just plain old junk.
Nice and easy,
Derek thought as he swung the ball.
“COME-UH, COME-UH!”
Startled by the shout, Derek jerked his hand forward. The ball shot from his grip, bounced
toward the targets, and plopped into the ten-point hole.
“A WINNER!” The man handed him a piece of green plastic. “Two-ninety. Small prize. Congratulations, kid. You're a real champ.”
Derek turned the piece of plastic over in his hand and stared at it. “What's this?”
“A bracelet. You can trade up for more prizes. Play again?”
Derek was about to answer when he was shoved aside. “I'll try.” A kid—a big, ugly, mean-looking kid—barged in front of Derek and jammed a quarter in the slot with a grubby hand.
“Everyone's a winner,” the barker said, smiling. “And you're just in time for our scoring special.” He reached up and flipped over the sign that displayed the prize scores.
“But—” Derek stepped back. He couldn't believe it—only 150 points for a small prize, and 200 for a medium.
Forget it,
he told himself.
There's always a trick. They never let you win anything good.
He stepped back another pace but kept watching. The kid stunk. He rolled mostly twenties, with a couple of lucky thirties. He ended up with 200 points.
“We have a winner!” The barker handed the kid a small stuffed animal.
Derek shook his head. Some people had all the luck. There was no way he was going to wait around for another turn if he had to watch this kid win prizes. He decided to ride the Spin-a-Thon again. That was more his speed. It was scary—not because the ride was so rough, but because all the
equipment in the carnival looked like it was within half an inch of breaking down. Every time he took a seat on that rusty old ride, Derek couldn't help imagining the door flying open-or maybe the whole car just breaking off the shaft and hurtling through the air, carrying Derek like some medieval catapult boulder, rolling and tumbling as the crowd below screamed in panic. Yeah, the Spin-a-Thon sounded good.
The ride, as always, was uneventful. When Derek got off, he found himself walking past the skee ball booth again. The kid was still there. He was playing furiously, throwing ball after ball without pausing between shots. His shirt was soaked from the effort. Sweat dripped from his hair at the back of his neck. Sweat flew when he shook his head after each throw. A pile of stuffed animals lay at his feet.
Derek stopped to watch. “WINNER!” the barker shouted. “Medium prize,” he said. He handed the kid another stuffed animal. “Medium also wins a free play.” He reached down and pressed a button.
Derek heard the balls rolling out.
Darn,
he thought.
That could have been me.
If the kid got a free play each time he hit 200, he'd be playing forever. Derek would have loved another chance—especially with those easy scores. He knew he could hit 200 points. But the kid wasn't going to move. He was just going to stand there and win all the prizes.
Derek looked around for something else to do. There was a wagon set back a bit past the skee
ball. A large sign in faded letters proclaimed BOBO, THE MAN-EATING MONSTER!!!
Derek knew it would be a rip-off. It would be a guy in a gorilla suit, or a mechanical dummy covered with fur, or some other kind of trick. But he was getting bored, and admission probably only cost half a buck. Derek was willing to waste a couple of quarters. He walked up the ramp to the front of the wagon. There was nobody at the ticket window.
“Hello?” Derek tried to look past the bars. “Hello? Anybody here?” He waited a moment, then moved to the door that was next to the window. He was about to call again when he heard people arguing inside the wagon.
“He has to be fed,” the first voice said. It was a woman speaking.
“We fed him last week,” a man said. “It's too soon. We can't have a pattern.”
“Look, Charlie is already setting it up. Didn't you see him flip the sign? Besides, nobody ever remembers. Bobo will see to that.”
“I wish I knew how Bobo did that,” the man said. “I still can't believe the way the crowd forgets everything.”
“It's not important how he does it,” the woman said. “What matters is if he doesn't get fed, he might decide to change our deal. I wouldn't want him thinking about us as dinner.”
“Okay,” the man said, “I guess you're right. Let him loose.”
“Bobo,” the woman called. “Dinner time.” There
was a rattling of chains, then a screech of animal joy.
Derek had heard enough. He started to back away from the door and down the ramp. He stumbled, tripping over the edge of a plank. Derek twisted his body as he fell, landing hard on his side.
“What was that?” he heard the woman ask.
“Doesn't matter right now,” the man said. “Go get it, Bobo.”
Derek felt the ramp shake,
thump-clunk, thump-clunk.
Something big was coming out. Something large and mean and hungry. He jumped up. A sharp pain shot through his ankle, nearly dropping him again. Behind him, a huge creature was squeezing through the door. Derek saw brown, leathery hide with patches of black fur. A smell like dead meat wafted over him. He almost threw up.
People in the crowd were looking at the trailer. Some of them ran. Others just kept staring. Then Bobo burst out and everyone was running and screaming.
Derek tried to run, but the pain searing through his ankle was so bad he almost passed out. Behind him, Bobo stood erect. He was as tall as the wagon. Bobo, like some nightmare cross between an ape and a lizard, was coming after him.
Derek hobbled away from the trailer. Ahead, he saw the skee ball game. In the middle of all the panic, two people weren't running. The kid was bending down to scoop up his stuffed animals. The barker was leaning against the side of the booth as if nothing special was happening.
The pain in Derek's ankle felt worse than anything he could ever have imagined—worse than the time he hit the curb with his bike and flew off, sliding across the sidewalk on both knees. Worse than the time he'd slammed his finger in the car door. But the thought of being Bobo's dinner was far worse than the pain that shot through his ankle. He pushed himself as much as he could without passing out.
Derek glanced back at the wagon. Bobo had clumped down to the bottom of the ramp. The creature shot a hungry look to either side, then stared straight at Derek. Bobo lurched toward him. Derek gritted his teeth and forced himself to go faster.
The kid, the one with all the stuffed animals, was right in Derek's path. Derek tried to go around. The kid was still fumbling with the animals. He dropped one. Derek hobbled past him, fire running up his leg and exploding in his brain.
He took several agonizing steps, then looked back. The kid straightened up, but a couple of the stuffed animals fell from his arms. He bent down and grabbed one of his prizes. A few more tumbled out of his grip. He'd won more prizes than he could possibly hold.
“Run!” Derek shouted at him.
The kid raised his head briefly, his face blank and empty, then looked back at the ground and tried to gather more of his winnings. Bobo was right behind him. The carnival beast raised a claw and swiped. Stuffed animals flew in a shower.
Everything slowed down for Derek, as if he was
watching someone else's dream. A soft object struck his chest. He clutched at it. A woman was behind Bobo. She said several words to the barker. It might have been, “Good job, Charlie.”
“This one will hold him for a while,” Charlie might have said. “Atta boy, Bobo. Take him inside. Good Bobo.”
Around Derek, the crowd stopped running and screaming. The people stood for a moment, then shrugged or shook their heads and went back to their rides and games and food. After a while, Derek couldn't even remember what everyone had been so excited about.
 
“How was the carnival?” Derek's mom asked when he got home.
“Not bad.” He limped into the living room.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
Hurt myself?
Derek realized he must have twisted his ankle coming up the stairs. “I'm okay.”
“Did you win that?” his mom asked.
Derek looked at the stuffed animal he was gripping. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“They sure are giving away ugly prizes,” his mom said.
Derek examined the animal. It was such a piece of junk, he couldn't even tell what it was supposed to be. Maybe it was a gorilla. It might even have been a lizard. It certainly didn't look like anything he'd ever seen before.
Well,
he thought as he carried his prize up to his room,
at least I won something.

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