The Horror
or
The Revenge of the Ursa Theodora-Saura
AS THE TWO WOODS GUYS began a mad dash back toward the cabin, Russell tried to tell himself that the situation wasn't as dangerous and close to hopeless as Mr. B. was making it seem.
“Mr. Bayliss?”
“What is it?”
“How can you be so sure you have to hit the Ursa Theodora-Saura exactly in one little piece of his heart to kill him? Seems like if that exploding arrow hit anywhere near his heart, he'd be outta here.”
Mr. B. stopped running. “You know what? Since those may be real close to the last words you'll ever say, I guess it wouldn't hurt for me to explain something to you.”
Russell tried to gulp but apparently his gulper wascompletely worn out. The only sound he could come up with was half a gulp, GUH … !
“Don't forget, buckaroo, we're in Ourside, not back on Earth. And we're in the H.A.L.F. Land district of Ourside, sort of the same way your city of Flint is located in Michigan.”
“Okay.”
“Not only that, but we're in Buster B. Bayliss County of H.A.L.F. Land.”
“Sort of like we're on the north side of Flint.”
“No! Nothing like ‘we're on the north side of Flint.’ Hush and pay attention.”
“Oops.”
“Remember, the only way anything gets to live in H.A.L.F. Land is if it was a character or a place in one of my books and I never finished writing about it.”
“I remember that.”
“Which is the reason why I know the only way to kill the Ursa Theodora-Saura. I created him, so I know that the only way to stop him instantly is to shoot him right in the upper right quadrant of his heart. Not the lower right quadrant or the upper left one. To stop him from attacking after he's been wounded he must be hit dead in the upper right quadrant of his dime-sized heart.”
Russell scratched his head.
“Man, Mr. Bayliss, I'm not trying to be rude, but why in the world would you make a monster so terrible and so hard to stop?”
“Good question. One I've asked myself every night for the past six years. But don't forget, I never did use him in any of my stories, that's why he's here and not living in a book.”
“But that doesn't tell why you made him.”
“All right, listen. When I was cutting hair, I used to get so upset when some of the brothers would start telling these unrealistic, romantic stories about bears. You know how it goes. They'd talk Winnie the Pooh stuff, Yogi Bear, Smokey the Bear, the Care Bears, the Berenstain Bears, all those cute, cuddly teddy bear things.
“About the only person who ever got it right was this half-bald guy who used to tell about Winnie the Pooh's evil twin brother, the Wool Pooh. Brilliant brother.
“People just don't realize a bear is a dangerous predator. It doesn't see you as much more than a ham sandwich with clothes on. I got so sick of hearing that mess that I wanted to create something to serve as a warning, to let people know that bears aren't cute. That even the ones that are trained are thinking, ‘One chance, all I want is one chance to show you this trick that'll make you disappear.’ So I wrote about this horrible, nearly indestructible creature. I created this thing that was a giant, bad-attitude bear on steroids. The Ursa Theodora-Saura. And now it's up to me to destroy him … or to be destroyed by him.”
He paused. “Well, actually I guess it's up to me and you.”
GUH … !
Buster B. Bayliss kept his eyes moving along the woods, his bow at the ready.
“It didn't take long for me to realize I'd gone too far. This creation was simply too terrible. I quickly stopped writing about him, never used him in a book. Didn't know he would come here and cause so much death and destruction. Never realized I was writing about the very thing that may end my life.
“End our lives.”
GUH … !
They silently ran on and finally reached the last hill before the cabin.
Buster B. Bayliss stopped and said, “Since he's hunting us now, he's going to be waiting at the cabin, or he may try to ambush us. This is the perfect place for him to strike. I don't want to scare you, little buckaroo, but the Ursa Theodora-Saura is just over that hill”—he used the ready-to-fire bow to point in the direction of his cabin, then swept the bow all the way around them—“or he's watching us at this very moment. Watching and waiting. Waiting to separate us from our lives. Waiting to make his charge.”
Russell studied the look of determination and strength that came over Mr. Bayliss, and for some reason he wasn't afraid anymore. It was as if he too realized that nothing could stop what was about to happen. And it brought about a new feeling in Russell's gut. A feeling that made his insides tighten and rumble with strength. A feeling that seemed to sweep over him in waves. He was feeling something new. New and exciting.
It was courage.
Either that or the beginnings of a really bad case ofdiarrhea brought on by eating tons of uncooked mosquitoes.
Whatever it was, it took the fear right out of him.
“Mr. Bayliss, I'm ready to do whatever I have to do to stop this monster from killing any more people and bunnies.”
Buster B. Bayliss never took his eyes off the woods around them. He said, “That's the spirit, buckaroo.”
He pointed the bow and arrow back up the hill toward the cabin. “Climb the hill, see if there's anything fishy around the cabin. Observe. Notice everything. Look for even the smallest detail. The slightest change. I'll stay here in case he's waiting to attack from the rear. Now tell me what I said so that I can be sure you got it right.”
Russell repeated, “Observe. Notice everything. Look for small details. Look for the slightest change.”
He looked Mr. Bayliss in the eye, stood at attention and saluted him.
Then he bravely turned to walk up the hill. He'd gone three steps when Buster B. Bayliss said, “Kiddo?”
Russell turned around and saw that Mr. B. was holding his Russ-whacking mitten.
Uh-oh!
“Yes, Mr. Bayliss?”
“You've grown. I guess we won't be needing this anymore.”
He threw the mitten into the woods.
“I'm proud of you, kiddo.”
Russell felt a glow in his heart. A spreading warmth. It was the fact that someone he'd admired for years admired him too. It was an acknowledgment of one of the strongest desires in human beings, the desire to be accepted. To be understood. To feel as though you are a part of a family.
It was that or the first twinges of severe heartburn caused by the incredibly filthy habit of eating bloodsucking parasites.
Either way, it made him stand a little taller. It made him a little more determined to get this over with.
He saluted the great outdoorsman again and continued his trek up the hill. To whatever awaited at the cabin. To his destiny.
He repeated, “Observe. Notice everything. Look for slight details. Look for small change.”
Russell thought, “Gee, Mr. Bayliss's books must not be selling so hot if he's got me looking around for small change.”
When he got near the crest of the hill, he flattened himself to the earth and began crawling the last few feet. He crept toward the large rock that sat right on the top of the hill. Once he was behind it, he'd be able to see clearly into the valley and Buster B. Bayliss's cabin.
When he reached the rock, he paused. He rolled over, flat on his back, trying to catch his breath. He didn't realize how hard he'd been breathing. He hadn't noticed how tiring the run up the hill had been. How much stress he was under.
After two or three minutes he'd calmed himself. He leaned on his elbows and peeked around the rock to see if there were any differences around the cabin. Anything that might give him a clue that the Ursa Theodora-Saura had been there. Russell was observing. Noticing the slightest detail.
His eyes quickly scanned the valley, then settled on the cabin.
Nothing unusual.
The table, right where it belonged.
A ribbon of smoke rising from the chimney, like always.
Mr. B.'s whittling chair still sat near the cabin's front door. Right next to the humungous, twenty-five-foot-tall stuffed teddy bear someone had leaned against the cabin while they'd been out in the woods.
Nothing unusual.
His eyes swept behind the cabin.
Nothing unusual.
The clothesline, still strung from the cabin to the big tree. Still hung with thirty feet of Buster Bayliss's drying clothes. Just as it had always been.
Nothing unusual.
Russell's hammock, still swinging lazily between the trees. Right next to the twenty-foot-tall grazing moose that had a rack of antlers wider than the entire cabin.
Nothing unusual.
Russell began to slide back down the hill to tell Mr. Bayliss the coast was clear when something a little unusual did happen.
The huge moose began walking toward the front of the cabin, then froze in midstride. It noticed the teddy bear. It raised its head high, then snorted and bellowed loudly twice. The sound reverberated throughout the valley.
Startled birds in the woods threw themselves skyward.
The moose dropped its head and, never taking its eyes off the teddy bear, viciously slammed its front paw into the ground seven or eight times.
Not only could Russell see and hear the power of each blow, he could also feel the ground beneath him tremble. From a hundred feet away.
“Wow!” Russell thought. “Now that's coo …”
Then something really unusual happened.
And Russell froze in midsentence.
The giant, brown, cuddly-looking teddy bear turned his head and peered in the direction of the furious moose!
A stuffed teddy bear turned his head!
The teddy bear staggered onto his cute, chubby back legs. His head towered ten feet over the cabin!
“Oh, man!” Russell thought. “What a great toy teddy bear! It must have a remote control somewhere to make it move!”
The moose pawed the ground four more times.
Russell knew exactly what was about to happen and couldn't bear to watch.
He barreled down the hillside toward where Mr. B. was.
“Mr. Bayliss! It's horrible! You've got to stop it!”
Buster B. Bayliss kept the bow raised toward the crest ofthe hill, waiting for any kind of movement. He said, “You saw him? You saw the Ursa Theodora-Saura?”
Russell looked in his friend's eyes and shook his head. “No!” he said. “This gigantic, horrible, mean moose is about to rip a real big, cute, cuddly stuffed teddy bear to shreds! Hurry up and come shoot him!”
Buster B. Bayliss's face changed, and for a second Russell thought he saw the woodsman's hand tremble a bit on the bow.
Mr. B. blinked the sweat from his eyes, swallowed once, then whispered, “So this is how it ends, not with a bang, but with a …”
He never finished his sentence.
The drumming sound of enormous hooves pounding into the ground could be heard from the other side of the hill. From the area of the cabin.
Russell thought, “We're too late, the moose is charging! He's going to ruin that cool toy!”
Exactly fifteen times the hooves dug into the dirt. Fifteen steps for the moose to cover the ground between itself and the teddy bear.
Fifteen drumbeats before the most horrible, pain-filled scream either of them had ever heard pierced both of their souls.
Trees seemed to sway.
Rocks seemed to tremble.
Then it ended.
But the echo of pain rolled across the valley.
And it changed every living thing that heard it.
Mr. Bayliss scrambled up the hill. The woodsman positioned himself behind the rock.
In no time at all Russell was standing beside him.
Buster B. Bayliss peeked from one side of the boulder and Russell Woods peeked from the other.
The moose had missed! It must've been bluffing, it must've just run off into the woods! The toy teddy was all right! The only thing that looked different was that now the bear looked like he was wearing some kind of great big hat!
Then the teddy bear let out four of the most disgusting belches Russell had ever heard!
“Man,” Russell thought, “whatever toy company made this teddy bear sure didn't give him any kind of manners.”
And to make matters worse, after each of the four belches the teddy bear spit out something that was three feet across and shaped like a giant hockey puck!
Russell looked to Mr. Bayliss for an explanation.
“Moose hooves. The filthy thing ate the moose whole. Then made a hat out of his antlers.”
“You mean that's the …”
“Russell Woods, meet the dreaded Ursa Theodora-Saura!”
The monster stood on his rear legs again. His adorable little button nose sniffed the air. He'd caught the smell of the two hunters, but he couldn't pinpoint where the scent was coming from.
In his frustration he roared, and every hair on both Russell's and Buster B. Bayliss's heads stood straight up! (And if you've ever seen a set of dreadlocks stand straight up, you know you've seen something pretty special!) In fact, a quarter-sized patch of hair in the front of Russell's head turned snowy white!
And two of the gray dreadlocks on the front of Mr. Bayliss's head turned jet black!
An army of terrified, panicked rabbits appeared from nowhere and just as quickly disappeared.
The Ursa Theodora-Saura swung one of his front legs at the cabin.
The cabin exploded!
Logs that were two feet thick flew high into the air and came back to Earth as a shower of toothpicks.
The cabin had completely disappeared!
That was good enough for Russell! He started scooching down the hill and whispered back, “Uh, Mr. Bayliss, maybe this hunting the Ursa thingy isn't such a good idea after all. Maybe we should come back when we've got some better weapons, maybe it would be a fair fight if we got a tank and a bazooka and a Humvee and a …”
But Buster B. Bayliss knew this was the time. Knew the monster was growing stronger and wiser every day and that he had to be stopped here. He knew that within the next few minutes they'd be victorious … or they'd be teddy bear chow.
He stepped from behind the boulder. He raised the bowand shouted, “HERE WE ARE, YOU MANGY DEATH MACHINE! HERE WE ARE, YOU COWARDLY DESTROYER OF WORLDS!”
“Oh, man,” Russell thought, “why did Mr. Bayliss choose now to quit being the strong, silent type?”
“H-E-E-E-ERE!”
The Ursa Theodora-Saura dropped to all fours and turned in the direction of his next victim's voice.
Russell didn't know why, maybe it was because he wanted to be next to Mr. B. at the end, maybe it was because he didn't want to die alone, maybe it was a change in him as small as .01%, but he scrambled back up the hill and stood shoulder to shoulder with his favorite author.
Buster B. Bayliss shouted, “Supper's on, you odorous fur ball!”
Russell said, “In Flint if we wanna get someone really mad, we talk about their mother. Try telling him his mummy looks like Boo Boo Bear.”
What Russell saw next was enough to get his gulper working again!
GULP!
The Ursa Theodora-Saura's adorable little eyes suddenly turned vicious and locked in on the fools on the hill.
GULP!
He pulled himself to his full twenty-five-foot height, and for the first time Russell saw his mouth. He'd never again use cute or cuddly or adorable or chubby little to describe this beast.
One word came to mind as he looked down the throat of the superpredator.
Death.
Vicious, agonizing, bone-and-flesh-grinding death.
The monster roared, then began to charge, covering huge expanses of land with each bound.
Whoever said that trees and rocks ran in terror whenever the Ursa Theodora-Saura began to charge had been exaggerating.
But just a little.
Actually only small stones and young saplings came to life and fled in panic.
Russell stepped to the side so that Mr. Bayliss could get a clean shot.
When the charging beast was fifty yards off, Russell noticed how Mr. B. drew the bowstring back as far as it would go, sighted carefully, held his breath, waited between heartbeats and finally …
Just as he released the arrow, one of the terrified saplings flew up the hill and brushed Buster B. Bayliss's arm.
THRU-U-U-U-U-M-M-M!
Buster B. Bayliss screamed, “NO-O-O-O!”
The arrow was headed directly toward the Ursa Theodora-Saura, but had the sapling affected Mr. B.'s aim?
This arrow was traveling much faster than the others that Mr. B. had fired.
Russell saw the arrow for only a split second before he put his fingers over his eyes to protect them from thebrilliant flash of light he knew would come. He jammed his thumbs in his ears for the inevitable explosion.
The flash of light hit them; then the boom washed over them.
When Russell opened his eyes, a cloud of smoke covered everything near where the Ursa Theodora-Saura had been.
Once again Buster B. Bayliss said, but softly this time, “No!”
Russell looked to where the smoke had blown away.
Where the Ursa had been there was nothing but a large, smoldering pit.
Russell's heart soared!
“We got him! We …”
The sadness was back in Buster B. Bayliss's voice, but this time it seemed deeper, it seemed more complete.
He said, “Well, buckaroo, we gave it our best shot. Hand me the last two things that were in the coffin.”
Russell smiled, reached in his pocket and handed Buster B. Bayliss the pen, then unhooked the sword from his belt. He figured the sword would be used in a victory salute and that Mr. B. would write something about their win over the Ursa Theodora-Saura with the pen. But Mr. Bayliss gave him the sword back and smiled lovingly at the pen.
“What's wrong? That was a great shot! The Ursa Theodora-Saura is gone!”
Buster B. Bayliss said, “A good hunter knows as soon ashe releases the arrow. I know. Wasn't even close. Hit six and a half inches in front of it. Didn't even wound him.”
Russell pointed toward the cabin. “Look, Mr. Bayliss, he's disappeared, there's nothing there but a hole!
“That was so coo …”
Then Russell saw it.
Saw an enormous paw reach out of the pit. Then saw a set of huge moose antlers. Then a whole head. Then saw twenty-five feet of teddy bear pull himself out until he stood, obviously dazed.
The Ursa Theodora-Saura shook his head for several seconds, then stared in the direction of the hill. Trying to find his next meal. Trying to find his tormentors.
Russell looked at Mr. Bayliss.
The woodsman had changed.
The author was at peace.
Even though his left forearm was smoking and blistered and smoldering like a Christmas log, Russell could see he was at peace.
He looked at Russell and smiled. “Sorry I got you involved in this, kiddo. Hoped it would have ended differently. All we've got now is one shot, if you want to call it that. I'm afraid there's only about a one-in-a-quadrillion chance that it'll work.”
In Russell's mind this was great news! In every book he'd ever read and in every movie he'd ever seen whenever there was a one-in-ten-trillion chance or a one-in-fifty-six-billion chance or even a one-in-a-quadrillion chance of something happening, it always happened! Every single time!
But when he saw what Mr. Bayliss called their last chance, Russell started thinking that maybe, just maybe, movies and books weren't always telling the truth.
Buster B. Bayliss walked about five feet down the back side of the hill, away from the still-dazed Ursa Theodora-Saura. He stopped and said to Russell, “There's no point in running. Just drags out what's gonna happen. If I fail, I want you to take the sword, go to the base of the hill and do exactly what I'm going to do. It's not much of a chance. But it's your only one.”
Buster B. Bayliss looked back up toward the top of the hill, kissed the pen, and then, stiffening his arm as much as he could, extended the pen toward the top of the hill.
Russell said, “What are you doing, Mr. B.?”
“When he comes barreling over the hill, he'll see me and charge. I'm hoping in his rage he'll come directly at me and try to swallow me whole. If he does, maybe I'll be able to hit his heart with the pen.”
This didn't sound like such a hot plan to Russell.
“Wouldn't you have better luck with the sword?”
Buster B. Bayliss laughed heartily and said, “I was hoping you'd ask that, buckaroo. Now I get to tell you, as everyone knows, the pen is mightier than the sword!”
“But Mr. Bayliss, as big as that thing is, if he's close enough for you to stab, he'll crush you even if he does die right away.”
Buster B. Bayliss said, “I'm a goner, kiddo. But maybe my last act will save you. Maybe I can pull some good out of this.”
Russ said, “Wait a minute, since this is H.A.L.F. Land, doesn't that mean that you won't really die? Doesn't that mean that back on Earth, on Yourside, you'll still be alive?”
“No. What happens here is real. I'll die here and disappear from Earth. Never to be seen again. Gone.”
“But …”
“Time to go, kiddo. If you do make it back, tell 'em not to mourn too much for me. Tell 'em I had a great life. Saw things most can only dream about. Went places most don't even know exist. Tell 'em I had the greatest luck, did something for a living that I loved. I actually wrote books. Made whole bunches of kids smile and go ‘Oooh!’ or ‘Wow!’ or ‘I can do that too!’
“Doesn't get much better than that.
“Tell 'em not to cry for me, tell 'em just to look at the northern lights and know that Buster B. Bayliss is admiring 'em too, only from another place. From another side.
“Now, get on down to the foot of the hill and keep your fingers crossed that there's one more bit of magic that I can do with an ink pen.”
Russell didn't want Buster B. Bayliss to see the tears in his eyes, so he did what he was told.
Another deafening roar rolled over from the other side of the hill, followed by the sound of gigantic teddy bear feet charging.
A blizzard of tiny, terrorized stones and an ocean of frightened saplings poured over the hill. Trying to escape.
Russell could hear trees being snapped in half by the oncoming monster.
Then a set of antlers as wide as a charging African elephant's ears appeared at the crest of the hill.
Everything seemed to start moving in super slow motion.
And as the horrible mouth of the Ursa Theodora-Saura finally appeared at the top of the hill, Russell Braithewaite Woods was still learning. And Buster B. Bayliss was still teaching. He taught something about courage. About what true bravery was.
Even with the monster's head so close that they could see ragged patches of moose fur and hundreds of chewed-up rabbit tails and blood dripping from his mouth, even though they were so near that a smell so putrid that it seemed to have color poured from these jaws of death and rolled over them, even though they were so close that the final roar of the Ursa Theodora-Saura blew Buster B. Bayliss's Detroit Tigers cap off, Russell couldn't help feeling impressed.
His favorite author never even flinched.
Russell extended the sword up the hill.
And awaited his turn.