Mr. Chickee's Messy Mission

  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.” r />
  “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.

  Some Pretty Good Proof That Rhythm and Blues Just Might Be the Greatest Music Ever

  THE URSA THEODORA-SAURA paused when his entire body was atop the hill. He knew he had time on his side. He knew better than to rush in.

  Buster B. Bayliss hollered to Russell, “Just what I was afraid of. He is getting smarter. He'll bring death coolly.”

  Russell said, “But Mr. Bayliss, he doesn't seem real smart to me. You've only got a pen, and I don't want to be the one to burp your bubble, but even a city boy like me sees this isn't going to be much of a battle. Bucko's great-great-granddaddy's mean old dictionary would say this is gonna be a rout.”

  Mr. B. raised the pen over his head, preparing to bring it down in a stabbing motion, and said, “Oh, no, Russell, this thing is smart, he can't afford to be injured in any way, heneeds to be healthy to hunt. The Ursa Theodora-Saura has never faced anything like me, so he's going to take his time and make sure I can't hurt him.

  “The good news is this is going to be over quickly. The bad news is our odds of surviving just dropped to one in five quadrillion.”

  The Ursa fell to all fours.

  Russell said, “Mr. B., I was thinking, you created that thing, and that's the only reason he's here in H.A.L.F. Land, right?”

  Buster B. Bayliss kept his eyes on the monster.

  “Correct.”

  “Then doesn't that mean he has to follow all of the rules here?”

  The Ursa Theodora-Saura reared onto his back legs, showing his terrifying twenty-five-foot height.

  “Right, he has to follow all of the rules.”

  “Then doesn't that mean if you'd ever written an ending to his story, he would have to leave?”

  The Ursa leaned down and threw another tremendous roar inches from Buster B. Bayliss's nose. The author's dreads flew back and bear slob splashed on his face and dripped off of his eyebrows and chin like he'd been caught in a hurricane. Another couple of his gray dreads turned black.

  But he never flinched.

  He said, “Oh, that stinks! Worse case of funk-a-tosis I've ever smelled.”

  Russell yelled, “Wouldn't the Ursa thingy have to disappear if you finished writing about him?”

  Mr. Bayliss looked surprised. “You know what, kiddo? That's the first thing I should've thought of. Never occurred to me. My goodness, the prophecy was right, you did have the answer.”

  The Ursa violently swung his left paw at Mr. B. He seemed to have sensed that the only threat to him, regardless of how tiny, was the ink pen. Its aim was perfectly accurate. The pen flew like an arrow for forty feet, then with a resounding THUNK, lodged in an old oak tree.

  The beast was toying with his creator.

  Russell's hands covered his ears as the Ursa roared again. And it wasn't a roar like you'd hear on television or in the movies either, it was a roar that reached all the way down into both of the outdoorsguys' cells, all the way into their hearts.

  Buster B. Bayliss said, “You really had the answer all along.”

  Russell's voice cracked with fear and sorrow. “Yeah, I had the answer, but I didn't think of it in time.”

  Mr. Bayliss said, “Well, technically you did. One of the rules for authors who are sent here is that if we ever want to return to the door to Ourside, all we have to do is recite a line from a certain old R & B song.”

  The Ursa Theodora-Saura had decided how he was going to kill his creator.

  Slowly.

  Painfully.

  He waddled up until he was so close that Mr. Bayliss began throwing punches into his cottony-soft, cuddly underbelly.

  Russell screamed, “He's going to try to crush you! Say the words!”

  Buster B. Bayliss threw a right and a left, an uppercut and a cross.

  The Ursa began to shift his weight backward, preparing to bring all 3,541 of his pounds down on Mr. B.

  Buster B. Bayliss kept swinging and said, “Bad news, Buckaroo!”

  Right cross.

  “Can't remember what the words are.”

  Left hook.

  “Kind of wish I had different musical tastes. Don't know if you noticed the Pink Floyd T-shirt. Folks used to tell me I'd pay a price for being a brother who liked rock and roll. But oh well.”

  Left jab.

  “Never could see the sense in being a fan of a group called the Funky Smellics.”

  Right, left, right.

  Russell screamed, “Funkadelic! Not the Funky Smellics! And I know the song!”

  Russell charged up the hill, tackled Buster B. Bayliss around the waist and hollered out, “Bow-wow-wow-yippee-yo-yippee-yay!”

  The Ursa's front paws landed firmly on Buster B. Bayliss's head. With Russell's arms wrapped around the woodsman's waist it looked like both of them were going to be driven twenty feet into the ground!

  The next thing Russell knew, he and the author were tumbling to the ground back on the grass-covered street between the winter world and the thick forest.

  Buster B. Bayliss said, “Thanks a million, kiddo! It's funny, just as he attacked, I decided I really wasn't quite ready to see what the other side of the northern lights looks like!”

  Rodney Rodent helicoptered over to where the two were sprawled on the ground and began licking Russell's face.

  “Rodney! Man, am I glad to see you! You aren't gonna believe it when I tell you what happened!”

  Buster B. Bayliss yelled, “Face time, my poochies,” and his sled dogs appeared out of the wall of snow. He rummaged around in the back of the sled, pulled out a laptop computer and squatted.

  Russell had never seen a pair of hands move so quickly on a computer. Fifteen minutes after he began typing, the keys of Buster B. Bayliss's computer got so hot they burst into flames. He quickly pulled a disc out of the drive and said, “Darn keyboards last a lot longer in the co
ld.”

  Russell said, “What did you do? Did you finish the story about the Ursa?”

  Buster B. Bayliss said, “Better than finish it. Didsomething else. If you can hold your team, buckaroo, in about five seconds you'll see how I corrected my mistake with the dreaded Ursa Theodora-Saura.”

  Russell jumped to his feet and stared at the forest wall. The sound that was coming from between the trees terrified him! Even though it sounded like it was coming from ten miles away, there was no doubt that it was the Ursa Theodora-Saura! And man, did he sound mad!

  Russell quickly shot a look at Mr. B. and realized that the author had lost his mind. He was laughing insanely! Coming so close to death had done something terrible to Russell's favorite author.

  Russ said, “Mr. Bayliss! You were supposed to finish the story! That's the only way the Ursa would disappear! Now the computer is ruined and you can't do any more writing! I don't wanna see that thing again!”

  Russell ran toward the door to Ourside.

  Buster B. Bayliss kept laughing and said, “Hold on, buckaroo. The Ursa has gotten so smart that he's figured out the rules and knows where we are. He should be here any second now.”

  Russell couldn't remember if he should turn the doorknob three and a half times to the right or to the left. He fumbled at the knob.

  Before Russell could wiggle the knob, the Ursa Theodora-Saura burst out of the woods with a vicious roar.

  He had come to finish the job. To finish the lives of Buster B. Bayliss, author, and Russell Woods, future detective.

  Some very strange things started happening. And those of you who know about strange things remember they always happen in threes.

  The first strange thing was Buster B. Bayliss laughed so hard that even his sled dogs were giving him worried looks.

  The second strange thing was that even though he was only ten feet from them, it still sounded like the Ursa was ten miles away!

  The third strange thing was that the Ursa Theodora-Saura was now about the size of a hamster!

  And if you were ever to see something the size of a hamster standing on its rear legs, roaring to intimidate and frighten someone, you'd do the same thing Russell and Mr. Bayliss and Rodney Rodent did; you'd just about bust a gut too!