The Regular Writing Rampage

 (This message was edited by boatdaddy on 06-12-04 @ 8:20 am EDT)

Dragons were supposed to be fantasy, nothing more than ancient myth. If that was true, then how could he be staring at one here in his basement?

It was a massive thing, with bright blue-green scales that shimmered in the low glow of the furnace. Its eyes were like emeralds, glowing with a fierce intelligence. Atop its head was a single horn, tall and slender. Huge, leathery wings were folded across its back, twitching slightly. The beast was regarding him with a cautious stare.

Michael slowly started backwards up the stairs. He moved carefully, hoping the dragon would not think he was doing anything dangerous. Yet as he stepped up the first step, the beast snorted irritably, and its eyes glowed more brightly. Sweat popped out all over Michael’s forehead as he let out a shuddering sigh.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the dragon asked, his voice booming like that of a god.

Michael cringed, his hand gripping the guardrail in a white-knuckled fist. “Y-You…can talk?”

“Well, it’s nice to see that I’m dealing with someone who’s not deaf at least.” The dragon sounded annoyed. “But you’re not exactly one who follows directions very well. I asked where you thought you were going. Are you ever going to answer that question, or should I just assume you’re going to do something terrible?”

“I…I wasn’t going nowhere.”

“Wasn’t going anywhere,” the dragon correctly. “And yes, you were. I’m not going anywhere near blind, even though my vision isn’t quite what it used to be. You were going up those steps. I’m curious as to why.” He smiled, and rows of fangs glittered in the dim light. “I hope you weren’t planning to do anything dreadful to your guest.”

“You’re not my guest. I never invited you!” Michael protested.

“Well, I didn’t bloody well decide I wanted to spend the day in someone’s dungeon!” the dragon roared, now quite irritated. “Someone summoned me here, and I don’t summon myself! And what kind of living quarters are these? I don’t have enough room to stretch my wings!”

Summon? Michael wondered. He didn’t know anything about summoning dragons. He lived alone, so no one else could have done it in the house. But across the street were those nutty people, the Clarks, who held séances and other occultist things every other weekend. They didn’t care for Michael much after he had made light of their lifestyle when they moved in across the street, and he often caught dirty looks from them. But they don’t do anything but that crazy mumbo-jumbo. None of that nonsense works.

“But there is a dragon here in my basement, and it can’t have just appeared out of nowhere.”

“Exactly.” The dragon replied, not knowing that Michael had been speaking to himself. “Someone summoned me here, and I must say, I’m quite put off by the accommodations. I’m beginning to grow rather cross.” His eyes glittered malevolently. “And you wouldn’t care for my company when I’m cross.”

“Okay, I think I’ve got it, uh….what’s your name?”

“Hubert.”

“Hubert?” Michael asked, incredulously. “Hubert the Dragon?”

Hubert snorted, and plumes of smoke burst from his nostrils. “What’s wrong with ’Hubert’? It was my grandfather’s name, and my mother was very fond of her dad. Do you have a problem with my name?”

“Oh, no, not at all, Hubert,” Michael replied, holding his hands out defensively. “Look, I need to make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”

Michael started up the stairs. As he reached the top, he heard Hubert yelling after him, “Bring back some food!” as he shut the door to the basement.


He didn’t know the Clarks’ number, as he had never made it a point to be friendly with them, and he was irritated but not at all surprised that they were unlisted. Lamely he searched for them in the yellow pages, perhaps under “Psychics” or “Supernatural” but there was nothing there at all. Groaning, he pulled on a jacket and left his house, crossing the street in search of answers.

The Clarks’ house was tall and ominous, though it had never seemed that way before the crazies had moved in there. The windows were decorated with all sorts of occultist symbols and runes. Their lawn was a mess, untouched in many months, and the grass stood tall like wheat. Their front porch creaked with each step. He took the knocker and rapped twice, hard, against the front door.

Behind the door, muffled voices raised. He couldn’t make out most of what was being said, but it sounded like they were surprised that anyone was paying them a visit, mainly because they weren’t holding any sort of meeting until later in the afternoon. He watched as Mrs. Clark pulled aside a shade beside the door and peered out. He matched her irritated gaze perfectly.

She pulled open the door a crack. “What do you want, unbeliever?”

“Did you idiots summon something to come in my house?”

Her eyes darted left and right. “Um, er…ha! Whatever are you talking about?”

“There’s a giant talking lizard in my basement who is very uncomfortable with being in such a confined space, and I must say, I’m rather uncomfortable with him being there as well, seeing as, well, he’s a dragon!”

Mrs. Clark shrugged, tittering nervously. “I don’t know what you mean…”

“Don’t give me that. If anyone knows anything about summoning creatures from the beyond, it’s you lunatics. Now I want you to march over there and get rid of it!”

Mr. Clark suddenly appeared, a tall, thin man with a long black robe. His face was pinched and puritanical, with a long, hooked nose. Currently he was yanking back the door and laughing triumphantly. “Ha ha ha! So now you believe, now that we have haunted your house!”

Mrs. Clark gestured for him to stop talking, but Mr. Clark went right on prattling. “You have mocked our ways for so long, but now you understand that what we do is not so simply hogwash! We are liaisons for the spirits of the world beyond, and we will not be treated as if we are sideshow freaks! By now that ghost is haunting you and keeping you from sleeping at night, is he not? Now you will no longer belittle our ways!”

“Oh dear, do shut up!” Mrs. Clark squawked.

“So that’s what this is,” Michael replied. “I knew it. Only it’s not a ghost, you idiot.”

Mr. Clark’s face lost its triumph. It was now totally blank. “Not a ghost?” He looked to his wife. His eyes went back to Michael. “Umm. What…then…well.” He paused, pressing a finger over his lips in great thought. A sheepish grin split his face. “Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s a dragon.”

Mr. Clark’s eyes went wide. “A d-d-d-d-”

“Dragon.” Michael agreed. “Right.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Mr. Clark asked, sounding affronted.

Michael seized him by the robe and began dragging him down the porch. Mr. Clark was barefoot, and sputtering indignantly about how rude all of this was. Michael was bigger than him, though, and he had no problem pulling Mr. Clark across the road. Mrs. Clark was screaming after them, telling Michael to stop and let go of her husband.

“He’ll be back soon!” Michael called over his shoulder. “First, there’s something he needs to take care of.”


Mr. Clark started dusting himself off once Michael let go of him, right in front of the basement door. Mr. Clark’s face went dark. “That’s battery, you know. Maybe even kidnapping. Do you realize what I could do to you for this? My lawyer would have a field day.”

Michael rolled his eyes. Occultists and lawyers, a perfect blend. “We’re not exactly in the land of lawyers and judges anymore, Mr. Clark. Here, there be dragons.”

He pulled open the door. Mr. Clark stared down into the yawning darkness, swallowing hard. He turned to Michael, his face frantic. “What exactly do you expect me to do? All I wanted to be down there was a nasty ghost. That couldn’t physically hurt you, just scare the wits out of you. A dragon…well…a dragon can hurt you. Rather badly, in fact.”

“I imagine so.”

Mr. Clark sighed dramatically. “It wasn’t just me, you know. It was our entire group! None of them like you…well, at least, they don’t like the fact that you mock our ways. We just wanted to show you that what we do is not nonsense.”

“So you wanted to haunt my house. Right.” Michael shook his head. “You know, I’m sorry if I ever hurt your feelings, but I’ve never been entirely comfortable with loonies in robes speaking with the dead, especially not right across the street from my house. But that doesn’t matter anymore. I want that thing out of my basement, and now.”

“Michael, I…”

Michael seized him by the shoulder, and started to force him down the stairs. Mr. Clark struggled with each step. Michael wouldn’t let him leave. “Keep moving.”

Mr. Clark’s breath caught in his throat. Michael already knew why.

“I asked for food,” Hubert said irritably. “Not some fool in a robe.”

“Hubert, this is Mr. Clark from across the street. He’s the one that summoned you over here. I just thought you two should meet before he sends you back.”

Mr. Clark opened his mouth to speak, but apparently was having some difficulty in getting the words out.

“So. I guess you thought it would be funny to keep me pinned up in such a dreadfully confined space, did you?” Hubert’s green eyes glowed. “How would you like to be yanked away from your home and into little more than a box? Hmm?” When Mr. Clark still couldn’t reply, Hubert snorted. “I can imagine you wouldn’t like it at all.”

“Send him back,” Michael said, nudging Mr. Clark forward.

“I can’t do it on my own. My group did it, don’t you understand? We’re having a meeting this afternoon at four. I can bring them all here later, and…”

“No later.” Michael replied firmly. “Now.”

Mr. Clark whined, and Michael nudged him again. “Okay, okay. I suppose it won’t hurt to try.”

“Yes. I’m getting awfully hungry, sir, and the sooner I get back home, the better.” Michael noticed that Hubert was flashing his fangs a bit more often now than before. He’s getting cross, Michael thought nervously. That’s the last thing I need. A pissed-off dragon in my basement would not be a good thing at all.

Mr. Clark walked down to the foot of the stairs, and stood before Hubert with his arms raised out. Slowly he started to chant in a language that Michael did not recognize. He moved his wrists in circular patterns as he chanted, and the faster the chant, the more rapid the pattern. He was at this for about a minute and a half.

Then, with terrible liquid speed, Hubert snapped forward, his jaws closing around Mr. Clark and leaving nothing but the legs below the knees. Mr. Clark didn’t even have time to scream. But Michael did scream, backing away with wide eyes.

Hubert chewed cheerily, then swallowed what was left of Mr. Clark. He belched softly. “He was beginning to bore me, and I was dreadfully hungry. Look, I even left a little for myself to munch on! Ha ha!”

“You…you…you…you…”

“I know. I ate him. I should have waited for something a bit more appetizing. Occultists tend to taste a bit…well…spoiled.” He grinned widely. “Oh, but I am stuffed. I’ll be hungry later, of course, and those little stumps I left behind won’t be nearly enough to satisfy me.” His eyes focused on Michael. “I suppose you’ll have to find me something else to eat, lest I have to…well…improvise.”

Michael shook his head.

“You don’t want me to eat you, do you?”

“No…no.”

“Well, then…you’d better start getting an idea of what else to feed me.” And the dragon shut his glowing green eyes, and lied down to an after-dinner nap.

Michael left the basement, terrified. How was he going to ever find a way to get rid of the beast in his basement? Mr. Clark was dead, and if Mrs. Clark came by, there was going to be hell to pay. The police would get involved, and then there would be all sorts of insanity. Michael buried his hands in his face. What about his own skin? The last thing he wanted Hubert to do was….improvise.

An idea flashed in his head. Michael pulled on his jacket. I hope four o’ clock isn’t too early a dinner for you, Michael thought. Because there will be a whole smorgasbord for you. He started across the street to the Clark house. He was in the mood to host an occultist meeting this afternoon.