The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,59

The liquid was not much, but Timothy managed to shoot it directly into the monster’s wild eyes. For a few seconds, the creature blinked, as if in shock, then began to wail. It twisted its body into tight coils, writhing in pain. When it opened its eyes again, the black-and-white spirals, which had moments earlier been spinning like a hypnotist’s trick, were melting in tears down the creature’s green face.

“I cannot see,” cried the dragon. “You are a powerful sorcerer.”

“Damn straight,” said Timothy. “I’m a powerful …” He immediately regretted saying anything, because the dragon followed his voice and spit buckets of flame in his direction. Timothy spun into the garage again, just missing being drenched in red paint, which hit the clapboard instead. He watched as the garage’s wall went up in flickering curls of red.

He had an idea. He ran around to the driver’s door of his mother’s car. He opened it and hopped in. The key was still in the ignition from the night before, when he’d moved the car for his father. He turned the key, and the engine sparked to life. Timothy grappled with the gearshift, flipping it into reverse the way his father had often showed him.

Outside, the dragon flailed, knocking itself against what remained of the house. The sound of splintering wood rang out into the early evening. Screaming in pain, the creature wrapped its tail around the oak tree that separated Timothy’s and Stuart’s yards, then began to pound its weight against the ground in waves.

It felt as though an earthquake was rattling the hill. Timothy was so shaken he could barely keep his foot aligned with the gas pedal. Still, he managed to slam it to the floor. The tires squealed, and the car shot backward, crashing into the garage door. To Timothy’s surprise, the large wooden door broke away from the frame in several large pieces. Timothy forced the car over the rubble and out of the burning building. His father would have a fit when he came home and saw this mess.

At the sound of the car squealing into the driveway, the dragon’s head rose high above the yard. Its blind eyes were useless, but it could hear fine. It jolted forward across the small path between the garage and the house. Timothy didn’t wait for the creature to find him—he gunned the gas and flew down the driveway into the street. Swinging the wheel to the right, he pointed the front of the car down the hill. Then he shifted into drive. He pulled away from the spot so quickly he left black marks on the pavement.

When Timothy glanced in the rearview mirror, the smoldering, ruined house shrank with the distance. He quickly approached the intersection at Edgehill Road. The smashed staircase was directly in front of him. If he didn’t brake soon, he’d simply fly over the cliff. Somehow, his foot found its way to the other pedal, and he managed to pause for a moment at the stop sign. With another quick glance up the hill, he saw the creature slithering blindly into the middle of the road, its mouth open wide in frustration, its whiskers whipping wildly.

If he hadn’t almost peed in his pants, he would have thought that was pretty cool.

40.

Timothy drove quickly, steadily. He kept close to the guardrail. His brain was so fried, he couldn’t remember which turn led to his father’s garage, so he went south on Edgehill Road toward the college’s main campus and the Taft Bridge, wiping tears and snot from his upper lip.

It was getting quite dark out now, so he flipped on the headlights. Finally, the wooded slope on the right was replaced by several small houses. Then Timothy saw the tall, dark silhouette of a building rising beyond the bridge entrance, across from the campus’s main gate—the Mayfair.

At the bridge intersection, Timothy drove through a stoplight. A few cars honked their horns, and he was shocked back to reality. Now that he was surrounded by traffic, he was terrified that he might smash into someone or something. He took his foot off the gas, and as the hill began to slope upward, the car slowed. More vehicles coming off the bridge honked their horns. Timothy pressed his foot down, and the car jerked forward.

“Come on,” he said. “Only a little farther.”

Steadying the wheel, Timothy drove up the center of Shutter Avenue, staying clear of the cars parked on either side of the road. The Mayfair was