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By me.

Art by Sam Messerly.

Click here to read from the beginning.

Eating out at restaurants for every meal with a dinosaur appetite was not going to work on a budgetary level nor a sanity level. The city was supposed to supply lunch for Warbell (according to my notes) but apparently they had forgotten or at any rate some sort of mistake had been made and a dinosaur had not been fed and now it was my problem.

“Can’t you just eat some leaves and twigs from a few local trees?” I asked as I walked Warbell out to my electrician’s bike. I liked to get some exercise and had outfitted my bicycle so that it could carry my toolbox and other essentials for smaller jobs.

“Yes, actually,” said Warbell. “But I was promised a lunch as king of the town, and I want to have my lunch. Also, I want to talk with you.”

“Did you meet with “Punchface” yet?” I asked. I looked over the dinosaur again, thinking about my theory. If Warbell really was a lady, I decided that t-rexes really have the ugliest females in the animal kingdom.

“Yes, it was a short meeting,” Warb said. “Punchface wants to have a boxing match with me.”

I almost tripped.

“Punchface wants to fight you?” I gasped.

“He wanted to meet and have a look at my hands to see if maybe I could wear boxing gloves, or if special gloves might be needed since my hands are pretty different from a human’s.”

I stared.

“You want to go through with this?”

Warbell tried to shrug, but his anatomy didn’t really allow for it.

“Why not?” he said. “My body might be very large, but my arms are not much bigger than a human’s. This match could show people that I can interact with them. Maybe it would help me to get a job.”

“Are you still on about that?” I asked. “You don’t need a job. Millions of lazy twentysomethings would die to be in your position.”

“I want to be able to talk to people more,” Warbell said. “I have questions about a lot of things, but people won’t talk to me openly even when I command them to.”

“What on earth do you want to know about?” I asked. “People are usually pretty friendly around here I think.”

“You wouldn’t tell me about your leg,” Warbell said. “The doctors wouldn’t tell me about the boy.”

I shook my head, folding up my sparky belt and tucking it into a compartment on my bike. I pulled out my cell phone.

“Health stuff is private stuff,” I said. “If you want to know about that, talk to old people. They love explaining everything about their aches and pains five times backwards and forwards, then start over again. Anyway, food, right? I’ll call and see about where the city can deliver your lunch, okay?”

After some confusion on the phone and a run around about who I needed to contact in order to find out who had the old lizard’s lunch on hand and where it would be best to eat it, we determined that the meal—a dead cow—would be delivered to Jackal Lantern Park at three. I relayed the message to the dinosaur and said I would take him over there and stuff my face on something, too, since official attendants got tummy needs, too.

“A dead cow?” asked Warb. “Didn’t I tell them I don’t need to eat meat, that vegetables are fine? Besides, I can’t eat an uncooked corpse with these teeth. These jaws are made for smiling, not for tearing flesh.”

“Yeah, well, what are you going to do?” I asked and started to climb onto my bike. “Just follow me over.”

“I guess there really is no choice in the matter, is there?” Warbell said. “It’s uncomfortable to change dentures, though.”

And with that, Warbell grimaced and grunted, and then his beautiful set of teeth instantly collapsed before my eyes into a wicked set of the long, sharp, serrated monster fangs of a real tyrannosaurus rex.

by Nicholas Driscoll–that dork.

Art by Sam Messerly–that fine gentleman.

Click here to read from the beginning.

I had been knocking around the idea in my head for some time, really. The rocks I had found underneath my house were uniform in size and round and large. Each was about the size of a football. I had looked up dinosaur egg fossils on the Internet and found that they come in a variety of shapes and sizes, and while none of the pictures I found on the Internet looked exactly like the ones I found, I figured eggs in the real shell would probably look a bit different than fossils anyway. Why wouldn’t they?

And if Warb was really here laying eggs underneath folks’ houses… Well, the implications were pretty scary. To me, it would explain why Warb wanted to live in my garage rather than anyone else’s, and also why he wanted to live in this city at all. And it could also mean that he or she was planning to feed something to his dinosaur babies after they hatched… such as, I don’t know.

Me.

So while I was impressed by Warb’s going out of his way to help that kid from Six Degrees of Bacon, at the same time I couldn’t help but wonder if something more sinister was going on. Maybe he was just saving the kid’s life so there would be more to feed the baby lizards once they hatched. Maybe Warb wasn’t a guy at all.

I mean, I can’t tell a tyrannosaurus’ sex.

Colander had listened to my theories, making her soft quips and jabs as she does. But she agreed with me that the rocks sounded pretty weird, and nodded and tut-tutted when I showed her pictures on my phone. She had been a bit of a rock-hound in her youth, and she agreed to meet with me the upcoming Saturday afternoon at two to investigate the rocks. That same day Warb had an appointment with an advertising company that wanted to feature the old lizard in some commercial selling the latest cell phone—apparently it had a particularly ergonomic structure so ‘even if you only have two fingers, you can use it.’ It was the one of three advertising companies that wanted to meet with Warb that week.

The rest of the morning was drilling holes, threading blue plastic tubing through them, hooking the tubes up to the light switch boxes, then pulling wire through the tubes to hook the switches to the lights. In order to do that, I had to grab the right number of wires, slip a wire net like contraption over their collected tips, slide a lead wire through the blue tube, hook that wire to the wired net that held the tips of the wires, then pull the whole shebang through the tube to their destination (sometimes with the help of lube to make the wires slip through easier). After I had pulled the wire through the tube, I could cut the wire and start splicing.

As I was working on those things, I started to notice something rather odd about the wooden planks. The wood wasn’t as even as it should have been. In fact, it wasn’t as even as it had been the last time I had been in the building. And it wasn’t just on small areas. I noticed a number of places where bits and pieces of the planks had been chipped out or eaten away or… something.

I looked closer. It didn’t look like insects had been chewing away at the wood. It wasn’t wormy holes. It also didn’t look like someone had chipped away at the wood. Instead, there were filmy bits where the wood was weakened, as if parts had suddenly just rotted away, but not in any regular pattern. Like somehow the wood had been reduced to a random web of pulp in places.

It wasn’t everywhere, but the spots were noticeable on most of the boards, and the longer I worked, the more of them I noticed. I was no carpenter, but I decided to recommend to Colander that she get the planks inspected and maybe replaced. This, unfortunately, was not the first time we had seen this sort of phenomenon, and it could cause huge problems.

I was just about to go talk with her when I turned around and nearly jumped out of my skin.

“It’s 2:30 and I’m hungry,” said Warbell, standing just outside the library expansion with a sour expression.

Continue reading.

By Nicholas Elton Driscoll

Art by Sam “Rambo” Messerly.

Click here to read from the beginning.

“Hello, oh late one.”

It was Colander Caracal, the librarian. Today she was wearing an eyepatch with a picture of an eyeball on it, and she had stacks of books like miniature skyscrapers at both her sides. And she was smiling that grin of hers that reached for one eye on one side, dimpled the cheek on the other.

“I had a bit of an adventure this morning,” I said. “You wouldn’t believe.”

“You live with a dinosaur now, Walter,” she said. “By definition your life is hard to believe. How’s the new ambassador job?”

I shrugged and adjusted my work belt.

“I got to taste dinosaur spit this morning,” I said.

Colander raised an eyebrow over her eye patch, and the image of the eyeball bounced excitedly.

“What kind of ambassador are you anyway?”

“A sore one,” I said. “I think my shoulders are going to be so blue I am considering starting a music group. I’ve got plenty of plastic tubes I can bang on.”

Colander started walking me to the new area of the Final Pumpkin Public Library, an expansion long overdue at a library overflowing with too many books as well as an excess of warmth to go around for anyone who visited. We passed a line-up of brats on the computers who were playing the latest idiotic webgame—Fartnight, a game in which you have to fart, but you don’t want to wake your family or something. I don’t know, I haven’t played it… much.

“I heard your dinosaur friend saved a boy’s life today,” Colander said. “You must be a proud dino daddy.”

“News travels fast,” I said. “But it’s true—I always thought that carnosaur would probably put some people in the hospital, but I didn’t expect it would be like that. I couldn’t believe it.”

I started cutting smurf tube to feed through the incomplete walls of the expansion as we talked. In all the craziness of the last few weeks, it felt good to have something that felt close to a normal conversation for once.

“Several people went to the hospital today,” Colander said quietly.

I froze.

“It happened again,” I said.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Colander nodding.

“Looks that way,” she said. “Still too early to know what caused it I guess. Well, I mean, we don’t really know what happened the first time.”

“Or the second,” I said. “Or the third. How bad was it this time?”

“Three people,” she said. “One died.”

“Right,” I said. “So we have these mysterious deaths and injuries or whatever you want to call them. Cell phones and computers conk out and break down at an extraordinary rate in our city, which keeps me busy and in the money at least. But also buildings fall apart for no reason. I’m still single. And now we have a dinosaur. A dinosaur that talks and smiles and says it’s our king. What’s next? And what the heck does this dinosaur want anyway? He was talking about getting a job today!”

Colander ran her finger across the nearest plank of wood and flicked dust off her fingertips, folded her arms and leaned against an incomplete pillar.

“Maybe he should start a t-shirt company,” she said. “You know, t-rex. T-shirts. T-riffic.”

I shook my head, bizarre images of Warbell sitting at a sewing machine intruding into my mind.

“No, I want to figure what the doodle is going on,” I said. “For real. It’s been bothering me. There has to be some explanation, and I am not sure it’s going to be a happy one. Maybe you can help me out, actually, Colander. You’re a smart woman.”

“I admit it, I am,” she said.  “Though if I was really smart, I would probably say no to your wild schemes.”

“I have a theory about this dinosaur,” I said. “And I found something to back it up.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I found some strange stones,” I said. “And I wonder if they might actually be dinosaur eggs.”

Read the next chapter.

By Nicholas Driscoll.

Excellent art by Sam Messerly.

Click here to read from the beginning.

“Well, regardless of your sudden desire for employment, I have a job already which I am late for,” I said. “Your highness can get his own job, if he is so inclined.”

Warbell was looking indignant again. I was starting to be able to read his expressions by this point, and the emotions inscribing themselves oh his mug could definitely be termed the old lizard’s “indignant face”—haughty chin, flared and quivering nostrils, shiny clenched teeth. I braced for another tirade, but Warbell surprised me with a whisper.

“This is very important, Walter,” he said. “I need a job. I want to meet people, talk to people. I want to learn about this world.”

“You meet people all the time, what are you talking about?” I sputtered, and I could still taste bacon-coffee on my breath. I bit back an unpleasant belch. “Everyone wants to talk to you.”

“They just want pictures and autographs,” Warbell said. “They don’t really want to talk with me. Usually the conversation never goes beyond them asking me something like, ‘What is it like to eat a triceratops?’”

I thought about that for a moment.

“That’s a good question—what does a triceratops taste like?” I asked.

“They taste pretty similar to austroposeidons, really. A little less fatty.”

“An austro-what?” I said. “Never mind, forget it. I need to call a taxi or something. I’ve got to change my clothes and go work on the wiring at the library. And you have a schedule to keep. Raul “Punchface” Panfester, the famous boxer, is scheduled to meet you this afternoon at city hall, you have autographs and a photo session, and some scientists want to stab you with some needles again or something…”

“I’ll take you to your home,” said the dinosaur. “We need to talk.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Your claws caught on my pajama top and ripped it. I’m bruised and sore. I lost one of my shoes.”

“Come.”

And Warbell picked me up again and started towards the street, moving easily and smoothly this time instead of running. But even still, my shoulders were killing me, and riding in those t-rex claws are very far from safe and comfortable travel. They also don’t come with seatbelts, let alone airbags. I protested vociferously.

“Put me down, you big idiot!” I shouted. “You’re going to dislocate my shoulder. Holey donuts, my arm!”

The dinosaur slowed down and lowered me to the sidewalk in front of the hospital. As soon as I was on the ground, I had my cell phone out and was calling a taxi.

“As much as I would love to talk about the job market with you, Warb,” I said while the phone was dialing. “I can say that there is going to be an opening for an excellent electrician here pretty quick if I don’t get going. Besides how are you going to get a job when you can’t even physically enter most of the buildings around here? You can’t sell hamburgers if you can’t get behind the cash register.”

I got through and gave directions to the taxi, then I hung up and turned back to Warb. The big lizard was flexing his fingers back and forth, nasty claws looking about ready to sink into my flesh.

“I got your schedule right here,” I said, handing over a piece of paper. “Get over to city hall first. You’ve been there often enough. You don’t need a job. You don’t need money. I’ll come by at lunch to check on you later.”

We waited in silence for a few minutes, but thankfully the taxi came quickly. I quickstepped over to the vehicle, then turned to Warb again and kind of gave a wave to get his attention.

“Warbell,” I said. “Good job today. You might have saved that boy’s life.”

And then the taxi driver was shuttling me away.

By Nicholas Driscoll, again.

Art by Sam Messerly.

Click here to read from the beginning.

The nurse stood there speechless for a moment, but then she downright exploded.

“You think you have a right to know that boy’s medical records just because you’re a big fat dinosaur with a loud voice?” she said. “I am going to deliver a new think to your pea-sized brain, honey, because that is NOT how things work in the USA whether you’re the king of the dinosaurs or the king of rock and roll.”

For once, Warbell seemed taken aback and speechless himself. The dinosaur’s mouth was hanging slightly open, the fierce look in his eyes replaced by a flickering set of feelings from surprise to rage to confusion and back again. I almost laughed, but the nurse kept on with her scold, even going to far as to step towards the old lizard.

“Are you that boy’s mom? I don’t see the family resemblance! Are you his doctor? Where’s your stethoscope? There is a thing called medical privacy, and you can bellow and groan and grumble until your killed off by another asteroid from space, but you aren’t going to get the authority to see those medical records. It’s none of your business.”

Warbell started to puff up his chest and regain some of his former grandeur, and he said in a halfway menacing voice, “I am a tyrannosaurus rex. Do you realize—”

“What, you going to swallow me up?” said the nurse. “Go ahead! Then I don’t have to pull the rest of this 12-hour shift! But you aren’t getting those records.”

The nurse’s facial expression softened by a slight margin, though she still stood strong and defiant in front of Warbell.

“Look, I heard what you did today,” she said. “It was very heroic and brave of you. Everybody appreciates it, or at least they should! But don’t go ruining all the good you did by blowing your own horn and making an absolute tyranno-sore-ass out of yourself. Now I have to go, so unless you’re going to bite me in half—and trust me, I will bite you back all the way down your gullet—then I am going to go back to work.”

The nurse raised one questioning eyebrow, but Warbell didn’t say anything, and so she walked casually into the hospital. I let out a long low breath, and the old lizard looked after her helplessly.

“Doctors and nurses are more powerful than kings in this country?” he asked. “The king makes the laws and what he says goes.”

“But the doctor holds your life in his hands,” I said.

“What good is being a king if I can’t…” Warbell broke off and finally looked at me. “Wal, I need your services.”

“For what?” I said. “I can’t get those medical papers either.”

“No, not for that,” said the dinosaur. “I need to get a job, and I require your help in finding one.”

Once again, by Nicholas Driscoll.

Excellent art by Sam Messerly. You can see more here.

Click here to read from the beginning.

There was some confusion at the hospital in response to our arrival. Some nurses thought that Warbell had injured the kid (his name was Murdock Gargle), and they started calling the police. But as the nurses were in mid-call, the police arrived, having been alerted to shenanigans due to a dinosaur chaotically dashing through the streets. After some chaos in which I found myself defending the dinosaur for once, the police let us off with a warning… not least of all because Warbell had managed to keep Murdock stable and safe in his mouth, his tongue acting as a stabilizing instrument protecting Murdock from injuring himself as the dinosaur bounded through the city.

Warbell couldn’t come into the hospital, and definitely couldn’t hang out in the waiting room, so the old lizard was once again left to stand in the parking lot twiddling his nonexistent thumbs. After some discussion with the doctors and police inside (I got to whip out my official dinosaur ambassador card a few times, which I’ll admit is a bit of a thrill), I walked outside to check on Warb.

“The kid is stable so far,” I said. “Looks like he will be hunky-dory.”

“I don’t know that expression,” Warb said. “So he will be okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You really acted fast back there. I barely knew what was happening and I was suddenly in the air, carried away by dinosaur claws.”

“What happened?” Warbell asked, that same intense look in his eyes that I saw in the Six Degrees of Bacon parking lot. “How did the kid get hurt?”

I sighed and scratched an itch on my nonexistent leg, then took a deep breath.

“Well, they can’t really tell me about the details, can they?” I said. “I am not related to the kid.”

Suddenly we heard an ambulance siren blurt to life and keen down the road. We watched it go in silence.

“Looks like today is a bad day,” I said. “Several emergencies.”

“Was he shot?” asked Warb. “By one of your people’s guns?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Did you hear a gunshot? I didn’t. Even a silencer makes a sound. I heard nothing. And no sniper is going to shoot a fast-food worker. The stuff he cooks would probably kill him anyway, so there’s not much reason to accelerate the process I suppose.”

Warbell turned his head towards the hospital, that fiery stare burning at the concrete walls as if by squinting hard enough he might be able to see inside.

“Why do you care so much anyway?” I asked. “It’s not like you even know the kid, right?”

Warbell didn’t look at me. I shifted my feet uneasily. A nurse walked by, coming off her smoke break (gosh, why do so many nurses smoke?), and suddenly Warbell stepped in her way, eyes flashing.

“You will tell me what happened to the boy!” Warbell commanded, voice thundering loud enough to set off a car alarm. “You will let me know every detail, for I am your king and you must do what I tell you!”

Read the next chapter.