My name is Ella. There was never really anything unusual that happened in our town. It was more of a village really, with only about 1,000 inhabitants in its heyday and only about 200 now. Needless to say about half the town was now boarded up and dilapidated. It was kinda quaint but very boring and routine until a little over a year ago when I found the strangest thing in my pocket and things haven’t quieted down since. I was a tall, awkward eighteen-year-old when I found it. I had straight, mouse-brown hair and very green eyes.
It all started one regular, not too hot, summer day when I was walking down the sidewalk with my best friend George, who was also 18, when he stopped, bent down, and picked something up. He examined it for a moment before he handed it to me. “Here,” he said, “you can have it.”
I looked at what he had handed me. Upon examination it appeared to be a red rock. Upon further examination I concluded that it was indeed a shiny red rock, which fit quite nicely into my palm and was a little heavy for its size. It was kind of fun to fiddle with, so I kept it in my pocket. I thanked him and we kept walking.
A year and day later, I was at George’s house playing with his dog, Ferddy. The rock was lying on the porch when suddenly, Ferddy ran over and, before we could stop him, crunched down on my rock. Ouch! He spat it out and went to a corner whimpering. I ran over to my rock and George ran over to his dog.
“Oh no! He cracked it!” I wailed, examining my once smooth rock that now had a gaping crack zipping across it.
“I sorry,” said George. “He really likes red jelly beans. Must have thought that was a giant one or something.”
“Well, I guess it’s only a rock and it’s still in one peace.” I said halfheartedly and stuck it back in my pocket.
Later that same day, George called me, frantic. “Ella, you gotta come down to the warehouse this evening! This magician, who is on his way to some other place, stopped by our little town and decided to show a few tricks to a few people. I happen to be one of those people. I want you to come and see them to. He said he can do any sort of magic trick you can think of and more.”
“Like what?” I said. One time when I was younger, somebody had told me it was all smoke and mirrors and that took all the fun out of it.
“He said he can bring things back from the dead with his Darke Magyk. Ooooooooooo…………,” he said dramatically.
“Fine. Meet you there,” I said.
So I slipped on my Converse shoes and went to meet George at the magic show.
It was simply a small handful of people crowded around the magician, who didn’t look the part, in the abandoned warehouse.
The magician was a tall, gangly man probably nineteen or twenty, with shaggy blond hair. He had on slightly worn jeans with a faded black T-shirt and cheap canvas shoes. When I glanced up at him, he caught my eye and smiled and winked at me. I quickly looked straight down. I was sure he could see my blushing. Sometimes I thought boys did that just to make girls uncomfortable.
When he had everybody’s attention, the magician said, “I will now raise this rat from the dead.” Out of nowhere a crate with a rat on it had appeared in front of him. At the sight of the crate appearing in front of him, the crowd gasped as one. The rat was clearly dead. It was already rotting a little bit and was very smelly. The magician closed his eyes and spread his hands over the rat and mumbled a few words. Suddenly the rat flinched, and then it stretched, and then it stood up and walked about. Everybody stood back except me, I was rooted to the spot. I had a horrible fear of anything dead, or undead for that matter. Well then of course, the rat started towards me. Still frozen, I stood there until the rat got very close. When it came extremely close, it stopped and leaned against my pocket as if resting. That’s I screamed and bolted for the door and didn’t stop running until I got home.
By the time I got there, it was very dark. I went to my room and flopped down on my bed, thoroughly embarrassed and shaken up. Then the phone rang. It was George.
“You didn’t miss much and nobody laughed when you screamed,” he assured me. “He just flew around the room a little bite and did a few other small tricks. You killed the rat again when it fell off.”
“Hmm…” I said. Then I hung up and almost instantly fell into a fitful sleep filled with zombie rats scratching around in my pocket.
When I woke up, sure enough, there was something scratching and scrabbling around in my pocket. I reached in quick without a second thought and, OW! It bit me! I reached in a second time. This time with more caution, and pulled out…. a red baby dragon?
I could not believe my eyes. For a second, I thought I must still be dreaming but then I thought, “No, that bit really hurt.”
“Hmm…” I said aloud. “I guess there’s nothing to do with you but name you. Let’s see, oh, I know, I’ll name you…” but I didn’t finish.
“BURP!” went the dragon.
“PU! Well, forget that name, I’ll call you, Stinky Face.”
I called George. “Hello?”
“Hey, George,” I said, “I just found the strangest thing in my pocket.”
“Oh yeah. What?”
“A baby dragon.”
Silence. I heard him audibly open and close his mouth a few times before he said, “A baby dragon? This I gotta see. I’ll be over in a minute” he said.
“Hey, wait, George!”
“Yeah?”
“What do you feed a baby dragon?”
“Dragon kibble?”
We both laughed.
By the time George arrived, Stinky Face had finally stopped doing laps around my room and fallen asleep curled up on my bed.
“Man,” said George, “you really did find the strangest thing in your pocket.”
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