[…UNWARP!]
Good evening.
A few months ago, a friend of mine binge-watched the whole run of The Biskitts (Hanna-Barbera, 1983), all twenty-six ten-minute episodes, and I went along for the ride. One of the episodes that stood out was "A Biskitt Halloween" (youtu be /dPwiTtjhaZg?feature=shared&t=681) which first aired on October 29, 1983. We talked about its blatant anachronisms, namely, that if the episode had really taken place in Medieval England, as it appears to be (in the year 1280 by my calculations and educated guesses), "Halloween" would have been called "Samhain", there shouldn't have been any pumpkins (New World food), onions would have been used instead of pumpkins, and the kerosene lamp, the yipping mechanical clock, and several of the masks were also a few centuries out of date.
Anachronisms aside, we also talked about what could have happened in the aftermath of ABH; after all, they had just encountered and fought and defeated a life-threatening, ecosystem-threatening, and world-threatening villain, and one of the gang very literally almost got sucked out of this dimension and carted off to who-knows-where.
And so, ideas began to form inside my head and congealed into more or less what is the first Biskitt fanfic I write since 1996 (back then I had no internet and no computer of my own so I had no choice but to write them by hand in a notebook).
This is basically what happened after the pack returned to the castle up to the next morning. (Just a little heads up: here the Biskitts have slightly less anthropomorphic and slightly more canine behaviours, and are a trifle more English, too.)
This will also be the first Biskitt fanfic I actually post online.
It is also an impromptu tribute to animation writer and producer Michael Reaves who passed away last March.
And it's also a tribute to the Biskitts' 40th anniversary.
"There's nothing worse than the hangover the morning after you saved the world." – The J.A.M.
Richard Beals
Jennifer Darling
Marshall Efron
Henry Gibson
Kathleen Helppie-Shipley
Darryl Hickman
Bob Holt
Jerry Houser
Kenneth Mars
Betty Jean "B.J." Ward
Are in no mood to celebrate
A BISKITT NOVEMBER 1ST
With Mark Taylor
Based on a story by Michael Reaves.
Several story elements were conceived by Leloni Bunny.
Edited by professor Nathaniel T. Freeman and Leloni Bunny.
LATER THAT NIGHT…
Darkness™.
Total Darkness™.
Absolute Darkness™.
And not only Darkness, but absolute blackness; not one beam of light anywhere to bounce off any object, the ground, the sky, a wall, a ceiling, anything to provide a clue as to where she was.
Unfortunately, her wish to see anything suddenly became true.
Because she saw THAT FACE AGAIN RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER—
A pasty white humanoid head, bald save for the unkempt grey bush on the temples behind long pointy and aged ears, and sunken black eyeballs with infernal red centres that stared into your soul, to the innermost part of your very spirit.
And the laughter.
Always the laughter.
What is it with villains and their stereotypical infernal laughter? Do they find amusement in seeing their victims flail helplessly as they dangle from the hand of an aged human witch?
The face suddenly was swallowed up by the Darkness, only to allow the Darkness to part as two gnarled and near-skeletal purplish and spotted hands with long claw-nails emerged from where the head had been.
And said hands were reaching right for her.
She didn't flail this time; she downright ran from the hands by pure survival instinct, tail tucked between her legs.
Or she tried to. While she could feel the ground under her pawpads, no matter how fast she ran or the direction where she headed, the hands were still in front of her, reaching for her—
This time, Waggs wasn't there to save the day.
This time, Waggs wasn't there to save her.
This time, Waggs wasn't there to save the pack, the castle, the swamp, the country, much less the world.
Because this time, the hands actually grabbed her.
She let out a very canine yip of combined pain and fright.
Cold.
Very, very cold hands.
The near-freezing demonic palms were pinning her arms to her sides, immobilising her legs, and slowly pulling her into the enchanted mirror, which suddenly materialised around the forearms of the hands: two snakes on either side with their entwined tails at the bottom, and a demon head crowning the top. And instead of silvery glass, blobs of infernal light swirled around the forearms; the barrier between her world and whatever world the Witch of Nidor had been banished to for the past century.
And she was being pulled right into that world.
Canine survival instinct kicked in and, with an unladylike snarl, she raised her hackles and clamped her fangs on the finger closest to her face.
The near-freezing appendage had the nauseating taste of putrid meat, almost making her vomit right on the finger. Repressed anger at the whole situation made her wish she could see the face one more time just so she could throw up on one of its eyes.
Unfortunately, the Spirit of the Magic Mirror showed no signs of pain or even discomfort at her ferocious bite; instead, it laughed with even more amusement as it pulled her into the Other World.
The swirling pestilential light engulfed her, and for a moment she thought she saw contours of faces a thousand times uglier and more demonic than the masks that her best friend made for tonight's prank.
One being coalesced in front of her.
A twisted image of herself, her flesh rotting and falling off her bones, her face melting, her eyeballs falling back into her skull, all while she screamed with what sounded like a combination of a canine howl of pain and a human shriek of terror—
She woke up, sitting up on her bed, hackles still raised, screaming almost in that same tone she heard moments ago.
She blinked forcefully several times, as she thought that the face of the Spirit of the Magic Mirror and that zombie were still in front of her. Glancing at her dresser on her left, she sighed with slight relief when she saw that the mirror there was intact and no strange lights were swirling in it.
The tan-furred female brought up a trembling right paw to her face, unable to stop her whimpering and sobbing.
She hated herself.
Here she was, one of the Rocks of the Pack, a Pillar of Strength that the others looked up to, the Alpha Female, the Second in Command, ready to step in at a moment's notice into the full leadership role whenever her boyfriend was incapable of performing his duties, the Alpha Pro Tempore who single-pawed-ly pulled the Bone from the Stone™ and led the pack to victory over the dragon Pyronius and recovered the treasure it had stolen—
She felt like a complete fraud.
And she couldn't stop crying or whining canine-ly because of that.
Her hackles settled but her tail was still tucked in.
"Nightmares are like that, but they disappear in the light," said her Alpha Male several weeks ago to the youngest of the pack, and she opened the drapes to prove his point and have the morning sun dissolve all of the pup's nightmares.
She looked to her left at the window with open drapes, also to the left of her dresser, and saw that it was still dark, save for the moonlight which would remain until the sun came up around 7 a.m.
One reason she felt like a fraud was because she had just disproved Waggs' advice. All she had to do was close her eyes and not just that demonic head reappeared in front of her, but that undead version of herself as well.
It didn't help that this was the third nightmare she had this night so far.
She shook her head and ruffled her facial fur, spreading her tears in a vain attempt to stop weeping and recompose herself.
The Alpha Female shouldn't crumble like this, not even after this adventure.
Adventure?
More like a near-suicide mission to save both Alphas and two innocent animals from being used as living sacrifices to a demon who would help a witch take over the world.
She glanced at the night again.
So many adventures they had during the night, so many rescues, so many times they were almost killed but still survived, so many times they had evaded Scratch—well, for a predator, he wasn't very intelligent, so he had to resort to eating mice and rats and rabbits and even fruit if he was hungry enough—and bears and hawks and even alligators that the Romans brought over a thousand years ago when they discovered this swamp…
The Biskitts' anthropomorphic intelligence had given them an edge over their non-anthropomorphic predators, and the combined intelligence of the pack allowed them to outsmart not one but two semi-anthropomorphic wildcats as well, as well as a disgraced king, his court jester, their two hunting dogs, a rogue knight, and a rogue king with his entire army as well.
And even when all seemed bleak and someone was about to be eaten, they knew that it was all part of the laws of nature: kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, so that other species would survive.
Still, they had evaded being eaten for so long and had so many successful escapes that at this point the whole pack was practically used to escaping unscathed—
Had their luck nearly run out tonight?
Had they cheated Death too many times?
Had they cheated Death for too long now?
Was tonight's near-disaster a warning from Death itself?
If the whole issue had been about a larger predator and her family not going hungry this autumn and the rescue had failed, the rest of the pack would have understood, mourned, and moved on, but…
Tonight's near-disaster involved their very souls.
If a predator had eaten Waggs and herself, they would have felt pain for a moment or two but then they would have mercifully died in the process.
This time, however, Death would not have been able to free them from eternal torment in who-knows-where.
Indeed; she knew that not only she and the male she loved could have been not only killed, but their souls were almost carted off to another world where both—and that hare and that owl—would have been tortured for eternity while the Witch of Nidor preyed on the lifeforce of her friends—the whole swamp—and conquered the world.
They had nearly failed
She had nearly failed.
She had almost become the ultimate failure.
Her sheets bunched up as she drew her knees in to hug herself, tucked her tail tighter, and continued crying, unable to stop—
Wait.
She almost slapped herself for being so selfish.
She realised that she wasn't the only one suffering from this trauma.
Sweets' trembling paws pulled the sheets off herself and she stood, albeit shakily, allowing her nightshirt to fall to her unsteady footpaws again, and quietly left her room to see another Biskitt who was very likely also going through similar mental torment.
He couldn't sleep.
He doubted he would sleep that night at all.
Or ever again, actually.
Currently, he was sitting on a stool near his dresser—helmet, collar, tunic, and belt replaced by his nightshirt which was bunched up to his waist—carefully ruffling the fur on the back of his thighs and arms, aided by the candle he placed on the floor.
He was still removing glass shards from those blasted shattered flasks.
Everyone thought that he had been thoroughly "cleaned" after they landed once the owls became too tired—they had been through too much trauma as well—to carry them all. They helped clean the youngest—who had barely just shed the last of its down—and the hare from any residual shards as well, and sent them on their way with an improvised bandage or two.
As they padded home—dragging their footpaws, practically, and tails tucked in—some of the others noticed moonlight occasionally glinting off a shard they had missed and thus helped remove it. They were rather surprised that none of the shards had penetrated his fur and pierced his skin, given all the sudden moves he had made.
More enchanted glass, perhaps?
If it was enchanted, the spell wore off when they arrived at the castle and he went to his room and sat down and felt a dozen stings on his buttocks and tail and thighs, prompting him to bathe immediately—with cold water, too, since he didn't want to wait to heat it up—but even the water hadn't removed all the shards.
It was going to be a long night for him, too.
At least he didn't start bleeding until after he sat down in his bedroom; he didn't want the others to worry that their Alpha Male was incapable of performing his duties again.
It was bad enough that several weeks ago, an ankle sprain had grounded him for a day or two, and his Alpha Female had to take his place. If they had smelled him bleeding just now, they would have immediately panicked and probably bandaged him up from head to toe.
Every time he got injured, he felt useless; a failure. He was supposed to be the Pack Leader, the Cool Head™ that led the others in search for food, provisions, and rescue missions.
And now he got captured along with Sweets, almost leaving a power vacuum in the pack, if it wasn't for Spinner, the Beta Male, taking over and organising the rescue mission.
They got captured in a lightning-fast surgical strike, too, as if that bat and that rat knew exactly who they were looking for and knew exactly where they were.
That could only have happened with magical assistance, at least with the bat. In fact, that bat very likely led that rat straight for Biskitt Castle. Air support was something neither Scratch nor King Max had, but the Witch of Nidor did.
Not to mention that the rat must have been very resilient to be able to swim across the moat, too. That, or a spell from the witch made him waterproof and silent and scentless, which was why neither Sweets nor he neither heard nor smelled him climbing up the castle wall until it was too late.
He had never felt so enraged in his life, at having his home invaded and his girlfriend being seized right before his eyes.
Hackles raised, he jumped over the rampart and fell down the wall, ready to pounce on a rat three times his size and tear his fangs into his neck in order to rescue the female he loved—
The bat, unfortunately, threw that plan out the window.
Those two must have cast on them numbing spells of some sort. He knew that both he and Sweets, in a life and death situation, would have fought fang and claw against the kidnappers, but as they were carted back to the crystal castle, it was as if their muscles fell asleep, or they became very drowsy at least. It didn't help that they were being carried by their napes, further immobilising them, making them need a minute or two to recover and have the adrenaline start pumping again and raise their hackles after they were placed in those flasks.
Fortunately, the rescue squad arrived at the same time he got the hare to thump their way to freedom.
Ignoring the ear-splitting crash, ignoring the pain on his body as he hit the crystal floor, he focused solely on the witch as she dangled his beloved in front of the mirror.
It took only a few seconds to jump on the owl's back and have it swoop between the witch and the mirror.
Between Sweets and those gnarled demonic hands—
He had never seen his beloved look so scared, so frightened, so terrified, so horrified—
Not even when she was at the jaws of a predator had she seen her panic like tonight.
What neither she nor the rest of the pack knew was that he felt ten times more horrified than Sweets did, as he was filled the thoughts of losing her, not to a predator, but to an unknown world filled with…whatever beings that the Spirit of the Magic Mirror was.
And him following right after her, helpless, forever trapped—
I've been preyed upon in this swamp ever since I was born but I have not known true fear until tonight…
Did Sweets smell fear emanating from him, as clearly as he smelled it coming from her?
Did the others smell their combined fear, or were they too busy fighting their own fear to notice?
Or maybe it was everyone's combined residual fear that they all smelled as they padded home, made more noticeable by everyone's tucked tails, and no one wanted to talk about that, either. Even Scat tried to mask his remaining fright by poking fun at Shiner and reminding everyone of the fun that tonight's celebration was supposed to have.
They laughed, for a moment, making their tails relax, also for a moment.
But he could still smell his own fear—
…ow…
Another shard, another bandage—
Ear twitch.
Sniff sniff—
Huh? Was there another source of fear nearby?
He looked up and saw Sweets, clad in her nightshirt, enter his room, still with the expression of fright she had several hours ago.
Which was exasperated by her tears matting her facial fur.
She was about to say something, but stopped when she saw what he was doing, and the smell of blood and wet dog seemed to snap her out of her terror.
Closing the door, she approached him, giving him a faint smile of understanding. Adjusting the candle and taking a fine comb, she knelt behind him and gently brushed the remaining exposed fur.
The Alpha Male sighed with resignation as he allowed her to groom him.
He definitely felt like a failure here.
She wasn't his servant; she was his Right Paw! His Better Half! His—
—his unofficial mate, who was trying to keep her sniffling and weeping down to a minimum as she removed the last of the shards.
She smoothed down his nightshirt after applying the last bandage, and got to her footpaws.
Silently, he also stood, turning to face her.
Neither could say anything.
Their combined scent of fear told each other everything.
Her trembling right paw reached for his left.
She almost gasped when she felt his paw trembling slightly as well.
Breaking down into sobs, she clutched at him, burying her nose into his neck. He, too, finally broke, releasing their emotions that had been forced down for several hours, releasing them into each other.
A few moments later, after a bit of awkward walking and lying down and struggling with the bedsheets, the Alpha Couple was huddled in bed, practically hiding under the covers, she at his left side, crying into each other's fur. It wasn't even a romantic cuddle, but an instinctive huddling to protect one another from imminent danger.
The Rocks were crumbling.
The Pillars were cracking.
But at least for tonight, they wouldn't have to carry the weight of the pack on their shoulders. It was enough to simply hold each other; to protect each other.
Just for tonight, they wouldn't be Waggs and Sweets: the Rocks; nor Waggs and Sweets: the Pillars; nor Waggs and Sweets: the Alpha Male and Alpha Female.
Tonight—please, for just this one night—they would allow themselves to be only Waggs and Sweets…
…two…
…little…
…Biskitts…
And if any nightmare happened again tonight, they would at least have each other.
Both closed their eyes.
The face of the Spirit of the Magic Mirror lingered, but at least it was fainter in Sweets' eyes.
"…I'm sorry…" both whispered to each other, still with the feeling of abject failure on both.
It would be a long while before their tails relaxed again.
Unfortunately, they wouldn't be the only ones plagued by nightmares for at least until the end of the year…
"This was the last appearance of th—TREMBLE—"
Tear, crumble, toss.
"Tonight was the closest that the Pack of Biskitt Island came to bein—TREMBLE—"
Tear, crumble, toss.
"Though we're all safe and sound, this addendum is being written with utmost frigh—TREMBLE—"
Tear, crumble, toss.
"The legend of the Witch of Nidor was no legend at all, as we found out tonigh—TREMBLE—"
Tear, crumble, toss, thud.
Sigh.
After slamming his book shut, he removed his spectacles and rubbed his trembling paws on his tired and aged face. He couldn't write if his paw didn't stop shaking, and his paw wouldn't stop shaking until he calmed down, and he wouldn't calm down until—
Sigh.
His book, while enchanted and seemingly having—at the drop of a hat—every answer to every cryptic question he and the pack had ever encountered, had no remedies for psychological trauma. And he didn't blame his book, either; after all, in all his years, he had never experienced anything like this, nor seen anyone experience anything similar.
He had never seen two of his pack—the Alphas!—be nearly shipped off to another world while he used his adrenaline-powered strength to tug on the witch's habit in order to have her trip on it—the woman was a lot thinner than she seemed—fall back, toss her sceptre away, and then he yelled at Bump whatever knowledge and advice he could give off the top of his head.
He nearly fainted from exhaustion and fright after he ordered Bump to throw the sceptre at the mirror, and he would have collapsed if Lady hadn't run to him to steady him.
That was one reason why Waggs was the Alpha Male and he wasn't.
Waggs could think faster and move faster, and occasionally he relied on him for knowledge and wisdom, but all of their combined strength and speed and accumulated lore almost didn't get them out of trouble tonight; in fact, he almost slapped himself for forgetting that demonic spirits could get confused by mortals wearing demonic masks, and knowing that the Witch of Nidor had a mirror possessed by a demon, he forgot to ask Lady to bring the masks she made for tonight's prank.
His memory was starting to fail.
And because of that, he almost became the Alpha Male once again tonight.
A position that would have lasted only a few minutes, because if the spell had been completed, everyone's lifeforce would have been drained as the witch took over the world.
But they didn't fail.
The rescue was a success, the enchanted mirror was destroyed, and the witch, her minions, and the crystal castle were obliterated from existence.
Forever.
In one hundred years, that generation of Biskitts would not have to worry about the Witch of Nidor anymore, nor worry about being sent to a demonic realm, nor worry about their lifeforce being drained, nor worry about her taking over the world.
In fact, the Biskitts from the next century, their great-great grandpups, would probably look back at this pack and consider them heroes, perhaps sculpting statues and weaving tapestries and forging and glazing stained glass windows in their honour.
Certainly a much better homage than the Biskitts from one hundred years ago, or even two hundred years ago, whose only plan was to hunker down, nail shut all doors and windows, and wait until dawn.
This pack had achieved the final victory over the Witch of Nidor.
Shouldn't that be enough reason to calm him down?
The fact that they had saved the Biskitts from one hundred years in the future?
The fact that they were heroes?
He took a deep breath, sat up, opened his book again on his desk, cleaned his spectacles, trimmed the candle, dipped the quill into the inkwell, and tried one more time:
"Some would call this an adventure, some would call it a rescue mission, some wou—TREMBLE-TREMBLE-TREMBLE-TREMBLE—"
SNARL!
THUD!
THUMP!
With an indignant canine growl, hackles slightly raised, he jumped to his footpaws and threw his book against the far wall of his room, where it fell to the floor, at the left of his bed.
Spinner tossed his spectacles on his desk, flopped on his chair, hunched over as he covered his wrinkled face and wept in both fright and failure.
He, too, had his tail tucked.
Tonight's trauma didn't stop with him, either, unfortunately…
"Can't sleep, bat will eat me, can't sleep, bat will eat me…"
Over and over he ranted to himself in his scratchy voice, hiding under the covers save for his snout, peeking with his patched right eye, curled up on his left side, and mumbling that mantra through his right thumb as he occasionally sucked on it while clutching a rag Biskitt doll to his chest.
Only his best friend knew that in times of intense trauma did he cower like this, sucking his thumb.
And only his best friend knew he still had a rag doll from his puppy days.
Sure he had faced predators and villains before: Scratch, bears, hawks, alligators, King Max and his minions, King Otto and his army, and he had braved the swamp alone in order to find a rare flower that would save the life of his best friend from that bout of swamp fever.
But despite his bravado, his enthusiasm to get things done, his willingness to lead the charge—
He was a coward.
And he knew that.
His best friend knew that.
The others knew that perfectly well.
His tail was one of the dead giveaways, too.
Still, it was nice of them to tolerate him the way they did. After all, they commended him for the fact that, despite being a coward, he still went by himself to find that flower, given that his best friend's life was at stake.
Sure, they berated him for his constant mistakes—why don't they look at their OWN?—but it wasn't as if they openly hated him, especially the females.
He wasn't a total free-loader, either. Despite him trying to pawn off his chores on others, he more or less pulled his own weight in this castle.
And despite being a coward, he had gotten used to being preyed upon by predators.
And outwitting and escaping them, of course.
Tonight's two predators, however—the ones they encountered and fought directly—were vastly different.
It wasn't as if he was the first Biskitt to be snatched from the air, but it was the first time a blasted blood-sucking bat had snatched him before he had a chance to rescue his Alphas and it was going to bite his neck and drain him of all his blood—
It didn't help that he had been on edge, tail tucked in, all night long, thanks to Spinner's scary tale.
It also didn't help that his tale was actually one hundred percent historical fact.
And it certainly didn't help that for some reason, when that bat grabbed him, something caused his muscles to start feeling numb, and it's likely that he would have been completely immobilised if Scat hadn't overloaded the bat's maximum payload.
That pup is heavier than he looks…
The chase inside the suit of armour didn't help either.
Because no matter in which direction they ran, bounced, or fell, the bat was always behind them. The only brave thing he could think of doing there was making sure Scat remained in front of him, because if the bat caught him, at least the pup would have been able to escape and be spared of the torture of having his blood sucked out of him.
He didn't know how many times he had to shove Scat forward, or if the bouncing of the armour and helmet caused him to shove him forward.
The sudden internal echoing of the clang caused by the fall of the armour and the helmet detaching and bouncing a few times seemed to stun the bat somehow, and both used that to escape through the open visor. The bat followed moments later, but it was immobilised again by Bump throwing the helmet over it.
He practically tackled the pup as he tripped and fell, and they remained on the crystal floor for a few moments, gasping to catch their breaths while the others captured the rat.
He was practically squashing the pup in order to hide his shaking due to abject terror, though he eased up on Scat when he realised that the youngster was shaking just as badly.
The two were snapped out of their trauma momentarily after the rat was finally captured, and they ran inside the laboratory. There, everything happened so fast that he, Scat, Downer, and Mooch were reduced to spectators when they saw what was happening, but they snapped out of their near-hypnosis when they heard the explosion.
After they ran outside, they called on the three owls that were on stand-by, circling overhead. They mounted the birds, with the largest one carrying the hare with its talons, and they flew off the bailey before it cracked and the whole castle disappeared with a magical burst of light.
As they flew back, they could tell that the owls, too, had been traumatised by the incident, and they were forced to land because they were shaking too much and were too exhausted to carry the whole group all the way back to the castle. The stampede of animals and birds away from the lake a few hours earlier meant that there were no more flights nor any other type of transportation nearby that would take them back to Biskitt Island.
So they all had to walk home.
Tails tucked in despite their victory.
He was so tired and sleepy from the whole ordeal and from cleaning the young owl and the hare and Waggs of those glass shards that he was too exhausted to continue trembling in residual fear.
It didn't help that his—ugh—Alpha Male began ranting a review of the rescue.
And conveniently left his "rescue" of Scat out of it.
Of course, Waggs didn't see the additional incidents with the bat and the rat, but the others did tell him about it during the short flight. Still, the Ever-Humble Leader made Bump and Spinner the heroes of the day and conveniently forgot to mention him; his best friend, Downer; Mooch; Scat; and Lady.
Old habits kicked in—which helped tone down his residual fear—and he began whining about why Waggs didn't say anything about his "exploits" of the rescue mission.
A shadow passing over him suddenly brought the terror back and he jumped into a knothole in a nearby tree, fearing that the bat had somehow escaped and had come back to suck his blood.
But no, it seemed that the owl they had rescued had flown back to "thank" them for their rescue, and the shadow passing over him triggered his trauma.
And they laughed at him.
AGAIN…
The same way they did back at the castle when the drapes swept over him, frightening him.
It didn't help that his Alpha Male mockingly called him "brave".
Perhaps it was to calm him down?
He did raise his hackles and yelp rather loudly when the owl flew over him, startling the others.
And that certainly didn't win him any points with either Sweets or Lady.
Especially Lady.
For a moment he thought he had been making progress with her when, at the start of the rescue mission, he jumped on one owl and she jumped right behind him and all three birds took off right then. They didn't talk during the flight as they had to listen to Spinner's instructions and warnings, as well as his best friend's complaints.
Maybe, just maybe, she was warming up to him?
Or maybe she jumped behind him because it was the only space left?
Whatever the reason, that chance was blown by that laughter.
But thinking about it…
He did make them laugh.
He made her laugh.
For one fleeting moment, thanks to him, Lady—and the others—forgot about tonight's horrors and their tails relaxed just slightly.
And not wishing to be left out of their makeshift recovery, Scat ran up to the knothole and jokingly asked for Halloween treats.
…Wise guy…
And they all laughed for a while as he snarled to himself until he finally climbed out of the knothole, allowed the owl to nuzzle him—and the rest—in gratitude, saw it fly back to its nest, and he stomped back to the castle, stopping only when the others noticed and removed residual shards on his Alpha's fur.
The laughter that he caused should have helped, right?
Their tails shouldn't have tucked back in, right?
Right?
Then why was it that when he finally closed his bedroom door and changed into his nightshirt and climbed on his bed that when he closed his eyes he suddenly started shaking again as the infernal shrieking of that bat began ringing in his ears?
Why did he keep feeling ghostly bites of piercing fangs all over his body?
Why couldn't he close his eyes?
Why couldn't he sleep?
Why was he reduced to behaving like a lost puppy and mumbling mantras to himself?
Why couldn't he just laugh like the others did?
Shiner's bloodshot eyes kept staring at the dark window and his shaky and scratchy voice continued to fill his room:
"Can't sleep, bat will eat me, can't sleep, bat will eat me…"
He dumped his sheets and nightshirt into the almost overflowing laundry basket that was against the right of the dresser.
Just how big was his bladder anyway? He certainly didn't remember having drunk that much water tonight.
Again he went to his wardrobe on the wall on the left of his dresser, to the right of his bed, and again he took out a change of sheets and a fresh nightshirt.
As he made his bed for the third time tonight, he wondered if he would have to ask the others for more bedsheets and nightshirts. Or worse and even more embarrassing for him: a chamber pot, as if he a toddler, or, worst of all and the most embarrassing: have to wear a diaper again as if he were a milk-suckling pup or a decrepit old dog.
It would be typical if that happened.
Just like it was typical for something horrible to happen in the most horrible night of the year.
I should have seen it coming.
The legend of the Witch of Nidor turned out to be true.
Typical.
The rat and the bat had magical assistance.
Typical.
The only quick transportation to the crystal castle was via owl, and he "got 'owlsick' on long flights".
Typical.
His Alphas were nearly lost.
Typical.
The way to destroy the witch and her plan was unbelievably easy.
Typical.
Tonight had been one long joint-nightmare.
Typical.
Everyone was being plagued with insomnia despite their exhaustion.
Typical.
Everyone was being plagued with terror that would not go away despite the fact that they were victorious, and all their tails remained tucked in as a result.
Not…so typical…
Having to replace his sheets and clothes over and over.
That…wasn't typical either…
He had always expected the worst, seen the worst, experienced the worst, but now…
He…had not expected this to happen.
He had no idea why this terror was making him lose control of his bodily functions.
Typical of me not knowing why I'm marking my territory over and over…it's not as if the witch, the rat, or the bat are going to come back and get repelled by the scent…
He did almost mark the boot as his territory as he held the lace and Mooch taunted the rat to run at them—
…AT HIM…
—but Mooch's plan worked and all he had to do was pull the lace tight.
And he nearly marked the witch's laboratory when he saw her and the mirror and his Alphas and everything that happened.
He might have marked it just a little when the mirror exploded.
The bright side was that everyone was reeking so much of fear and terror that no one noticed any "addition" on his part.
As they trudged home, he was absolutely sure that he was empty, given all the sweating he and the rest did.
Typical.
Again he climbed on his bed.
Again he pulled the sheets over him.
Again he closed his eyes.
Two minutes later, Downer sighed and got up again to make a fourth change…
Typical…
He was always trying to prove himself.
Always trying to show that he was worthy of being part of this pack, the only pack in England that King John deemed worthy of protecting his personal treasure and heirlooms from thieves and "entitled" claimants.
Like Shiner, he tended to cower whenever he faced actual physical danger, though.
His tail probably tucked in more times than Shiner's did, too.
But unlike Shiner, he was never scolded for showing instinctive cowardice; he was quite young, after all. At most, he was berated for biting off more than he could chew and needing rescue himself as a result, but he learned his lessons quickly.
All he ever wanted was to be as big and strong as his best buddy was.
So whenever there was a big task at paw, a large and complex project to do, a friend to rescue, a treasure to retrieve, he always jumped in and volunteered, ready to fight the villains, hackles raised and paw-to-paw if needed be.
And that was proven today. He almost bit the bat's talons after he grabbed them in his—well—Bump's improvised plan to rescue Shiner.
When they fell inside the statue, his hackles never faltered as he blindly swung his tiny fists left and right in the near-darkness, hoping to land a good punch on the minion, but given the way Shiner kept shoving him forward, the most he managed to hit was the armour itself.
…I think I hit Shiner a few times, too…
A resonating clang stunned everyone after the armour fell over and the helmet bounced on the bailey crystal floor, blasting through the bat's ultra-sensitive ears and stunning him for a few seconds.
The green-clad Biskitt practically shoved the pup out of the helmet before he could jump on the stunned bat and give him a good beating, but given that the bat was magically enhanced and quickly recovered with a vengeance, his older friend had the right idea.
Both ran, tails tucked in tighter, as now the bat was after both once more.
That was nightmare fodder if he ever had any.
Thankfully, Bump stopped the bat with the helmet, just as Shiner tripped and tackled the youngster.
Both remained on the crystal floor for a few seconds, trying to stop shaking.
Nightmare fodder…
It didn't help that he had problems with nightmares just before the start of the harvest season.
It also didn't help that, thanks to his Alphas, he and everyone else thought that his nightmares had finally disappeared.
It further didn't help that he was the one who asked his elder to tell them a scary story, given the holiday, a legend that—oh, the irony—turned out to be absolutely true.
And it was that story that showed him that nightmares can be real, more than real.
Downer himself said that tonight's events had been a nightmare, and not even Spinner nor Waggs nor Sweets argued with that point.
Nightmares were indeed real.
Nightmares could plague you, your friends, your family, your kingdom, and your entire world.
Nightmares could kidnap you and send you to another world from which you can never escape.
Nightmares could drain your lifeforce.
NIGHTMARES COULD BLOODY KILL YOU…
And now that nightmares were proven to be more than real, it was doubtful he would sleep again.
All he could do now was keep his tail tucked in, run from the nightmares in his room, dash to his best buddy's room, and hide under the covers with him, clutching his left side for protection, but still shaking in his arms.
Scat was only a puppy, after all…
He had saved the day.
He had made the winning move.
He was the hero that his Alpha acknowledged in front of the pack.
It's not as if he was the only one strong enough to catch that heavy sceptre—well, heavy for a Biskitt—and throw it at the mirror with enough force and aim in order to shatter the glass, break the spell, and destroy the source of the magical power of the witch.
Though technically, he was the only one strong enough to do so, and he was only following Spinner's orders.
Waggs couldn't have done it. He was too far away and had his paws full with the owl and Sweets.
That's why his Alpha praised him. Since both heads of the pack were practically out of commission, everything fell on the rest.
On him.
He became the hero of the day because no one else could do what was needed to be done and he happened to be standing on the spot where the sceptre would fall.
A hero by default.
A hero whose tail had tucked the moment the crystal castle came in to view and had not relaxed even as he lay on his own bed?
Blast it, he was no hero! He was only a farmer, a nurse at most! He wasn't as smart as Spinner or Waggs or Sweets or even Mooch!
And Mooch, despite his girth, could think on his footpaws quite fast, too. In fact, Mooch came up with a much better plan for capturing the rat than what he came up with to save Shiner from the bat.
Seriously? Launching Scat to the air in order to grab the bat? Why didn't it occur to him to call on the owls—a bat's bloody natural predator—circling overhead, to attack the bat and save Shiner? Even if the bat had released the stuck-up male mid-air, they still had two other owls to catch him and bring him down safely.
It was Mooch and Downer who caught the rat with an actual plan, based on the results of the "disaster" he made when Shiner, Scat, and that bat fell into that suit of armour while he desperately tried to think of SOMETHING ELSE to stop the witch's minions.
His "plan" caused the armour to fall and the helmet to detach. It was only after they escaped from the helmet that he finally got his idea, and he ran to it and tossed it over the bat to effectively trap it.
A completely improvised plan.
After all, only he was strong enough to throw the heavy helmet.
It was quick thinking on his footpaws, yes, but still improvised at the last moment, unlike Mooch's plan that required a bit more thought and didn't seem as improvised as his own plan. In fact, it had much more finesse: using a boot of the armour to trap the rat. The castle would disappear long before it managed to chew itself out.
A minute later, he had improvised when he caught the sceptre.
Spinner improvised by ordering him to break the mirror with it.
And he completely improvised his toss, as if he were throwing a spear, something he had never done before in his life.
It was a miracle he hit the target on the first try.
Because he knew that improvisations didn't always work the first time.
And everyone knew that the plan was totally improvised when everything started cracking and exploding and crumbling under their footpaws.
They ran outside the laboratory, every tail tucked, and barely escaped with the owl flock just as the castle shattered and disappeared.
An improvised escape.
An improvised hero who saved the world by improvising.
He felt like an absolute phoney when Waggs praised him.
And he knew he was a total phoney because, despite being the hero of the day—of the century, even—for some reason he couldn't stop shaking or relax his tail.
He had been the first to show cowardice even before Spinner finished his tale, by tucking his tail and jumping into Shiner's arms, of all people…
Bump couldn't be a bigger phoney because he was shaking and trembling as much as his little buddy was, huddled against him under the covers, seeking protection and comfort that he knew he couldn't provide…
He couldn't fill up.
Of all the members of the rescue team, he was the only one who didn't go straight to his room once they got home.
He couldn't fill up.
By habit, he always went straight to the kitchen whenever they returned from an adventure or a rescue.
He couldn't fill up.
This was the first time he ran straight to the kitchen, tail tucked in, after coming home.
He couldn't fill up…
Because this was the first time he came home, not from an adventure, not from a rescue, but from a NIGHTMARE.
He dashed to the pantries, grabbed whatever food was there, tossed it on the centre table, sat, and began wolfing it down.
But…
The leftovers of tonight's dinner couldn't fill him up.
The softened rodent bones couldn't fill him up.
The salted fish and rodent meat couldn't fill him up.
The deer milk and cheese couldn't fill him up.
The dogberries couldn't fill him up.
The other fruits and vegetables couldn't fill him up.
The bread and scones and pastries couldn't fill him up.
Despite being a contender for Gamma Male, he was the third to tuck his tail, run, and hide upon hearing thunder after Spinner finished his tale. How he managed to fit his obese body under the platter cover on the table would be a mystery for the ages, though.
The three cowards: Bump, Shiner, and him.
Blast it, not even Scat so much as flinched when he heard the thunder.
And there he was, hiding by pretending to be a covered dish.
What's more, he had to rely on Spinner for an actual rescue plan once he heard what had happened to his Alphas.
And when the crystal castle came into view, and they all tucked their tails in, he started feeling…something…
Not quite a sinking feeling…
Not quite a queasy feeling…
Not quite getting cold paws and footpaws…
Not quite feeling somewhat drowsy…
Or perhaps it was a combination of those four?
Feeling like…something inside wasn't quite there anymore…
That annoying sensation remained with him even after their sudden battle with the witch's minions.
His quick wit, aided by Bump's improvisations and unexpected results, gave him the perfect idea for capturing the rat: quickly grabbing Downer's right paw and running to one of the loosened boots, he shoved the lace into his friend's shaky paws, stood in front of the opening of the boot, raised his hackles, and chided, "Hey, rat face! Give me a hand!"
It was a miracle he didn't lose control of his bodily functions when he saw the rat run straight toward him.
Those eyes…those sharp incisors…much sharper than his own fangs…
He still had to pause after Downer tightened the lace and trapped the rat. If he hadn't, he would have definitely marked the boot as his territory.
And then that…feeling…not only lingered, but intensified.
But what was it?
What was he feeling?
Then came the explosion when Bump shattered the mirror, and their narrow escape from the crumbling castle.
The feeling diminished as they put distance between themselves and that again-empty lake, but he couldn't quite shake it off.
It couldn't be fear, since they had won the day again…
…but then again, their tails wouldn't return to normal—
And then it hit him.
Spinner said that the witch used her magic to drain the lifeforce from as many living beings in the swamp as she could.
So the feeling that increased when he approached the castle, and decreased when he moved away from it—
HIS LIFEFORCE WAS BEING DRAINED!
But…why was he the only one who could feel it?
Or…was he the only one who dared to acknowledge that he was feeling it?
And now with the witch gone, had his lifeforce been restored completely?
Or…was some of it missing?
Was that why he couldn't fill himself up, no matter how much food he wolfed down in panic?
He couldn't fill up…
Panic eating.
He couldn't fill up…
Mooch just couldn't fill himself up…
Every single mask that had been tailored for tonight's prank on Spinner was being torn to pieces by their creator, as she grabbed them one by one from the bed behind her, shredded it, and tossed the pieces into the fireplace on her right.
Scat wanted to be a red demon, complete with wings and gloves. Shiner wanted the human vampire. Bump wanted a…monster that some human transformed into by drinking a magic potion. Mooch wanted a…humanoid composite golem of some sort. Waggs wanted the human-wolf mix. Her best friend, however, wanted an original mask, a rather complex one, too: "glasses" that showed eyes with slit pupils and thick eyebrows above them and a pointy human nose above a moustache; some sort of advanced alchemist, she reasoned.
Seriously, how did Sweets ever get the idea for such a mask? A dream? A legend Spinner had told her? A combination of monsters or demons or mad humans she had heard about?
Perhaps, just perhaps, if they had taken the masks on the rescue mission, they could have used them to confuse the Spirit of the Magic Mirror and bought them more time to rescue the others.
Or so the Halloween legends proclaimed. She could have asked Spinner about them, but everything had happened so fast and she got caught up in the frenzy of going to save her best friend and her boyfriend, her Alphas, that the issue of the masks completely slipped her mind, especially once they arrived at the crystal castle.
Standing protectively next to Spinner, both with their tails in defence mode and their hackles on alert, while the others fought the rat and the bat and immobilised them—she wasn't the fighting sort, but if she had no choice but to protect her Beta Male from harm, she would have no qualms in defending him with fang and claw—she gave him a few glances, wondering if she should ask him, or if it was a moot point by now.
And as the rescue progressed, she saw that it was indeed moot.
And perhaps he knew that as well, but since it was all moot, he didn't bother mentioning it, either.
Still, even without the masks, they had succeeded.
They had won.
Waggs and Sweets were safe.
The pack was safe.
The swamp was safe.
The whole world was safe.
And she was almost killed by a rat and a bat, or worse, had her lifeforce drained by a human witch.
Her tail refused to relax.
She wanted nothing more to do with this accursed holiday, this bloody celebration…
She tore and tore the masks, tossing the pieces into her fireplace, but one pesky disguise—the vampire—wouldn't tear so easily.
She cursed herself for being a thorough seamstress.
Growling unladylike, she bit at the vampire mask, instinctively whipping her head side to side the same way her ancestors would have done in order to tear the muscle from the bones of their prey.
She yipped as she thought she felt her upper right fang loosen up.
The pain seemed to finally break her and she collapsed on her knees, covering her face with her paws and sobbing at how she almost lost her best friend and her best friend's boyfriend, her Alphas…
Lady once dreamed of being the Alpha female, but not this way.
Not this way…!
Those were the nine who were directly involved with the Witch of Nidor.
But even those who did not take part of the rescue were also deeply affected by tonight's NIGHTMARE…
The teenager had stood at the rampart of the tallest tower: eyes, ears, nose, and Spinner's spyglass fixed on that strange glow in the distance.
The same direction that her friends had flown off to, her Alpha's Rescue Party.
She always hated Halloween.
She hated feeling scared.
That's one reason why she neither requested a mask from Lady nor did she stay around after dinner to play along with Spinner's prank nor did she stay to hear tonight's Obligatory Scary Tale™.
So, she cleaned up after dinner and went to bed right away.
It was shortly after midnight when the yellow-tan furred female barged into her room and woke her up, telling her that the Alphas had been captured by a bat and a rat and Bump, Downer, Lady, Mooch, Scat, Shiner, and Spinner had formed a rescue party, commandeered three owls, and set off to find them, in the direction opposite from where the animals were fleeing from. Hence, Fetch and Flip were in charge until they returned.
If they returned.
That meant that she was practically in charge right alongside them.
Meaning—as with every other adventure that she didn't participate in—they had to prepare food, water, and medical supplies for when they returned.
If they returned…
Grudgingly, she held back a snarl as she got up, removed her nightshirt, donned her dark pink dress and beret again, and headed to the pantry to get everything ready.
Once everything was set, all they had to do was wait.
She decided to appoint herself as watchdog for tonight, borrowed Spinner's spyglass, took her post on the tallest tower, and waited.
And waited…
Given how frightened the other female was, and the near-endless stampede of spooked animals—predator and prey—that was still pouring in, she knew that tonight's rescue was different.
Vastly different.
The eerie glow in the distance didn't help her uneasiness.
It wasn't as if they were gone for several days, or as if there was a fire during a drought, or as if a foreign army had invaded.
"This," said the other female, "has to do with a witch who wants to take over the world," or so she managed to overhear from Spinner.
The spyglass didn't help much, as all she could see was something glowing behind the trees in the distance.
It didn't help that there were several moments when her tail tucked in when she thought she saw the glow pulse and increase.
Just what was happening over there?
And then, a sudden reddish pulse of light, and the eerie glow was gone.
She perked her ears and scanned the whole horizon with the spyglass, but it had completely disappeared.
A few minutes later, the stampede tapered off, stopped, and gradually, the animals began returning toward where the eerie glow had been.
Was the danger over?
The rescue party arrived about an hour later, with her Alphas.
It was then that she knew that something wasn't completely right.
Why didn't they fly back with the owls and were walking—no, dragging their footpaws—back to the castle?
She spotted them trudging through the swamp, just before the hedge blocked them from her sight, and she called out to the others to lower the drawbridge as she ran down to see them and ask what had happened.
Everyone who stayed behind gasped when they saw the rescue party inside the front gate, exhausted, haggard, and scared, as they could tell from their tell-tale tails.
Very scared, from what they could smell from them.
As they brought the group into the courtyard, Mooch barged past her, practically ignoring her yet almost bumping into her, and ran to the kitchen.
In previous adventures, upon arrival, she had seen him calmly greet everyone as he headed off to eat something right away, but this time, he didn't so much as greet her nor anyone as he ran off to eat.
Just what had happened with that witch?
It took a few minutes, but eventually the others managed to debrief them of tonight's events, each telling their part of the account. It was a bit jumbled, but the others understood the basics of the story.
Of their NIGHTMARE.
And as they told more and more details, the more and more she felt worthless.
Almost as if she had betrayed her friends.
Her Alphas, too.
She hated Halloween even more now.
…I should have gone with them…I should have helped them…blast it, even Scat went along for the bloody rescue! Just what is wrong with me?
After they finished telling them the story, she, Fetch, Flip, the four others, and even the second pup who stayed behind just looked at each other, terrified—tails reacting accordingly—that they had nearly been drained of their lifeforce by a witch who almost conquered their world.
And they did nothing about it.
She did nothing about it.
Or…could she had done something about it?
Could she have helped somehow if she had found a fourth owl and had gone off after them, perhaps with Fetch and Flip, as reinforcements?
Or…would she have cowered upon seeing an actual witch, actual magic, and an actual demon-possessed mirror, along with two magically-enhanced minions?
Wiggle thrust Spinner's spyglass into Flip's chest, almost knocking the wind out of him, and ran off to her room, crying, feeling worthless.
…Absolutely worthless…
The rest who stayed behind just stood there, watching as Wiggle bolted to her room, and they remained standing in place as the rescue party dragged their exhausted footpaws to their own rooms as well.
The stench of fear hadn't faded away despite their exhaustion or their triumph.
And that stench now seemed to rub off on them, despite tonight's "victory", meaning no tail would be relaxing any time soon.
Fetch, Flip, the second pup, and the four others looked at the retreating party, then at each other, and felt ashamed…
…useless…
…worthless…
However, as the night wore on and dawn approached, the rest realised that they remained behind for a reason…