Tom Noris and Dolly
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Once upon a time, there was a blonde boy called Tom Noris. He was on the way to see his May Smith, when he decided to take a shortcut through Stinkville Forest.
It wasn’t long before Tom got lost. He looked around, but all he could see were trees. Nervously, he fell into his bag for his favorite toy, Dolly, but Dolly was nowhere to be found! Tom began to panic. He felt sure he had packed Dolly.
To make matters worse, he was starting to feel hungry. He peered down at the ground, hoping against hope that he might find some berries or nuts. Unfortunately, though, nothing edible grew in the forest.
Before too long Tom noticed how cold it really was and soon after became very wet. By this point, however, Tom didn’t care; he just wanted out of the forest. So with a loud “Ho!” Tom shouted as loudly as he could: “Excuse me! I’m looking for my friends Dolly and Dodger.” But no one answered him…
Dodger’s Mother: Hey sonny. What are you doing? Oh, that looks like dog poo. Come here lad so we can wash your hands. And don’t think about trying to eat those seeds in the garden again, please. Yes, yes! That’s much better now. Are you feeling okay now?
Don’t worry – there is such a thing as soap these days. Next time get Mum to show you. And Tom – you come here straight away. Did I say why yet? Because this little laddie is not coming inside until he has done ten press-ups first.
Now get going! Good. Let’s try eleven next time, shall we? One – two – three – four. Five! six! seven eight! nine ten! Eleven! one – Two -Three-Four five! Six! Seveneightnine10Elevenone-Two- Threefourfivesixseveneight nine ten eleven! One – Two – THREE!
Tom heard his father’s stern voice and knew he was in trouble. The press-ups seemed endless. Once they finished, Tom had a new set to start; push-up-battles. Another ten minutes passed by. By then it was nearly dark. It appeared that no one was in the house because no one answered Tom’s many shouts.
In fact, the only person to reply was Mrs. Robinson (their landlady). She would also punish any trespassers. There followed another long silence but there could still be a chance of being caught.
Maybe Dolly had dropped somewhere along the way and his parents hadn’t realized he’d left home. If that was so, Tom could easily sneak back while everyone was asleep. Just before leaving the house to walk back home, he placed something carefully into his pocket.
A small gift for May from Grandpa Ted. It was a red heart made of glass that sparkled so brightly when struck against a stone in the garden. This wasn’t much to replace Dolly, but Tom thought that it would help her forget that he had been gone for two months.
And he hoped that she’d remember that he did love her despite what his dad said.
***
The following day, Tom awoke early but found the sky filled with fog. Everything looked grey and Tom couldn’t tell where he was. Without his map he became worried. No wonder his father had kicked him out. And what would his grandma think if she came down today and Tom was still not at their family party?
On the plus side though, he saw someone. But who or what it was remained to be seen. The mystery figure slowly approached until Tom had a clear view of its face. He recognized his friend Dolly straight away. There was no mistaking her big eyes, short tail, and little whiskers that poked out at different angles.
All he could hear, however, was the sound of dripping water. And as Tom stepped aside a flood gushed over him. After several hours of drying off, and a well-earned bowlful of dog food, he spoke to Dodger.
“Good morning Dodger,” said Tom.
The rat sat up with a sharp ‘kerrump’ and a sniff. Then he sighed with pleasure when his nostrils were flooded with the smell of baked beans.
“‘Morning Tom. You must be pleased that I’ve arrived,” replied Dodger.
After breakfast, the pair got dressed together and spent the day exploring. Their destination was London. But instead of taking a more direct route through the park, Tom planned to follow the path that wound past Greenheath Woods. Only, because the fog had crept across the city and the river, none of them could see their hand in front of their face.
They’d lost each other again! Suddenly a ferocious growling sound echoed toward them. A huge beast leaped through the undergrowth only a few feet ahead. Before either Tom or Dodger even moved, the wolf snarled menacingly, backed itself up, and quickly sprang forward.
Within seconds it jumped straight on top of them, knocking both friends sideways onto the floor. The wolf stood guard all around them – the furry form so close that their whiskers brushed against its ears and Tom felt its hot breath.
Its maw opened wide displaying row after row of razor-sharp teeth ready for the kill.
They didn’t dare move an inch as their enemy sniffed at them, inspecting the smells on their bodies. Despite its fearsome appearance it was hard to believe that this creature really wanted to devour its prey like a dog. The two friends soon worked out that they weren’t in immediate danger.
For, the wolf turned its head and walked away to a large boulder. Reaching into his pocket, Tom pulled out some peanut butter and held it out to it. When nothing happened he tried pushing it through the slit of its jaws.
To his surprise, the wolf took the treat inside its mouth and chewed contentedly for quite some time without offering anything in return. When finally satisfied, the wolf licked around its face several times and lay down motionless near its rock. Now Tom realized that it would never take more than half his body weight just to pry himself off his victim if he was threatened.
But now that he understood the wolf’s intent, the game changed dramatically.
He grinned and lunged at it full force; first making contact with its arm. Next, he flung his entire upper torso into a hug against its stomach. Before his adversary could react, he swiveled his whole lower body to his left side. With his back pressed tightly against the wolf, he flipped his legs upside down, facing upwards, allowing his knees to push back into the wolf’s groin.
As soon as he made contact with the ground his ankles snapped round in a scissor action, while his shoulders raised up high above his head. From then on it was a slow and steady grind that saw Tom ripping flesh from the animal’s body with every jerking turn.
Soon, the wolf wasn’t even attempting to fight any longer but simply crawled away from the painful onslaught that threatened to rip his throat out of its body with ease. Dodger ran forward and stood beside his friend, trying to put as much space between the two as possible.
It had been a long time since Tom ever faced such a powerful opponent. Was he strong enough? Or was it wiser for him to run as fast as he could through the trees rather than fight this deadly wolf?
It was too late for doubts. Another fierce tug of war began in which neither friend gave a chance to retreat. After what seemed hours, he knew it was almost over. There was little more flesh or sinews left to tear; the wolf was already weak and dizzy with pain and lack of air.
At last, with one final savage yank that brought tears to his eyes, the wolf lay limp and lifeless next to its boulder. Quickly turning back to his friend, Tom used his quick tongue to find a vein and injected poison through the skin. Soon the wolf died without a struggle.
He placed a paw on the animal’s heart, feeling the slow pulse beat once before collapsing with its final heartbeat. Turning away, he threw the dead wolf to the ground and looked at his hands. His fingers trembled at the thought of what might have become of them otherwise. It wouldn’t matter anyway. For even though he may never use those particular claws again, they will still leave their mark…
“Thanks, friend!” exclaimed a voice that sounded very much alive. Both friends spun around to see who was talking. Sitting right behind them, staring calmly at Tom, was Mr. Pickwick.
“Oh my gosh! Are you alright?” Dodger asked with concern. “What about your book? Where is it?”
Mr. Pickwick glanced sadly at the tree where his favorite traveling companion should’ve been hiding. Instead of looking surprised by such a silly question, he merely lifted up his own head high. “I shall search elsewhere,” he stated plainly.
Then picking up a branch, Tom and Dodger started collecting sticks to make their way back home. Yet soon enough the conversation continued.
“Thank you,” Tom repeated, unable to look at his new friend due to the tears that were filling his eyes.
This time when Mr. Pickwick responded it wasn’t from far away.
He came closer and sat down next to the boy. The tears rolled down both sides of his cheeks now, like gentle river currents that merged together and formed a single stream. “It has been many years since I’ve read my own books. And to think you’ll grow up without knowing the words to them. That’s a sad thing indeed.”
Tom shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “Doesn’t seem important anymore,” he admitted.
The fox reached out a comforting paw towards Tom, holding onto his shoulder tightly for support. “Oh no, dear chap. A childhood without the words to these stories should not exist if there is another world. But do know this:
When all of us, Mr. Dacre included, live upon this earth someday, you are invited to join our great story. Just write the words wherever you are so that everyone can enjoy them too. Such a noble task would surely earn your lifelong respect in my book, young wolf.”
Dodger bent down beside his friend, placing an extra hand on his shoulder for reassurance. Together, the four sat and watched the setting sun bring forth one more day, filling them with renewed strength for tomorrow.
***
Many a summer afternoon later found Mr. Dacre reading his newest masterpieces to Dodger in a warm corner of the library. There had always been times when the fox could finish certain chapters faster than the rabbit – who preferred spending the rest of the day playing around with the others in the fields.
Though never did Dodger mind losing track of the passage. He knew perfectly well where he was and kept himself entertained during his breaks by listening to Mr. Pickwick’s adventures as the books changed.
This meant he always found a great story unfolding to him. Most days, he returned for more stories about Pickwick as often as Mr. Dacre allowed him to go, staying until long after sundown in case the writer needed help carrying the books. When it became apparent that he had made several trips with the manuscripts to the castle dungeons and back to the library without leaving so much as a trace, Mr. Dacre understood he’d best keep an eye on his friend just to be sure…
But not today.
For tonight, Dodger only asked him a single question: ‘Do you think you might ever share your real name with me?’
The author slowly turned his gaze towards Dodger. It was silent for a long while before he replied, “Perhaps we ought to call each other by different names instead. To distinguish between reality and fiction. For who knows what lies ahead…” His eyes lit up suddenly in excitement once more.
He slid to his feet and went to pull one of the manuscript folders off its hook, making his way over to a nearby table. Quickly retrieving a sheet of paper from his desk drawer, he waited until Dodger sat back down before leaning across the table to fill in the blanks. “So, how should I address you now?”
He pulled the quill to his lips but quickly dropped it, waiting for Dodger’s reply. Finally, the fox chuckled to himself and let out a little laugh too, reaching out to take the quill once again. “I’m sorry sir but it’s simply impossible. It really bothers you when other people have to follow a code or etiquette.
You just prefer to write everything down, and I can appreciate that. After all, you were created from the mind of a storyteller. Besides, I like having a pen-name too,” he grinned. “Now I know your actual first name, maybe I should start calling you ‘Mr. Tipping’ instead of ‘Tod’.”
Smiling, Mr. Dacre placed his paws neatly under his chin and leaned forward. “Well then, here’s to something old, something new.”
Once the full sentence came into existence, they shared a good laugh. The two exchanged letters under the night sky with great gusto. Although, when Dodger grew tired and fell asleep near sunset, he forgot to check the last page which revealed another character was following the same path.
A month passed in a flash of poems, pages filled with illustrations and endless possibilities for the future. Slowly, Mr. Tod began to adjust to his new life alongside his newfound companion, helping his human friend in whatever way he could in return for room and board at the castle.
This was always his true wish in the beginning. In fact, despite Mr. Pickwick and his merry men appearing to the child so many times over those months – as he repeatedly fell asleep amid their adventures– Tod refused to meet any of his favorite characters. He only listened to his master telling stories for as long as the boy wanted him to.
When autumn arrived, the pair received news of Lady Harriet Darc, daughter of Duke Rupert, visiting her father upon royal request. At first, she was to be housed in a local estate by Lord Cadbury, but the count was unable to afford such a noble girl a private apartment; nor the money needed for food and clothing.
Unable to stand watching the princess suffer from the cold weather, Mr. Dacre decided it was time for action. All too soon he began receiving requests for extra work at the castle dungeons and even the stables – though not from the soldiers, they did not want anything to do with a bookish sort of individual.
Eventually, he hired another artist from the village who introduced herself as Daisy. She immediately took over where Mrs. Hodge left off and assumed command of the library and grounds as Mr. Dacre worked feverishly on finishing his latest masterpiece.
By November, he had completed his most ambitious creation yet and his fans flooded in from far and wide to view his greatest accomplishment. As for Mr. Tod, his mind raced nonstop at every thought the human threw his way, crafting each piece of his friend’s persona in turn.