There is a dragon in my basement. I found him one morning when I left my attic and went exploring. He was asleep. I crept away, unwilling to wake him up.
The house I lived in was full of empty rooms. Only the attic and garden held memories. It had been empty as long as I can remember. I would come home from school, climb the creaking, endless stairs to my attic. I would open the small low door and crawl in, and enter my world of books. Books everywhere, old and new, cobwebby and dusty. My hand would reach out, pull down a book, dust it off, and open the pages to a world of magic.
As I grew older, I began to explore the empty house. Up and down stairways, opening doors to empty rooms, only to find more stairs. They led me, as if in a maze, always arriving only at the attic or the basement. I never ventured into the basement after that early peek, with its heavy oak door and ring shaped handle. I would scurry up to my attic and hide in my books.
Through the years the books loosened their hold on me. I no longer needed to hide within them. Too many words that often went nowhere. Now the empty house bothers me. It’s getting older, pieces falling off, mold and decay setting in. An abandoned place, as if murder had happened there. Lifeless, dry, unused, forgotten. I wander into the garden. Wild roses blooming everywhere. A small fountain in the middle, a cherub perched on the top busily pouring water from a bowl held firmly in his arms. An ancient fountain, stains of iron and green lichen cover the stone work. The water pours into the basin and gently moves the water lilies.
I sit and watch the water and gaze into the pool. Scenes take shape and I see far off places, caves hidden in forests and on the tops of mountains. Caves waiting to be found with their hidden treasures. Understanding comes slowly, through the mists of my mind. I know what to do. I stand and move back into the house, take down a giant sword hanging over the fireplace. Grasp it in both hands, and climb down the stairs into the dark basement.
I push open the heavy oak door, and peek around. He is still asleep… or is he? I see little cracks across his eyes. He’s sneaking a look. In the dark I see a little glow in his nostrils. A wisp of smoke curls up from his mouth. I pause and watch, knowing he watches me. I need to wake him up. He is very large. I tighten my grip on the sword and call out.
“Redwood, are you awake?” Silence, then a snuffle. A tiny flame leaps out for a moment.
“Redwood I say”I need you to wake up.” Nothing. Another snuffle, a little smoke.
“Come on Redwood, I’v waited too long in my empty house. Another snuffle, another flame. How can I wake him. I edge closer. I see the many boils on his skin, like cankers. I could begin and lance a boil on his skin, let out the puss. I feel uncertain. One boil at a time and nothing will happen. Too many at once and I may end up scorched.
“Redwood,” I say again “wake up I need you.” This time I see his eye open. The eye full of colors regards me standing there clutching my sword..I put the sword aside. Another snuffle, a little heave of his slothful body. A deep rumbling echoed around the basement.
“You need me?” Redwood stirs. “You really need me?”
“Yes.” I say.
“You finished reading and messing around with all those books in the attic?” His rumbling voice bounces around the basement. I feel the air, redolent with his warm, old sleeping breath, push past my face.
“Yes Redwood, I’m finished reading and need to write.” Silence.
“Hurumph! What do you want from me?”
“I need you to come out of the basement. To stretch your wings again, breathe fire, some real spit and fire. I need to ride on your back and travel over the world again, to all those lands I’ve almost forgotten. I need to fly with you and write the word and more words. To tell our stories and spread them far and wide. To sleep no more. Come Redwood, it’s time.”
I take down the dragon bridle from it’s hook on the wall. I am ready. I gently approach, no longer fearful. He opens his mouth with a yawn, warm smoke pouring out. I place my hand on his nose and gently stroke up over his head. His eyes fully open and gaze at me. I see the whole universe in them, circling in all colors and shapes. I look deep and see all the places we must go.
I place the bridle over his head. He stirs and stretches. The slothfulness sliding off his body like a second skin. His muscles twitch, stretch, his wings unfold like ancient fans. His claws push out and he begins to take his ancient shape.
“Are you ready Redwood?” I say. Another hurumph, a stretch and spreading of wings.
“Yes” he says as flames spurt forth and lick around me.
“Lets go.” I say, and gently lead him up the stairs and out of the basement and into the unknowable day.
Testing