Edgar, the dragon slayer – Part 1

Flash 28
Author’s note: My take on writing a modern fairytale. Part 2 next week.

I’m not sure what to answer when people ask me where Elle is. I can’t tell them the truth, can I? Because if I told them that a dragon took her they’d think I was mad. And then they’d lock me up and if they locked me up, well then who go and retrieve her from said dragon. So for the meantime I’m telling everyone she’s visiting her mum… who is an old witch to be fair so it’s not that far from the truth.

Of course my parents are the two people I can mention the dragon to. I am the offspring of an ageing rockstar who drinks too much absinth and a horror novelist who collects bad luck charms from around the world. They’re very open-minded… too open-minded possibly. I had a Robert Smith haircut when I was three and my mother substituted my teething ring for a plastic bat… she thought it made me look like Ozzy. I have, in typical offspring manner, rebelled by being the exact opposite of my parents. I’m so normal that the people I’ve been working with for four years forget my name on a daily basis.

I remember the first time Elle met my parents… the look of absolute wonder as my father opened the door shirtless wearing leather trousers and instantly offered her one of his fingerless glove as a memento. Shortly before my mother shoved him out of the doorway and took a Polaroid of her “for the scrapbook”.

Yes… they believed in the dragon. In fact my father was convinced he knew said dragon and had met him the same night he met my mother… but then again my dad also claims to be a French duke from the 16th century and that he invented the taser. Over spaghetti bolognaise we contemplate the situation. Despite her unusual appearance, my mother is a surprisingly good cook. I believe that my father would have starved to death in the 80’s if she had not taken a shine to him.

“What did the dragon look like?” says my mother.
“Like a dragon, mum,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Edgar, we have to figure out what kind of dragon it is.”
“Was it sort of grey-green?” says my dad, cigarette dangling precariously between his fingers.
“I suppose,” I say.
“I know that dragon,” he says to my mother. “He was sitting behind the tour bus the night I met you.”
“You took half a packet of magic mushrooms with four bottles of red wine the night you met me,” says my mother. “I think you thought I was a. dragon.”
“Bah!” says my father, gesturing with the cigarette. “Are you trying to tell me I don’t know the difference between a woman and a dragon… anyway you fell in love with me.”
“It was only cos I was trying to make that guitarist of yours jealous. You just happened to be there… in fact… if I remember correctly, you were naked.”

I have heard this story so many times that I start to tune out. Every time they tell it, it’s different. I highly doubt that either of them was anywhere near sober enough to actually remember meeting, until my mother woke up in my father’s tour bus 200 miles from home and decided to stay.

“I never told you the whole story,” says my father.
“Leonard, no one knows the whole story,” says my mother.
I watch him wince. He hates being called Leonard. Lenny Tru… that’s the stage name.
“Yes,” my father says. “I know it. When I saw you in that bar after the show, I was blinded by your radiance but you were already talking to Phil and so I went outside to see if I could find something in the tour bus to impress you with. A book of poetry or a hat or something and that’s when I saw the dragon. He recognised my misery and so he offered me a deal. He said if I promised him our first born child, he’d make you fall in love with me… it seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.”
“You promised the dragon what?” asks my mother.
“Ruby, I never thought we were going to have kids. I just wanted to see if you had anymore tattoos under that dress.”
“If dad promised me to the dragon,” I say. “Why did he take Elle?”
“Nevermind that,” says my mother. “I’ve been married to an idiot for twenty-five yeatrs.”
“To be fair, Ruby,” says my dad. “You knew I was an idiot long before you married me.”
“This is also true,” says my mother, smiling fondly at my father. I’ve never seen her manage more than a few moments of anger at him. Must be the dragon ju-ju.
“The dragon never turned up,” says my dad. “So I forgot about it.”
“So now what?” I say.
“Well with dragons, there is always a quest,” says my mother. “The first step will be to find the dragon.”
“How do you know this?” I ask.
“Um… fairytales,” says my mother as if I have asked the stupidest question in the world. “Where were you when you encountered the dragon?”
“The Cavern,” I say, watching my mother’s eyes light up.

It was Elle’s idea to go to The Cavern. I hate the place. It reminds me of my childhood, playing in amongst the smoke and the cables while my dad was onstage. Falling asleep behind the bar. Twenty years and it’s still open. We were arguing in the alley outside. She wanted to stay for the club night and I wanted to go to bed. I didn’t notice the hulking shape behind her until it unfolded its sinewy wings. I’m not sure what I thought at first. I don’t think I thought anything. It turned it’s head first to Elle and then to me, gave a little snort and then picked Elle up in one claw before flying off into the night.