Dinosaurs at the Island (by Wes)

When Wes’s short, wiry best friend John White suggests they play Dinosaur Tag along the jungly island path, they agree, but with great reservations. Off he lopes, up the trail ahead of them, to seek a hiding place in the grape vines and sumac. They are to count to a hundred and follow. They count to a hundred and don’t budge. He’s gonna ambush them, they agree, victims of the obvious. That is after all the main idea of the game. Minutes go by. They take a tentative step or two, then retreat to the sanctuary of the mowed clearing. They can’t very well walk right into the reach of the jaws that bite, the claws that catch. Eventually he comes down the path. “What’re you guys doing?” he demands. “Aren’t you coming?”
“We’re too scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Scared of the dinosaur.”
“I’m the dinosaur.”
“I know. But you’ll jump out at us and growl.”
“Well, yeah, that’s what the game’s about, right?”
“We’ll get scared.” (Wes would admit to this. Laurie never confesses to being scared; she is fearless, except in his company, when, by sibling osmosis, he can infect her with his hideous imaginings.)
A long pause follows, while the three of them try to conjure up an alternative. It’s John who finally proposes a solution.
“I’ll be a wounded dinosaur, so I can’t run fast.”
“OK, and you have to make a lot of noise so we know where you are.”
“And you have to lie in the path so we can see you.”
“But what about the hiding?”
“You can’t.”
So John, grateful to be spending part of his summer vacation with friends at the beach, away from tedious Hanson, relents. Back up the trail he lopes. Wes and Laurie count to one hundred and follow. His pathetic growls reach their ears before they even turn the bend. The sight of him, lying on his side in the middle of the path, clutching his belly as Mesozoic moans emerge from his mouth, greets them with ample warning. No semblance of surprise here, yet still the suspense is horrible. A cruel suspicion mocks them. What if he isn’t really wounded? What if he’s only feigning agony? Laurie and Wes approach, oh, so tentatively. He wallows in mock pain. This tiny tyrannosaurus is no match for the two of them, but they leap back anyway to avoid his flailing fingers. Foolhardy Laurie, however, must creep closer. In a moment he’s on his feet. He lunges to tag them. They shriek and flee. John is swift, but panic makes them faster. They race screaming back down to the clearing. He follows. He looks at them, awed by his ability to instill fear.
“All right,” he says, thinking hard. “I’ll be a dead dinosaur.”
“No, no, maybe we’ll go climb grape vines instead and play monkeys.”

Monkeys aren’t as scary as dinosaurs, quick or dead.

(Wes is in grade 7, Laurie 5th, and John 8th at the time. )