Dear Reader,

Sometimes I struggle defining what kind of stories I write.

I love poignant and lyrical tales full of poetic language and deep messages. Sometimes I lean into the sad and serious. I also enjoy off-the wall sci fi and whimsical fantasy. My writing can range from little kids to adults and every age in between.

Today, I’m sharing a wackier side. Aren’t you glad you clicked?

I dedicate this story to my husband who plays D&D, wants a mullet, and blasts 80’s songs whenever we’re together. This one’s for you, JB. I’ll always love you, despite your terrible music choices.

Since the Dragonic Invasion of 2030, organizations claiming to have the “cure” began popping up almost as quickly as the dragons themselves. Every group from national park rangers, zoologists, to the local HOA, paleontologists, the FBI, and everyone in between, had their own theories on how to deal with the giant reptiles that had suddenly dug themselves out of the ground and were munching on neighbors’ pets, and on occasion, the neighbors themselves.

But it wasn’t until three years later when a group of D&D gamers developed a weapon so impactful against the beasts that fantasy and sci fi nerds went from basement-dwellers to top-dog heroes, seemingly overnight.

The dragons remained, however, no matter their aversion to the weapon.

___

“A mullet?” Carly rolled her eyes as Daryl came out of the woods and into the clearing. “This is getting out of control.”

Daryl winked then shamelessly smoothed his hand over the business side all the way to its party end. “Tubular, huh?”

Carly snorted. “Just because we dress like this, doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re from the 80’s too.” She adjusted her fanny pack. “It’s weird.”

“The hair or how I talk?”

She shrugged and stared at the looming cave before them. “Take your pick, Bono.”

Daryl had been the Dungeon Master who’d figured it out two years ago: dragons (like many modern Americans) hated the 1980’s. The music, vibrant clothes, interior design, even the hair styles and slang… it made the beasts surge from their hiding places faster than ants at a picnic. But the best part? Denim was completely dragon fireproof.

But Daryl’s commitment was at another level, mostly because he’d been stuck in the 80’s since childhood, though he’d never personally witnessed the era. It was how he’d discovered the creature’s nemesis when dragons began hunting him and his LA Looks Extreme Sports hair gel.

“It’s all about experimentation, Carly. You’re a scientist, you get it.” He flipped on his flashlight and shone it into the darkness. The forest’s boughs around them drifted lazily like Carly’s frizzy hair over her forehead.

Most of the D&D group had stopped helping with the missions. It had been two years since they’d made any new findings and most of the kids had gone back to their role playing, leaving the real dragons to the “pros”. But Carly had stuck with her chemistry partner. Daryl was smart and driven and though she made fun of his clothes and nerdy ways, she thought he was a secret genius.

“A mullet is an experiment?” she whispered as they approached the cave. “To deduce how bad they are?”

“My hypothesis is,” he continued as if not hearing her, “if this era drives dragons crazy, there must be something from the 80’s they not only hate, but fear. Their kryptonite.”

“This isn’t a video game or comic book,” Carly said, grabbing Daryl’s arm. “You know that, right? I need you to tell me you know this. It’s no time to nerd-out.”

He frowned, then took her hand in his, making her flinch and blush at the same time. “I know, Car. Just… It’s a hunch. I don’t know how to explain it.” He brushed a thumb over her knuckles, tugging her an inch closer. “I mean, why are you here, if you don’t believe me?”

Carly’s face was on fire so she punched him in the shoulder and stepped back. “Because I believe in you, idiot. But hunches aren’t exactly fool proof. And you aren’t fireproof, despite the jacket.”

Daryl’s grin was almost as bright as the orange tank top under his denim jacket. “Aren’t experiments just hunches being tested?”

“I suppose.”

“Then let’s call it an experiment. Experiment 107: Aquanet.” He shook the hairspray canisters and slid them into the homemade holsters on his belt. “The mullet is experiment 108.”

“Let’s just go,” Carly said. “But be careful.”

The two friends crept into the cave, lights shining in the dank darkness. A crinkling sound made Carly jump until she realized it was Daryl dragging some bubblegum out of his pocket.

“Fruit Stripe?” he offered.

She shone her beam down. “Where’d you even find pants like that?”

“Ebay. Acid wash jeans are pure bleach artistry.” He handed her a strip of gum.

Carly shook her head.

Admittedly, she looked as dorky as Daryl in her pink tights, blue leg warmers, skirt, and her own denim jacket. The scrunchy in her hair was neon green—a gift from Daryl, since he knew she liked green. Unlike her friend, however, she changed into normal clothes once their missions were over. She’d prefer not to be caught dead in the 80’s attire (and since dragons loathed it, this was highly probable).

Suddenly, light bloomed down the tunnel and the teens parted, slamming their backs into the opposite sides of the cave. Fire. They lifted their jackets, heat tickling through the jean material but not burning them. Daryl reached down and pushed play on the boombox he’d lugged in with him.

“Maneater” blared through the cave.

“REALLY? This song?” Carly yelled.

The dragon emerged from the smoke. It was black and terrible. At the sound of the music it was thrown off kilter, shrieking and trying to cover its ears with its claws (Carly could relate).

Daryl and Carly pulled out handfuls of bladed floppy discs from their fanny packs and flung them. They pinged off the scales pitifully. They flung more discs. It wouldn’t be enough. This dragon was larger than the ones they’d scared off in town. And it was cornered.

After weeks of tracking the wolf-sized dragons, they believed the queen dragon lived in this cave—sending her younglings off like little worker bees to bring back the goods. Their town of Barrington was desperate to get rid of the pests. The national guard had already been called in, but Carly had tracked most of them to this location. And they were determined to figure it out before the government took all the credit.

Carly was definitely having second thoughts though as they were about to become human shishkabobs.

Suddenly, the dragon lunged. Daryl cried out. The dragon’s talons snagged his hair.

“NOT THE MULLET!” he screamed.

Carly growled in frustration. Of course the mullet would be the death of him! Carly whipped off a leg warmer and loaded a Jawbreaker into it like a slingshot, cracking the dragon’s head. The beast growled, and dropped Daryl. Its inky eyes turned on her then it stepped forward, great paws smashing the boombox. Daryl yelped as the music died.

Carly fell back over a small boulder and her flashlight went flying from her hand, clattering to face the wall. All she could see was the dark outline of the beast slithering toward her, its wings brushing the top of the cave. It must’ve opened its mouth because she could see fire flickering down a long, deadly throat.

“D-Daryl!” she screamed, chucking a Walkman at the dragon. It moaned in agony as the rectangle caught in its mouth. Spitting it out in rage, it moved closer. The ground shuddered. Carly could feel the heat.

Then, something was before her. The silhouette of Daryl (with a mangled mess of hair).

“I’ve got hairspray, and I’m not afraid to use it!” he shouted, holding up two cans. The dragon moved closer and Daryl let loose the aerosol gas, shooting it straight into the dragon’s face. The beast roared, but it didn’t retreat. It grew more vicious.

“Experiment 107 and 108: Fail!” he yelled.

The dragon dove under the spray and latched onto Daryl’s leg. It bit down. Hard. Daryl cried out.

Carly screamed and threw herself forward.

But…

The dragon made a strange noise.

At first, Carly assumed it was the sound of something being eaten (which was enough to make her want to lose her supper), then she realized the dragon was gagging. No—choking. Carly flew to her flashlight and snatched it up, shining it towards the scene, expecting the worst.

The dragon’s mouth foamed, beady eyes rolling up into its head. Daryl scooted back as Carly helped him retreat. The dragon moaned and gargled and with one last struggling breath, the creature fell, cracking the stone under its great girth and sending a tumble of rocks and pebbles from the walls.

It was dead. Dead as the 80’s.

“Wicked,” whispered Carly. She stared in amazement at Daryl’s leg. “It… you aren’t hurt!” There were teeth marks in his pants but no blood. As if he wore armor.

“Acid wash jeans, baby!” Daryl yelled with a whooping laugh. He stood and jumped about as if he hadn’t just been in a dragon’s mouth a few seconds ago.

“Acid, Carly. Acid is a dragon’s kryptonite!” He tugged at his jeans in awe. “We figured it out!”

She looked at the bite marks then at the pile of pebbles and dragon scales. They’d be heroes with this discovery. “Bleach is technically a base, not an acid,” she whispered in amazement.

Daryl laughed and he grabbed her hand, tugging her from the cave. “Now who’s the nerd?”

Thanks for reading!
Emily Barnett (a girl who lived 3 measly years in the 80’s)

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Thread of Dreams