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Pet Name: Quanteny
"You go get it; you kicked it after all."
Two young neopets stood outside a decrepit wooden picket fence surrounding an old, equally shabby wooden house. The overgrown lawn was more weeds than grass and a tall oak tree stood to one side. It appeared to be looming towards the kids; its dried dead leaves made a rattling sound as the wind blew through. Under the tree, a shiny blue gormball lay. The two kids had been playing on the street before an overly ambitious kick had sent the ball flying over into HIS yard.
"But I heard HE eats kids he catches in his yard!"
The two kids looked up at the house, scanning the windows for movement. The curtains were all drawn and no lights shone through the windows. If you didn't know better, you would think the house to be deserted. All the neighborhood kids knew better, though. Any toy that wound up in that yard, whether it was a ball, frisbee or model plane, mysteriously vanished, never to be seen again. They knew HE was responsible. And they knew that HE knew that they knew. Or at least, they thought HE did.
"That's my older brother's gormball!" exclaimed the first neopet, a yellow Chomby with curly hair. "If you don't got get it, then I'll tell Charlotte at school that you like her!"
The two kids stared each other down for a few seconds.
"Fine," conceded the other pet, a small Kacheek with a gap tooth. "But you owe me big time!"
The Kacheek looked back up at the house. The coast seemed to be clear; maybe no one was home. He creaked open the low wooden fence and crept out onto the yard. He made his way as silently as he could across the lawn, trying to avoid disturbing a single blade of grass. Finally, after what seemed like years, he made it to the tree and scooped up his prize. Suddenly, as he turned back towards the road, he heard the door burst open behind him!
It was HIM!
His cane knocked menacingly against the wooden planks of the front porch. The afternoon sun glinted off his incredibly thick glasses, making his eyes look like two shining spheres of light; the eyes of a monster. The young Kacheek could hear the shuffling noise of his slippers against the wood and the rasping of his breath as he emerged from his house. The child screamed and ran as fast as he could out of the yard and down the street, his friend way up ahead of him. Neither stopped until they were safe at home.
"Dang kids!" wheezed old man Quanteny, shaking his fist after them.
"I told you to stay off my lawn!"
Muttering to himself about "kids today", he turned around and shuffled back into his house for a cup of hot tea and maybe a snooze in his favorite armchair in front of the fireplace.
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