Chapter 3

            It all started on Christmas morning ten years earlier.  Back then Will still believed in Santa Claus.  He had barely gotten any sleep that night, waiting anxiously to hear the jingle of bells and sound of hooves on the rooftop just like the story Daddy had read them that night.  The door to the room he shared with Tom opened at one in the morning; Will ducked under the covers, thinking it was Santa, but it was only Mommy.  She stood in the doorway for nearly a minute before closing the door.

            Outside the door came the sound of whispered voices.  Will rolled out of bed and then crept over to Tom's.  "Is Santa here?" he asked.

            "No, it's just Mom and Dad," Tom said.

            "What are they doing?"

            "They're getting the cookies and milk and all that out, stupid."

            "Really?"

            "Yes.  Now go back to bed or Santa will never show up and you won't get anything."

            Will gasped at this and then retreated to his bed.  He crawled beneath the covers, not even leaving his head visible.  With his eyes closed, he breathed in the warm air trapped by the blankets as he imagined the living room the next morning:  presents stacked from floor to ceiling, so many that they could hardly get into the room.  There would be toy soldiers and robots and Space Empire action figures.  And to cap it off would be his very own bike, just like the one Tom had.  A two-wheel bike, a big boy's bike, not a trike or big wheel.

            With these thoughts dancing around his head, he fell asleep at last, though he didn't stay that way for long.  Two hours later he felt someone shaking him, interrupting his dreams of a treasure trove of gifts.  "Wake up, stupid," Tom said.

            Will pushed back the covers to look at his brother.  "What?"

            "Santa just left.  You want to see what he brought?"

            "But Mommy said—"

            "She won't know."

            Will doubted this.  Mommy had ways to know when they did something bad; she had a kind of sixth sense to tell her when Will or Tom had done something wrong.  "Yes she will."

            "Fine, you can just lie there and wait.  I'm going out there."

            Will lay in bed for a minute, long enough for Tom to get down the hall.  Then Will threw aside the covers to run after his brother, catching up to him in the dining room.  "I want to see!"

            "Shut up, dummy, or they'll hear you."

            "Sorry."

            "Come on.  And be quiet."  Will followed his brother through the dining room, tiptoeing and keeping a hand over his mouth so as not to make any noise that might alert their parents.  If Mommy and Daddy found out, then they wouldn't get any presents at all.

            Then, in the blinking red-and-green glow of the Christmas lights, he saw his dreams had come true.  Perhaps not exactly like his dreams—there was still room on the floor and along the ceiling—but still quite a haul.  Presents in their shiny paper radiating out from beneath the tree to take up half of the living room.

            Will wanted to run forward into the horde, but Tom held him back.  "Hold on.  Be careful."  Tom examined the doorway, looking for booby traps like an explorer.  When satisfied that his parents hadn't set any traps, Tom stepped into the room.  He knelt down beside a package, studying the tag.  "That's for you."

            Will picked up the gift, shaking it.  No sound came from within.  Probably clothes.  With a sigh he dropped the package to the floor.  Tom sifted through the rest of the gifts, giving each of his a shake.  Even Will knew enough not to actually open any of the packages for fear of what his parents would do when they found out.  But he could imagine what might be inside.

            "Is there a bike?" he asked as Tom disappeared behind the tree.

            "No."

            "Oh."

            "It's probably in the garage or something.  They just want to surprise you."

            "You think so?"

            "Sure.  That's how it works."  Tom began arranging the gifts back as they had been, his memory impeccable when it came to covering up the evidence of their crime.  "Let's go."

            They went back to bed, Will still unable to sleep easily.  If anything, seeing the pile of gifts had inflamed his anticipation.  He desperately wanted to go into the garage to find the bike, but Tom wouldn't let him.  "Just wait."

            There was no bike.  Will got the toy soldiers and robots he wanted, as well as clothes he didn't, but no bike.  Mommy handed out the gifts that year, watching with joy as Will ravaged the boxes to tear away the wrapping paper.  She reached behind the tree for a large box.  "Here you go, honey.  This one's from Santa."

            Will ripped off the wrapping paper, wondering if perhaps Santa had shrunk down the bike to fit into the box.  Or maybe it would come in pieces for Daddy to put together.  It wasn't a bike.  It was a stuffed gray dog with floppy brown ears and a cluster of brown spots that formed a footprint on his back.  The mouth at the end of the dog's long snout wore a sort of bemused expression.  Will tossed the dog to the floor.  "Is that it?"

            His mother looked around the tree.  "That's all."

            Will began to cry.  His mother leaned over to put a hand on the shoulder.  "What is it, honey?  What's wrong?"

            "Santa was supposed to bring me a bike."

            "Oh.  Well, maybe Santa didn't think you were quite ready for a bike yet."

            "I am so!  I'm a big boy!  I'm five."  He held up one hand, just as he had learned in kindergarten to indicate five.

            "I know, but—"

            "Then why didn't he bring it?"

            "Maybe next year," Daddy said.  "If you're a good boy."

            "But it's not fair!"  He picked up the stuffed dog, hurling it across the room.  The dog's face struck the windowsill, its right eye shattering.  Mommy picked the dog up from off the floor.  She returned it to Will, the stump of the dog's right eye glaring back at him.

            "Here's your doggie."

            "I don't want it."

            "Oh, well, I guess if you don't want him then I'll take him."  Mommy hugged the gray dog to her chest.  She made a low barking noise and then made the stuffed toy imitate licking her face.  "Nice doggie."

            Will reached out, yanking the dog away from his mother's hands.  He clutched the stuffed toy to his chest.  "He's mine!  Santa gave him to me."

            "If you say so, honey.  But if he's really yours, I think he needs a name."

            Will studied the gray dog with brown spots.  "Spot," he said.  He thought of an expression he had heard in a cartoon.  "Spot Mangy Mutt."

            Mommy tousled his hair.  "That's a very nice name."

            "Come on, Spot.  Let's go."  With Spot still pressed to his chest, Will sauntered off to his room.  He hopped onto his bed, smiling at the dog; the dog smiled back.  "You and I are going to be friends forever."

#

            Will sat on his bed, tossing Spot into the air, when Tom came in, a stuffed dog tucked under his arm.  "It's not fair," Will said.  "I wanted a bike.  Why didn't Santa bring it?"

            "Maybe he couldn't fit in into his sled," Tom said.

            "You have a bike."

            "I got mine last year.  So maybe Santa will bring you one next year."

            "Maybe."  Will let Spot fall to the bed, where he bounced off into a wall, nearly breaking his other eye.  "It's still not fair."

            "Yeah, well, I didn't get everything I asked for either.  You don't see me acting like a baby about it."

            "I'm not acting like a baby."

            "Yes you are."

            "Am not!"

            "Are so."

            Mommy stuck her head into the room.  "Are you boys behaving yourselves?"

            "Yes, Mom," Tom said.  "We were just playing."

            "OK.  Breakfast will be ready soon."

            After breakfast, Will retreated again to the bedroom.  He leaned against the headboard of his bed, idly bashing Spot against the mattress.  "Are you just going to sit there all day?" Tom asked.

            "It's not fair," Will grumbled for the umpteenth time that morning.

            Tom picked the stuffed dog he had received that morning off the bed, an English bulldog.  Tom stared at the strange, pushed-in face of the bulldog.  "What do you think I should name him?"

            Will studied the dog with its white face and belly and dark brown back.  "Milky Cocoa," he said.

            "That's a stupid name.  He looks more like a Buster.  Buster Maximillion Bulldog."  He pronounced the middle name as two words.  "He's rich, richer than Mom and Dad put together.  A millionaire, no, a billionaire.  He can do whatever he wants, like fly around in his own plane.  He has his own country, no, a planet.  And everyone on the planet does what he says and if he gets tired of them he hops on his rocket plane and flies somewhere else."

            Tom picked up the dog, walking it across the bed towards Will.  "Your dog has to do what he says because mine is the boss."

            "He does not."  Will picked Spot up, pressing him protectively against his chest.  "Spot has his own planet too.  And if you try to tell him what to do he'll hop in his rocket plane and fly away from you."

            "Your dog can't have a planet too.  He's stupid.  Look, he only has one eye."

            "That's because he lost it fighting monsters.  Spot's not a stupid baby like your dog."

            "Oh yeah, Buster's killed a lot more monsters than Spot."  Tom pointed to the red plastic collar around the bulldog's neck.  "He's got a special Power Collar that shoots laser beams to kill monsters."

            "Spot has a Power Collar too."

            "He does not.  He's too stupid to have a Power Collar."

            "Is not!"

            "Is so!"

            Mommy burst into the room again.  "Boys, what is going on in here?"

            "We're just playing," Tom insisted again.  He held up his dog.  "Buster and Spot are hunting monsters."

            Mommy smiled at this.  "I see.  Well, I hope they check in your closet and under your bed."

            "No, they don't fight monsters here.  They fight monsters out there—in space, just like Captain Tadd Iceslinger."

            "Well, just make sure you boys don't go too far away.  Your grandparents are coming over at one o'clock."  She wagged a finger at them.  "I want you on your best behavior."

            "Yes, Mommy," they said in unison. 

            Once she had left, Tom picked Buster up again.  "Come on, let's get in our ships and hunt down some monsters," he said.  He began making noises like a rocket ship taking off, zigzagging Buster around in the air as he flew through space to hunt down and kill the evil monsters.  Will followed suit with Spot, forgetting all about the bike Santa didn't bring him.

            That was only the beginning of Buster and Spot's adventures.