Rise of the Serpopard

By Arlan Gerig

I arrive in the Valley of the Kings in an air-conditioned car. When I open the door, I’m blasted with Egypt’s oppressive heat. Howard’s tent is his only protection from the sweltering sun, but he steps out to welcome me to the set.

He’s a famous, multi-award-winning director, so I’m willing to make some sacrifices to star in his movie and restore my fading popularity. However, I’d rather be filming our current thriller at home, not on location in Egypt.

I hate extreme heat, crocodiles, hippos, and most other things in this country. Except snakes. I find them fascinating.

I shade my eyes with my hand. “Let’s get rolling. Cleveland didn’t prepare me for this kind of heat.”

“John.” He grins. “Audiences want to experience Egypt. They want authenticity. I’m sure you’ll love it here.”

I doubt it. But as lead actor and co-producer of Attack of the Serpopard, I’m obligated to be here. Although I trust Howard’s vision and reputation, I’m still bothered by his choice of monsters.

“I don’t know, Howard. A lioness head, a leopard’s body, and a snake’s neck… Do snakes even have necks?” I squint at him and shrug. “Who’d believe that CGI monstrosity? I can’t have another disaster like The Jackal’s Curse.”

Howard tips his hat with a smirk. “That jackal moved like a robot. John, don’t worry. I’m not messing with mechanical creatures or CGI. I found someone with a real serpopard.”

I scoff and kick the sand. “Really, Howard? You have a mythological creature?”

He scans the crew, hardly able to stand still. “I even found a genuine wizard who can control it. Come meet Zofan.”

Howard drags me to a clean-cut gentleman dressed in a polo shirt and khakis. He looks normal enough and I like the man’s confident smile, but my mind is reeling. How did this guy convince Howard he could handle a mythical animal?

Howard welcomes him with a vigorous handshake. “Zofan, introduce John to Gertie, since they’ll be working together.”

My mouth goes dry. “Hold on, Zofan––if that’s your real name. There’s an actual serpopard on the set? Is it safe?” I glance at Howard. “Working with animals isn’t in my contract.”

The wizard bows. “Zofan’s a family name, sir, passed down for generations, and yes, it’s safe. My magic leash keeps her in line. She won’t cause trouble when it’s around her neck.”

Zofan marches to a cage large enough for a normal lion. Gertie’s lioness head turns on her long neck to watch him, her leopard body sitting still while he opens it. I freeze, filled with fear and awe.

Zofan places a glowing green leash around her neck and leads Gertie our way. Although obedient, her eyes are like red lasers that pierce my soul. Eyes that say, Beware the turmoil I unleash.

Maybe it’s just the heat.

“We’ll shoot our first scene over this sand dune,” Howard says. He wipes his forehead and squints at the horizon. “We only have permission to film today and tomorrow, so we need to work quickly.”

The cameras are already in place. I’m wearing my Indiana Jones–inspired breeches, shirt, and fedora, with a pistol but no whip. Zofan leads Gertie behind the dune.

Howard shouts, “Action!” I approach from the opposite side. Gertie’s head peeks over. She growls and bares her teeth. Her head sways on her long, serpentine neck, and I retreat a couple steps, just like the script says.

Howard’s supposed to stop the take, but my blood freezes at his words. “Okay, release her.”

Zofan calls back. “Are you sure? She hasn’t warmed up to John yet.”

Gertie roars. I sprint down the dune without waiting to hear Howard’s answer. A quick backward glance reveals Gertie pouncing and Zofan losing control of the magic leash.

I scream, trip, and roll to the bottom of the dune. Jumping away, I unholster my pistol and aim, firing twice before remembering it’s only shooting blanks.

Gertie lands several feet from me. She growls and paws the leash off. Her neck sways with the menacing flow of a cobra about to strike. Her ruby eyes flash and her tail swishes at the heavens.

Like a timelapse video, storm clouds sweep across the sky. Lightning blasts strike near the tent. Hailstones the size of oranges pelt the dunes. Her roar sounds like a chortle of triumph.

Through all the noise, Zofan moans. “Not plagues on Egypt again!”

I cover my head as hailstones pelt around me. One strikes my shoulder and I yelp. It’s only a matter of time before one shatters my skull or a dozen pummel me to death.

Her head continues swaying, and I get an idea. I start whistling a Strauss waltz, “The Blue Danube.”

I rock with her and miss a few notes, but her ruby eyes never leave me. Gertie pads closer, listening intently. The hail stops around us, then ceases completely.

I’m getting tired and stop to lick my lips. Gertie’s bellow prompts me to pick up the tune again.

Zofan watches from the crest of the dune. I motion to him and he slides down to grab the leash. He ties a new lasso while I switch to whistling “Vienna Waltz.” Gertie’s tail twitches, her head swinging with the music.

I focus on her head, avoiding those chilling, blood-red eyes. The lightning stops and the clouds lighten. As Zofan tiptoes behind the serpopard, I finish the waltz with a swish of my head. Zofan lassos Gertie with a perfect toss. The leash glows green once more.

Gertie growls and lies on the sand, watching me for more waltzes. I’m out of breath and my lips hurt. I feel faint but relieved that she’s once more restrained.

Howard peeks over the sand dune. “That was incredible,” he shouts. “Let’s try another take!” Zofan and I glare at him together.

“Over my dead body,” I mutter. Maybe a mechanical serpopard would be better.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Arlan Gerig has stories published in Havok, Every Day Fiction, and the Animal Kingdom anthology. Arlan recently fulfilled a goal: a Bahamas mission trip to help Haitian refugees. When he’s not reading a great book, writing flash fiction, or bringing wizard apprentice Gwynfar to life in a YA fantasy novel, Arlan enjoys walking his two pit mixes around his Ohio neighborhood.

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