THE FROGS OF DOOM by Tim Byrd

Chapter 3

WILDE MANOR was an impressive place, its structure an odd mixture of European castle, log cabin, and modern glass and steel. It sat on a high hill eight miles outside the city limits like a mighty guardian watching over the land.

Before Doctor Spartacus Wilde had rebuilt the place, it had been a dark and leaning mansion said to be full of ghosts. It was still said to be full of ghosts, but now it was also internationally famous as the sanctum sanctorum (a fancy phrase meaning a place he couldn't be bothered) of the world's greatest adventurer.

As we have already seen, there was a huge chamber deep beneath the ground under Wilde Manor, and in that chamber Doc Wilde and his children (and faithful Bartlett, of course) were pondering.

Pondering what had become of Grandpa Wilde this time.

Pondering the bizarre image on the computer screen before them.

Pondering what strange, and yes, we'll say it, wild adventure lay ahead of them.

Brian Wilde just asked, "What is that?"

His father, arms across his broad chest, held his chin in thought. "Hmmm," he said. "It looks vaguely Babylonian, but not quite."

Brian's sister Wren stood and stared, mirroring her dad's crossed-arms pose and the way his fingers held his chin. She was trying to look serious, but the grin pushing its way onto her face gave away her excitement.

Grandpa was missing again!

The Wildes in excited thought presented quite a picture. They were each long-limbed and golden: golden-brown hair, golden tans, and large eyes that were a strange, glittering gold in hue. The kids were a bit smaller than most their age, but had reason to think they would one day shoot to greater size, for their father stood well over six feet tall.

Indeed, Doc Wilde might have been some ancient hero, perhaps the half human child of a sun god, the warmth and light shining from his very being. Thousands of hours of physical training had made him muscular and agile. He smiled quickly and often. His voice was deep and resonated like distant thunder.

"I say, sir," Bartlett said. "Is that some sort of monstrous frog?" He leaned closer to the screen, a very thin, very stylish, very British man who never lost his cool.

"Yes," the doctor said. "Yes, I believe it is."

Brian nodded, recognizing now that the sinister shape in the photograph on the screen was, indeed, a frog.

A frog with rows of dagger teeth like those of a shark.

A frog with long, spidery claws.

A frog looking to be as big as a dump truck.

And within its gaping mouth: Grandpa Wilde!

TEXT © TIM BYRD. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO REPRODUCTION IN ANY FORM ALLOWED WITHOUT PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.