The Dragon in My Back Yard

By Alan Goldstein

It all started with the ridiculous birthday present his father gave him. Honestly, who gives an eleven-year-old an ancient half-ton dragon sculpture that’s so huge it can only be parked in the back yard?

Josh Draconette loves to camp overnight with his best friends, and since his family is insanely rich, he’s got hundreds of pristine acres to choose from. His favorite camping spot — his favorite spot on the whole planet — is unfortunately also the perfect place for their business’s new distribution center... meaning that after the bulldozers and construction crews are finished, there won’t be anything left of Josh’s beloved campsite.

In a fit of despair, Josh’s tears bring to life the sculpture, now a real dragon named Yu. The ever-growing dragon hides and hunts on the huge estate while Josh, his friends, and Yu plot to outwit the destruction and construction. They try everything, from vandalism to dragon magic, desperate to make his father give up.

Josh couldn’t believe that any cost would be too high to save his favorite place. But now something terrible has happened. He feels like a mummy inside a sarcophagus screaming to get out, and he doesn’t know what disaster struck. Can the magic of a dragon’s heart save him and his family, or will this be the end of everything Josh loves?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dingbat Publishing
• Release date: Feb 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005741372

Alan Goldstein

Enrolled Agent Alan Goldstein has decided to share his knowledge across several industries. He is the founder of Alan Goldstein & Associates and Emunah Nes Publishing. As an Enrolled Agent he represents companies and people who have tax problems. As a publisher, he publishes tax related books and conducts seminars on different topics related to taxes. Alan Goldstein, having earned an MBA in finance and licensed to represent tax payers before the IRS, feels strongly of finding a way to break down the complex tax rules and present them in an engaging way. His purpose is to encourage tax payers to properly resolve their tax problems before they escalate. His exposure to diverse cultures and his love for all good things has inspired him to build a business based on placing the client first, protecting the interests of clients, and always dealing in a fair manner.

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Table of Contents

1 — Dead or Alive?

2 — The Beginning

3 — My Favorite Place

4 — Bombshell

5 — Tears on a Dragon

6 — Hunger

7 — How Do You Hide a Live Dragon?

8 — On the Prowl: or How to Become a Head Case at School

9 — Blueprints

10 — Flight

11 — First Attack

12 — Questions

13 — Second Attack

14 — More Questions

15 — Massacre of Trees and Ears

16 — Sound Rebound

17 — Another Miracle

18 — The Plot Thickens

19 — Here Comes the Army!

20 — Bivouac

21 — Pray for a Miracle

22 — The Petrified Forest

23 — Sparks Fly

24 — Broken Secret

25 — Dad’s Bombshell and Sarabet’s Promise

26 — Now What?

27 — Out of the Frying Pan

28 — Living Fossil

29 — Unexpected Visitor

30 — Battle of Wills

31 — A Destiny Fulfilled

About the Author

Coming soon!

Also from Dingbat Publishing

The Dragon in My Back Yard

Alan Goldstein

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Dingbat Publishing

Humble, Texas

THE DRAGON IN MY BACK YARD

Copyright © 2021 by Alan Goldstein

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Published by Dingbat Publishing

Humble, Texas

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are entirely the produce of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual locations, events, or organizations is coincidental.

1 — Dead or Alive?

Am I dead? My body’s as stiff as a statue in my family’s rose garden. I’m as blind as a rock. Sounds are hard to hear, as if I’m listening through ears of granite. I hear voices, but the words are garbled. Warm hands touch me. They seem familiar, like a dream or distant memory.

Am I dead? I don’t feel cold, how I imagine death would feel. Just points of sharp rock against my back. But it doesn’t hurt. I pray I’m not in a coffin. Aren’t they lined with satin and silk?

Am I dead? Panic floods through me like hot lava, but I cannot scream — my mouth doesn’t move. Come to think of it, I cannot breathe. I’m so scared. I need to replace my fear with something useful. Can I think like the eleven-year-old science geek I am? My big sister calls it a weakness, but she’s an idiot and a bully.

I can’t be dead. My brain still works. The last thing I remember is riding my dragon, soaring through the misty air on Yu’s back. Did I fall off? I have never fallen. What happened to me? Think hard. Can I remember?

Who am I? My memory is as murky as the Eagle River when it’s flooding. I get glimpses of memories, like places where clear spring water flows into the river. I remember who I am. My name is Josh Draconette. My dragon, Yu, was a birthday gift from my dad, carved from precious Chinese jade. Another memory pops into my muddled mind. He said it weighed a thousand pounds. Why do I feel like I weigh that much now? Perhaps that’s why I can’t move?

Memories trickle in, like water flowing into the river. I remember my birthday, last August, when I got the dark green dragon statue. I picture it like movies in our home theatre, which I often watch alone. My family doesn’t have the time or interest. I feel alone now, which isn’t anything new for me, but it feels different this time.

Why would any kid want a Chinese sculpture for a birthday present? Especially one that you need a forklift to move? Grumpy old Dad said it wasn’t a toy; it was an investment. Like I cared about that. You can’t play with an investment, not like a drone or bike. My jerk big sister gave me a gift card to her favorite clothing store. Like I’m going to wear fine clothes on a hike in the woods!

Busy old Mom said she’d buy my present on our next vacation. Liar! We haven’t had a family vacation since school let out for the summer. She said, The dragon is too heavy for your bedroom. It would fall through the floor. The only place it fits is in the Japanese garden behind our house.

House? Yeah, right. It’s a mansion! My family’s filthy rich. Dad runs Draconette Enterprises, Limited, the biggest import company in the country. He sells toys, tools, and those holiday decorations you see for Halloween and Christmas, as well as cheap stuff that you wouldn’t see within a mile of our house.

My birthday list included a quadra-drone with a high-res video camera, a microscope to study nature, and a VIP pass for Harry Potter World. But noooo — I got what I thought was a ridiculous jade dragon sculpture. Dad collects anything related to the occult and mysticism. This crap ends up decorating the dozens of rooms in our mansion or the many gardens on our estate. It isn’t sold through Draconette Enterprises.

After I was left alone to enjoy my gift, my disappointment faded a bit when I gave it what my science teacher calls a careful observation. It became more than a four-foot-long piece of rare rock. Touching the cold dragon carved in jade made it seem alive. It was covered with tiny diamond-shaped scales, different from the legs of the box turtles I find in the woods. Wicked-looking horns crowned the head. It had a long snout with sharp teeth and a longer tail that curved neatly around the body, studded with a double row of small spikes. Wings folded snug against its side, veined like a butterfly’s. Whoever carved it was good. Really good! You know, maybe it wasn’t such a bad gift. Just one that was really bizarre, and matches my family’s weirdness.

My mind wanders, even in my dead-but-not-dead condition. I think about my maddening true family and my adopted family of cooks, butlers, gardeners, and maintenance workers who take care of me. Whether Mom was away on company business or at home, she kept my seriously messed-up big sister Sarabet and I on a stupid schedule that was like the army. Reveille at six A.M. through an intercom above my bed. No gentle wake-up call. We had to be in the breakfast room at six-thirty sharp or we wouldn’t get to eat. Sarabet would scream and cuss at Mom if she came in for breakfast late. Mom ignored her rant and said, Too bad, so sad.

I was never late. If Mom was away, our kitchen help ignored the rule and fed us without worrying about the time — too much. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate breakfast with Dad. Maybe the second of Never?

At seven A.M., I had to exercise with my personal trainer, who was not my friend. He called it a regimen — I called it a pain in the butt. It woke me up the rest of the way. Then it was off to private school at seven-forty-five — either by helicopter or limo.

As schools go, Alabaster Academy wasn’t too bad because of my three best friends. My family was the richest and some of my jealous classmates picked on me, but my friends and I watched each other’s back. I think they were afraid of my family’s influence at school, so I was almost never beat up. Their parents would probably die (in a manner of speaking) if they found out from our security chief that I was hurt. Dirty looks? They’re a thousand dollars a dozen.

When school ended, I was whisked home to do homework. If I was lucky, I had free time before dinner. Sometimes I ate with my sister, sometimes Jorge the butler kept me company. I was happiest eating with him and the cook, Viola, for company. Even Smoky, the family cat, would eat with me from his gold feeding dish on the floor near the door. It was a rare evening when both Mom and Dad sat at the table. Most of the time they traveled on business. And considering what they talked about, that was fine by me.

When my sister and I dined together, it was horrible. She was spoiled and nasty. I wished she would leave me alone and simply stuff her face. When she was there, I wanted to carry the china back to my room. But that wasn’t allowed. I’d take it to one of the tables beside the indoor pool if it wasn’t such a long walk and my food would get cold. No. I had to sit and take her insults, flung at me like her trained kestrel when the sparrowhawk took to a mouse.

When I complained, Viola said, Don’t worry about your sister; she is a social butterfly. Hmpf. To me, she was as pesky as a buzzing mosquito and as vicious as a hornet by its nest. I could have called her a mosquornet or horquito, but I’m not creative under pressure.

I would escape after dinner for free time. My sister called me the weirdest little brother on Earth because I liked to explore the estate behind the mansion. As long as I didn’t get into trouble, no one cared what I did for fun. Sometimes I rode Draco’s Dream, my Quarter horse, until I got lassoed for bath time. If weather was bad, I would hang out in the stables or swim in our indoor pool, which resembled a tropical resort. On many weekends, my friends hung out together, alternating between my home and theirs.

Jacob Fitzpatrick, Desiree Legrand, Alberto Gonzales, and I have been best friends since first grade. Desiree may be a girl, but she’s cool. She’s just one of the guys. The gardener said we were as close as a tick on a dog’s back. That’s just gross! I like the outdoors, but I hate ticks.

I explored my big back yard with or without my friends. On my BMX using the best trail, which was as curvy as spaghetti on my plate, it took an hour of hard pedaling to reach the river. Dad said our estate is five thousand acres, but I don’t know how big one acre is. He said the farthest boundary is more than four miles away, just past the Eagle River. With its high cliffs and great lookouts, I can see for miles. In my imagination, I was an eagle perched on an aerie, with the wind whispering through my feathers. How I wished I could fly and get away from everything. Flying to school in the helicopter was not escaping.

I may be dead now because my wish came true.

2 — The Beginning

After my first investigation , I didn’t pay much attention to the sculpture for a couple weeks. Other things were more important. One day, I was really bored and I went out to the Japanese garden. Those eerie polished eyes greeted me, glowing like a cat’s and staring like it knew I was there. I ran back and forth, but no matter where I was, at least one of the carved dragon eyes gazed straight at me. The hairs on my neck stuck up, like Smoky’s back when she encountered one of the dogs at the stables.

Sarabet saw me bouncing around the sculpture and yelled, Josh, what the heck are you doing? (She didn’t say heck.) Is there a yellow jacket chasing you?

I made the incredibly stupid mistake of answering with the truth. Why don’t I learn? She exploded in laughter and slammed the door. I could hear her through the thick glass. It didn’t stop there. She teased me mercilessly before dinner saying, Ooow! The dragon’s going to devour you. Then she opened her mouth wide with fake fangs and burst out laughing again.

Shut up! I snapped. Just what I needed — another reason for my sister to taunt me. I tried my best to ignore her as Jorge and Viola suggested, but it didn’t work.

Sarabet looked at me with googly eyes and then spat out the fangs. Mom came in seconds after that and asked her, Do you have a scratched cornea?

Nah, my jerk-sister replied with her evil smirk. Josh had a close encounter with the jade dragon. He didn’t like the way it looked at him. She laughed like a donkey.

I stuck my tongue out at her, but Mom saw and told me, Behave yourself, Josh. Act better than an eleven-year-old!

Argh! But Mom, she started it! Life is sooo unfair. Especially when you have a family like mine. What good is it to have money when your family life sucks?

I tried to explain, but Mom shook her head and put her hand over her mouth. Her eyes told me she was hiding a smile. More embarrassment. No sympathy. Great.

As usual, Dad wasn’t at dinner that evening. Mom offered a regular excuse when she said, Your father is in San Francisco dealing with another new client. He traveled all over the world, just like I traveled over my big back yard. It’s so big and different every day — let him visit the far reaches of the world in search of the newest gadget. All I ask for is my BMX to ride and the sun to shine down through the trees on the trails. I should feel guilty that I don’t miss Dad when he’s gone.

AT THE END OF THE SCHOOL day on Friday, I met up with Alberto, Jacob, and Desiree in the back of homeroom. We stashed our Macs. I asked, Do you want to camp in the woods again this weekend? We can go to my favorite place.

Desiree dropped her computer on the bottom of her locker, not caring what happened to it. Sure! The fall colors are really beautiful now. I want to collect as many different color leaves as I can find for a collage. She was really into art. She said her goal was to be a famous artist like Andy Warhol or Melanie Yazzie, who visited the school last year. Des was very good, and her mom and dad decorated their walls with her art.

Alberto rolled his eyes. Yeah, Des, that’s what I want to do this weekend — pick up leaves. His voice mocked her. Shall I bring a rake?

All you want to do is burn them, she sniped.

We can do both. I was the peacemaker. Josh the Mediator — that’s what Jacob called me. His mom was a famous corporate lawyer who solved problems between companies and workers.

As we walked out of the classroom, Jacob asked how I was going home. Most of the time Rolf Gunderson, the family’s driver, brought one of the dozen bullet-proof cars or Humvees from our giant garage. But once or twice a week Nick Merry would pilot the helicopter. That meant going a different direction without my friends.

Rolf or Nick? Jacob asked.

Nick, I replied. Dad had paid for a helipad to be built on the school grounds, even though it was only about ten miles from home. Though it was a school for the insanely wealthy, Sarabet and I were the only students who came and went in a bright blue Sikorsky. The others had Rolls Royces, Aston-Martins, Mercedes, Bentleys, and the like. Some of the juniors and seniors drove Ferraris, Porsches, and a Languini-something or other. The principal was smart enough to install speed humps to keep them from burning rubber on the school grounds in their need to show off.

The ride home hadn’t been too bad until my sister’s sixteenth birthday. Then she got driving lessons from Rolf. On those days, I begged to ride home with my friends — any friend! Or I’d plea for Nick to bring the