“Crikey, look ‘ere, little Marshall,” James said in a stage whisper that was dripping with happiness as he imitated Crocodile Dundee noted Aussie, crocodile hunter, and adventurer. “What we have in front of us is called a drop bear, and while it may look cuddly like a koala, it’s actually a wicked vicious beast and what it likes doing better than anything is eating little children.” He took a deep breath to steady himself, as this was the most ambitious adventure he had ever had without Kaylee present. “I’m gonna poke it in the eye with this stick.”

Marshall stuck his head out from behind their dad’s video camera for just a second, giving his big brother a big grin and a thumbs up to show he was ready for the fun to really get started. Crocodile Dundee was his favorite game, after all, and he wouldn’t be allowed to play with the bear himself until James made sure that it was safe. They had been waiting months now for a drop bear to come into the woods behind their house, ever since a boy that Marshall went to school with had brought one of the teeth to show and tell. The teacher insisted that it was a snake tooth or something and that there was no such thing as a drop bear, but the Richards boys of course knew better.

And now they had one, and James cautiously approached, making sure to keep both himself and the drop bear in the frame of the camera at all times. They were going to be great explorers and have their own television show someday, after all, and practice made perfect. Practice was enough to make him approach very slowly and very quietly, but he was too excited to be actually careful as normal, and so he did not see that the drop bear was watching him to whole way, or that the beast was very excited to see him.

As such, he was still just out of poking range, about to leap forward and deliver a mighty poke with his stick when the drop bear made a leap of its own. James had decent reflexes, if not very good survival instincts, and was able to drop his stick and get his hands up in front of his face before the bear got to him. As a result, the bear managed to latch onto his left pinky finger and the pad of his left hand with his teeth, rather than tearing out his right eye and eating it as an appetizer. The beast’s claws were also furiously scratching at his arms.

Luckily for James it didn’t get far beyond that, thanks to Marshall having the presence of mind to set down the camera so their father didn’t kill them and then rush forward, seizing the stick and jabbing the beast in the side as hard as he could several times. Finally, the beast roared in pain as it fell off of James and to the ground. It took one last look at the two boys, growled deep in its throat, then turned and ran away.

The boys laughed uproariously at the adventure. “I hope you got that on camera little brother,” James said, but something was wrong with his voice. Marshall stared at him gaping, before finally sputtering, “your hand.”

Still laughing James looked down, only to see his pinky dangling, only just barely connected to his badly shredded writing hand. Why did he have to be left handed? Why did the stupid thing have to eat his more useful hand? Why was there so much blood?

“I think I’m going to need the hospital,” he said, and then everything was blackness.