Beware! It's Friday the 13th Read Online Free PDF

Worm!”
    “Hooray!” everyone cried.
    “Good thing I kept on my lucky bonnet!” cried Torblad. “I kept Snagglefahng away!”
    “I say we feast,” said Angus.
    “Hooray!” everyone cried again. They ran toward the banquet table.
    But Worm bounced toward them. “Draaaagon come!” he burbled.
    “I know,” said Wiglaf happily as he got in line. “Our little dragon has come home.”
    But Worm shook his head. “No littttle. Bigggg draaagon. Bigggg!”
    “Thou hath indeed grown big, Worm,” said Brother Dave.
    “Nott Wrrrm, Brrrr,” said Worm. “Biggg draaaagon coming soooooon!”
    A hush fell on the castle yard.
    “Who’s coming, Worm?” said Wiglaf.
    “Biiggg dragon!” cried Worm. “Baaaaaaad.” He began bouncing toward the lads and lasses. “Runnn! Hiiddde!”
    “He’s telling us to run and hide!” exclaimed Wiglaf. “Do you think he means Snagglefahng is coming?”
    “Who knows?” said Angus grumpily. He gave a last longing look at the banquet table. “You’d better not be playing one of your games, Worm.”
    Brother Dave hurried over to Worm.
    “Telleth me, Worm,” he said. “Art this dragon’s front fangs brokeneth off?”
    “Faaaaangs brrrrken.” Worm nodded his head. “Commmming soooooooon.”
    “Unlucky day!” cried Torblad. “We are doomed! Doomed!”
    “Never fear! Your teachers are here!” cried the fully armored Sir Mort. He clanked his way down the castle steps.
    “Lady Lobelia sent us,” said Coach Plungett, coming down the steps after Sir Mort. He, too, wore armor. “We have come to show you how to fight a wicked dra—”
    Coach stopped. His mouth hung open. He stared at Worm.
    Wiglaf ran forward. “This is not a wicked dragon, sir!” he cried. “This is…this is…” He was at a loss as to how to explain Worm. “He would not hurt a flea, sir!”
    “He’s cute, isn’t he?” added Gwen.
    “What are they yapping about, Plungett?” said Sir Mort, whose visor was down over his eyes. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
    “Dragon in the yard, Mort,” said Coach. “Not too big. Looks harmless.”
    “Totally!” said Janice.
    “Harmless, eh?” said Sir Mort. “Like a kitten. A fluffy, little kit—”
    “We are here!” said Coach, cutting off Sir Mort. “To give you new students a quickie course in dragon stalking and slaying.”
    Worm hid behind Wiglaf.
    “I’m happy to demonstrate!” called Erica. Then she said, “Don’t worry, Wormy. No one is going to hurt you.”
    The princesses lined up with their swords. The rest of Class I stood nearby.
    “Stalking a fire-breather is no easy matter, lads,” Sir Mort began.
    “We’re not lads,” said Gwen. “We are princesses.”
    The old knight struggled with his helmet. At last he pushed up the visor and peered out. “So you are!” he exclaimed. “I knew a princess once. No, wait. It was a prince. Only he’d been turned into a toad. Or was it a frog?” He scratched his helmet.
    “Sir!” Erica called. “There isn’t much time. Snagglefahng is coming. Remember?”
    “Snagglefahng, eh?” said Sir Mort. “That dragon bit my shoulder. Gave me a doozy of a wound. Bled like a gusher all night.”
    “Sir, stop!” cried Wiglaf, gagging at the thought of Sir Mort’s nasty wound.
    “Remember!” said Sir Mort. “When you stalk, you’ve got to keep your eye on the dragon. Keep your ear to the ground. Keep your hands at the ready. Keep your mind on the job. And keep your finger out of your nose.” He turned to Erica. “Go on, demonstrate.”
    But Coach Plungett stepped forward just in time. “Thank you for that valuable stalking lesson, Sir Mort,” he said.
    Gwen said, “ That was a lesson?”
    Wiglaf shrugged. He turned his eyes skyward. The sky looked cloudy…or was it smoky?
    “I always warm up my Slaying class with ten laps around the castle yard,” Coach Plungett told the new lasses. “Followed by push-ups, sit-ups, and chin-ups. Then, most days, one of the lads throws up.”