Jimmy, The Glue Factory and Mad Mr Viscous

by Gerrard Wllson

hands on you, pipsqueak,” the Mr roared, “I will eat you all up!”

  Seeing his distraction working perfectly, Jimmy, notching it up further, said, “I thought you told the Madam not to be thinking such things?”

  “Yes,” said the Madam. “When I wanted a taste of this tasty young morsel, just a taste-see, mind you, you warned me off, saying I was foolish, daring to risk the Master’s anger.”

  “That was different...” he replied.

  “Different? How?” she asked, he heavy brow creasing with anger.

  “That was before...”

  “Before? Before what?”

  “Before he annoyed me, so,” he roared, suddenly lunging at Jimmy.

  “Oh no you don’t!” she replied, also lunging at Jimmy.

  By now Eric was standing on the landing, adjacent the Madam and the Mr. Coughing to get their attention, he said, “Don’t you want to see what I was hiding behind my back?”

  “We do!” said the Madam and the Mr, forgetting about Jimmy. Their eyes fixed doggedly upon Eric, they said, “Show us!”

  Smiling, Eric showed them the jar of his mother’s homemade pickled onions.

  “What is that?” asked the Mr, pointing quizzically at it.

  “Is, is, is it?” the Madam asked, stammering with fright.

  “It is!” said Eric, answering for her. “It’s a jar full to the brim with pickled onions, the best in the land!”

  “Onions?” bayed the Mr. “No, it cannot be onions!”

  “But it is!” said Jimmy, adding his two pennies worth.

  Unscrewing the lid, Eric delved a hand into the jar, withdrawing two onions. “So, not as cocky now,” he said, hurling the onions at the animalistics.

  “NO!” they cried out, trying to evade the fast-moving vegetables.

  “NO!” they cried out again, as the onions struck them hard in the face.

  “NO!” they screamed, reeling in pain, their flesh burning from contact with the onions.

  Delving his hand into the jar, Eric made ready to hurl some more onions at the Madam and the Mr.

  “Hey, let me have a go!” said Jimmy, inching carefully around the animalistics, with hand outstretched, wanting some onions.

  With onions at the ready, Eric said, “On the count of three; one, two – three!” With that, the boys let rip with their onions, sending the Madam and the Mr lurching away from them in ever-increasing pain.

  “No!” cried the Madam. “This is not how it should be!”

  “No!” said the Mr. “This is not how is should end! The Master promised no harm would ever befall us if we helped him!”

  “Promising something and living up to it are two entirely different bedfellows,” said Jimmy, hurling a couple more onions at the Mr.

  “Take that, you bony old thing,” said Eric, throwing a particularly large onion at the Madam.

  “No!” they cried out, reeling in pain. “We are away!” they said, running down the rickety staircase. It wobbled and shook so much the boys thought it might fall apart at any moment. Having reached the bottom, the Madam and the Mr, running away, screaming and yelling with pain, vanished from sight.

  “Are they gone?” asked Eric.

  Hearing a door slam shut somewhere in the distance, Jimmy replied, “It sure sounds like it.” Pointing at the jar of pickled onions, he asked, “Can I have one?”

  “Why? The Madam and the Mr are gone!”

  “To eat, you berk,” Jimmy explained. “They sure smell good!”

  Having dispatched the Madam and the Mr, Jimmy and Eric’s thoughts returned to the horses. “Are we now going to free the horses?” said Eric, pointing across the gap, to the room with the moving floor, opposite.

  Nodding, Jimmy told him they were.

  “How?” Eric asked, all in a tizz.

  We will traverse this gap,” he explained, pointing to the chasm between them and the room holding the horses, opposite.

  “But you said it was impossible, earlier!” Eric gasped, inspecting the distance, with angst.

  “From the other side, yes, that is correct,” Jimmy answered. “From this side, however, I think we can do it. With the munching machine now in full swing,” he continued, “it’s imperative we get across this divide as soon as possible, to try and free the horses before its too late.”

  “But, but what if we fall into the munching machine’s workings?” Eric asked, looking down, worried.

  “If we fall in there,” Jimmy answered, “we won’t have anything to worry about.”

  “We won’t?”

  “No; we will be dead.”

  “Oh...” said Eric, shocked by his bluntness. “Why don’t we go down the stairs?” he asked. “And try and find another way across?”

  “I have already told you!” Jimmy tersely replied. “Those horses are in real danger of being chomped to bits! If we go down there,” he said pointing down the stairs, “heaven knows how many horses will have died before we can find another way in.” Jimmy was right, the moving floor was transporting the horses slowly but relentlessly towards their death.

  “Do you really think we can get across this gap?” Eric asked, gazing worriedly at the blades, cogs, wheels, pulleys, chains and belts, below.

  “Yes,” he replied, “At least, I think we can.”

  “But-”

  “No ifs or buts, remember?” Jimmy warned, cutting him off. “Now hand me that fan!”

  Opening his duffle bag, Eric searched for the electric fan. “Here it is,” he said, handing it to him.

  Unrolling the flex, Jimmy said, “I knew this would come in handy.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Eric asked, agog as to what he had in mind.

  “Watch and learn,” Jimmy replied. Taking firm hold of the end of the flex in one hand, and the rest of it in the other, he began swinging the fan. Around and around it went, faster and faster, faster and faster. Concentrating like never before, Jimmy suddenly let go of the flex, allowing the fan to fly through the air. Landing on the far side of the space, the fan, clunking and clattering noisily, caught on the broken wall opposite. Pulling hard on the cord, Jimmy tested it for strength. The electric fan, jammed tight in a crack on the wall, was going nowhere. After securing the end of the flex onto the handrail around the landing, Jimmy said, “Well, who goes first?”

  To Save the Horses

  “I think I’ll let you go first, if it’s all right with you,” said Eric. Touching the flex, testing it to see how strong it was, he asked, “It is safe, isn’t it?”

  “As safe as houses,” Jimmy confidently replied. Pushing him out of the way, he said, “Give me some room, will you?”

  “Mrs Crabtree’s house fell down,” said Eric, reminding him of the unfortunate incident.

  “It fell down because the gas mains ruptured,” Jimmy snapped, “and well you know it!”

  Touching the flex, hoping that Jimmy was right, Eric stared worriedly at the munching machine’s workings, below.

  Climbing over the handrail, taking a firm grip of the flex, Jimmy said, “Well, are you going to wish me luck?” Eric was going to wish him luck, he really was, but he did not get the chance. You see, the electric fan suddenly shifting, released the tension on the flex. Falling, holding onto the flex for dear life, Jimmy screamed, “Help!” Jimmy’s fall, however, stopped as suddenly as it started, the fan catching in another crack on the wall.

  “Phew!” said Eric, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I thought you were a goner, for sure.”

  Saying nothing, concentrating as if his life depended on it (and it did), Jimmy pulled himself slowly along under the flex until he reached the far side, and safety. No sooner had he pulled himself up, onto the moving floor, the curious horses surrounded him. “Stay back, nice horses,” he said. “You will have to wait until Eric gets here, then we will can see about setting you free.” As if they understood his every word, the horses eased back, away from him. “That’s better,” he said, thanking them. Standing up, waving a
cross to Eric, Jimmy said, “Come on, it was a piece of cake, as easy as pie.”

  ‘A piece of cake? As easy as pie? ’ thought Eric. ‘Who does he think he’s kidding?’

  Having tightened the flex, Jimmy said, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Are you going to stand there all day, or must I return, to fetch you?”

  “You weren’t so cocky when you were calling for help,” Eric grumbled to himself as he clambered over the handrail.

  “Pardon?” Jimmy asked. “Did you say something?”

  Grabbing hold of the flex, Eric lied, “I said it was a bit rocky for you when the fan shifted.”

  Urging Eric across, Jimmy said, “Hurry it up, will you? Mr Viscous could turn up at any moment.”

  On hearing those words, Eric’s speed increased. Suspended beneath the flex, he pulled himself across the gap so fast it looked as if he had been doing it his entire life. Reaching the far side, he said, “You were right, it was a piece of cake.” Inspecting his hands (they were red raw from the effort), showing them to Jimmy, he added, “Though, these might disagree.”

  “Forget about them,” Jimmy answered. “We have horses to save.”

  As they began wading their way through the inquisitive, curious horses, to the control panel on the other side of the room, Jimmy and Eric were able to see how many were missing.

  “Hurry!” said Jimmy. “We must turn it off!”

  Seeing one of the horses falling over the end of the floor, into the deadly workings of the munching machine, Eric said, “Down!”

  “Down?”

  “Yes, down,” Eric answered. “Get onto your hands and knees, like before, and pass under the horses.” On hands and knees, the two boys headed to the far side of the room.