The Creakers

by Tom Fletcher

Music is more than just sound and noise, more than notes and melodies. Music can transport us to different places. Change the way we feel. Bring back people no longer with us. Music cannot be seen or touched—it has to be felt, and as the king felt it, his head was filled with images of Lucy laughing, playing, and smiling. Images of his wife and his home.

  These happy tears fell across his rotten skin, leaving a trail behind them. It was as though they were washing away the wicked work of the Woleb, and the disgusting Creaker he had become was melting at their touch.

  When Lucy finished playing, she opened her eyes.

  “Let’s go home, Lucypops,” her dad whispered.

  Mr. Larry Dungston was back! While the Creakers watched in dismay, he grasped Lucy’s hand, and together they ran back to the tunnel where the bright circles of sunshine were pouring into the Woleb from Whiffington. Several very worried faces were peering at them through the holes—including Norman’s.

  “Lucy’s back!” he yelled as she came into view. “And she’s with—wait! Lucy, is that your dad?”

  “Yes—the Creakers snatched him!” she yelled back. “Get ready. We’re coming!”

  Her dad grasped the nearest knotted rope in one hand and lifted up his Lucypops with the other. Then he tried to pull himself along the rope, but he was too weak. The transformation from Creaker King back to plain old garbage collector had sapped all his energy.

  “Norman, we’re going to need some help!” Lucy called out.

  Norman quickly pulled the rope through the hole toward him. Lucy watched as he looped, twisted, knotted, and pulled it like some sort of Texas cowboy, using every Scout knot he knew. He threw it back to them a minute later. It was now a sturdy harness, big and strong enough for them both to slip over their shoulders.

  “Hold on tight!” shouted Norman. “Everybody—PULL!”

  Lucy and her dad were suddenly hoisted off the ground. They were pulled away from the Woleb, moving through the glowing wormhole into the glorious sunlight of Whiffington as the crumbling rot of this hidden, secret world decayed around them.

  Lucy hugged her father tighter than she’d ever hugged anyone before. She pressed her cheek into the awful stink of his work coat, reveling in the warmth that now filled it, no longer having to imagine he was there.

  As they moved along the melting wormhole, Lucy stole a glance into the backward world below and felt a heaviness pull down on her heart. In the shadows she saw Grunt, Guff, Scratch, and Sniff huddled together, shaking with fear as they watched their world, their home, their lives, crumble around them.

  The sunlight grew more intense and suddenly broke through the other side of Creakerland, burning a hole even deeper into the Woleb. The walls turned to dust and filled the air with a dull brown mist, and as it cleared, Lucy caught a glimpse of the vast Creaker city. It was the one she’d seen on the map at the center of all those spiderlike legs.

  Miles below, there were thousands of Creakers crawling around. Young ones, old ones, families, babies, all scurrying for cover, all desperate to avoid the burning sunlight blasting down into their world of waste and mess. Suddenly the memory of Sniff’s wide eyes filled Lucy’s mind, and she heard his scratchy voice asking for help. Her heart broke for him and for all Creaker-kind below.

  “There you are!” Norman said as Lucy came into view, and he pulled her back into the real world, along with the bunch of scruffy-haired, wild-looking children who had helped to heave them up.

  “Norman!” cried Lucy, throwing her arms around him and giving him a huge hug. “Thank you! And thank all of you too,” she said to the wild kids.

  “Now, off you go and find your parents,” Norman said, and with that the filthy children bolted for the door.

  “Oh, Norman, this is my dad!” explained Lucy. “Dad, this is my friend Norman.”

  Norman hopped to attention and gave the best Scout salute he could manage.

  “At ease, Norman. Nice to meet you. Any friend of Lucy’s is a friend of mine,” Mr. Dungston said, attempting his own Scout salute. It wasn’t technically correct, but Norman let it go…this time.

  “Thanks,” he whispered to Lucy.

  “For what?”

  “For telling your dad we are friends.”

  “I wasn’t just saying it, Norman. I meant it,” Lucy said, giving him a little nudge with her shoulder.

  “Erm, Norman, where are we?” she asked, suddenly realizing that she didn’t recognize the room they were standing in. It was decorated in every shade of pink, and unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, it had fluffy wallpaper and the biggest four-poster bed she’d ever seen.

  “Wait, let me guess,” Lucy said. “Ella’s house!”

  Norman smiled and they both giggled.

  “Where is she?”

  “Downstairs with Mrs. Noying and the mayor, thanks to you!”

  “But how did you know how to find me?” Lucy asked.

  “I figured the Woleb must run underneath most of the town, so when you disappeared, I just kept looking under beds—and there you were!” Norman explained, pointing to the huge mattress and pillows leaning up against the wall, revealing the giant hole leading into the Woleb.

  Lucy’s heart suddenly leapt like a frog.

  “Quickly, put it back!” she cried.

  “WHAT?!” Norman gasped as Lucy lunged past him and began remaking Ella’s enormous pink bed, slamming the mattress back down, covering the Woleb in shadow.

  “They’ll all die if we let the sunlight keep pouring in like this. We need to cover up all the holes. We have to tell everyone in Whiffington!”

  Norman frowned. “What are you talking about? Who’ll die?”

  “The Creakers!” cried Lucy. “I know you probably think I’m crazy, but we can’t just let them be destroyed.” With a final heave, she pushed the mattress over the last slice of sunlight.

  Norman’s mouth gaped open like a goldfish’s.

  Mr. Dungston snapped his fingers. “I know! If there’s one person who can get the Whiffington folk to pay attention, then you’re in luck. You’re standing in his house!”

  Lucy and Norman stared blankly back at Mr. Dungston.

  “The mayor of Whiffington!” he said.

  “ELLA’S DAD!” Norman and Lucy cried.

  The three of them ran out of Ella’s fluffy pink room and downstairs as fast as they could.

  “Mayor Noying! Mayor Noying!” they called as they burst into the living room.

  “I have no idea how it got marshmallows stuck on it. I promise I didn’t wear it, Mama,” Ella was saying with a perfect smile as she handed her mother a rather tattered-looking wedding dress.

  “All that matters is that we’re back together!” Mrs. Noying replied, throwing the dress aside and pulling Ella in for a hug.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Lucy said from the doorway. “But we need help. Ella, where’s your dad?”

  “I’m very sorry, but he’s had to leave,” Mrs. Noying said calmly.

  “Leave? But you’ve only just gotten back!” blurted Norman.

  “He said he had some work to attend to that couldn’t wait,” Mrs. Noying replied.

  Suddenly Lucy heard the rumble of helicopters thundering in the skies outside, growing louder by the second. Not the normal sort of helicopter sound. This was the sound of huge, hefty, heavy helicopters—and lots of them.

  They all ran to the window and stared as a great shadow fell over the entire town.

  “What the jiggins?” said Mr. Dungston and Lucy at the same time.

  “Well, you don’t see that every day…” muttered Mrs. Noying.

  A swarm of hundreds of gray military choppers filled the sky, flying closely together in formation, with the letters WAF stenciled on the side.

  “Whiffington Air Force!” cried Norman.

  The grown-ups w
ere back—and they meant business!

  “What is that thing they’re carrying, Dad?” asked Lucy, pointing to an enormous circular machine dangling underneath some of the helicopters on long metal wires and swaying this way and that.

  “That’s a boring machine,” Mr. Dungston said.

  “Doesn’t look very boring. I’d say it looks pretty interesting,” replied Norman, gazing at the metallic goliath whizzing over the town.

  “No, it’s not a boring machine! It’s a machine for boring holes!” Mr. Dungston explained. “They’re used to dig deep tunnels in the ground, like a big drill.”

  The frog in Lucy’s chest leapt again. She and Norman stared at one another.

  “Why is a gigantic tunnel-digging machine being flown into Whiffington by the WAF?” Norman gulped.

  Lucy already knew the answer.

  “They’re going to dig a hole into the Woleb and destroy the Creakers!” she cried.

  The image of thousands of helpless Creaker families cowering in the sun’s rays flashed through her mind, and she clenched her fists tightly. “I need to stop that machine before it’s too late.”

  “What? Why you?” said Norman.

  “I was the one who found the Woleb,” said Lucy. “I was the one who worked out that sunlight can destroy it. That means that if the Creakers die, it’ll be my fault. I have to be the one to end this.”

  She looked up at her father. “I need to get to those helicopters, Dad.”

  Mr. Dungston looked back at his daughter, at the fierce determination in her eyes. She seemed to have grown up suddenly, and this time it wasn’t anything to do with strange Woleb magic.

  “Right you are, Lucypops. Wait just a jiffy!” he said, zipping up his grubby green coat as he disappeared out of Ella’s front door.

  “Where’s he gone?!” Norman squeaked, but after a few seconds his question was answered by the growl of an engine and the deep hoot of a horn. Norman and Lucy sprinted outside, where Mr. Dungston was pulling up in his stinking, spluttering garbage truck.

  “Quickly, get in!” he said, leaning over and opening the passenger door.

  “In that thing?” Norman asked.

  “Yeah. That OK?” asked Mr. Dungston.

  “AWESOME!” Norman cried, pushing past Lucy to jump in first.

  Lucy, Norman, and Mr. Dungston charged through the streets of Whiffington in the Muck-Mobile—that’s what Norman had decided to call it—trying to follow the helicopters overhead. They lurched around corners so fast that half the trash in the back spilled out onto the streets, leaving a wake of whiff on every street they sped down.

  “Sorry!” Mr. Dungston yelled out of his window. “I’m used to picking up garbage, not dropping it off!”

  “Where are they going?” Lucy shouted as they whizzed along.

  “Dunno, Lucy! Just don’t take your eyes off ’em!”

  “There’s a slight northwesterly wind, so taking that into account with their approximate heading, I’d say they were going…” Norman paused.

  “Where, Norman?” cried Lucy.

  “But—that can’t be right…,” he muttered.

  “I can’t see them anymore!” Mr. Dungston yelled as the helicopters whizzed below a line of tall trees and then disappeared behind the houses of Whiffington, carrying the whopping great drilling machine out of sight.

  “Dad, I’ve got an idea! Turn left!” Lucy cried.

  “But they didn’t go le—”

  Mr. Dungston didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence as Lucy leapt over and yanked the massive steering wheel toward her. The Muck-Mobile skidded round a corner, pulling into—

  “Trampoline Avenue!” Lucy exclaimed as she jumped out of the truck and onto the nearest trampoline. “We might be able to spot them!”

  Norman and Mr. Dungston followed, the pavement beneath their feet suddenly turning soft and bouncy. They all bounced along it, jumping as high as they could, trying to catch a glimpse of the helicopters and their machine.

  “Can—you—see—them?” Lucy yelled with each bounce as their three heads bobbed up and down above the rooftops.

  When they came to the end of the street, they were completely exhausted.

  “Sorry, Lucy. We lost ’em!” Mr. Dungston said.

  “I…th-th-think—I…,” Norman panted, not able to get his words out.

  “What is it, Norman?” Lucy asked.

  He took a deep breath and gulped.

  “The…helicopters…”

  “Yes?”

  “I saw them…”

  “Where?”

  “They were hovering—directly over YOUR HOUSE!” Norman gasped.

  “You mean we’ve been chasing them all this time while they’ve been flying toward our house?” cried Mr. Dungston.

  “Of course. It makes perfect sense!” Lucy realized. “Our house was where I discovered the Woleb, and where sunlight first entered its shadowy tunnels. It’s the perfect place to drill! It’s where everything began.”

  “It’s where everything could end,” said Norman.

  “I just hope we’re not too late!” Mr. Dungston said as they bounced back into the Muck-Mobile and raced toward their home.

  The closer they got, the more intense the noise became, like driving into the heart of a thunderstorm. The rumble of the helicopters’ rotor blades set off car alarms, and made glass windows rattle and shingles slip off rooftops, smashing to the ground below.

  As they pulled onto Clutter Avenue, Lucy saw the most unbelievable thing she’d ever seen—even more unbelievable than the Woleb. Through the dusty wind-screen of the Muck-Mobile she could make out at least a hundred WAF helicopters hovering over her little house, circling like a tornado of hungry vultures. Beneath them hung the whopping great drilling machine, swinging around like a metallic shark and baring its teeth at the roof of the Dungston home.

  The sight was enough to make Mr. Dungston slam on the brakes, bringing the Muck-Mobile to an abrupt halt.

  “How on earth are you ever going to stop that, Lucy?” said Norman. “Lucy…?” he repeated, looking around.

  But there was no reply.

  The passenger door was open, and Lucy’s seat was empty.

  “Where’s Lucy gone?!” Norman cried.

  Lucy wasn’t wasting any time. She was sprinting as fast as she could toward the chaos, scrambling over car hoods and stumbling through flower beds, until she burst through her front gate and disappeared into the hallway.

  “LUCY! WAIT!” Mr. Dungston cried out of the window, honking the horn of the garbage truck before leaping out and racing toward his house. Suddenly dozens of figures in dark uniforms flew down from the sky above and landed with a thud around him: Whiffington Air Force rappelling down from the choppers above. They formed a line across the street, forcing him to stop.

  “Sorry, sir. This is off-limits now,” the nearest officer said firmly.

  “But that’s my house! And my daughter is in there!” Mr. Dungston said.

  An ear-shredding sound sliced through the air as the teeth of the gigantic drill pierced the top of Lucy’s house. The officers ducked for cover as the chimney was obliterated, sending bricks raining down into the street and punching deep dents in Mr. Dungston’s truck.

  “GET BACK!” barked the WAF. “This street is now closed!”

  And with that, they clapped their hands on Mr. Dungston’s shoulders and marched him to the far end of the street, away from the house, away from the choppers, away from Lucy.

  She was on her own.

  This is it. You’re almost there. Only three chapters to go and you’ll know how it all ends. I already know what happens. If I wanted to, I could spoil it for you right now by saying that Lucy gets chopped to bits by the big drill and is never seen again. Or perhaps Lucy gets superpowers and melts the drill with
laser beams from her eyeballs. Maybe both those would make better endings than what really happened. There’s only one way to find out…

  Lucy closed the front door behind her, which rattled on its hinges under the intense vibration. In fact, the entire house was rattling. Can you imagine a hundred helicopters swirling around over your house with a whopping great drilling machine, ready to blast in through your ceiling at any moment?

  No, thank you very much! Sounds absolutely awful, doesn’t it?

  Lucy ran upstairs, leaping up two or three steps at a time.

  Faster, Lucy! Faster! she commanded herself.

  She burst into her bedroom. Her bed lay like a bridge over the large wormhole leading down to the Woleb, her mattress still leaning against her bedroom wall. She quickly drew the curtains, shutting out the sunlight, and threw her mattress down onto the bed, casting everything underneath it into deep, dark shadows.

  The instant the darkness returned, Lucy saw the most incredible thing happen. The hole started swirling and shrinking, like the way water goes down the drain in the bath.

  The darkness was healing the damage she had done.

  Suddenly the whole room started shaking. Lucy wobbled and stumbled to her knees. Her bedside table tipped over, and her books flew off their shelves. Her jelly-bean-eating-competition certificate fell off the wall, and the frame shattered on the floor. Her sock drawer slid open, sending socks flying everywhere! It was mayhem.

  Then came the worst sound of all.

  It was a sound like she’d never heard before.

  And why would she?

  It was the sound of the roof being ripped right off her house.

  Giant, shiny silver teeth sliced into the Dungstons’ roof, drilling right into Lucy’s bedroom.

  Lucy glanced at the door—but there wasn’t time to make a run for it now. The drill was coming down. There was no escape. Below her was the shrinking entrance to the Woleb; above her, the menacing metal teeth of the whopping great drilling machine.