by Nick Falk
The Mighty Professor Skeletron takes the book and inspects it. ‘Inspiration has struck again.’ He grins.
William Shakespeare lived almost 500 years ago in Stratford-upon-Avon, a town near London, the capital of England. Shakespeare was absolutely terrified of dying of the Black Death, an illness that made you swell up, get really, really hot and sweaty and drop dead. Back then loads of people got the Black Death. You’d go to the shops to buy some sausages and BOOM! the shopkeeper would suddenly turn black, gurgle and die. And no-one wanted to eat his sausages after that. Because the Black Death was INFECTIOUS. That means you could catch it if someone coughed on you, breathed on you or sneezed on your sausages. And Shakespeare was so scared of someone sneezing on his sausages that he spent all day sitting indoors writing. And he got so good at it that he’s pretty much the most famous writer who ever lived.
My dad told me that. He’s always going on about history stuff. He loves it. He doesn’t always get his facts right, though. Mrs Brooks next door is an English teacher and she told me that Shakespeare was an actor as well as a writer and that he went outside all the time. But I prefer Dad’s version. It’s more fun.
‘Romeo and Juliet,’ announces the Mighty Professor Skeletron, pointing to page seven hundred and something in his book. (It’s a very big book. Shakespeare wrote almost one million words. That’s more words than there are fleas on all the dogs in our neighbourhood. And our neighbourhood has some very dirty dogs.)
‘What’s “Romeo and Juliet”?’ asks Wendy.
‘It’s a play,’ replies the Mighty Professor Skeletron.
‘What’s a play?’ asks Wendy.
‘It’s a story people act out on stage in costumes. Almost all of Shakespeare’s stories are plays.’
‘Why is a play going to stop Mr Pilchard from murderating Sid?’ asks Wendy.
‘Because Romeo and Juliet is the best story ever written,’ replies the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘And Sid is going to copy it.’
‘YAY!’ exclaims Wendy. ‘I love copying things. Watch this!’ She sticks out her tongue and drools. ‘That’s our dog, Winston, after he’s chased a cat.’
‘But if I copy it,’ I ask, doing my best to ignore my sister, ‘won’t I get into even more trouble?’
The Mighty Professor Skeletron rolls his eyes. So does Inspiration. ‘You don’t copy it exactly, you gibbering buffoon. You change things. All stories consist of three main components – characters, setting and plot. It’s the PLOT that makes a good story. And Romeo and Juliet has a brilliant one. So change the setting and the characters, but don’t touch the plot.’
The plot of Romeo and Juliet is actually pretty simple. Juliet falls in love with Romeo. But Juliet’s not supposed to fall in love with Romeo because her family, the Capulets, HATE Romeo’s family, the Montagues. So the Capulets try to force Juliet to marry someone else. But Juliet doesn’t want to marry someone else, so she pretends to poison herself and falls asleep. Unfortunately, when Romeo finds Juliet asleep with poison in her hand, he thinks she’s dead for real so he ACTUALLY poisons himself. And when Juliet wakes up to find that Romeo’s dead as a dodo she gets upset and stabs herself and makes herself dead as a dodo too. And when the Montagues and Capulets find out that both Romeo and Juliet are dead as dodos they feel a bit guilty and decide to be nice to each other for a change.
It’s a good plot. It’s got the two essential ingredients all plots need – stabbings and poisonings. All I have to do is change the characters and setting around. Thinking about it, I can probably improve it. Romeo and Juliet is based in the city of Verona, which is in the country of Italy, on Planet Earth. And stories based on Earth are boring. So I’ll set it in space instead. Stories about alien planets are much more exciting than stories about Earth. Shakespeare would probably thank me.
I take the book from the Mighty Professor Skeletron and make a move towards the door. I need to get writing. Bedtime is strictly 9 pm in my house. If I’m up any later than that, Mum has one of her episodes. And nobody wants that.
WHOOSH.
A hand shoots out and blocks my path.
‘Be warned,’ breathes the Mighty Professor Skeletron, tapping the cover of the book. ‘This book is extremely dangerous. It contains the most powerful stories ever written. They’re the literary equivalent of weapons-grade plutonium. So make sure you make it different. Copy Romeo and Juliet TOO closely, and who knows what might happen …’
Mr Pilchard is weeping. Actually weeping. Tears are plopping onto his shoes.
‘This boy is a shining example,’ warbles Principal Batton, her wig wobbling dangerously. ‘His prize-winning story demonstrates what can be achieved through discipline, hard work and truly excellent teaching.’
That gets Mr Pilchard bawling. A candlestick of snot slides into his moustache. I’ve never seen him so happy.
‘If I’m correct in my thinking, this boy used to be an idiot. Isn’t that right, Mr Pilchard?’
‘Yes,’ sobs Mr Pilchard. ‘A complete idiot.’
‘And now, thanks to your guidance and dedication, he has written a story that can be only described as … well, how did you describe it, Mr Pilchard?’
‘Brilliant,’ weeps Mr Pilchard, scooping up his snot with a handkerchief, ‘absolutely brilliant.’
I did it. I won. Yesterday I was a loser, and today I’m a hero. The whole school is gathered in the great hall to witness it. Sidney Bice. Eleven years and 73 days old. First prize in the Book Week story contest. It’s the greatest moment of my life.
‘And now,’ announces Principal Batton, ‘the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Sidney will read to us from his wonderful story, “Xomeo and Zuliet – a Tale of Forbidden Alien Love.”’ She totters off the podium and indicates for me to take her place.
This is amazing. Incredible. If I could bottle this moment I’d keep it on a shelf, call it Ermintrude, and treasure it forever.
I clear my throat.
‘Once upon a time, on the planet Zapulet, there lived an alien girl called Zuliet. She had two heads, four arms and was quite pretty if you like that sort of thing.’
I pause. No-one giggles. No-one laughs. No-one throws a pencil sharpener at my head.
I’m living in a dream.
‘On the next-door planet,’ I continue reading, ‘which was called Xontague, lived an eight-eyed alien boy called Xomeo. Xomeo and Zuliet really, really liked each other. They sent each other secret space-mails all day long on their holocomputers. Why in secret? Because the Zapulets and the Xontagues hated each other. Really hated each other. They never sent each other birthday cards, even when they turned a thousand. And when Xomeo and Zuliet’s parents found out they were sending each other space-mails, it started the most ginormous pan-galactic war the universe had ever seen.’
I pause again. Everyone is sitting in silence, listening. They’re enjoying it. Even the bullies who locked me in the loo at recess and poured soap on my head. It’s a perfect day. A great day. Nothing and no-one could ruin it.
The back wall of the hall explodes inwards. A silver spacecraft zooms though the wreckage and crash-lands in the centre of the room.
Everybody freezes. This has never happened in assembly before. We had a visitor from the local petting zoo once, but that’s about as exciting as it gets.
SHOOF!
A door opens in the side of the spaceship. Green smoke billows out from inside. Everyone shuffles forward to get a better view.
CLONK, CLONK, CLONK.
Footsteps. Something is coming out of the spaceship. What’s it going to be? A slobbering monster? A titanium battle-droid? We’re all scared to death but no-one wants to leave. What if it’s friendly? What if it takes us back to its planet and makes us its leader? It’s worth the risk. Anything’s better than seven more years of school.
CLANK!
The creature emerges through the smoke. It’s something with five arms and two heads wearing a jet-black metal spacesuit. There’s something strangely fami
liar about it.
WHIRRRRR.
The helmets slide backwards.
Everyone gasps.
The alien underneath is hideous. It has bright purple lumpy skin with 50 eyes and big horned teeth.
My stomach lurches up into my throat. I can’t believe it. I know this alien.
It’s Xenvolio, Xomeo’s cousin …
My story just invaded school assembly.
‘AKA CRAKA SNAKA!’ snarls Xenvolio, pulling a laser gun from his belt.
Pandemonium sets in. Everyone starts screaming and racing towards the doors.
ZAP!
Xenvolio points his gun and fires. Doris Higworth disappears in a puff of spacedust. The race for the doors turns into a stampede. Mr Pilchard gets trampled by a herd of screaming second-years.
‘STOP!’ warbles Principal Batton, wig halfway down her face. ‘STOP! We must remain –’
ZAPOW!
A blast of death laser disintegrates her mid-sentence. Xenvolio barks an order and ten more Xontagues burst through the doors.
I stand there, frozen. Surely I should try to stop this? These are my aliens, after all. They come from my imagination. Should I say something? Should I ask them to leave?
‘I … I … I,’ I gibber.
But there’s no need to say more. Xenvolio turns towards me. He spies the story in my hand. His eyes narrow. He knows I’m the one responsible. Xenvolio is a peacemaker. He’s the one who tries to stop the Xontague-Zapulet war, so he must be pretty angry with me for starting it.
‘MOOKA BOOKA SNOOKA,’ snarls Xenvolio, raising his silver gun.
I close my eyes. I hope it’s painless. I hope I just get zapped into a zillion little pieces without feeling anything. A little sob escapes from the back of my throat. I never even got to say goodbye to my dog.
SLAM!
Someone barrels into me and flings me off the stage.
KRAKOW!
A blast of red-hot death laser scorches past my shoulder and deep-fries the teacher behind me. What a lucky escape.
‘You idiot,’ barks a voice in my ear. ‘Look at what you’ve done!’
It’s the Mighty Professor Skeletron. He grabs me by the T-shirt and drags me behind an upturned chair.
‘Didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t you listen to a word I said?’
‘AIIEEEEEE!’
Miss Webster squeals as five more Xontagues hoverboard through the window. She runs for the door but – ZAPING! – gets fried halfway there.
‘But how?’ I whisper. ‘How did I do this?’
‘You ignored my warning, that’s what you did,’ snaps the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘You copied Romeo and Juliet too closely. You unleashed the power of Shakespeare!’
ZAPLOOIEE!
A gaggle of Grade 6 girls implode in a deathcloud of acne and dandruff.
‘But how can Shakespeare be so powerful?’ I gasp.
‘Because he wrote stories!’ says the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘Amazing, extraordinary stories. And stories activate imaginations. Imaginations, you fool. The most powerful machines in existence! And Shakespeare has been activating imaginations for more than 400 years. Billions and zillions of imaginations! And you just unleashed their combined power on Park Manor Primary School!’
KABOOM!
The ceiling explodes. Dust and bricks and barbecued pigeons scatter from above.
‘RUN!’ screams the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘RUN!’
There’s a blast hole in the brick wall to our left. We race towards it, dodge around a bug-eyed geography teacher and dive through the gap. More spaceships are landing in the playground. Crowds of people are standing outside the school gates, gawping. I’m not sure I’d stand there gawping if I saw an alien invasion. I think I might run away. Human beings can be very silly sometimes.
‘WHOOPEE! The library’s on fire!’ Wendy skips towards us, an enormous grin on her face. ‘I didn’t know we were getting aliens at school today. If I’d known, I would have worn my astronaut suit!’
‘WATCH OUT!’ I scream, pushing her head down.
A purple death blast disintegrates her left pigtail and incinerates the tree behind us.
‘Awesome!’ hoots Wendy. ‘Do you reckon we can buy one of those at Toy World?’
BLAST!
There’s another deafening explosion. The toilet block just got flattened.
‘We need to get home quickly,’ urges the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘The aliens will set up their operations base at the school. But in precisely two hours they’ll launch a city-wide assault.’
‘How do you know?’ I ask.
‘Research,’ he replies. ‘I’ve watched every science-fiction film in existence.’
Keeping low to the ground, we scurry out the school gates. The streets around the school are gridlocked. People are either trying to get closer to see what’s happening, or trying to get as far away as possible before they get fried. Everyone is getting in everyone else’s way.
‘What are we going to do?’ I pant as we race towards Circus Crescent.
‘The only thing we can do,’ replies the Mighty Professor Skeletron, skipping past an overturned cyclist. ‘Teleport back to yesterday and stop you from writing the story.’
Screaming erupts from behind us. The Xontague mothership just emerged through the clouds.
‘But isn’t time travel impossible?’ I ask, breaking into a sprint.
The Mighty Professor Skeletron snorts. ‘Impossible, Sidney, is what makes science so much fun.’
‘Why are we wearing rollerskates?’ asks Wendy.
That’s what I was about to ask. We’re standing in the Mighty Professor Skeletron’s garden with rollerskates on our feet and saucepans on our heads. The saucepans are wired up to some sort of electrical plug.
‘Speed,’ replies the Mighty Professor Skeletron, sticky-taping magnets to our saucepans. ‘That is why we are wearing rollerskates. Speed is the essence of time travel. To create a wormhole through the space–time continuum we need to exceed the speed of light. And that requires two things – electromagnetic force and rollerskates.’
‘Where are we going to get electro-spaghettic forks?’ asks Wendy.
The Mighty Professor Skeletron rolls his eyes. ‘Honestly,’ he mutters, ‘what is primary school education coming to?’
‘AAIEEE!’
Somewhere nearby somebody screams. I look up. A fleet of spiky battlepods is fanning out from the Xontague mothership. The aliens are launching their assault ahead of schedule.
‘Dear me, Sid,’ mutters the Mighty Professor Skeletron, disapprovingly. ‘They didn’t even issue a countdown. At least make your characters believable.’
‘Sorry,’ I mutter. I feel a bit stupid. I can’t even get my space stories right.
KABOOM!
The house six doors up the street explodes. Mr Beaktree lives there. He won’t be happy. He just had it repainted. We have to hurry.
‘Grab hold of the washing line,’ urges the Mighty Professor Skeletron.
We do as he says. It’s one of those big revolving ones that spin in the wind.
‘Now, hold on tight,’ he instructs. ‘I’m about to bring the thunder.’
KACHOW!
That was Mrs Brooks’ house next door to mine. The Mighty Professor Skeletron needs to bring the thunder fast. There’s a battledroid heading straight towards us. I’m about to die wearing pink plastic rollerskates. It’s not the way I wanted to go.
The Mighty Professor Skeletron reaches into his pocket. This is it. The moment he pulls out some mind-bending gadget that will propel us back through time. His hand tenses. He pauses for just a moment. And then he takes out …
A soggy potato.
‘What’s that for?’ I ask.
‘Electricity,’ replies the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘For the electromagnetic force.’
‘Electricity?’ I cry. ‘IT’S A POTATO! You can’t get electricity out of a pota–AAAAAAAARGH!’
The Mighty Professor Skeletron shoves the plug into the spud. Five thousand volts crackle through my skull. The magnet on my helmet leaps forward, dragging my body after it. Magnets attract, and the one on my helmet wants to get as close as it can to Wendy’s. I’m taking a ride on the merry-go-round from hell.
‘WAHOO!’ shrieks the Mighty Professor Skeletron, as he swings around behind me. ‘Potato power rocks!’
Round and round and round we go. Faster and faster and faster. Soon we’re going so fast the world around me is a muddy blur.
‘It’s starting!’ hollers the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘It’s starting!’
A black hole is expanding out from the centre of the washing line.
‘We’re creating our own gravitational field!’ shrieks the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘We’ve opened a wormhole through space and time. All we have to do is hold on!’
‘I’m gonna be sick!’ moans Wendy. ‘I had too much lemonade for lunch.’
We’re spinning so fast my rollerskates have left the ground. The G-force is unbelievable. My cheeks are pulled back behind my ears. I look like a slobbery dog with its head out a car window. I peer to my left. The wormhole is spreading out towards us. Any moment now we’re going to get sucked into it … and …
WHOOSH!
We spiral into darkness. My body stretches out like overcooked noodles. One minute my feet are near my nose, the next they’re 50 metres from my knees. It’s like I’m being turned inside out.
‘Wooooot iiiiis goooeeeeenn ooooonnn?’ I slur.
WHOOMP!
I land with a thump on the lawn. I’ve still got a saucepan on my head. I’m still wearing rollerskates. But everything else feels different. I look up.
The Xontagues are nowhere to be seen.
‘That was wicked.’ Wendy grins, lemonadey vomit in her hair.
The Mighty Professor Skeletron stands up and dusts himself off. ‘Right,’ he says as we take off the rollerskates. ‘Let’s see if we can talk some sense into you.’
‘GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!’ screams Yesterday Sid. He’s locked himself in the clothes cupboard. He’s reacting badly to meeting himself. ‘This is just another trick, mind. You’re trying to put me off finishing the story. Well, it won’t work!’
