by Nick Falk
‘Sid,’ I say. ‘Please come out. It’s only me.’
‘I know it’s me!’ screams Yesterday Sid. ‘And I don’t want to talk to you.’
I can see the story on his desk. He’s already halfway through. He’s at the bit when Xomeo kills Zuliet’s cousin Zybalt in a laser duel, and is banished from Planet Xontague. It’s an emotional moment. I remember writing it. I can see why I’m so upset I’ve interrupted myself.
‘Threaten him with medical experimentation,’ suggests the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘That usually works.’
‘It won’t work this time!’ screams Yesterday Sid from the cupboard. ‘The Mighty Professor Skeletron is asleep next door. And you’re just an apparition in my mind!’
‘Honestly,’ sighs the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘It’s a wonder you even managed to get dressed in the morning.’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ pipes up Wendy, tiptoeing towards the bedroom door.
‘Where are you going?’ I call out.
‘To my room,’ she replies. ‘Shhhhh, it’s past my bedtime. I’m probably asleep.’ She puts a finger to her lips and creeps across the hall. Ten seconds later she’s back, a cheeky grin on her face.
‘Siiid,’ she says in her singsong I’ve-done-something-naughty voice. ‘Is this the special Lego man you were looking for?’
I gasp. I can’t believe it. It’s the silver Ninjago minifigure I lost last week. Wendy stole it! I go to take it back but the Mighty Professor Skeletron restrains me.
‘Captain Flashpants!’ yelps Yesterday Sid, leaning out of the cupboard. He’s as shocked as I am. ‘You lied,’ he accuses Wendy. ‘You told me you didn’t know where he was.’
‘I didn’t lie,’ protests Wendy, pointing across the hall. ‘She lied. I would never do that sort of thing.’
‘GET HIM!’ yells the Mighty Professor Skeletron.
I run forward and grab myself by the arm. Yesterday Sid tries to do a backward twist to break my grip. But I know that move. I do it all the time when the bullies catch me in the playground. I tighten my grip and drag him out of the cupboard.
‘Help!’ shrieks Yesterday Sid, wriggling and struggling. ‘Help! I’m trying to kill myself!’
We’ve got to shut him up. He’s going to wake up Mum and Dad. And that’s not going to end well for anyone.
‘Fetch Mr Fluffles,’ commands the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘It might be time for Torture Number Six.’
That does the job. Mr Fluffles is Wendy’s extra wiry Furby toy. And Torture Number Six involves Mr Fluffles and a bare armpit. It’s too horrible to describe.
‘What do you want from me?’ whimpers Yesterday Sid, giving up the fight.
‘Destroy that story!’ demands the Mighty Professor Skeletron, pointing at the desk.
‘No!’ cries Yesterday Sid. ‘I won’t. It’s the only good story I’ve ever written. It’s my masterpiece.’
The Mighty Professor Skeletron snorts. ‘It’s not your masterpiece. It’s Shakespeare’s masterpiece. You just copied him.’
‘So?’ wails Yesterday Sid. ‘Shakespeare doesn’t care. He’s DEAD.’
‘I care,’ barks the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘And I’m the one armed with a scratchy Furby.’
I prepare to bare Yesterday Sid’s left armpit. I wouldn’t normally be so mean to myself. But it’s either that or get vaporised by angry aliens.
‘This is unfair,’ whimpers Yesterday Sid, glaring at the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘You’re the one who told me to copy Shakespeare.’
‘That is factually inaccurate,’ snaps the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘Today Me told you to copy Shakespeare. But I am Tomorrow Me, and I’m telling you not to.’
‘Why should I listen to Tomorrow You and not Today You?’ Yesterday Sid pouts.
‘Because I’m older than he is!’
Yesterday Sid still doesn’t look convinced.
‘Listen, Sid,’ I say. ‘I know how much that story means to you. Believe me, I was you yesterday. I know how excited you are. But the story is just too dangerous. It causes an alien invasion that destroys Planet Earth.’
‘And it wins a prize,’ interjects Wendy.
Yesterday Sid sits up. ‘What did you say?’ he asks.
‘An alien invasion,’ I repeat. ‘I –’
‘Not you,’ interrupts Yesterday Sid. ‘Her.’
‘It wins a prize,’ repeats Wendy, delighted to be the centre of attention. ‘A story prize. You get given it in assembly.’
Yesterday Sid’s eyes go as wide as hubcaps. ‘I win the Book Week story prize? Are you serious?’
‘Yup,’ confirms Wendy. ‘You get given a certificate and everything.’
Yesterday Sid gasps. He twists himself free, grabs the story and locks himself back in the cupboard. A few seconds later he starts scratching away with some sort of pen.
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ barks the Mighty Professor Skeletron, banging on the door. ‘If you finish that story, we’re all doomed!’
A realisation hits me. ‘Oh no,’ I gasp, taking a step backwards. ‘He isn’t writing. He’s doing something worse.’
The Mighty Professor Skeletron looks at me, puzzled. ‘What could possibly be worse than writing?’ he asks.
The blood drains from my face. ‘He’s drawing pictures,’ I reply.
An ominous rumble grumbles in the distance. We race to the window and look out.
Spaceships. Hundreds of them. Spreading across the sky.
‘But I don’t understand,’ gasps the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘Shakespeare didn’t do any pictures. How are drawings making it worse?’
‘Because I’m brilliant at drawing,’ I reply. ‘It’s the thing I love doing most. I do it all the time when I’m supposed to be listening in class.’
‘ZYERZX MNX CRAXN KLAQZ!’ crackles a loudspeaker.
I look out the window. The lead spaceship is almost over the top of us. It’s dark red with a silver Z scrawled across its belly.
Oh no. Zapulets. We’re in serious trouble. The Xontagues might be mean, but the Zapulets make them look like bunny rabbits.
‘You idiot,’ howls the Mighty Professor Skeletron, looking at me accusingly. ‘Why did you hide your crayons in your clothes cupboard?’
‘To stop her from stealing them,’ I reply, pointing at Wendy. ‘She likes to stomp on them and sprinkle them in the bath.’
Wendy grins. She loves rainbow-crayon bubble baths.
‘XRYZAC LKX MAXN QRZAN,’ crackles the loudspeaker.
My Zapulet is pretty rusty, but I’m fairly sure that was a countdown warning. I allow myself a brief moment of pride. At least I wrote these aliens properly.
‘We need to do something. Fast,’ I say.
‘What?’ spits the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘The invasion has already started. It’s no use destroying the story now. It’s too late!’
‘ZYRX KRYZ MNXEN SKRYZIG!’ advise the Zapulets.
But their advice is no use. We don’t own a teleportation device. We can’t just leave the planet.
‘What is going on?’ squeals Yesterday Sid, tumbling out of the cupboard. He’s got the story stuffed in his pyjama pocket. I can see why the Zapulets are here. The illustrations look awesome.
‘You!’ barks the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘That’s what’s going on. You and your silly pictures.’
Yesterday Sid presses his face to the window. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he whimpers. ‘You were telling the truth.’
‘Of course I was telling the truth,’ snaps the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘I’m an evil genius. I don’t need to lie.’
‘Then think of something,’ wails Yesterday Sid. ‘Isn’t that what evil geniuses are for?’
‘KRX MXN ZYGRX!’ bark the Zapulets.
A metallic scraping sound splits the sky. We peek out of the window. They’re lowering their extermination cannons.
‘Don’t these aliens want to play?’ asks Wendy.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘They’re n
ot the playful type.’ I take her hand and give it a squeeze. I suppose there’s one thing to be thankful for. At least we’re not going to die wearing plastic rollerskates.
‘QRX ZYNC!’
The cannons are in firing position. We’ve got seconds left.
‘Oh … I don’t want to die,’ blubbers Yesterday Sid, curling up in a ball on the carpet. ‘I wish I’d never even heard of William Shakespeare!’
‘EUREKA!’
I spin around.
‘That’s it.’ The Mighty Professor Skeletron has had a light-bulb moment. His hair is standing up and his eyes are bulging out of his head. It’s what happens when a really big idea enters his mind.
‘Quickly!’ he shouts, grabbing me and Wendy by the arms. ‘Outside!’
He drags us from the room, down the passage and into the garden. Yesterday Sid lurches after us.
‘Get your skates on!’ shouts the Mighty Professor Skeletron.
We do as he says. We put our saucepans on, too. What’s he up to? We can’t time travel anywhere. His potato’s out of charge.
‘Give yourself a piggy back and hold on,’ yells the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘This is going to take some serious kick.’
Yesterday Sid climbs onto my back. ‘Please don’t let go,’ he bleats. ‘You’ve got really weedy arms.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ I snap, grabbing hold of the washing line.
The Mighty Professor Skeletron plugs us into the potato. Just as I suspected. Nothing happens. It’s a dud spud. What’s he planning to do?
‘OI, ZAPULETS!’ he shrieks. ‘OVER HERE!’
Oh. That’s what he’s planning to do. Commit group suicide.
The Mighty Professor Skeletron starts jumping up and down, waving his arms at the aliens. He’s finally lost it completely.
‘OVER HERE, I SAID! YES! YOU! THE UGLY BUG-EYED IDIOTS IN THE SECOND-HAND SPACESHIPS!’
That gets their attention. There’s some mumbling static over the loudspeaker, and then one of the spaceships turns its massive cannon in our direction.
‘Have you totally lost your mind?’ I whisper.
‘SHHHH!’ snips the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘I’m delivering a monologue. You’re putting me off my performance.’ He clears his throat for Act Two.
‘DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU LOT ARE? YOU’RE A BUNCH OF SCALY BOTTOMED SPACE GOATS, THAT’S WHAT. NO WONDER ZULIET WANTS TO HANG OUT WITH THE XONTAGUES. YOU’RE ALL COMPLETELY USELESS.’
That definitely has the desired effect. The loudspeaker spits out some very rude Zapulet swear words, and a few seconds later all the extermination cannons swivel towards us.
‘I think he’s made them angry,’ says Wendy.
She’s not wrong. We’re about to get cooked to a crisp. Oh well. At least it’ll be a quick death.
‘Prepare yourselves,’ warns the Mighty Professor Skeletron, raising the potato above his head. ‘This could get pretty intense.’
‘ZYX KYRXEC KAK!’ bellows the loudspeaker.
SKAZAM!
The Zapulet cannons let loose. A blinding light scorches the sky and hits the Mighty Professor Skeletron smack bang in the potato.
‘AIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!’
An electro-galactic blast surges through our saucepans. We accelerate forward so fast we rip the washing line out of the ground and rocket up into the sky.
‘WAHOOOOO!’ hollers Wendy. ‘I’m a shooting star!’
Up, up and away we go. We spin through the trees, soar past the Zapulets, and speed through the puffy white clouds.
‘Take a deep breath!’ warns the Mighty Professor Skeletron.
WHEEESH.
We spin out into blackness. I have a few brief moments to realise I’m suffocating in the vacuum of space before …
SHOOP!
I’m sucked into an even blacker blackness. The wormhole. But this isn’t like the last time. It’s much, much worse. We’re moving so fast I can’t even feel my feet. Yesterday Sid is screaming like a banshee on my back. I would tell him to stop, but I’m too busy screaming myself.
WHOOMP!
We catapult out into a deep blue sky. I’m mid air, 50 feet above a field. There’s an enormous mound of mud beneath me.
YEEEAAARGHHH!
We start falling … down towards the mud. Hang on. I’m not so sure that is mud. Oh no, I think it might be …
SHOOOOOP!
I land face-first in a giant pile of poo. Yesterday Sid lands with a splat on top of me.
YEEUUUUURCH.
I pull my head out, gasping for air. It’s disgusting. It’s horrific. It’s …
‘What art thou doing in my dungheap, young scoundrels?’
There’s an angry man standing next to us. He’s wearing yellow tights, a frilly collar and a ridiculous feathery hat.
‘Excellent,’ chirps a voice from behind me. ‘We made it!’
I turn around. It’s the Mighty Professor Skeletron. He and Wendy appear to have landed in a very comfortable pile of straw.
‘Made it where?’ I ask him, wiping poo from my eye.
The Mighty Professor Skeletron grins. ‘1576, of course.’
‘We’ve got until tomorrow morning to complete our mission,’ whispers the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘Otherwise, we’re stuck.’
We’re hiding behind a wooden barn. The man in the yellow tights chased us for about a hundred metres but then he tripped over his own shoes and fell in a ditch. I’m not surprised. He’s wearing very silly shoes. They’ve got big metal buckles and curly bits at the toes. We peek around the corner as he drags himself out of the ditch, muttering something about ‘loathsome toads.’
‘What happens tomorrow morning?’ asks Wendy.
‘The portal closes,’ says the Mighty Professor Skeletron. He points to the woods in the distance.
The wormhole is still there, wobbling away at the edge of the trees. We flew out of it at about a hundred miles an hour. That’s how we ended up in mid-air.
‘That thing was created by a Zapulet death ray,’ continues the Mighty Professor Skeletron, ‘so it’s pretty powerful. But it will lose stability overnight. If we’re not back here by sunrise we’re stuck.’
‘Why can’t we just get another potato?’ I ask.
Our first spud got frazzled. It looks like a lump of coal.
‘England doesn’t have potatoes yet,’ replies the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘Sir Francis Drake discovered potatoes in America. He was the first Englishman to sail around the world. But he won’t get back until 1580.’
I can’t believe it. The Zapulets blasted us all the way back to Elizabethan England. We travelled across time AND space. That’s what wormholes can do. And Elizabethan England is scary. There are loads of horrible diseases, like typhoid, smallpox and spotted fever. Not to mention the Black Death. And you can get hung, beheaded or burnt at the stake for misbehaving. So we definitely don’t want to get stuck here.
‘Pooh,’ says Wendy, wafting her hand in front of her nose. ‘Is that smell us?’
It isn’t us. It’s not just me, either. The whole place stinks of poo and pee and rotten stuff. There weren’t any flushing toilets in Elizabethan England. Dad told me that when our loo got blocked at home. ‘Elizabethan people had it worse,’ he said. ‘Elizabethans had to poo in pots and empty them out the window. Sometimes they made poo piles at the bottom of their gardens. They threw everything in there. Human poo. Animal poo. Rotten food. They called ’em laystalls.’
Laystalls. Yuck. And I just fell into one. I smell like my own dog’s bottom.
‘My pyjamas are wet,’ moans Yesterday Sid.
‘Stop complaining.’ I snap.
‘Why shouldn’t I complain?’ he replies, pouting. ‘I hate it here. I want to go home.’
‘We can’t go home,’ I snap, ‘because some idiot started an alien invasion. Remember?’
‘What, you mean you?’ snips Yesterday Sid.
‘I mean you,’ I reply. ‘You’re the one who wrote the story.’
<
br /> ‘And you’re the one who read it out in assembly,’ he retorts. ‘It was the reading that made the Xontagues come!’
‘And it was the pictures that made the Zapulets come!’
‘So? I wouldn’t have even done any drawings if you hadn’t turned up.’
I snort. ‘That is such rubbish. You are so the Sid to blame for this.’
‘You’re so the Sid to blame for this. Stupid time-travelling goatface.’
‘Slugface.’
‘Pooface.’
‘Buttface.’
‘STOP!’ interrupts the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘You are BOTH to blame for this. But only one of you is responsible for us ending up here.’ He’s looking at Yesterday Sid.
Good. I knew I was right.
‘I never wanted to come here,’ protests Yesterday Sid. ‘I just wanted to drink some milk and go to bed.’
‘Nonsense,’ retorts the Mighty Professor Skeletron. ‘You said it quite clearly: “I wish I’d never even heard of William Shakespeare”, you said.’
‘So what if I did?’ cries Yesterday Sid.
‘But don’t you all see?’ asks the Mighty Professor Skeletron, looking at each of us in turn. ‘That was it. That was the answer. If we’d never heard of William Shakespeare, there wouldn’t have been a story to copy. And if there hadn’t been a story to copy, the aliens wouldn’t have come. And if the aliens hadn’t come, we wouldn’t be hiding behind a barn 440 years in the past!’
We all stare at him blankly. I haven’t got any idea what he’s talking about. And I’m pretty sure Yesterday Sid and Wendy don’t, either. They’re both younger than me.
The Mighty Professor Skeletron rolls his eyes. ‘It’s simple,’ he says. ‘We can’t stop Yesterday Sid from copying Romeo and Juliet. We tried that and we failed. But we can stop Shakespeare from writing Romeo and Juliet. That way there won’t be anything to copy!’
I think about it. I suppose it makes sense. In a completely and utterly bonkers kind of way.
‘So, how are we going to stop Shakespeare from writing Romeo and Juliet?’ I ask.
