The 13-Story Treehouse

by Andy Griffiths

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  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  CHAPTER 1: THE 13-STORY TREEHOUSE

  CHAPTER 2: THE FLYING CAT

  CHAPTER 3: THE MISSING CAT

  CHAPTER 4: THE BIG RED NOSE

  CHAPTER 5: THE DRAWING COMPETITION

  CHAPTER 6: THE BARKY THE BARKING DOG SHOW

  CHAPTER 7: THE MONSTER MERMAID

  CHAPTER 8: THE BIG BUBBLE

  CHAPTER 9: THE ADVENTURES OF SUPERFINGER

  CHAPTER 10: THE 13-STORY MONKEY HOUSE

  CHAPTER 11: THE GIANT GORILLA

  CHAPTER 12: THE DAY SILKY SAVED THE DAY

  CHAPTER 13: THE END

  PREVIEW OF THE 26-STORY TREEHOUSE

  COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER 1

  THE 13-STORY TREEHOUSE

  Hi, my name is Andy.

  This is my friend Terry.

  We live in a tree.

  Well, when I say “tree,” I mean treehouse. And when I say “treehouse,” I don’t mean any old treehouse—I mean a 13-story treehouse!

  So what are you waiting for?

  Come on up!

  It’s got a bowling alley,

  a see-through swimming pool,

  a tank full of man-eating sharks,

  vines you can swing on,

  a games room,

  a secret underground laboratory,

  a lemonade fountain,

  a vegetable vaporizer,

  and a marshmallow machine that follows you around and automatically shoots marshmallows into your mouth whenever you’re hungry.

  As well as being our home, the treehouse is also where we make books together. I write the words and Terry draws the pictures.

  As you can see, we’ve been doing this for quite a while now.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE FLYING CAT

  If you’re like most of our readers, you’re probably wondering where we get all the ideas for our books from. Well, sometimes we think them up. Other times they are based on stuff that actually happened. Like this book, for instance.

  It all started one morning when I got up and went down to get some breakfast.

  Terry was already in the kitchen. He was painting a cat. And when I say “painting a cat,” I don’t mean he was painting a picture of a cat. He was painting an actual cat! Bright yellow!

  “This might be a stupid question, Terry,” I said, “but why are you painting that cat bright yellow?”

  “Because I’m turning it into a canary,” he answered.

  I started to explain to Terry that you can’t turn a cat into a canary just by painting it yellow but he said, “Yes, you can—watch this!” and carried the dripping cat to the edge of the deck.

  “No!” I yelled, as Terry held the cat out in mid-air...and let it go.

  But I needn’t have worried. The cat didn’t fall. Two little wings popped out of its back, and then it tweeted and flew away.

  “See?” said Terry, turning to me in triumph. “I told you so!”

  CHAPTER 3

  THE MISSING CAT

  We watched the cat...I mean canary...actually, I think I mean catnary...until it flew out of sight. Then the doorbell rang.

  It was Jill, our neighbor. She lives on the other side of the forest in a house full of animals. She’s got two dogs, a goat, three horses, four goldfish, one cow, six rabbits, two guinea pigs, one camel, one donkey, and one cat.

  “Uh-oh,” said Terry. “She’s probably looking for her cat!”

  “Don’t tell me that was Silky you just turned into a canary!” I said.

  “Okay, I won’t,” said Terry. “But it was.”

  This was bad. Jill loved that cat. She loved all her animals, but she especially loved Silky.

  “Oh no!” I said. “She is going to be really mad when she finds out what you’ve done!”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t tell her.”

  “Good idea!” I said. “Let’s pretend we’re not home.”

  “No,” I said quickly, “she’s not here.”

  Now, before you start thinking I’m the kind of person who would tell a lie, I’d just like to point out that although the first part of my sentence (“No”) was technically a lie, the second part (“she’s not here”) was definitely the truth, which—I’m sure you will agree—cancels out the lie.

  “Oh,” said Jill sadly. “Well, anyway, I’ve made up a missing-cat poster. Can I put one on your tree?”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s the least we can do.” (Which was also definitely 100 percent true.)

  As soon as Jill left I turned to Terry. “We’ve got to find that cat!” I said.

  “You mean canary,” said Terry.

  “Whatever!” I said. “We’ve got to find her.”

  But before we could even begin looking for her the video-phone rang. (Yes, we’ve got one of those as well—and it’s 3D!)

  “Maybe that’s Silky now,” said Terry.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “Cats can’t use phones.”

  “Maybe they can,” said Terry. “You said they couldn’t turn into canaries and you were wrong about that!”

  CHAPTER 4

  THE BIG RED NOSE

  We raced back upstairs. A big red nose filled the video-phone screen. Uh-oh. It was Mr. Big Nose, our publisher. And he was angry. I could tell this because his nose was even bigger—and redder—than usual.

  “WHERE’S MY BOOK?” he yelled.

  “What book?” said Terry.

  “The one you chuckle-heads promised me a year ago would be on my desk last Friday!”

  “Oh,” said Terry. “Is it last Friday already?”

  “It’s PAST last Friday already!” shouted Mr. Big Nose. “WAY past, and your book is STILL not on my desk.”

  The truth was we’d kind of forgotten about the book. We were a little behind schedule. Well, when I say “a little behind schedule,” I mean a lot behind schedule. And when I say “a lot behind schedule,” I mean a LOT LOT LOT behind schedule.

  Not that I was about to let Mr. Big Nose know that. He was already pretty angry and the angrier he gets, the bigger his nose gets. And if his nose got any bigger I was worried that it might explode. And that was not something I wanted to see— especially not in 3D.

  ABOVE: An artist’s impression of what it would look like if Mr. Big Nose’s nose exploded.

  “No problem, Mr. Big Nose,” I lied. “It’s under control. We’ll get it to you as soon as we can.”

  “Well, as soon as you can had better be by five o’clock tomorrow afternoon, or else!”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Big Nose,” I said. “It will be there, all right. You can count on us!”

  “But—” said Terry.

  I quickly ended the call before Terry could say anything that would make Mr. Big Nose any angrier than he already was.

  “You shouldn’t have told him that,” said Terry. “I’m way too busy to get it done by tomorrow. Look at my ‘To Do’ list. I’m full up!”

  “And don’t even get me started on my ‘To Don’t’ list.”

  “Your ‘To Dos’ and ‘To Don’ts’ will just have to wait,” I said. “If we don’t get this book finished it will be back to the monkey house for us.”

  “The monkey house?” said Terry, looking terrified. “Not the monkey house! Anything but the monkey house!”

  For those of you who don’t know, the monkey house is wher
e Terry and I used to work. It was the worst job ever.

  Cleaning the monkey house was bad enough...

  grooming the monkeys was even worse...

  but the worst job of all was having to fill in for the monkeys while they were on a break.

  “I’m not going back to the monkey house,” said Terry, “and that’s final!”

  “And you won’t have to,” I said, “not if we get our book finished. Come on, let’s get started. We’ve only got until tomorrow!”

  CHAPTER 5

  THE DRAWING COMPETITION

  We went to the kitchen table. It’s where we do most of our work. Or, rather, in the case of the past year it’s where we didn’t do most of our work. But that could soon be fixed. I figured Terry would have a few funny sketches in his drawing folder to get us started. It would simply be a matter of grabbing the best ones, adding a few words and, hey presto, we’d have our new book. No sweat, no worry. We are professional book-writers after all. I mean, you saw our piles of books.

  “Okay,” I said, “let’s see what you’ve got!”

  Terry opened his drawing folder and laid it flat on the table. “You’re going to love this,” he said.

  In front of me was a picture of a finger.

  “This is just a picture of a finger,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Terry proudly. “But not just any finger...it’s my finger.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “What else have you got?”

  “I’ve got a close-up picture of my finger,” said Terry. “And it’s labeled.”

  I stared at it.

  “Well?” said Terry, a big grin on his face. “What do you think? Lice picks, get it? Not ice picks...lice picks!”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I said. I turned the pages, looking for more pictures, but all I saw was this...

  and this...

  and this...

  “Is that it?” I said. “Two pictures? You’ve had a whole year and you’ve only come up with two pictures? Honestly, Terry! Do you expect me to do all the work—the pictures as well as the writing?”

  “Of course not,” said Terry, “you can’t draw.”

  “Yes I can!” I said. “Drawing is easy. It’s coming up with the words that takes real skill.”

  “If you think drawing is so easy then let’s have a competition,” said Terry, handing me a pencil.

  “No problem!” I said.

  First we drew a knife.

  “That’s not a knife,” said Terry. “This is a knife.”

  Next we drew a worm.

  “That’s not a worm,” said Terry. “This is a worm.”

  Next we drew a banana.

  “That’s not a banana,” said Terry. “This is a banana.”

  “No,” I said, “that’s not a banana. This is a banana!” I picked up the giant banana that Terry had made the day before and charged at him.

  “Put the giant banana down, Andy,” said Terry, backing away.

  “I’ll put it down,” I said, “when you admit that I’m a better drawer than you are.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “Okay,” I said, “then I’m sorry to inform you that I’m going to have to whack you over the head with this giant banana.”

  “Not if I can whack you first!” said Terry, snatching the banana from my hands and whacking me over the head with it.

  That’s when everything went black.

  The next thing I knew I was soaking wet and Terry was kneeling in front of me holding an empty bucket.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right!” he said. “I thought I’d killed you!”

  “So did I,” I said. “I can’t believe you whacked me with a giant banana!”

  “But you were going to whack me with it.”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right, Terry,” I reminded him.

  “I suppose not,” he said, “and I’m sorry. But look on the bright side. At least I saved your life by throwing a bucket of water in your face.”

  “But now I’m all wet!”

  “Yes, but at least it’s better than being dead.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” I said, “we’re both as good as dead if we don’t stop wasting time and get our book finished.”

  “You mean get our book started,” said Terry. “Do you have anything in your writing folder?”

  “Actually, I do have the start of a story,” I said. “And it’s a pretty good one, too.”

  “That’s great,” said Terry. “Let’s see it!”

  I grabbed my writing book and began turning the pages.

  “Great start!” said Terry. “Action-packed! But what happens next?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “That’s as far as I got.”

  “That’s it?” said Terry. “Four words?!”

  “Four pages,” I said.

  “Yeah, but it’s still only four words,” said Terry, “and one of them isn’t even spelled right. I’m pretty sure it’s ‘upon,’ not ‘upom.’”

  “Well excuse me, Mr. Roald Dahl!” I said. “If you know so much about story writing, why don’t you write it?”

  “Because it’s time for my favorite TV show!” said Terry.

  “What about our book?” I said.

  “Why don’t you write while I watch?”

  “Because I can’t write when the TV is on!” I said. “I can’t concentrate!”

  “Then come and watch it with me,” said Terry, patting the beanbag beside him.

  And that’s why, instead of working on our book, we ended up wasting half an hour watching the world’s dumbest dog on the world’s dumbest TV show.

  But don’t just take my word for it.

  See for yourself!

  CHAPTER 6

  THE BARKY THE BARKING DOG SHOW

  CHAPTER 7

  THE MONSTER MERMAID

  See what I mean?

  TV shows don’t get much dumber than that.

  “Okay, Terry,” I said when it was finally over. “Let’s get back to work.”

  “But it’s time for my second favorite show,” said Terry, “Buzzy the Buzzing Fly!”

  “Oh no it’s not,” I said, grabbing the remote and turning off the TV.

  “Oh yes it is,” said Terry, snatching the remote out of my hand and turning it back on.

  “Actually, I think you’ll find that it’s not,” I said, picking up the TV and throwing it out of the treehouse. It landed with a crash on the ground below.

  Terry shrugged.

  “I guess you’re right,” he said. “Hey!” yelled a voice. “That almost landed on my head!”

  Oops.

  I peeped over the edge.

  It was Bill the postman.

  “Sorry, Bill!” I said. “It was an accident.”

  “That’s all right,” said Bill, chuckling. “Delivering mail to the 13-story treehouse is always an adventure! Is young Terry there? I’ve got a parcel for him—special delivery.”

  “YAY!” said Terry, sprinting for the ladder. “I’ll be right down!”

  He returned a few minutes later with a package.

  “My sea-monkeys!” he yelled as he opened it.

  “They’ve arrived at last!”

  “Sea-monkeys?” I said. “What do you want them for? We’ve already got a perfectly good tank full of man-eating sharks!”

  “But sea-monkeys are much better than man-eating sharks,” said Terry. “Sea-monkeys have three eyes, they breathe through their feet, and they build vast underwater kingdoms! Sharks can’t do any of that...sharks don’t even have feet! I’m going to make my sea-monkeys come alive right now!”

  “Not so fast,” I said. “We’ve got a book to write, remember?”

  “I know!” said Terry. “And I promise I’ll get to work right after I’ve hatched the sea-monkeys. They come to life instantly. All I have to do is add water. Please. Please? PLEASE?!”

  “Okay,” I said, “but hurry!”

  “Sure thing!” said Terry, rushing to the elevator. “I’ll
be right back.”

  I waited for a long time...

  and then a really long time...

  and then a really really long time...

  but he didn’t come back.

  Eventually I found him down in the secret underground laboratory.

  “What are you doing?” I said. “I thought you were supposed to be adding water to the eggs.”

  “I am!” said Terry. “I’ve just finished making the apparatus that will help me measure the exact amount of water I need. Too much and the sea-monkeys could drown. Too little and they could suffocate.”

  “But you said hatching the eggs would be instant!” I said.

  “And it will be,” said Terry, “just as soon as I add the water. Now stand back.”

  He pushed a button and the water dripped out of the machine, drop...

  by painfully slow drop...

  by even more painfully slow drop...

  Finally, about a thousand million trillion gazillion painfully slow drops later, it was done.

  “At last!” I said. “Add the eggs, quick, and let’s get back to work.”

  “Sure,” said Terry. “I just have to purify the water.”