Bug Eyed Monsters

by Jean Ure

  ‘Reckon that’s him,’ said Joe.

  ‘Could be this one.’ Bal pointed excitedly at another candidate: a sad, droopy man with eyes half way down his face and ear lobes so long they almost reached his shoulders.

  ‘How about this?’ squeaked Ryan.

  ‘Or this?’ said Harry.

  Aliens stared out from all over. There were noses like door knockers, eyes like satellite dishes. Teeth that stuck out, mouths that sucked in. Necks like flagpoles, or no necks at all. Heads the size of peanuts, heads sunk into shoulders.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Joe. ‘I reckon your granddad was right!’

  Harry slowly nodded. ‘I reckon.’

  It was true that as well as telling Granddad not to be silly, Gran had also told him not to tease. Granddad did enjoy pulling Harry’s leg occasionally, like the time he had asked him if he would care for some dates and when Harry had said yes, please, Granddad told him, “Go and take some off the calendar, then!” and roared with laughter at his own wit. You couldn’t always trust Granddad to be quite serious.

  Still, it was strange how these rumours had come down over the years. You didn’t have rumours for no reason.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s make a list!’

  Joe, immediately, said, ‘List of what?’

  ‘Facts,’ said Harry. ‘Stuff we know.’

  Joe, just a tiny bit resentful, pointed out that he had already done a list for Miss Beam. What was the point of doing it all over again?

  They wouldn’t be doing it all over again, said Harry. Miss Beam’s list had been about UFOs. His list would be about Mr Snitcher.

  ‘Known Facts,’ said Harry. ‘So’s we can work out where we’re at.’

  The trouble with Harry, he had a brain like a filing cabinet. He liked everything to be neatly labelled and sorted. Joe’s brain was more like a fizzy water fountain with ping pong balls bouncing up and down. Joe was an action man. He didn’t see the need for lists. But Harry wanted to make one, and Harry was his friend, and Harry’s gran and granddad had, after all, treated them to a really good tea.

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ said Joe. ‘We can do one, if that’s what you want.’

  This was Harry’s list:

  KNOWN FACTS ABOUT MR SNITCHER

  Fact no.1: He does not look like a real human being

  Fact no.2: He speaks an alien language

  Fact no.3: His eyes go red in the dark

  Fact no.4: He foams at the mouth

  Fact no.5: He wears a cloaking device.

  ‘I reckon that just about wraps it up,’ said Harry. ‘I reckon that’s proof enough for anyone.’

  Even Bal didn’t argue. The question was, what did they do next?

  What they did next, said Joe, was stay on the case. There were bound to be more clues if they just kept their eyes peeled.

  ‘Bound to be stuff we’ve missed… could be just lying there, right under our noses.’

  Stuff was indeed just lying there, under their noses. It was Joe himself who drew attention to it.

  ‘Ever noticed,’ he said, ‘how he eats the same thing for breakfast every morning?’

  ‘Yeah.’ They nodded. ‘Sunflower seeds.’

  ‘I put it to you,’ said Joe. ‘That’s normal?’

  Now that he mentioned it, they all agreed that it obviously wasn’t.

  ‘Might be normal for parrots,’ said Bal.

  ‘Might be normal for aliens,’ said Joe. ‘Who knows what sort of stuff they like to eat?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said in my essay.’ Harry couldn’t resist reminding him of it. ‘What kind of food do they eat? You said it wasn’t important.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s not, as such,’ said Joe. ‘Can’t prove someone’s an alien just cos they eat sunflower seeds.’

  ‘He never eats proper lunches, either,’ said Ryan. ‘I’ve seen him. Like the other day, when we had fish and chips? He was sat there, with a bunch of lettuce leaves? Next to Miss Beam, he was.’

  Beautiful Miss Beam! They all sighed. What bliss to sit next to Miss Beam!

  ‘She was eating her chips,’ said Ryan, ‘while he was munching on lettuce. Instead of chips!’

  ‘Yeah, he doesn’t eat chocolate pudding, either,’ said Harry.

  He took out his list. ‘That’s another fact.’ He added it, as no.6.

  Fact no.6: Doesn’t eat chocolate pudding or chips.

  ‘This is weird,’ said Bal. Chocolate pudding and chips were the closest they ever came to proper food.

  ‘Obviously something we’re going to have to investigate,’ said Joe.

  It was Bal, at breakfast next morning, who dared to ask the question.

  ‘Sir, do you like sunflower seeds, sir?’

  Mr Snitcher raised mournful eyes from his plate. ‘You think I eat these things for pleasure?’

  ‘You mean, you don’t enjoy them, sir?’

  ‘Would you?’ said Mr Snitcher.

  ‘I don’t think I would, sir.’

  ‘Well, there you go.’ Mr Snitcher popped a seed into his mouth and chewed, glumly.

  ‘Sir!’ Joe leaned forward. ‘If you don’t like them, sir, why don’t you eat a normal breakfast same as everyone else, sir?’

  Mr Snitcher said, ‘Huh!’ And then, with an air of morbid satisfaction, ‘That is because I am not the same as everyone else.’

  Excuse me??? Harry choked on his porridge. Mr Snitcher was admitting it?

  ‘I am cursed,’ said Mr Snitcher, ‘with allergies. Multiple allergies. Allergies without number! There is practically nothing,’ said Mr Snitcher, proudly, ‘that I am able to consume without putting my life in danger. If I were to swallow but one peanut, my face would blow up like a beach ball and I should die. If I were to eat the merest sliver of cheese, my tongue would swell in my mouth and suffocate me. As for wheat — ’ Mr Snitcher gave an elaborate shudder. ‘Do not speak to me of wheat! Just one grain and I should be immediately and violently ill. I am not,’ said Mr Snitcher, with a sad, suffering smile, ‘a normal human being.’

  He was! He was actually admitting it!

  As Bal said later, ‘The plot grows even thicker…’

  Chapter Six

  Close Encounter

  Harry couldn’t sleep. He heard the church clock, down in the village, striking midnight, and still he tossed and turned and thumped at his pillow.

  Something was bothering him. Something they had talked about with Gran and Granddad. He had this feeling there was a question that needed to be asked, but the more he tried to think what it could be, the more his brain tied itself into knots until he felt that the inside of his head was buzzing with a swarm of bees.

  Maybe he should go to the bathroom. He didn’t need to go to the bathroom, but just getting out of bed and walking down the corridor might help.

  He threw back the duvet – and then stopped. Maybe going to the bathroom wouldn’t be such a good idea after all. Not with mad aliens on the loose, foaming at the mouth. For all he knew, the Snitch might spend the entire night with his ear to the door crack, waiting to leap out on unsuspecting boys.

  The trouble was, now he had thought about going to the bathroom he suddenly desperately needed to. If he hadn’t thought about it, he’d have been all right.

  His legs were starting to twitch. He stuck one out of the bed and wriggled his toes. Then he stuck the other out the other side. Then he humpled over, on to his front, both arms under the pillow. The pillow was full of lumps and bumps. Harry flung himself about the bed, trying to get comfortable. The church clock chimed the quarter.

  It was no use, he would have to go! Slowly and reluctantly, Harry eased himself out from under the duvet. For a minute he was tempted to wake Joe, just for a bit of company, but that would be too much like being four years old all over again. When Harry had been four years old he had been scared to go upstairs by himself at Gran and Granddad’s because of the monster that lived in the attic. He was eleven now! You didn’t ask your best friend to go t
o the bathroom with you when you were eleven years old, not even if there were a whole horde of mad aliens foaming at the mouth, waiting to spring out at you.

  Harry took a deep breath, slipped through the door and did a record-breaking dash along the corridor. He had never moved so fast in all his life! Mr O’Hooligan would have been proud of him.

  As he sprinted, there and back, he caught snatches of alien language.

  ‘Glaaaaaa-AAAAA-ergh…‘

  The Snitch was at it again! Using his communicator. Perhaps they got cheap rates if they called after midnight? Or maybe that was the best time for getting through? Atmospherics, or something.

  Harry took a flying leap back into bed and pulled the duvet up. His heart was pounding, but at least his head wasn’t full of bees any more. He knew, now, what it was that had been nagging at him.

  He was about to give Joe a prod, in the next bed, when he heard the sound of a door opening. Mr Snitcher! Harry froze, expecting him at any moment to come bursting in, frothing and foaming, eyes gleaming a ferocious red in the darkness. But then there was a creaking of floor boards, and footsteps moving off, along the corridor.

  Phew! Harry felt a trickle of perspiration down his spine. It was no joke, sleeping next door to an alien.

  ‘Hey!’ He leaned across and poked at Joe. ‘You awake?’

  ‘Wozz madder?’ Joe mumbled grumpily.

  ‘You know Mr Hodge?’

  Joe grunted.

  ‘I was just thinking,’ said Harry. ‘I can remember him bringing bags of chips into class, cos it was like my first term and I’d never known a teacher do that before. I thought it was pretty cool! Remember how he used to chuck ‘em at us if we weren’t paying attention?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Joe propped himself on an elbow. He remembered that, all right. Sometimes they hadn’t paid attention on purpose, in the hope of getting a few chips lobbed in their direction. Mr Hodge had been OK!

  ‘And then he suddenly left,’ said Harry, ‘and Mr Potts came, and I was just wondering, didn’t Mr P– ’

  Joe never discovered what it was that Harry was wondering, for at that moment there came a strange sound, as of something being ripped apart, almost as if the sky itself were being torn open, while at the same time a flash of brilliant green lit up the dorm.

  Joe and Harry flung themselves out of bed and across to the window.

  ‘Wossup?’

  That was Bal, blinking in the sudden brightness.

  ‘Woss goin’ on?’

  That was Ryan, blearily opening his eyes.

  ‘Look!’

  Joe was pointing. They scrambled across to join him and Harry at the window. ‘Wow…’

  They stood, transfixed, staring out into the night. The light had faded, leaving an eerie glow, like a green mist, encircling the top of Bunker’s Hill.

  ‘What is it?’ whispered Ryan.

  ‘They’ve landed,’ said Joe.

  Dimly, they made out a large, saucerlike shape emerging from the mist.

  ‘It’s a ship.…’

  Even Joe sounded awestruck. He might have told Harry’s granddad that Bunker’s Hill was where the alien ships touched down, but he’d never expected it to actually happen. It had just been a game! Nobody really believed it was true. Like the poor old Fish and his UFOs. Nobody believed him.

  They crammed at the window, watching as the mist slowly cleared. The saucer-like shape seemed to skim the surface, then finally settle, just out of sight, behind a ridge of trees.

  Nobody suggested that they should leave the safety of the dorm and go creeping out to investigate. Not even Joe was bold enough for that.

  But then, as they watched, a figure appeared, making its way across the playing field. They saw it open the gate and set off down the path. It was heading for the hill!

  Harry’s fingers felt for Joe’s arm and gripped it. Ryan swallowed.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Gotta be the Snitch,’ said Harry.

  Joe pressed his nose to the window, trying to get a better view, but the figure was too far off.

  ‘Gotta be,’ said Harry. ‘I heard him leave his room just a few seconds ago.’

  Joe narrowed his eyes. It certainly looked like it could be the Snitch.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Guess we prob’ly ought to go and make sure.’

  Joe said it as carelessly as he could, like it was no big deal. Just tracking an extra-terrestrial up the side of a hill at dead of night as it went to meet an alien spacecraft. Nothing to get freaked out about.

  ‘What d’you reckon?’ said Joe.

  ‘Yeah.’ Harry nodded. ‘I reckon we ought.’

  Wouldn’t that be something to tell Granddad? Then let Gran sniff and say they were just being silly!

  ‘You coming, then?’ said Joe. He threw open the window. ‘Down the fire escape!’

  One by one, they clambered out. Harry couldn’t decide which he was more scared of, being caught by aliens or caught by Dr Dredge. Boys had been expelled before now for climbing out of dormitory windows.

  ‘Quick or we’ll lose him!’ Joe was already down on the ground and haring off in the direction of the playing field. The others raced after him.

  Across the field they ran, out through the gate and down the lane.

  ‘I can’t see him,’ panted Ryan.

  ‘There he goes!’

  Joe shot off again, the others in hot pursuit.

  Ahead of them, a dim and distant figure in the moonless night, the Snitch strode on, making for the top of the hill.

  ‘Hang back,’ hissed Joe. ‘Don’t want him seeing us!’

  Slowly, bent almost double, they crept from bush to bush. The sky above was cloudless, filled with a mass of twinkling stars. The Snitch, ahead of them, seemed but a thin black stick in the silver light.

  They crouched, and watched, as he reached the summit and dropped down, out of sight, behind the ridge of trees.

  ‘After him!’

  With Joe leading the way, they charged forward.

  ‘OK!’ Joe flapped a hand. ‘Down!’

  Obediently, they dropped to the ground. Even Bal, for once, didn’t argue. On hands and knees they crawled the last few yards to the top.

  There, just for a moment, they hesitated. Which one of them was going to be brave enough to stick his head over the parapet?

  Joe! The man of action.

  He slithered forward, hugging the grass. The others held their breath.

  Centimetre by cautious centimetre, Joe raised his head. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped.

  ‘What is it?’ hissed Ryan.

  Joe said nothing; just went on staring. Harry could contain himself no longer. He inched forward next to Joe and peered over. Ryan and Bal scrabbled after him, until they were all four at the ridge, all four peering over.

  And now four jaws were dropping, four pairs of eyes pinned wide.

  Below the ridge was a shallow dip. In the dip was an object. Large, and metallic. Saucer-shaped. Still wreathed in the remnants of a green mist.

  As they watched, an opening appeared in the side of the object. It was not so much a door as a curtain of light.

  The Snitch marched boldly up. He was going to go in!

  The light dissolved as the Snitch walked through; and for a split second, before he disappeared, they thought they saw fangs. And fur. And a thing like a beak.

  And now something else was happening. They could make out a vague shape in the curtain of light. Something was coming out!

  This time they did see fangs, and fur, and a thing like a beak. Except that this time it definitely was a beak…

  Harry tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. He felt as if he had a razor blade stuck in his throat. Joe, next to him, seemed to have stopped breathing. Ryan and Bal were frozen like statues.

  The thing stood for a moment, as if testing the atmosphere. The great beak slowly opened, revealing a gaping chasm. A tongue, like a whiplash, darted out and back again. The beak,
with a loud clack, snapped itself shut. Satisfied, the thing grunted and moved forward through the curtain.

  The fur which covered it was thick, and sleek, and gingery brown. What had seemed to be fangs now looked more like tusks on either side of the beak. They rose up, questing and quivering, through the thicket of fur. Eyes like twin Catherine wheels popped and pulsated, spinning in different directions.

  The thing came out into the night and with purposeful steps began to stride up the side of the valley, towards the ridge of trees where the four boys were crouched.

  Nobody waited for Joe to say ‘Move!’ They were up on their feet and tearing back down the hill as fast as their legs would carry them.

  Chapter Seven

  If Not … Then Who?

  Back in the safety of the dorm, they slammed the window shut, flung themselves on to their beds, and broke into a frenzied babble.

  Did you see the beak? Did you see the eyes? Did you see the fur? They all agreed on what they had seen: a fur-covered, bug-eyed monster, with quivering tusks and a beak like that of a giant bird.

  Harry said, ‘I s’ppose we’re not just dreaming?’

  But how could they all have the same dream? And what about the Snitch? The Snitch had gone. They had trailed him up the hill, they had watched him walk towards the ship, they had seen him disappear through the curtain of light.

  He had obviously suspected something. Got wind of the fact that people were on to him. The rumour, after all, had been around for weeks. He must have called the mother ship and told them to come and pick him up before he was rumbled.

  That still didn’t explain the fur-covered thing that had landed in his place. But at least it showed they’d been right about the Snitch.

  Harry had just started to say so, trying to sound a little bit triumphant and pretend that fur-covered bug-eyed monsters didn’t bother him one little bit, when to everyone’s alarm the door was suddenly flung open and the light snapped on. They stared, speechless, at a sticklike figure in polka dot pyjamas.

  ‘Why,’ demanded Mr Snitcher, irritably, ‘am I hearing voices at one o’clock in the morning?’