Little Badman and the Invasion of the Killer Aunties

by Humza Arshad

  ‘You’ve had enough, man! Look at us!’

  There was no denying it, we had piled on the pounds. And we weren’t the only ones. Looking around, every damn kid in the playground was eating a sugary snack. Everyone looked tired and hot and out of breath. We were starting to look like cattle on a farm. This had to stop.

  Tomorrow we were gonna end it once and for all.

  I barely slept that night. I just sat there wide awake for hours, going over it in my head. When the track started, all the aunties would begin freaking out. All those slugs would start appearing and everyone – the students, the headmaster – would see them.

  And once they’d all seen it people would have to believe us. They might not listen to me, but they couldn’t ignore an entire school. We’d be heroes for saving the day. And I’d be the biggest hero of all because it was my track and I’d figured it out.

  It must have been 3 a.m. when I eventually drifted off. My dreams were filled with giant green slugs, mountains of food and a billion brightly coloured aunties, chasing me through the streets. I gotta say, it wasn’t the best night’s sleep I ever got. But waking up was even worse …

  SLAM! went the door. I bolted up in time to see my dad putting on his seat belt and hammering down the accelerator. We shot off like a bullet.

  ‘What the hell?’ I yelled.

  I looked down and found I was still wearing my pyjamas. The sun was barely up. I turned round to see the entire cricket team sitting in the school minivan behind me. They all looked exhausted, rubbing their eyes and yawning.

  ‘What’s going on, Dad?’ I shouted. ‘Why am I in the minivan?’

  ‘Cricket match!’ he shouted back, turning the wheel and screeching round a corner.

  ‘I’m in my pyjamas, man! Why aren’t I in bed?’

  ‘You were asleep. Didn’t have time to wake you.’

  ‘Are you insane? This is an abduction!’ I yelled.

  ‘Nonsense. As my child, you are basically my property. Like a microwave or some towels.’

  ‘You’re mad! What about the rest of the team? They don’t want to be here either. We’re meant to be at school!’

  ‘Irrelevant. The headmaster has approved it.’ He grinned. ‘So now we get to have rematch with that worthless dog Siddiki!’

  ‘Dad, I can’t play cricket today. Not today. I need to be at school!’

  ‘School can wait. Today you play cricket!’

  ‘But I need to stop the aunties!’

  ‘The aunties?’ My dad laughed. ‘This nonsense again?’

  ‘They’re monsters! They’re taking over everything!’

  ‘Oh, come on, boy,’ replied Dad, chuckling. ‘If you keep making up these tall tales, no one will ever believe a thing you say. You must always speak the truth, like me!’

  Oh my god! This was terrible! Umer and Wendy would be waiting for me. I needed to get back there. Whatever these aunties were up to, it could all be over any moment. Who’s to say they wouldn’t finish us off today?

  I was considering jumping out of the van at the next traffic light – but it turned out Dad wasn’t stopping for traffic lights. He wasn’t stopping for anything. I swear, we came THIS close to hitting a police horse. If the aunties didn’t kill me, Dad definitely would.

  Ten minutes later we were at yet another school, standing in front of the same team who’d thrashed us over the weekend. Their coach approached my dad with his belly stuck out and a big grin on his face. My dad squared up to him, his own belly thrust forward until the pair of them met, navel to navel.

  ‘So, I see you have slithered from your hole like the legless goat you are!’ said Abdul Saeed Siddiki.

  ‘It is you that is the legless goat!’ shouted my father, thrusting his stomach out so hard that coach Siddiki had to take a step back. ‘I am here to prove that you only beat me by cheating!’

  ‘Ha!’ laughed Siddiki. ‘We won because your boys are doughy and out of shape, because they have Pakistan’s least qualified coach and because they show up dressed in pyjamas!’

  He pointed at me when he said this. All the boys on his team began to laugh. Dad looked round at me.

  ‘Why are you still wearing pyjamas?’ he hissed. ‘Cos you kidnapped me from my bed!’ I yelled. ‘I ain’t got any other clothes!’ I could barely believe I was having this conversation.

  ‘Kit is in the van,’ he growled. ‘Go and change immediately!’

  I turned and stormed back towards the van.

  Before I even got there I knew what I was going to do. I glanced around briefly to make sure my dad wasn’t watching. And then I ran.

  I ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran and ran (and walked a bit cos I had a stitch) and ran and ran and ran!

  I don’t know how long I ran for, but, I can tell you for sure, I’d never run that far or that fast in my life. When I got to the school gates I nearly collapsed. I was pretty sure I was having at least two heart attacks. But it didn’t mean I could stop – not yet. I had to make it to that assembly. I had to save the day. I had to be a hero!

  I stumbled up the stairs and tumbled into the assembly hall. I could see Mrs Masood at the front of the room, playing a tone-deaf cover of ‘Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham’ on the sitar. Umer and Wendy were standing to one side looking anxious. When they saw me they waved frantically. I made my way over, slipping past a dozen aunties, who all gave me the same strange look.

  ‘Where you been, man?’ said Umer.

  ‘I got kidnapped. Don’t worry about it – I’m here now,’ I replied, still catching my breath.

  ‘Why are you in your pyjamas?’ asked Wendy, looking me up and down.

  ‘Don’t worry about that either. It’s a long, stupid story. Are we good to go?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Wendy. ‘The laptop’s all hooked up to the sound system.’ She pointed at the laptop, which was sitting on a little table to one side of the stage. ‘When you’re ready Umer’s going to hit PLAY and you can do your rap.’

  ‘Yeah, cool. I’ll just mime along.’

  ‘What? No,’ said Wendy. ‘It’s just an instrumental.’

  ‘What do you mean, “an instrumental”?’ I asked her.

  ‘I cleared the old vocals so you could perform it properly,’ said Wendy. ‘I thought that’s what you’d want … You kept saying your new lyrics were the proper ones. That’s not a problem, is it?’

  ‘Uh, no, course not. I’m a professional,’ I replied. ‘I just thought, you know, I figured, for simplicity and everything, you know, I just figured …’

  ‘Are you OK, Humza?’ asked Umer.

  ‘Yeah, course I am!’ I snapped. ‘This is nothing to me. I’m gonna rinse this! If there’s any music industry people in the crowd today, I’ll probably get a record deal.’

  ‘I think it’s mainly aunties and children,’ said Umer, looking confused.

  ‘Whatever. Just don’t worry about me. I ain’t nervous. Not at all. Not even a bit. Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here, isn’t it? Why’s it so hot? Someone, open a window!’

  ‘You’re talking pretty fast, Humza,’ said Wendy. ‘Just take a breath.’

  ‘You take a breath!’ I told her, not entirely sure what I meant by it.

  And then the clapping started. I think the audience were mainly just relieved that Mrs Masood had finally finished playing the sitar. But, damn, that clapping was loud.

  ‘And now, boys and girls,’ said Mrs Masood, standing up from her stool. ‘We have a special treat. Humza and Umer from Year Six have written a lovely song for us about the joys of eating delicious food.’

  She had that slightly crazy smile on her face that I was getting used to seeing in the aunties. I pictured the eyeball staring out of Mrs Farooqi’s mouth and I shuddered.

  ‘Now, to make it even more fun,’ she continued, ‘your teachers will be handing out cakes for every student. Please take one and pass it on.’

  At this point the aunties started passing cakes down each of the rows of kids.

/>   ‘Here you are, Humza,’ Mrs Masood said, and handed me a microphone.

  Umer took his place behind the laptop. Wendy gave me a serious little nod. ‘Good luck,’ she said.

  I walked out on to the stage and turned to face the entire school. Man, there were a lot of them. I wasn’t used to seeing it like this. Not from this side of the stage. Hundreds of faces just staring at me. Waiting for me. Watching me.

  But it was fine. Whatever. I wasn’t scared. This was probably just excitement I was feeling. It felt quite a lot like wanting to throw up. Once that bass kicked in, it’d be fine. Those monsters would come out and everyone would see ’em. Everyone would know they were real. I could see Mr Offalbox standing at the back of the room, looking right at me. He’d have to believe me after this. I just had to begin. Just had to do it.

  I looked round at Umer. He nodded at me, then hit PLAY. Boom! The bass, the beat. It all kicked in. This was it – those aunties were done for.

  I looked around the room. Man, there were a lot of people here. I could feel sweat running down my forehead. It was definitely hot in here. The kids were all looking at me. The aunties were all looking at me. Nothing was happening.

  ‘Humza,’ hissed Umer.

  I glanced round at him. He looked a bit panicked.

  ‘Do something!’ he whispered loudly.

  I realized we’d already passed the part of the song where my vocal was meant to come in. I’d missed it somehow. I’d just have to start. I’d just have to do something. Anything …

  But I couldn’t. The words weren’t there. None of them. Not the old lyrics, not the new ones. Nothing. I couldn’t remember a thing. How the hell was it meant to start?

  ‘I …’ I began to say, but couldn’t get any further.

  I turned to Wendy. She looked desperate.

  ‘Come on!’ she urged.

  Then the first kid started to laugh. It was a Year Five named Benton. He cracked up and started slapping his thigh. Who the hell was he to laugh at me with a name like Benton? His mates went next, laughing and pointing. Then the kids around them. Soon it was the whole school. Even some of the aunties were giggling.

  And still I couldn’t say a word.

  The bass was pounding away in my head. Why hadn’t the slugs come out? Why hadn’t the aunties been affected? Why hadn’t it worked?

  ‘Nice pyjamas!’ came a shout from somewhere in the room. A bigger laugh followed.

  I could suddenly see myself, standing there, centre stage, dressed in Optimus Prime pyjamas, with my mouth hanging open like a trout. Someone started to boo. Who boos an eleven-year-old? Then a few more joined in. This was bad. This was as bad as it gets.

  … Nope. Of course it wasn’t.

  ‘BOY!’came a shout so loud that the booing and the laughter stopped all at once. I looked to the side of the stage and there he was; my dad, glowing with anger. It takes a lot to make an Asian dad go totally red, but it seemed like I’d managed it. Uh-oh.

  ‘You cost us the game, boy!’ shouted my dad. ‘You humiliated me in front of that swine Siddiki! Again!’

  I looked around for an exit. He saw it in my eyes and began to storm towards me, arms outstretched. Mr Offalbox was coming the other way – whether to stop me from escaping or to stop my dad from killing me, I couldn’t tell. Either way I was stuck. If I didn’t move I’d end up crushed between the two of them.

  There was still a chance. If I was quick I might just be able to duck behind Umer, slip past Dad and make it to the door before anyone could grab me. It was my only hope. I ran for it.

  For a split second I thought I was safe. But I tell you, for a big old guy in skintight cricket gear, my dad was quick on his toes. He lurched towards me, grabbing for my pyjama collar. I ducked just in time. Umer dived to one side. My dad missed us by an inch. But he didn’t miss the laptop. He caught it head-on.

  The delicate piece of machinery was thrown straight up into the air. The music fell silent as the cord was yanked from its socket. Every eye in the place watched the laptop soar upwards, before following it back down. There wasn’t a sound in the room when it hit the floor and exploded into a thousand pieces.

  ‘Noooo!’ I yelled, diving for it on my knees.

  It was no good. The laptop was now just a smoking pile of plastic and metal. A hand grabbed my collar and yanked me to my feet. I didn’t even resist.

  ‘You are coming with me!’ said my father, and he marched me from the hall.

  The silence was deathly.

  Now, I’ve been in trouble before. I’m a master at trouble. Getting into it, getting out of it, getting back into it again. You could say trouble’s my middle name (it ain’t – it’s Mohammed – but, you know, if I had two middle names, Trouble would be one of them). And with the amount of trouble I was in this time it’d probably be my first name too. And my last. Trouble Mohammed Trouble Trouble. That’s me.

  Anyway, point is, I’d never seen my dad so angry, and I’d seen him angry a lot. He gets angry when he can’t work the TV; he gets angry at wrong numbers; he gets angry when the toilet won’t flush properly – hell, he gets angry over anything. But this was something else. He looked like his head might explode.

  ‘Stand in the corner!’ he shouted as he marched me through the front door of the house.

  ‘Dad, please!’ I said. ‘You’ve got to listen to me!’

  ‘Listen to you?’ he shouted. ‘Why would I listen to you? You never listen to me! You never do as I tell you! Perhaps thirty years in Pakistan with your uncle will give you a chance to think!’

  ‘But, Dad!’ I yelled.

  Before I could finish, Mum stormed into the room. For a second I thought she was there to defend me. Yeah, right.

  ‘You!’ she said, pointing a finger at me. ‘I have just been on the phone with your Auntie Uzma. She tells me you have been mistreating your uncle!’

  ‘What?’ I replied. ‘I haven’t mistreated Grandpa!’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said my mother. ‘I called Uzma to tell her how upset you had been about not seeing your uncle, and she told me what really happened.’

  ‘“What really happened”?’ I said. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’

  ‘All you had to do was look after an old man, make him a cup of tea now and then, listen to his stories. Instead, you take him out all over town, fill his head with crazy ideas, leave him so exhausted that he is now bedridden! I don’t know why I trusted you with so much responsibility!’

  ‘But –’ I tried to yell, but my dad was already yelling louder.

  ‘Exactly! You have no discipline! You are unfit to be captain of my cricket team!’

  ‘I never wanted to be captain!’ I shouted. ‘And I didn’t do anything to Grandpa! He was the one who worked it out about the monsters in the first place!’

  ‘The monsters?’ said my mum, making a noise that would have been a laugh if she wasn’t so angry. ‘More of this? I thought you had grown out of these stories by now!’

  ‘It ain’t a story! It’s true!’ I shouted. ‘It’s the aunties! All of them! They’re monsters! Creatures! Aliens! I don’t know!’

  ‘The aunties?’ said my dad, and he did actually laugh this time. ‘Are you a fool, boy? Do you think I am a fool? You try to make this about your auntie?’

  ‘It is about her, and the rest of them. I swear – they’re not human! Or they are but there’s something controlling them. They’ve got a plan!’

  ‘Humza! Stop!’ shouted my mum. ‘It’s over! You have ruined the chance we gave you. You have let us down and let yourself down! There will be no money, no camera. It’s finished. Now get to your room this instant. I am too angry to look at you!’

  ‘But –’ I began.

  ‘GO!’ they both shouted at once.

  I sat down on my bed and put my head in my hands. It was a disaster. My mum was right – it was over. Everything was over. Grandpa was gone. The school was lost. The track was destroyed. We had no way of fighting back. No one would believe us
. No camera, no future, no hope. Everything was lost.

  And when I closed my eyes all I could see was those hundreds of faces, staring at me while I stood there on stage like a fool. I couldn’t even do that right – the one thing I was most sure about. Even if the aunties weren’t about to eat me or turn me into a slug or whatever they had planned, it didn’t matter – I was never going to be a star. I just didn’t have what it takes.

  I don’t know how many hours I sat there. No one came up with any lunch. No one came to talk it through. No one came at all. The sun eventually started to go down. I just lay there on my bed and waited until I could fall asleep. I didn’t want to be awake any more.

  I was just starting to doze off when I heard a loud beep. I jumped half out of my skin, before realizing that it was the pager. I pulled the little black box out of my bag and read the message:

  YOU OK? CALL ME! UMER

  Well … my parents hadn’t said anything about not making phone calls. It wasn’t like I could be in any worse trouble. Problem was, the only phone in the house was in the hallway downstairs. I’d have to be real quiet if I was gonna do this without getting caught.

  I opened my door as silently as I could and stuck my head out. There was no one around. I could just about hear the sound of the TV downstairs. It was as good a time as any. I’ve learned that the quietest way to sneak down a staircase is with your feet at either edge, never in the middle. One step at a time, I made my way down to the hallway. Not a creak. I was doing well so far.

  Once at the bottom of the stairs, I tiptoed to the phone and dialled Umer’s number. He answered straight away.

  ‘Humza?’ said Umer, sounding worried.

  ‘Yeah, it’s me,’ I replied in a near whisper.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘We lost it. We lost the track.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, and you could hear the full weight of what that meant in his voice. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Me too,’ I replied. ‘But it wasn’t your fault. It was mine.’

  ‘No it wasn’t, Humza. It was just bad luck –’ he started to say, before I heard the creak behind me.