The Stinky Street Stories

by Alex Ratt

  ABOUT ALEX

  Alex Ratt is the author of this very smelly book. She likes stinky cheese, ducks and sledding in the dark. But do not try sledding in the dark yourself as it is dangerous. Ducks and stinky cheese can also be dangerous and should be approached with care.

  Alex Ratt is the pen name of the far more fragrant award-winning author Frances Watts, whose books smell much sweeter.

  ABOUT JULES

  Jules has loved drawing since he was four years old and was a bit stinky himself.

  He has drawn for newspapers, won awards for his comic strip and has even worked on an animated series for Disney.

  Jules has also won quite a few awards for illustrating children’s books, which is mostly what he draws today.

  These days he doesn’t smell as stinky, but his nine-year-old daughter doesn’t agree.

  First published 2017 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia, 2000

  Copyright © Alex Ratt 2017

  Illustrations Copyright © Jules Faber 2017

  The moral right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia http://catalogue.nla.gov.au

  Printed by McPherson's Printing Group

  Design and typesetting by Evi O

  The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  For Claire Craig, PONG*

  AR

  For Frances, who made me laugh

  JF

  * Publisher of Natural Genius

  CONTENTS

  TRULY PUTRIDLY PONGY

  THE RIPE AND ROTTEN REEK

  STINKY VS SWEET

  (PART ONE)

  (PART TWO)

  The first thing I noticed when I woke up on Sunday morning was a mysterious smell.

  I know what you’re thinking. I live on Stinky Street—of course it smells!

  But you’d be wrong. Stinky Street is named after Ferdinand Stinky.

  You might have heard of him. He invented Stinky’s Patented Stench-Proof Sewers. Thanks to old Ferdie, we have a stink-free city. That’s why all the streets around here are named after him, and the suburbs too.

  Stinky Street is the longest; it runs all the way from where I live in Stinky Heights to Lower Stinky, where my best friend Nerf lives. (Nerf has two sisters, Petal and Leaf. His parents were going to call him ‘Fern’ if he was a girl. He wasn’t.)

  I’m Brian, by the way, but you can call me Brain. Everyone does.

  Anyway, the mysterious smell.

  It was so truly putridly pongy it almost knocked me out. I immediately pulled the blanket over my head and called for help.

  ‘Mum!’ I croaked.

  There was no reply.

  ‘Dad!’

  Still nothing.

  Then (and this just shows how desperate I was) I called for my sister. ‘Brenda!’

  Silence.

  Had they fled the monstrous smell without me? Or were they unconscious, overcome by foul fumes? Then a third option occurred to me: what if the smell was actually in my room with me?

  I ran through the possibilities.

  1. Last week’s DIRTY SOCKS.

  I lowered the covers and took a whiff.

  Eeeeuuuww!

  No, it definitely wasn’t dirty-sock smell.

  2. A MOULDY SANDWICH I’d left in my schoolbag.

  I lowered the covers again.

  ARGH!

  No, not mouldy sandwich.

  3. A piece of ROTTEN FRUIT (schoolbag again).

  I lowered the covers for a third time.

  YUck! No, not rotten fruit.

  I now knew one thing for sure: the mysterious smell was not coming from my room.

  That meant it was—I took a deep breath, threw back the covers and stared at my bedroom door in terror—out there.

  And it was up to me to save my home and family.

  Leaping from the bed, I put my hand over my nose and ran downstairs to the kitchen.

  There was a basket of washing on the counter along with a container of pegs and a note:

  BRIAN,

  I HAVE TAKEN BRENDA TO SOCCER,

  DAD IS DOING THE SHOPPING.

  PLEASE HANG OUT THE WASHING.

  MUM

  I grasped one of the pegs and put it on my nose.

  Ah, relief.

  I glanced at Mum’s note again. There was a PS. And a PPS.

  PS HANG OUT THE WASHING

  IMMEDIATELY

  PPS THAT MEANS NOW!

  Obviously Mum had written the note before the house was invaded by the mysterious smell. I was sure she would agree that getting rid of the smell had to be the number one priority.

  I couldn’t do this alone, I decided; the smell was too strong, too powerful. I needed backup. I picked up the phone and called Nerf.

  ‘Nerf, it’s me.’

  ‘Me who?’

  ‘Me. Brain.’

  ‘Brian? Is that you?

  It doesn’t sound like you.’ Nerf’s voice was suspicious.

  ‘That’s because I’ve got a peg on my nose,’ I said.

  ‘Why have you got a peg on your nose?’

  ‘There’s a mysterious smell,’ I explained.

  ‘I didn’t do it!’

  ‘I know that, Nerf. The smell’s at my house.’

  ‘What is it?’ Nerf sounded more cautious than curious, I thought.

  ‘I don’t know—that’s why it’s a mystery. But its TRULY PUTRIDLY PONGY. And I need your help.’ As well as making my voice sound funny, the peg was starting to pinch my nose. Perhaps I could take it off; the smell might have gone away by now.

  I unpegged and took a sniff. Immediately my eyes started to water and I began to choke.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Nerf.

  ‘It’s the smell!’ I put the peg back on my nose, gasping for air. ‘You have to help me.’

  ‘Um, I think my mum needs me to—’

  ‘This is an emergency, Nerf,’ I interrupted.

  Nerf sighed. ‘Well... okay.’

  I was about to hang up when I was struck by a brilliant idea. ‘And, Nerf? Bring a couple of carrots.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  As I put down the phone, I was amazed by my brilliance. No wonder everyone calls me Brain.

  I knew it would take Nerf half an hour to ride his bike uphill from Lower Stinky to Stinky Heights.

  I thought about hanging out the washing while I waited, but decided I didn’t want to be distracted from my mission, so I sat down to watch some cartoons instead.

  Then I thought about what would happen if Mum came home, and I went out to the backyard to hang up the washing. It was a relief to find the smell hadn’t made it outside and I could remove the peg.

  I had just gone back inside when, through the window, I saw Nerf coast into our driveway. I went to meet him at the front door.

  ‘Here,’ I said, handing him a peg. ‘You’ll need this.’

  He put it on. ‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘It pinches.’

  ‘I know, but we’ll soon fix that.’ I led him into the kitchen. ‘Did you bring the carrots?’

  He held up his backpack. ‘In here.’

  He opened his
backpack and tipped the carrots onto the kitchen counter.

  I looked at them in amazement. They were huge!

  ‘Why did you bring super-sized carrots?’ I asked. ‘I just meant you should bring normal carrots. I don’t know if these will work.’

  ‘These are normal,’ Nerf said. ‘Why, what do your carrots look like?’

  I went to the fridge and took a bunch of carrots from the crisper. ‘These are normal,’ I said, putting them on the bench beside Nerf’s.

  ‘Those are teeny-weeny,’ said Nerf. ‘I wonder why Stinky Heights has such small carrots.’

  ‘Probably because the air is thinner up here,’ I said.

  ‘Huh, I never thought of that.’

  ‘Which is why I’m the one called Brain,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Who calls you—?’

  ‘We haven’t got time to stand around talking,’ I said. ‘Take the peg off your nose.’

  Nerf removed the peg and handed it to me. ‘Okay, now wh—’ But before he could finish the sentence he was hit by the smell. ‘Oh . . . ack . . . what is it? . . . It’s putrid! . . . Help! I’m choking!’

  ‘Quick,’ I said, ‘put the carrots up your nose!’

  Nerf shoved a carrot up each nostril (which was quite difficult given the size of the Lower Stinky carrots) then sagged against the bench in relief. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘What was that smell? It was VILE.’

  ‘It’s a mystery,’ I reminded him. ‘But we’re going to solve it—and neutralise it. Just let me swap this peg for carrots.’

  I took a deep breath, then took off the peg and slipped carrots up my nose.

  ‘Your carrots look more comfortable than mine,’ Nerf observed. ‘And they’re cuter too, with their little feathery tops.’

  ‘Forget about the carrots,’ I said, ‘and follow me—we’ve got work to do.’

  ‘Now I think the best approach is to go room by room,’ I said as I led the way to the laundry.

  Nerf didn’t respond.

  ‘Nerf?’

  There was no answer.

  ‘NERF?’

  I turned around. Nerf was right behind me.

  ‘Did you say something?’ he said. ‘I couldn’t hear you. I’ve got carrots in my ears.’

  ‘Well take the carrots out of your ears,’ I said.

  ‘What? I can’t hear you. I’ve got carrots in my ears.’

  ‘TAKE THE CARROTS OUT OF YOUR EARS!’

  ‘I CAN’T HEAR YOU! I’VE GOT CARROTS IN MY EARS!’

  ‘There’s no need to yell,’ said Nerf. ‘I can hear you perfectly clearly now that I’ve taken the carrots out of my ears.’

  ‘I told you to forget about the carrots,’ I said crossly. ‘Why did you put them in your ears?’

  ‘I heard that when you lose one sense the other four get stronger. I didn’t want the smell to attack through my ears.’

  I had to admit, it was logical—but if we were going to beat this smell we would have to take a few risks.

  ‘Are you ready?’ I asked, opening the laundry door. ‘We’re going in. On the count of three, remove the carrots from your nose. One . . . two . . . three!

  I yanked the carrots out of my nostrils and took a big sniff. OOPH! It hit me.

  At the same time, Nerf started whimpering and waving his hand in front of his nose.

  ‘Quick!’ I yelled. ‘Carrots in!’

  We shoved the carrots up our noses.

  When we could speak again, I said, ‘Nerf, did you notice what I noticed?’

  Nerf nodded gravely. ‘The smell is truly putridly pongy,’ he said. ‘But-’

  ‘It’s a different smell,’ I finished. ‘This situation is worse than I thought.’

  ‘Though I think I’ve identified the source of the second smell,’ said Nerf. ‘Look. We’re standing in it.’

  I looked down, and saw that I was standing in a pool of chunky dog vomit.

  ‘Oh no!’ I said. ‘Princess Pookie!’ (The dog had been named by Brenda, of course.)

  ‘And I’m standing in what looks like curdled cat vomit,’ said Nerf sadly.

  ‘Oh no!’ I said. ‘Death Ray Robotron!’ (Cool name courtesy of me.)

  I looked around.

  There was no sign of him.

  There was no answering mew.

  ‘It looks like the original smell must have got them,’ Nerf said.

  I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes. ‘It must be stopped,’ I declared. ‘Before it claims any more innocent victims.’

  We backed out of the laundry and shut the door behind us.

  My feet felt uncomfortably squidgy from the dog vomit. Luckily for Nerf, he was wearing shoes.

  We checked out the lounge room, but the source of the smell wasn’t there.

  ‘Let’s try the bathroom next,’ I said, trying to sound brave. Inside, though, I was quaking. The bathroom is always a prime suspect as a source of stupefying smells.

  Nerf looked horrified. ‘You don’t think it might be . . .?’

  I held up my hand. ‘Don’t even say it, Nerf.’

  Cautiously I opened the bathroom door. Everything seemed to be in perfect order: the towels were hanging neatly on their racks, the toothbrushes stood to attention in the mug and the rubber duckies were lined up on the edge of the bath. (I hardly ever play with them anymore, honestly.)

  Nerf gave a snort of laughter that dislodged a carrot in his nose.

  ‘Whose are those?’ he asked, pointing at the duckies.

  ‘Brenda’s,’ I said quickly.

  Nerf looked surprised. ‘Really? Wow. I’ve always thought your sister was pretty scary, but those rubber ducks look truly evil.’

  I looked at the ducks thoughtfully. Perhaps I had gone overboard with the texta.

  ‘You’re right, Nerf,’ I said. ‘Brenda might fool everyone else, but inside she has the heart of a super villain.’

  Then I remembered why we were in the bathroom.

  ‘Before you put the carrot back in,’ I said to Nerf, ‘take a sniff.’

  Nerf sniffed. ‘Shampoo.’ He wrinkled his nose (which is hard when you have a carrot in one nostril). ‘Real p—’

  ‘Don’t even say it!’

  He shrugged. ‘That’s it, except for . . .’ He sniffed again. ‘There’s something else.’

  Is it TRULY PUTRIDLY PONGY?’ I demanded.

  ‘No, it’s not that . . .’ He kept sniffing, turning his head from side to side. He looked like Princess Pookie did when he smelled something interesting, like a lamb roast or a dead possum.

  Nerf snatched up a can sitting on the vanity. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s just Dad’s shaving foam.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You know,’ I said. ‘For shaving. Doesn’t your dad have some?’

  ‘My dad’s got a beard,’ Nerf reminded me.

  He sprayed a bit of foam into the sink.

  ‘Hey, this stuff is cool!’

  He sprayed a moustache on his reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Now I look like Mr Duffy.’ Mr Duffy was our teacher.

  He sprayed a beard on his reflection.

  ‘Now I look like my dad!’

  Then he sprayed a big curly shaving-foam wig on his head. ‘Now I’ve got curly hair!’

  ‘You already had curly hair,’ I pointed out. ‘And, Nerf, you forgot to use the mirror.’

  ‘Oops.’

  ‘Come on,’ I said impatiently. ‘We’re meant to be finding and neutralising the mysterious smell.’

  We left the bathroom and moved cautiously down the hall towards the bedrooms.

  ‘I already know it’s not in my room,’ I said.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Nerf asked. ‘I didn’t want to say anything, but last time I was here your room smelled pretty . . . ripe.’

  ‘Like dirty socks, mouldy sandwich and rotten fruit?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘That’s the usual smell,’ I said. ‘What we’re looking for now is a mysterious smell.’


  I stopped at the door to my parents’ bedroom. Surely no mysterious smell would dare to settle in there.

  I opened the door to my parents’ room and removed the carrots. I was right. It was so neat and tidy and completely stink-free that for a moment I wondered if they ever used this room at all.

  ‘All clear,’ I reported.

  There was just one room left. I pointed to the door with a trembling hand.

  ‘I think it must be in there, Nerf,’ I whispered.

  ‘But . . . but that’s Brain’s room!’ said Nerf.

  ‘Her name is Brenda,’ I snapped. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?’

  ‘But everyone calls her Br—’

  ‘We’re going in!’ I said, and threw open the bedroom door. ‘Remove your carrots!’

  I pulled the carrots from my nose. The smell was so overpowering I was flung backwards into Nerf.

  Nerf’s face was turning purple and he was clutching the doorknob for support.

  ‘Over there!’ he gasped. ‘On the dresser.’

  It looked like a chemistry set, with a series of beakers and test tubes and pipes and, bubbling away in the largest flask of all, a TRULY PUTRIDLY PONGY liquid.

  ‘I knew it!’ I said. For years I had been telling my parents that my sister was really an evil scientist plotting our destruction—and here was the proof!

  ‘This ends here!’ I said. ‘Nerf, the window!’

  Still coughing and spluttering, Nerf staggered across the room and opened the window.

  Summoning all my courage and determination, I sprinted across the room, seized the flask and threw the contents out into the yard.

  Simultaneously I heard a shout from the lounge room. It was my sister.

  ‘What’s that disgusting smell?’ she cried.

  ‘I don’t know,’ my mother answered. ‘But I think it’s coming from your room.’

  Before I could tell Mum not to worry, that I had saved the day, there was a blood-curdling scream.

  My sister was standing in the doorway, her face as purple as Nerf’s and contorted with rage.