Wilf the Mighty Worrier is King of the Jungle

by Georgia Pritchett

  New York • London

  Text copyright © Georgia Pritchett, 2016

  Illustration copyright © Jamie Littler, 2016

  Cover design and illustration by Jamie Littler

  First published in the United States by Quercus in 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading, and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of the same without the permission of the publisher is prohibited.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Any member of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use or anthology should send inquiries to permissions@quercus.com.

  eISBN 978-1-68144-121-4

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017939995

  Distributed in the United States and Canada by

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10104

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, institutions, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.quercus.com

  For my boys

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: And So It Begins

  Chapter 2: And So It Begins again

  Chapter 1A: And So It Goes Back a Bit

  Chapter 2B: And So We Go Back to Where We Were Before

  Chapter 3: Grown-Ups are Idiots!

  Chapter 4: And So It Carries On

  Chapter 5: And On

  Chapter 5 and a Half: And On

  Chapter 6: The End

  Chapter 7: Not the End?

  Chapter 8: I Am a Genius

  Chapter 9: Almost the End

  Chapter 10: No, Hang On, Not the End

  Chapter 11: It’s All Gone Wrong

  Chapter 12: As Told by Stuart

  Chapter 13: Me Again

  Chapter 14: Ten Hours Later

  Chapter 15: Ha Ha! Wilf Has Saved the Day!

  Chapter 16: Oh No He Hasn’t

  Guide

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Contents

  Go away! Close the book, put it back on the shelf and walk away. Trust me. This book is not for the likes of you. This book is full of scary things that go RAAAARGGHHHHHH and slimy things that go SSSSSSSSSSSSSS and huge things that go STOMP and scuttly things that go CHOMP . . .

  Do yourself a favor and put it down.

  YOU’RE STILL HERE!

  What did I just say?

  Well, all right, if you insist. But I did warn you.

  So, you know Wilf? Yes, you do. Yes, you doooooooo. That boy at school with pingy ears and scruffly hair and a head so full of ideas it’s like bubbles popping in a bubble bath.

  He has a little sister named Dot who is very grubby and sticky and stinky—basically a person-shaped smell.

  Remember now?

  Anyway, one day Wilf was in the middle of updating his list of things he was scared of. This was his list:

  All of a sudden, he heard a noise.

  A sort of oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo noise.

  And then a sort of yoooooooooowwwwwwllllllllllllllll noise.

  And then a kind of awoooowoooowoooooowooooooooo noise.

  Wilf looked at Dot. “What was that?”

  Dot looked at Wilf questioningly. Actually, she looked at everyone questioningly because she had drawn wonky purple eyebrows on her forehead with a felt-tip pen.

  Wilf went to his bedroom window and looked out.

  Outside, in front of Alan’s house,1 Kevin Phillips, Alan’s right-hand man, who is also a dog, was sitting on the pavement howling.

  “Ooooooooooooooooooooo,” he said.

  “Yooooowwwwwwllllllllllllll,” he added.

  “Awooooowoooooowoooooowooooooooo,” he observed.

  Just then, Alan opened his front door and walked past Kevin on his way to buy a squiggly part for his latest evil invention.

  “You’re a happy boy today!” said Alan.

  “Awooooowoooooowoooooowooooooooo,” Kevin replied.

  “Why are you so happy?” asked Alan.

  Kevin flattened his ears and did a crouchy sort of shuffle and a very low “Oooooooooooooooooooo.”

  Alan patted Kevin on the head, and Kevin shot up in the air and did a very high-pitched yelpy “Arolf!,” which took everyone, including Kevin, by surprise. Then he whined and shook his ear.

  Wilf turned to Dot. “I don’t think he’s happy. I think he’s unhappy,” he said.

  Wilf waited until Alan was out of sight, then picked up Dot and tiptoed downstairs.

  Wilf opened the front door and he and Dot walked toward Kevin.

  “Are you all right, Kevin?” asked Wilf.

  “Yooooowwwwwwllllllllllllll,” replied Kevin sadly.

  “Is something hurting?” asked Wilf.

  “Awooooowoooooowoooooowooooooooo,” answered Kevin.

  “Where does it hurt?” asked Wilf.

  Kevin shook his ear again.

  “I think we’d better take you to the vet,” said Wilf.

  Hardly a day went by when Wilf’s mom didn’t take Dot to the doctor to have something removed from somewhere. A splinter from her bottom one day, a Smartie from her ear the next, a baked bean from her nose the day after that . . . So when the vet had examined Kevin it came as no surprise to Wilf that he had a prickle from a bush down his ear. It may well have been Dot who put the prickle there. Or perhaps the prickle had just decided to take a vacation in Kevin’s ear. Anyway, the vet removed the prickle and Kevin stopped mid-awoooowooooo to wag his tail and lick Wilf’s face.

  Wilf and Dot and Kevin skipped, tottered, and lolloped home. As they turned the corner, they saw a very cross-looking Alan waiting for them.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he said.

  “We’ve mended your dog,” said Wilf.

  Kevin licked Wilf in agreement.

  “He didn’t need mending,” said Alan. “He was absolutely fine.”

  “He wasn’t totally fine, because he had a prickle in his ear,” said Wilf.

  “I think I would know if my dog had a prickle in his ear,” harrumphed Alan.

  “Yes, of course,” said Wilf. “It’s just that he was howling and shaking his ear and whining,” he explained.

  “That’s what he does when he’s happy, you nincompoop,” said Alan.

  “Really? Are you sure?” asked Wilf. “Because I thought—”

  “OF COURSE I’M SURE!”

  interrupted Alan in a very shouty way. “And if you don’t believe me, I will prove it to you!”

  And he stomped off into his house with Kevin trailing behind.

  And THAT was when the whole kerfuffle started.

  1 Alan is Wilf’s neighbor and is the biddly boddly baddest man in the whole wide worlderoony.

  About a week later, Wilf and Dot and Stuart1 were playing in the garden. Dot was eating dirt and Stuart was swinging on his brand-new swing. Stuart is Wilf’s best friend, and Wilf had made Stuart a swing out of dental floss and a matchst
ick.

  Suddenly they heard a familiar noise.

  It went “Ooooooooooooooooo.”

  And then it went “yoooooooooowwwwwwllllllllllllllll.”

  And finally it went “Awooooowoooooowoooooowooooooooo.”

  Wilf looked at Dot. “That sounds like Kevin Phillips again,” he said.

  Wilf peeped over the fence—there was no sign of Kevin, but then he heard a—

  “Oooooooooooooooooo!” and a “Yoooooowwwwllllllllll” and a very long “Awooooowoooooowoooooowooooooooo!” coming from the backyard shed.

  “We need to go and help him,” said Wilf. “Come on, you two!”

  There was just one problem. If they climbed into Alan’s backyard, they would have to walk right past Alan’s scarecrow and Wilf was scared of scarecrows. He was worried they might chase him.

  Wilf went and changed his pants. If this wasn’t a time for lucky green pants then I don’t know what is. Then he went and got his new “HOW TO STOP WORRYING” leaflet—it had lots of suggestions of things to do that might help. Wilf looked at NUMBER ONE.

  1) Draw a picture of the thing you are worried about.

  Wilf drew a scarecrow chasing him.

  NUMBER TWO said:

  2) Think of the worst-case scenario.

  Wilf thought. What could be worse than being chased by a scarecrow? Not much. But possibly being chased by a scarecrow who had a pet poodle. Wilf was scared of those poodles that had bald legs and puffy bodies and quiffy heads, because they made him feel all uuuuuuuurrrrrrkkkkkk.

  Wilf drew his worst-case scenario.

  Even looking at the picture made Wilf feel wobbly, so he did a few jaunty whistles to make himself feel better. Then he read on.

  NUMBER THREE said:

  3) Think of a plan of action if the worst-case scenario happens.

  Wilf thought.

  If a scarecrow with a pet puffy poodle tried to chase him, Wilf would throw marbles to make them both fall over, then he would put a dog leash on the poodle so he could tie it up safely.

  Next, he would cut off the poodle’s scary puffy quiff and then he would release Richard (Dot’s guinea pig), who would use the straw from the scarecrow to make it into a lovely cozy bed in his hutch. Richard was good at that. Every week Wilf and Dot would put a big mound of straw in the hutch and every week Richard made it into a lovely cozy bed.

  Wilf drew all of this.

  Wilf packed his backpack with marbles, scissors, a dog leash, and Richard the guinea pig, then he and Dot and Stuart (and Richard) set off for Alan’s garden to help Kevin Phillips. If they could just get past the scarecrow, they would be fine, because Alan never went in his backyard. He was always in his underground lair . . .

  1 I don’t need to tell you that Stuart is a woodlouse, do I? Good.

  Soooo, I forgot to mention in Chapter 1 that Alan was having a bad day. Let’s pretend I did remember and call this Chapter 1A.

  Anyway, Alan had decided to have some building work done to his evil underground lair. But even though the builders had promised it would be ready in a week, it wasn’t. It was taking ages. Apparently, volcanoes were all out of stock. And then, when the builders had been putting Alan’s new spinny chair in, they had accidentally hammered through the shark tank. And then the water from the shark tank had dripped into the lasers so that the lasers didn’t go zzzzzzzzap! Instead they went pfffffffft.

  So Alan had had to move out of his evil underground lair and into the backyard shed, which was jolly inconvenient and jolly bad timing because he had a lot to do.

  First, Alan was working on a brand-new weapon. It was a Bouncy Explodey Bomb. He hadn’t quite finished it, but once he had it was going to be amazing and he was going to destroy the world.

  Second, he had been inventing a new invention, which would mean he could understand what his dog, Kevin Phillips, was saying. And then he would prove to Wilf that HE, Alan, understood Kevin MUCH BETTER than Wilf did.

  Ha.

  So. There.

  Nur nur nur nur nur.

  Meanwhile, Wilf was doing lucky hops and whistling very hard as he and Dot and Stuart and Richard passed the scarecrow. Wilf kept looking behind to check the scarecrow wasn’t chasing them and because he was looking behind that meant he wasn’t looking in front.

  And that meant he bumped right into Alan.

  “Ha ha! I knew it!” said Alan. “Heard Kevin howling, did you? Think you understand my dog better than I do, do you . . . ?”

  “I was just worried there might be another prickle in his ear,” admitted Wilf.

  “Ha ha! You fell for my trick! It was me! It was me all along!” said Alan and then he lifted his head and said, “Awooooowoooooo” just to prove it.

  “That’s very clever,” said Wilf. “But if Kevin is all right then we had better be getting home . . .”

  “Oh no you don’t,” said Alan. “Not until I have shown you my latest invention.”

  “It’s lovely of you to offer,” said Wilf, “but I’m halfway through knitting Dot a pair of socks and—”

  “You accused me of not understanding my own dog!” shouted Alan.

  “I didn’t actually say that,” said Wilf calmly.

  “Yes, you did,” said Alan. “And now I have invented a most marvelous machine. Behold!” he added grandly.

  “Behold what?” asked Wilf.

  “Hang on, don’t behold yet. It’s in here,” he said, leading them to his shed. “Now you can behold!” he continued, as he unveiled a very strange-looking object. It had a lot of squiggly wires and flashing lights and buttons and dials. On one side was a microphone shaped like an ear and on the other side was a very powerful speaker shaped a bit like a mouth.

  Alan polished the ear proudly.

  “If I simply point this microphone toward Kevin, like so—and then move these dials and switch these switches, it should work. Are you ready?”

  “I think so,” said Wilf.

  “Good. Then watch and listen with wonder as—for the first time ever in the history of the world—man can talk to beast!” said Alan, switching the switches.

  Wilf and Dot looked from Alan to Kevin, waiting for something to happen.

  “Hello, Kevin!” said Alan loudly and proudly.

  Kevin blinked a few times and stared at a Wellington boot.

  “Hello, Kevin!” said Alan again.

  Kevin yawned and then scratched his ear and sniffed his paw.

  “Kevin?” repeated Alan.

  Kevin scooted slowly across the floor on his bottom.

  “Why doesn’t he understand?” asked Alan, adjusting dials frantically.

  “Why doesn’t who understand?” asked Kevin.

  “Why don’t you understand what I’m trying to—wait a minute!” shouted Alan. “You do understand! Why didn’t you answer when I spoke to you before?”

  “I think I wasn’t listening,” explained Kevin. “It’s hard to listen and think about biscuits at the same time.”

  “It works!” said Alan.

  “Wow!” said Wilf. “That really is amazing!”

  “It works, it works!” yelled Alan. “At last, Kevin! You and I can talk to each other. We can communicate. This is incredible! Hey, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” said Kevin. “Are you thinking about biscuits?”

  “No. I’m thinking I’m a genius and I have invented the best invention ever! And this moment will go down in history!”

  “We should probably celebrate with a biscuit,” said Kevin.

  “Yes, yes, in a minute. First of all, I must name my machine. I think I shall call it the machine FOR ANIMALS REALLY TALKING—or the FART,” said Alan proudly.

  Wilf smirked.

  “What?” said Alan tetchily.

  “Nothing,” said Wilf.

  “What’s funny about ‘FART’? Oh, I see,” said Alan.

  “I don’t,” said Kevin.

  “In that case I shall change its name. I shall call it my machine
with the POWER OF TALKING TO YOU. Or POTTY.”

  Wilf giggled.

  “Ha ha! FART!” said Kevin. “I get it now.”

  “Shut up, Kevin,” said Alan. “Where was I?”

  “Over there,” said Kevin, pointing with his nose.

  “No, I meant . . . Oh, nevermind,” said Alan with a sigh.

  “Right, forget POTTY.”

  “Why?” asked Kevin, mystified.

  “Got it!” said Alan proudly. “I shall call it the PREMIER OFFICIAL OPTIMUM BEAST UNDERSTANDING MACHINE—or POOBUM for short.”

  Wilf tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.

  “What now?” said Alan, irritated.

  “Potty!” said Kevin. “You said potty! Tee-hee!”

  “I did not,” said Alan. “I said POOBUM. Oh. Drat.”

  Alan kicked his shed crossly.

  “Forget the name. The point is I am a genius. Not just any old genius, but an Evil Genius,” said Alan proudly.

  “Well, that’s lovely,” said Wilf. “But we really should be getting home . . .”

  “Well, now you’re here, you might as well look at my other invention.”

  “We’d love to,” said Wilf, “but Dot needs a haircut and I’ve looked up on my computer how to do it.”

  And with that, Wilf took Dot’s sticky little hand and headed for the shed door.

  As they stepped into the bright sunshine, Wilf and Dot turned and looked at Alan. He looked as lonely as a pea.

  Wilf sighed.

  “All right. Show us your new invention then,” he said kindly.

  “Better than that,” said Alan. “I will try my invention out on you. You can be my guinea pigs!”

  “Eeeeeeeeek!” screamed Kevin. “I’m scared of guinea pigs.”

  “I’ve got a leaflet that could help with that,” said Wilf.

  “Not real guinea pigs,” explained Alan. “That’s just a phrase meaning I’ll use these two disgusting little children to test my machine on.”