Pencil of Doom!
Page 3
‘So we don’t have to destroy the pencil?’ said Jack, as Mrs Rainbow rushed to assist Penny.
‘We need to do an experiment first,’ I said.
‘But I don’t want anybody else to get hurt,’ said Jenny.
‘Don’t worry,’ I assured her, ‘we won’t draw anything bad. This time, like Mrs Rainbow suggested, we’ll draw something nice and see if it comes true. That way we’ll know if it’s really magic or not!’
12
Jenny’s picture
Jenny smiled. ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted a kitten. Can I draw that?’
‘Of course you can,’ I said, giving her the pencil. ‘I don’t see how a kitten could hurt anybody.’
Jenny took a piece of paper and began to draw herself holding a really cute kitten. Although Jenny was nowhere near as good at drawing as Jack, her picture had the same special quality that had made Jack’s drawing so vivid.
It was a beautiful picture. So cute and so alive! You could practically hear the kitten purring.
13
Gretel’s picture
‘That’s great, Jenny,’ said Gretel, reaching for the pencil. ‘You’ve given me an idea!’
‘What are you going to draw?’ I said.
‘Something that I’ve always wanted as well,’ said Gretel, her eyes shining.
‘A kitten?’ Newton guessed.
‘No,’ said Gretel. ‘To beat my dad at arm wrestling. He’s the only person I can’t beat . . . apart from myself, of course.’
We nodded.
Gretel was not only the strongest girl in the school, she was the strongest person. Nobody could beat her at arm wrestling—not even Mr Grunt, the sports teacher, and he had arms as thick as most people’s legs.
I could only imagine how thick Gretel’s dad’s arms must be. Well, I didn’t have to imagine for long. Gretel’s picture told the whole story.
14
Henry’s picture
‘I’m done,’ said Gretel, passing the pencil to me. ‘Your turn, Henry. What do you want?’
What did I want? That was easy. To win the Northwest Chronicle’s annual short-story competition. This year I’d entered a story called ‘Treasure Fever’. The presentation was to be held that evening in the town square. The winner got a framed certificate and one hundred dollars in prize money.
I’d received a letter telling me that my story was on the short list, but I wasn’t holding out any real hope of winning the big prize. There was some tough competition out there this year. I knew Fiona McBrain and David Worthy had entered, and they were both really good at everything. I figured a little extra help couldn’t hurt.
I held the pencil tightly.
The skull winked.
I shuddered and, despite a bad feeling in my stomach, began to draw.
15
Jack’s picture
When I’d finished, Jack looked at my drawing and laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ I said.
‘You are,’ he said. ‘All of you. Believing that you’ve got a magic pencil. Next you’ll be telling me fairies are real.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Newton, looking alarmed. ‘Fairies are real, aren’t they?’
‘Of course they are, Newton,’ said Jenny, patting his shoulder and frowning at Jack. ‘Of course they are!’
‘Nobody said it was magic,’ I said. ‘We’re just doing an experiment, that’s all. Are you going to be in it?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Jack. ‘I live in the real world.’
‘What have you got to lose?’ I said. ‘If it doesn’t work you haven’t lost anything. If it does work you can have anything you want.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ said Jack. ‘Now that you put it like that . . . a million dollars would be nice.’
I handed him the pencil. ‘Draw it then,’ I said. Jack shrugged. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘This is me with a million dollars.’ And he drew a picture of himself with his head sticking out from under a huge pile of money.
16
The finished pictures
When Jack had finished he offered the pencil to Newton, but Newton just shook his head. He was too frightened to wish for anything. And if we’d known then what we know now, we would have been too.
If we’d known then what we know now we would have ripped those pictures to shreds, set fire to the pieces and then pounded the ashes into dust and pounded the dust into atoms and the atoms into protons and the protons into quarks, which are the smallest particles of matter that exist and can’t hurt anyone, not even a flea.
But we didn’t.
None of us had any idea of the forces of chaos that we had just unwittingly unleashed.
17
Chase!
We didn’t have to wait long.
In fact, Jack hardly had to wait at all.
That lunchtime, as usual, we were all sitting out in the yard underneath the trees next to the basketball court.
Jack was picking gherkins out of his sandwich and flicking them onto the grass, as usual.
Newton was getting scared, as usual, but before Jenny could ask Jack not to flick gherkins, as she usually did, we heard a siren in the distance.
‘What’s that?’ Newton asked.
‘A police siren!’ Jack told him, jumping up and leaning over the fence to look down the road and get a glimpse of the police car.
‘Yikes!’ said Newton. ‘I’m scared of police!’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Jack. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong, have you?’
‘No,’ said Newton. ‘But other people might have.’
Newton didn’t know how true his words were.
The siren was getting louder. It was definitely coming towards us. We all got up and joined Jack at the fence.
A black car was speeding up the road.
‘That’s strange,’ said Gretel. ‘It doesn’t look like a police car.’
‘That’s because it’s not a police car,’ said Jack. ‘It’s a getaway car! The police are chasing it!’
‘Oh dear,’ said Jenny. ‘That’s dangerous. I hope nobody gets hurt!’
As the black car roared past us, one of the doors opened and a large bag was thrown out.
The bag flew through the air, across the road and over the fence. It hit Jack square in the chest, knocking him onto his back. Then the bag burst open and Jack disappeared underneath a small mountain of hundred-dollar notes.
‘Wow!’ Newton gasped. ‘There must be at least a million dollars there!’
I thought about the picture Jack had drawn with the pencil.
‘You know what, Newton?’ I said. ‘I’d say there’s exactly a million dollars here.’
Jack’s picture was identical to the scene in front of us: Jack lying on his back underneath a million dollars’ worth of cash. The only difference was that I was pretty sure Jack hadn’t intended his million dollars to be flung at him from a speeding car.
‘Are you all right, Jack?’ said Jenny, shaking his shoulder.
Jack opened his eyes. ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
‘You’re a millionaire!’ I said. ‘Congratulations!’
The sirens were loud now.
There were two police cars.
One car roared past in hot pursuit of the black car.
The other police car pulled up beside us. Two burly officers jumped out, leaped over the fence and pulled Jack out from under the money and onto his feet.
‘You’re under arrest,’ said one of them, clicking handcuffs around his wrists.
‘What for?’ said Jack, blinking and still dazed.
‘For aiding and abetting a bank robbery,’ said the other officer. ‘You’re in big trouble, kid!’
‘But he didn’t have anything to do with it!’ said Gretel, moving to help Jack. ‘Take those off him!’
‘Step back!’ commanded the first officer. ‘Or you’ll be charged with helping a suspect to resist arrest!’
I felt something in my hand.
It was the pencil. I had no idea how I came to be holding it, but there it was. And the eyes on the skull were definitely flashing.
Newton wasn’t the only one who was scared.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ said the second officer, pointing at Newton.
‘You’re scaring him,’ said Jenny.
‘He should be happy!’ said the first officer. ‘We’re the good guys!’
‘If you’re the good guys, I’d hate to see the bad guys!’ said Mr Brainfright, who had just arrived. ‘Uncuff that boy this instant!’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ said the first officer. ‘I can’t do it. The Northwest Bank was robbed this morning. We have reason to believe that this boy is part of the gang that did it.’
‘Part of the gang?’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘Why that’s preposterous!’
‘We caught him red-handed with the loot!’ said the second officer.
‘That boy is no bank robber!’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘And I should know! His name is Jack Japes. He’s in my grade five class. He’s been at school all morning. The bank robbers obviously discarded some of their stolen loot to distract you and slow you down. You should be chasing them instead of frightening innocent schoolboys.’
The officers looked at each other.
‘All right, then,’ said the first officer. ‘We’ll take your word for it.’
The second officer uncuffed Jack. ‘What your teacher is telling us might be true, but we’ll be keeping an eye on you all the same, Jack Japes.’
They stuffed all the money back into the bag, jumped the fence and drove away.
‘Do you believe that the pencil has magic powers now?’ I whispered to Jack.
‘No,’ said Jack. ‘They took my million dollars away!’
18
The Northwest Chronicle
At six-thirty that evening, I was standing in the Northwest town square with a couple of hundred other people waiting for the announcement of the winners of the junior section of the Northwest Chronicle short-story competition.
The Northwest brass band was doing its best to keep us entertained despite the cold gusts of wind that were blasting the crowd while we waited for the official ceremony to begin.
Many of the other students from Northwest Southeast Central School were there. Last year’s winner, Fiona McBrain, was waiting at the front, near the stage. She was obviously expecting to win again. David Worthy, who won last year’s second prize, was standing next to her.
I went and stood next to them, feeling a mixture of excitement and dread.
I had a good story, and a good chance of winning. But after what had happened to Jack that afternoon, I was nervous.
I didn’t trust that pencil.
Especially when I realised that it was in my pocket, even though I had not intended to bring it.
I pulled it out and looked at it.
The skull was grinning.
I shoved it back into my pocket.
At that moment, the mayor arrived. He was a tall man, with a big gold chain around his neck.
As the band finished, he strode confidently up the steps, followed by the editor of the Northwest Chronicle and a few other official-looking people, one of whom was carrying a giant cardboard cheque.
An official-looking man made a speech.
An official-looking woman made a speech.
The editor made a speech.
Finally, the mayor stood in front of the microphone holding two envelopes. ‘It is now my great pleasure to award second place to . . .’ He paused to open the envelope. ‘Fiona McBrain, for her story “My Grandmother’s House”.’
The crowd applauded. Fiona looked shocked as she walked up the stairs to collect her certificate. Fiona McBrain was not used to coming second.
‘And now,’ said the mayor, ‘without further ado, it is my even greater pleasure to award the first place in the Northwest Chronicle writing competition to . . .’ He paused again while he opened the envelope. ‘Henry McThrottle, for his story “Treasure Fever”.’
I couldn’t believe it. I’d done it! I’d won the writing competition I’d been trying to win ever since I was old enough to write! I walked up the stairs and shook the mayor’s hand. He gave me my certificate and I stood there, basking in the crowd’s applause. I could see my mother and father beaming.
‘Well done, Henry,’ said the mayor. ‘But don’t go yet—I think the editor of the Northwest Chronicle has a small gift for you.’
The crowd laughed.
There was nothing small about the enormous cardboard cheque that the editor was attempting to carry across the stage, his progress hampered by the strong wind.
Suddenly, the wind ripped it from his grasp and it flew across the stage towards me.
The next thing I knew I was lying on my back looking up at the sky.
There was blood everywhere.
My neck was stinging.
‘Somebody call an ambulance!’ yelled the mayor.
19
Northwest Central Hospital
I was rushed to the emergency room at Northwest Central Hospital.
As it turned out, I was okay, apart from having what the doctor described as the nastiest paper cut she had ever seen. The cheque had nearly cut my head off!
The doctor bandaged me up, told me that I was lucky to still have my head, and discharged me.
I sat in the waiting room while my parents completed the paperwork and was amazed to see Gretel there. Her arm was in a sling.
‘Henry!’ she said. ‘What happened to your neck?’
‘Oh, just a little accident with an oversized cheque,’ I said.
‘What?’ she said.
‘Well, I won the writing competition, but when they were presenting me with the winner’s cheque the wind blew it out of the editor’s hand and it almost chopped off my head. What happened to you?’
‘I broke my wrist,’ she said. ‘My dad and I were arm wrestling and Dad was winning, but then I suddenly felt this huge surge of power. I managed to get my arm back up and then I slammed his down onto the table. That’s when I heard the crack, and then my wrist started throbbing and swelling up.’
‘Is your dad all right?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ said Gretel. ‘Apart from being a bit upset that I beat him, of course.’
I nodded. ‘I guess we have our answer.’
‘What do you mean?’ she said.
‘That pencil is dangerous,’ I said. ‘Even when you draw something nice, something bad happens.’
‘You think the pencil’s responsible for our injuries?’
‘Look at the evidence,’ I said. ‘First it was Fred and Clive who suffered. Then Jack. Now it’s you and me. The question isn’t whether the pencil is responsible or not. The question is, who will be next?’
We looked at each other.
‘Jenny?’ said Gretel.
‘Yes,’ I nodded.
‘But she drew a kitten,’ said Gretel. ‘Kittens aren’t dangerous! They’re cute!’
‘Let’s hope so,’ I said.
20
Back in class
The next day at school I had a big white bandage around my neck.
Gretel’s arm was in a sling.
Jenny was very worried about us, although she was quite okay herself.
Newton was scared that something was going to happen to him, even though he hadn’t used the pencil to draw anything.
Jack was sympathetic, but still refused to believe that our injuries were due to anything more than coincidence.
The first half of the day was relatively uneventful.
Nobody was hit by flying bags of money, giant cheques or people falling off the roof.
Mr Brainfright didn’t even fall out the window.
Not once!
The trouble didn’t start until after lunch.
&nbs
p; 21
How to cut a student in half
As we came in from lunch, we found Mr Brainfright standing behind a long black box that was mounted on top of a stainless-steel trolley. The box was decorated with yellow stars.
Mr Brainfright was wearing a black cape and had a shiny silver saw in his hand.
‘What are you going to do?’ said Jack, grinning. ‘Cut somebody in half?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do, my boy,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘Knowing how to cut somebody in half is a very important life skill—though perhaps not as important as knowing how to put them back together. But don’t worry, I’ll teach you that as well!’
There was a burst of excited chatter. The prospect of watching Mr Brainfright cut somebody in half certainly beat the prospect of maths, or English, or history, or . . . well . . . anything, really.
‘I need a volunteer,’ said Mr Brainfright.
The excited chatter stopped.
The room went completely silent.
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Mr Brainfright’s important lesson no. 2
Knowing how to cut somebody in half is a very important life skill—though perhaps not as important as knowing how to put them back together.
23
Jenny volunteers
Mr Brainfright looked around. ‘Come now, 5B,’ he said. ‘Surely one of you would like to be cut in half? I promise I’ll put you back together again. Well, I’ll try my best, anyway.’
It was not exactly a promise that filled any of us with great confidence or an overwhelming desire to jump into his box, despite the twinkle in his eye.