Danny Danger and the Space Twister

by Adam Frost

  Contents

  Title Page

  1 OPEN

  2 EXIT

  3 RESTART

  4 SEARCH

  5 MOVE

  6 SLEEP

  7 CUT AND PASTE

  8 EDIT

  9 DELETE

  10 ENTER

  11 RETURN

  12 ZOOM OUT

  13 SCROLL UP

  14 SCROLL DOWN

  15 SHUT DOWN

  Copyright

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  Danny Danger walked down his local high street with his cosmic remote held tightly in his hand. He looked at the time on its display: The shops wouldn’t open for five minutes and he couldn’t face the wait. He slipped into a doorway, where nobody would notice him, and jammed his thumb down on Fast Forward.

  Everything and everyone in the street sped up. An old lady in a mobility vehicle whizzed by like she was in the Grand Prix; two tubby businessmen zipped past like they were Olympic sprinters; a man walking a dog shot across the road, as if the dog had just seen a squirrel.

  In shop windows, Closed signs were instantly flipped to Open; lights came on; doors sprung open; tables and boxes appeared on the pavement that were full of fruit, vegetables, flowers, fish, lightbulbs, saucepans, newspapers and books.

  Danny pressed Pause. Everyone in the street became a statue, frozen in time and space. A small boy on a skateboard had jumped over a pothole and was now suspended in mid-air with a grin on his face. Two delivery men were halfway across the pavement, carrying a giant fridge out of a shop, their faces screwed up with the effort. Danny almost wanted to press Play again so they could put the fridge down.

  But first he had to go shopping.

  Danny looked down at the cosmic remote before he put it back in his pocket, smiling at the chunky buttons: Record, Play, Stop, Pause, Rewind, Fast Forward, On/Off, and the amber crystal embedded in its back that made it work. It really had been the most incredible birthday present ever. He smiled again, slipped it into his pocket, and headed for the bookshop.

  The funny thing was that, until that morning, Danny hadn’t used his remote for weeks.

  He had used it a lot when his uncle Charlie had first given it to him but that was mostly because his parents had tried to throw all his possessions away, he’d been kidnapped by a robot parrot and an evil genius called the Night Scientist had tried to kill him, Uncle Charlie, his big sister, Mia, and his best friend, Eric. The cosmic remote had been his only weapon.

  But, since then, life had got better. For a start, Uncle Charlie had come to stay for a few weeks which meant that his demented parents couldn’t tell him off, or bully him, or kick him out. Then there was Mia, who had used to be demented too but who was now completely on his side, defending him and shielding him when his parents were on the warpath. Best of all, his closest friend Eric had a brand-new ZONGA megadrive, which had all the latest 3D games on it, and which Eric’s mum let them play for ninety whole minutes every evening.

  But that morning had not been a good morning. Without his remote, it would have been even worse.

  It had started when his father had waddled sideways into his room, with a big black bag of rubbish between his legs. His mother had followed his father.

  “Good morning, Daniel,” said Mrs Danger, looking down her long beak of a nose. “As you know, the council have a new rule where we’re only allowed to put out two rubbish bags a week. What an absolute disgrace! I fill three bags a week with used J-cloths alone. I fail to see how anyone in the street can keep their house clean in such circumstances, especially if they have children bringing in dirt and germs and nasty smells the whole day.”

  “Smells,” grunted Mr Danger, putting the rubbish bag down at the foot of Danny’s bed.

  Mrs Danger pulled out a rag and started to polish the handle of Danny’s bedroom door, talking at the same time. “Still, your father and I have thought of a way round this. Haven’t we, Hector?”

  “Way round,” said Mr Danger.

  “Since you live in complete filth and squalor all the time without even blinking an eyelid, we thought you wouldn’t mind if we used your room for any excess rubbish.”

  “Rubbish!” thundered Mr Danger, waggling a fat finger at Danny.

  “We’ve got about twenty bags downstairs,” said Mrs Danger, “and that’s just from yesterday.”

  Danny stared at his mother in anger and disbelief.

  “You might want to open your bedroom window for the first time in your entire life,” said his mother with a crooked smile. She put the rag back in her pocket and turned to leave.

  Danny watched his mother walk across the landing, past one of the framed tea towels that she had put up everywhere in the house. They all had a similar message: clean everything, all the time. This one read:

  Danny found the remote in his pocket and pressed Pause.

  It felt odd because for the last two months, whenever Danny’s mother had pulled a stunt like this, either his uncle or his sister had been standing in front of him, daring them to take it further. His uncle had left a week ago, returning to his work as a EUREKA! agent and protecting the world from evil inventors. But where was Mia?

  He looked at Mia’s bedroom door and then across at the frozen form of his mother. He had to deal with his parents first.

  He squeezed past them on the stairs, ran through the kitchen and opened the back door, staring at where the rubbish bags were piled up. He carefully made a small tear in each of them, then went back upstairs and positioned himself in the doorway of his room. He pressed Play.

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  “What?” said Mrs Danger.

  “That sounds fair enough,” repeated Danny. “Not on the bed, but anywhere else is fine.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Hector!” huffed Mrs Danger. “This was supposed to be a punishment but it’s more like a reward.”

  The first bag split halfway up the stairs, sending tin cans bouncing down into the hall.

  “You fool, Hector!” exclaimed Mrs Danger. “Oh, just leave it there, I’ll sort it out. You get the next one.”

  The tear that Danny had made in the second bag was much smaller, so the pressure of the rubbish kept anything from falling out until the landing, where a seeping paper bag full of rotten vegetables plopped out. “Did you double bag it, Hector?” hissed Mrs Danger. “Get the next one!”

  The third and fourth bags split in the kitchen. The fifth bag exploded as Mr Danger was coming through the back door, covering him in grass clippings and weedkiller.

  By the time Danny crossed the landing to knock on Mia’s door, the stairs were a solid slide of junk, the hall was like a municipal tip and the stench from the kitchen was so strong that the wallpaper everywhere seemed to be rippling and peeling off.

  Danny could hear his mother wailing in the living room, clutching fistfuls of rubbish in her bare hands.

  “Mia,” said Danny, knocking on her door. “You’ve got to see this.”

  There was no answer, so Danny opened the door. Mia was sitting on the edge of her bed.

  “You OK?” asked Danny.

  “Yeah,” said Mia. “Yeah, I’m OK.”

  “What’s happened?” asked Danny.

  “Nothing,” said Mia. “Seriously, there’s nothing wrong.”

  “But —” began Danny.

  “It’s my birthday, that’s all,” said Mia. “April the third.”

  “Oh, no, I—”

  “Mum and Dad didn’t even mention it,” said his sister. “I mean, they always give me awful presents so I suppose it doesn’t matter. But I thought maybe this year… Uncle Charlie might, you know. And Eric and me get alon
g pretty well now – and…”

  Mia’s face snapped back to its usual self-possessed state. “Forget about it. It’s fine. Birthdays are for little kids. It’s just a day, isn’t it? It’s just a Saturday.”

  Danny pressed Pause.

  He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten his sister’s birthday. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid and so self-absorbed. Part of the problem was that, last year, Mia and he had been sworn enemies, so he had no reason to remember her birthday. But now it was different. Mia had chosen to take on his parents and stick up for him. So if he didn’t remember her birthday, who would?

  He looked at the time on the remote:He pressed Rewind and the orange crystal on the back of the remote spun round. Mia whizzed round her room, reading magazines backwards, putting clothes back in her wardrobe, and climbing back into bed.

  It wasDanny pressed Stop.

  He walked on to the landing. His parents weren’t awake yet either. He could go to the high street, choose something nice for Mia and bring it home in time for breakfast.

  So here he was, the remote back in his pocket, diving into the bookshop, then the clothes shop, then the music shop. He looked at a kitten in the pet shop and a Venus fly trap in the florist. He went into the newsagent’s and tried to remember the magazines that Mia liked reading.

  When he came out, he looked at the time on his remote:He needed a bit longer. He wanted Mia to have her present as soon as she woke up, so he pressed Pause.

  Everyone in the street froze again. He walked back towards the bookshop. There was a new Minty Squelcher novel out and Mia had all the other books in the series. He’d buy her that and perhaps a poster of her favourite band.

  As he crossed a side street, he noticed a young man sitting on a bench opposite the florist’s. He seemed to be staring straight at Danny. He had long dark hair, a pinstripe suit and shiny black shoes. His eyes were two different colours – one brown, one blue. His mouth was slightly open and Danny could see diamonds, rubies and other jewels shining in his teeth. Most strikingly of all, he had a long scar down the middle of his face, starting in the centre of his forehead, cutting his nose in two and running down on to his chin and neck.

  Danny was pretty sure he’d never seen the man in his town before. And the oddest thing was that, even though Danny had paused the world, the man seemed to be breathing; the man seemed to be blinking.

  He couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

  Danny went into the bookshop. He found the book he wanted and left the right money on the counter. The thought of the man with the scar still made him uneasy. But worse was to come. When he opened the door of the bookshop, the man with the scar had gone.

  The man couldn’t have moved, not unless Danny had picked him up and moved him. Danny felt his chest pounding, his legs growing weak.

  Then he glanced up the street and saw a young couple holding hands. The man was pointing at a shop window; the woman was halfway through a laugh. In between them, Danny saw the man with the scar. The man was frozen too – not moving, not flinching. But Danny swore he could see the man’s breath rising in clouds in the cold morning air.

  It was time to go. Mia would understand. He’d got her the book; the poster could wait.

  Danny looked back up at the man with the scar. The man hadn’t moved or changed his expression. Perhaps Danny had accidentally pressed Play for a few seconds while he was in the bookshop, when he had been fumbling for his money.

  That was it! Of course that was it! That was the only explanation that made sense. Danny had jumped to all the wrong conclusions. The man wasn’t immune from the remote. Nobody was – except Danny.

  He’d buy Mia the poster after all. He went into the newsagent’s again, found a suitable poster, and left the right money on the counter. This time, he kept his remote in his hand. He kept his fingers away from the buttons.

  He came back outside, the poster under one arm and the book under the other. He looked up the street and saw the young couple holding hands. The man with the scar wasn’t there.

  Danny ran. He dropped the book; he dropped the poster. He ran back down the high street, weaving round the frozen people, not looking back, running faster and faster.

  The man with the scar stepped out from behind a tree and put his foot out. Danny tripped over it, but kept his balance. He staggered forward, flung his arms out and kept running.

  “These shoes aren’t exactly built for speed,” sighed the man with the scar, “but needs must.”

  He calmly tied up the laces on his right shoe and then sprinted after Danny.

  Danny had a vague memory of being bundled to the ground, something being rolled over his thumb, someone going through his pockets and snipping off a lock of his hair.

  When he came round, he found himself lying on the ground outside the off-licence. A policeman was leaning over him saying, “You can’t sleep there, son. Run along now.”

  Danny felt his pockets. The remote was gone. His right thumb was covered with something green and sticky. He couldn’t believe he’d lost the remote for the second time in his life.

  “I won’t tell you again, you spotty Herbert,” said the policeman. “Sling your hook.”

  “I’m going, I’m going,” said Danny.

  Danny walked back down the high street, trying to understand what had happened. He had paused the world; he had stopped time. Perhaps the man with the scar had a remote too. But if so, why did he need Danny’s?

  Nothing made sense. Everything felt wrong.

  Danny wanted to crawl into a bin and curl up into a ball. That reminded him that his parents would be filling his room with rubbish about now. Without his remote, he’d just have to let them do it. That was one reason he didn’t want to go home. The other was Mia. He had forgotten her birthday, so to put it right, he had used his cosmic remote, only someone had seen it and stolen it. Now it was gone: never to be found, never to be returned.

  She’d take that badly.

  Danny turned down the side street that led back to his house. On the corner, there was an electrical shop with rows of TVs in the window. He noticed that people were gathering in front of the TVs and chatting loudly. Danny was curious and joined them.

  Usually the TVs showed different types of programmes – films, soap operas, music videos – but today they were all tuned to news channels. On one TV, a reporter was interviewing a policewoman outside a large grey building. The ticker at the bottom of the screen read:

  £10 BILLION GONE FROM LONDON BANK

  On another screen, there was footage of an army base and a headline reading:

  SEVEN LUXURY YACHTS VANISH

  On the biggest screen, there was a shot of a few large houses surrounded by palm trees with the headline:

  POPULATION OF CARIBBEAN ISLAND DISAPPEAR

  “It must be aliens, mustn’t it?” one old lady was saying.

  “It’s probably just kids messing about,” said a middle-aged man with big glasses.

  “I think it’s pirates,” said one young woman, “or witches. Or the Mafia. Or computer hackers.”

  Danny couldn’t hear them. He was staring at one of the TV screens, not really looking at it, just gazing at something or someone behind it. He knew what was happening. He knew who was doing this.

  He looked down at the sticky glue on his thumb. When he’d first got the remote, Uncle Charlie had made sure that no one else but Danny could use it. If it wasn’t Danny’s thumb pressing the buttons, then it wouldn’t work. The man with the scar must have taken Danny’s fingerprints. Which meant that the man with the scar would be able to use the remote.

  Danny looked at the TV screens again. This was his fault. And surely this was just the beginning.

  “Hello, Danny,” said a voice behind him. “How come you’re watching telly in the street like an old person?”

  Danny turned round. It was his best friend, Eric.

  “Eric, look at the news,” said Danny. “I did this. Me.”

  Anot
her story had flashed up on the biggest screen:

  CAGES LEFT OPEN IN BRISTOL ZOO

  There was footage of a monkey throwing doughnuts at a nun.

  “That’s you in a monkey suit?” asked Eric.

  At that moment, Eric’s mum appeared behind them.

  “We should go back home in a minute, Eric, love,” she said. “Lots of strange things seem to be happening. I just saw Mrs Billabong and she says people have been told to stay indoors.”

  “OK, I’ll catch up with you,” said Eric to his mum. Then he turned back to Danny. “So what were you saying? And try not to sound bonkers this time.”

  Danny explained what had happened that morning – his sister’s forgotten birthday, going to the shops, the man with the scar, losing his remote.

  Eric was staring at the TV screens now. The latest story was:

  BUCKINGHAM PALACE SUDDENLY PAINTED GREEN

  “So he’s just pressing Pause and Rewind and Fast Forward and doing whatever he wants?” asked Eric.

  Danny nodded.

  They both spoke at the same time. “What are we going to do?”

  “Eric, come on,” called his mum. “It’s dangerous out here.”

  “Coming!” shouted Eric.

  “What CAN we do?” said Danny. “He’s got the remote. And it’s different from last time, cos he’s got it to work straightaway.”

  “What about EUREKA!” said Eric. “And your uncle Charlie?”

  “Uncle Charlie calls every week to check on me,” said Danny, “but he calls me on the remote.”

  “Oh,” said Eric. “Bum.”

  A split second later, Mia was standing in front of them.

  “There you are, Danny,” she said. “You’ve got to get home. You know, Dad’s been heaping up rubbish in your room. It’s like the back of a dustcart in there. You’ll have to use your remote.”

  “I know but—” began Danny.

  “And another thing, where’s my birthday present?” said his sister.

  “That’s what—” stammered Danny.