Hamish and the WorldStoppers

by Danny Wallace

  ‘Got it,’ said Hamish, clunking something down and feeling the door frame release its door with a musty voof.

  Hamish and Alice reached out to hold one another’s hands, as the door creaked open in front of them . . .

  And as they stood there, petrified, they sensed movement from inside.

  ‘Come on,’ said Hamish, trembling, and putting one foot into the darkness . . .

  From somewhere down to their right, behind five thick iron bars, lit by a small flame on the wall . . .

  A woman stood.

  A human.

  ‘Mum!’ cried Alice, pressing herself up against the bars.

  ‘Alice?’ said the lady. ‘Oh, Alice! We’ve been so worried! Stephen – it’s Alice!’

  ‘Run!’ said a man next to Alice’s mum. ‘Get out of here, Alice!’

  There were more voices now. Voices everywhere.

  ‘It’s okay, Dad!’ said Alice, now crying tears of relief, and sliding out the rusty metal bar that held their door closed. ‘I’m with Hamish Ellerby!’

  Something was set off inside Hamish.

  Some kind of excitement, some kind of euphoria.

  Dad! he thought.

  He began to run down the corridor, opening cage after cage, peering in, moving to the next one.

  There was old Mr Picklelips!

  Dexter’s whole family!

  There was Felicity Gobb!

  There was the bloke who ran the gym! Wow – no one had even noticed that guy had gone!

  On and on down the vast, dank corridor Hamish pounded, searching for his family, searching for his dad, until . . .

  ‘Hamish!’

  He spun round.

  ‘Mum!’ he said. ‘Jimmy!’

  ‘Oh, Hamish!’ she said, reaching out for him.

  ‘It’s James?’ said Jimmy. ‘Have you seen Felicity?’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ said Hamish, grabbing his mum’s hands. ‘Where’s my dad?’

  Her face fell.

  ‘Oh, Hamish,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘He’s here, right? Of course he’s here! He has to be here!’

  ‘Oh, my baby boy,’ she said again, and even in the gloom Hamish could see her eyes were filled with tears.

  ‘Don’t you tell me he’s not here,’ said Hamish, falling to his knees. ‘Please, Mum! Don’t you tell me that after all this, my dad is not here . . .’

  Outside the stone cottage, the Pausewalkers cheered every new grown-up who appeared through the door, blinking as they shielded their eyes from the headlights.

  Families embraced. Children were hoisted high into the air and cuddled and squeezed and breathed in.

  Above them all, army helicopters now circled the woods, shining vast, broad beams of white light beneath them.

  Frozen Terribles were being caged up and flown away on winches, into the ink-black sky, over the thundering sea.

  ‘Hamish,’ said Buster, with the hugest smile, and holding a lady’s hand, tightly. ‘This is my mum!’

  Hamish tried his best to smile and said ‘Hello’ as brightly as he could.

  Felicity and Jimmy were having an argument about why she never Skyped him back. Apparently Jimmy didn’t think being kidnapped by monsters was an acceptable excuse for such mind games in their relationship.

  ‘So your dad wasn’t taken, huh?’ said Alice, suddenly there.

  Hamish looked at the ground and shook his head.

  ‘Guess not,’ he said.

  ‘So he just went?’ she said. ‘Well, that sucks.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does, yes,’ said Hamish, rubbing his eyes. They were red and sore.

  She smiled at him.

  ‘You still saved Starkley, Hamish,’ she said, squeezing his shoulder. ‘You still saved the world.’

  And, as the police sirens approached through the woods and as another Terrible was winched high into the night to be disposed of at Her Majesty’s discretion, Hamish Ellerby wiped away a tear and took a breath.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, trying to nod convincingly. ‘I suppose that’s something.’

  One Week Later

  One week later, in the town square, underneath the big clock that now always seemed to run on time, Alice Shepherd beamed the biggest smile of her life.

  ‘And this is for you,’ said the mayor, leaning down to pin a medal on her top, as the whole town began to applaud. ‘With our never-ending thanks.’

  If it was possible, her smile grew wider still, and she waved at her parents in the audience.

  It had been a great day so far. The mayor had announced that after careful consideration by the relevant judges (who had taken into account both the monster invasion and the subsequent juvenile rebellion) Starkley had officially been named Britain’s Least Most Boring Town!

  They were getting an award!

  Buster had already had his medal for incredible bravery. So had Venk and Clover and Elliot, and all their parents went crazy as their names were read out. Robin literally could not believe he’d finally been called brave and his mum looked on beaming with pride as she munched on a fresh bag of Japanese Jellied Fish-Shavings. Every kid in Starkley who’d had a filling and fought the Terribles was included. Each one seemed so full of life, and colour, and excitement, as they sat on that little stage underneath a banner that read:

  THANK YOU, PAUSEWALKERS!

  with their silver medals on sky-blue ribbons.

  Only Hamish Ellerby seemed a little out of place.

  He seemed . . . grey. Like he’d forgotten how to smile. Like there was a small black cloud constantly hovering above his head.

  ‘Come on, buddy,’ whispered Grenville, who was dressed to the nines in a full-length black El Gamba costume with ceremonial cape. ‘You should be happy!’

  ‘And finally,’ said the mayor, now reaching Hamish, ‘Starkley would like to thank you, Master Hamish Ellerby of thirteen Lovelock Close . . .’

  An enormous cheer went up as a brass band began to play. Tiny children all over Starkley pulled party poppers. A smiling Rex Ox used his leaf blower to thrust ticker tape high up into the air.

  Hamish’s mum kept tapping people’s elbows and saying, ‘That’s my son up there – that’s my Hamish!’ Even Jimmy stood and applauded and whistled, proud as punch that he had such an amazing little brother.

  But Hamish could not help but notice that there was still a chair next to them that was not filled.

  And Hamish did not smile.

  ‘Maybe your dad will read about it in the paper, Hamish,’ said Alice, kindly, as the two friends moved away from the party. ‘Maybe he’ll see what he’s been missing. Or maybe he’ll just stay away and that’ll be for the best.’

  They looked out over Starkley. It was covered in sunflowers. Farmer Jarmer had donated a flower to every house in Starkley and each and every resident had been scattering seeds across town too. Perhaps it was an allergy, or maybe it was the size of them, but for whatever reason the Terribles hated sunflowers. Even though they’d captured all the beasts frozen in the Pause, Starkley was taking no chances.

  The Bugle that Alice had thrown in the field to keep it from the WorldStopper General’s grasp had been given to the mayor. It was to be the first and only exhibit in Starkley International Museum of History. Unfortunately, you couldn’t really see it, as the mayor had it entirely encased in concrete.

  At least, he thought it was concrete. Hamish suspected it might actually be ZINOXYCLUMPTM . . .

  The town looked a treat. The entire square was piled high with free sweets, thanks to Madame Cous Cous. She’d been up all night too, replacing all the cobblestones with gobstoppers.

  She’d even met a new man.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Clover asked her.

  ‘This is Håkon,’ she said, nestling into the enormously tall blond man, with love in her eyes. ‘He’s from Norway.’

  When he heard that, Hamish almost managed a smile.

  ‘Right,’ he said, turning around. ‘I think I’ll go
home.’

  ‘Hamish!’ someone called out behind him. ‘Do you want to hang out later?’

  It was his brother. He was half-smiling, looking hopeful.

  ‘Sure,’ said Hamish, giving him a little thumbs up. ‘See you at home, James.’

  ‘Actually . . .’ said James, giving a little thumbs up back. ‘Could you call me Jimmy again?’

  Hamish smiled to himself. Maybe things weren’t perfect, but at least life was pretty much back to normal in Starkley. Mum even wanted to play Boggle later. She said she’d be back early from work today, because complaints in Starkley had dropped from 3,414 a week to just two. And both of those were from Mum herself, complaining that now she didn’t have enough work to do.

  Maybe Hamish would walk past Slackjaw’s Motors on the way home. Mr Slackjaw had seemed very pleased with Hamish lately. He’d even offered him a Saturday job when he was older. Since the rebellion, sales of Vespas were up five hundred per cent! Dad had always said a Saturday job was an important thing. And maybe he could plant a few more of his sunflower seeds on his way home.

  Just for the future. Just in case.

  And then the strangest thing happened.

  From nowhere, and almost silently, a blackbird landed on the pavement right in front of Hamish.

  It looked up at him.

  Now I don’t know what it looks like when a bird smiles, but surely birds must smile sometimes . . . and maybe this was one of those times.

  It blinked its eyes and tilted its head to one side.

  ‘That’s weird,’ said Alice.

  Hamish frowned and leaned forward for a closer look.

  ‘The Blackbird,’ said a tall and willowy woman, who Hamish was certain hadn’t been there before. He didn’t recognise her at all. ‘That’s what we used to call him.’

  Hamish and Alice looked at the stranger. She was dressed in white. She had straight blonde hair, tucked neatly back behind one ear. Sharp blue eyes. A long, straight nose.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said Hamish.

  ‘In the Before – we called him the Blackbird.’

  The kids looked at each other. This nutter was making very little sense.

  ‘Okay . . .’ said Alice, gently. ‘Who? Who did you call the Blackbird?’

  The woman smiled.

  ‘Your father, Hamish,’ she said.

  Hamish went white.

  ‘My dad?’ he said, quietly and cautiously. ‘You knew my dad?’

  ‘I know your dad,’ she said. ‘I’ve known him since the Before.’

  ‘Who are you?’ said Alice.

  ‘I’m a friend,’ said the woman. ‘I’m no one.’

  ‘What do you mean, in the Before?’ said Hamish, as she guided them to a bench and sat with them. ‘Before what?’

  ‘Before the Events,’ she said. ‘Your father helped start the Uprising. The WorldStoppers wanted him finished. That’s why they came to Starkley. For him.’

  ‘My dad . . . is in sales,’ said Hamish, still not quite knowing what that meant.

  ‘I’m also in . . . sales,’ she said, and he noticed the small black logo on her top. A sunflower, flanked by wings. ‘I work with your dad at Belasko. The stories he told you – the ones that secretly you thought he made up? They were all true, Hamish.’

  She caught herself.

  ‘Except for that one about being followed by a bunch of angry Romanian spies around a Holiday Inn. That was utter nonsense, though it was based on a true story, I suppose.’

  Hamish was having trouble computing all of this.

  ‘Where is he?’ said Hamish. ‘If you know my dad, where is he?’

  ‘They used to keep him where they kept the others. The ones you rescued. He was in the last cell along. He’d scratched a blackbird into the wall in case you ever followed his clues.’

  ‘His clues?’

  ‘He gave you a Shepherd,’ she said, looking at Alice. ‘He made sure there were others like you.’

  She pointed at Buster and Venk and Elliot and Clover, all polishing their medals and grinning.

  ‘He gave you a watch. And he tried to warn you when things were grave.’

  ‘The birds,’ said Hamish, remembering the blackbird in the garden, the one in town, the one at the window . . .

  ‘He loves you, Hamish. But your dad had to go.’

  ‘Where?’ said Hamish, desperately.

  ‘He had to help the Neverpeople.’

  And then a loud and furious voice came from absolutely nowhere, echoing around town and leaving fear in its wake.

  ‘GRENVILLE BILE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE, BOY?’

  Everyone flinched. It was the Postmaster! That fearsome brute Tubitha Bile! She stormed into the square, dragging her enormous burnt-out post office trolley behind her. Her face was bright red and she pointed one fat sausage finger at her son, accusingly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum!’ whimpered Grenville. ‘But remember – I was getting a medal because of the quite important international incident that had far-reaching global ramifications, and—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know!’ she said, ruffling his hair. ‘I’m just worried you’ll get a cold, you silly biscuit!’

  She laughed, kindly. Everyone was stunned. No one had heard her laugh kindly in ages.

  ‘I brought you a jumper, Grenville. And a hotdog! And a hamburger. Oh, and some nachos, because I know how much you love Mexican food . . . El Gamba!’

  She winked at her boy, then turned to the crowd.

  Everyone was just staring at her.

  ‘Well, don’t you all look lovely! And that reminds me! I’m only late because I found a whole bunch of parcels and presents meant for every single one of you! Thousands of them! A whole roomful! Honestly, what am I like? I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed on!’

  Alice laughed.

  ‘Well, there you go!’ she said, shaking her head.

  But Hamish had more on his mind.

  ‘Who are the Neverpeople?’ he said, turning back to the mysterious woman.

  But she was nowhere to be seen.

  Gone.

  Vanished.

  ‘Who did she say she was?’ Hamish asked.

  ‘She said she was no one,’ Alice replied.

  ‘That’s a weird thing to say,’ he said. ‘No one.’

  Hamish and Alice put their hands on their hips and just stared at each other. They had no idea what to do next.

  And, as they shrugged and began to walk towards the party and the sweets and the presents and the medals, Hamish heard a strange and joyful tune from somewhere just behind him.

  It was birdsong.

  And there, on the bench, sat the blackbird again.

  And in its mouth was a small piece of white card, folded once.

  Hamish kneeled down and gently took the card from the bird’s beak.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Alice, as the blackbird launched itself into the bright blue sky. ‘What does it say?’

  Hamish read it and frowned.

  ‘It’s an address,’ he said.

  NO. 1 ARCADIAN LANE LONDON

  Alice took it from him.

  ‘No. 1,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t that look like . . . No One?’

  Hamish smiled.

  He had an address.

  Maybe far from being the end, this was the start of something.

  The brass band struck up again.

  And, from somewhere far above, a blackbird called.