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Table of Contents
About the Author and Illustrator
Copyright Page
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CHAPTER 1
THE 117-STORY TREEHOUSE
Hi, my name is Andy.
This is my friend Terry.
We live in a tree.
Well, when I say “tree,” I mean treehouse.
And when I say “treehouse,” I don’t just mean any old treehouse—I mean a 117-story treehouse.
(It used to be a 104-story treehouse, but we’ve added another 13 stories.)
So what are you waiting for?
Come on up!
We’ve added a tiny-horse level,
a pajama-party room,
an Underpants Museum,
a photo-bombing booth,
a waiting room,
a treehouse visitor center with a 24-hour information desk, a penguin-powered flying treehouse tour bus, and a gift shop,
the Door of Doom (don’t open it or you’ll be COMPLETELY and UTTERLY DOOMED!),
a circus with fire-eaters, sword-swallowers,
chair-tamers, trapeze artists, and clowns,
an all-you-can-eat-including-the-furniture level where you can eat absolutely everything, including the furniture,
a kite-flying hill,
a traffic school,
a giant-fighting-robot arena,
and a water ski park filled with flesh-eating piranhas—don’t fall in!
As well as being our home, the treehouse is where we make books together. I write the words, and Terry draws the pictures.
As you can see, we’ve been doing this for quite a while now.
It can get a little crazy at times …
but somehow we always get our book done in the end.
CHAPTER 2
CAN! CAN’T! CAN!
If you’re like most of our readers, you’re probably wondering why it’s always me who tells the story and never Terry.
“Yeah,” says Terry. “I’ve wondered that, too. How come I never get to tell the story?”
“Because I’m the narrator,” I say, “and you’re the illustrator—that’s why!”
“I can narrate, too, you know,” says Terry.
“No, you can’t,” I say.
“Yes, I can!” says Terry.
I’m just about to yell “CAN’T” even bigger when Jill comes along.
“What are you two arguing about?” she says.
“Terry says he can narrate, and I say he
“There’s a better way to settle this than by shouting at each other,” says Jill.
“Really?” I say. “How?”
“Let Terry do some narration and see how it goes,” says Jill.
“But he’s an illustrator. Illustrators can’t narrate—everybody knows that!”
“That’s not true,” says Jill. “What about Dr. Moose? He wrote and illustrated The Splat in the Hat.”
“And who could forget the wonderful Beatrix Potty?” says Jill. “I love her animal stories—and she does the story and the illustrations as well!”
Oh, that’s our videophone. I’d better answer it.
“I hope it’s not Mr. Big Nose,” says Terry.
“Me too,” I say.
I answer the phone.
It is Mr. Big Nose!
“Why hasn’t the story started yet?” he says.
“Because,” I say, “Terry wants to tell the story and I was just explaining that illustrators can’t tell stories because that’s the author’s job.”
“That’s nonsense!” says Mr. Big Nose. “What about Boris Bendback? His Where the Filed Things Are is the most famous and best-loved children’s book about office management of all time … and he’s the author and the illustrator!”
“Yeah,” I say, “that is good, but—”
“No buts about it,” says Mr. Big Nose. “If Terry wants to tell the story, then let him—maybe he’ll create a classic just like Boris Bendback. But make sure it’s on my desk by five o’clock this afternoon …
or I’ll file you both under F, for FIRED!”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” I say. “We’ll get it done.”
“You’d better!” says Mr. Big Nose.
The screen goes blank.
“Yay!” says Terry. “Mr. Big Nose said I can tell the story!”
I shake my head. “Are you sure you want to do this, Terry? Storytelling is not as simple as it looks, you know. You can get into quite a lot of trouble, actually. If you do anything wrong, the Story Police could arrest you and put you in prison.”
“What for?” says Terry.
“For crimes against storytelling,” I say.
“I don’t believe you,” says Terry. “There’s no such thing as Story Police.”
“There is so!” I say. “And if you do anything they don’t like, they’ll come after you, and then you’ll be sorry.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to tell the story,” says Terry.
“No, I’m not,” I say. “They really do exist. You believe me, don’t you, Jill?”
“Not really,” says Jill.
“Fine,” I say. “Tell the story, Terry. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Okay, here goes…” says Terry.
In the beginning there was a … um … um … well …
Now … er … ah … well … it’s like this … you see … hmm … uh-huh … yeah … I mean … let’s say … right … um … um … well … now … er … ah … well … it’s … um … er … ah … now …
Er … ah … well … you see … hmm … uh-huh … yeah … right … right … okay … here goes … um
… Will you excuse me for a moment, readers? I’ll be right back.
“What’s going on, Terry?” says Jill. “Why has the story stopped?”
“Don’t you mean ‘Why hasn’t it started?’” I say.
“Well, that’s the thing,” says Terry. “I’m not sure how to start. Can you help me, Andy?”
“Why don’t you try starting with ‘Once upon a time,’” I say. “That’s good for beginners.”
“Thanks!” says Terry. “You’re a real pal, pal. You’re a pally pal. A real pally wally—”
“All right, just get on with it,” I say. “The readers are getting impatient. It’s the end of the second chapter and the story hasn’t even begun!”
“Relax, Andy,” says Terry. “I’ll get it started right away.”
CHAPTER 3
TERRY’S DUMB DOT STORY
(Part One)
Once upon a time there was a … dot.
And the
dot was all
alone …
but then
along
came
another
dot …
so then
there
were
TWO
dots!
And the dots fell in love …
and had baby dots.
Soon there were
LOTS OF DOTS!
LOTS AND
LOTS OF
DOTS!
LOTS AND LOTS
AND LOTS OF
DOTS!
“Wow!” I say. “Action-packed—or should I say dot-packed?”
“Shh, Andy,” says Jill. “Give him a chance. I like dots!”
“But there’s no story!” I say. “He’s just filling up the pages with dots.”
“I know,” says Jill, “but it’s strangely compelling. What happens next, Terry?”
Well, um, er,
then the dots
started joining
up and turning
into lines.
Soon there were lots of lines!
LOTS AND LOTS OF LINES!
LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS OF LINES!
And then the lines started curving and bending …
and joining up to make … shapes!
LOTS OF SHAPES!
LOTS AND LOTS OF SHAPES!
LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS OF SHAPES!
“Excuse me, Terry,” I say, “I don’t mean to be rude, but is this story going anywhere? I mean, is anything actually going to happen?”
“Of course it is, Andy!” says Terry.
“Really?”
“Really!” he says.
“But when?” I say.
“In part two, of course!”
CHAPTER 4
TERRY’S DUMB DOT STORY
(Part Two)
Hi, my name’s Terry. Welcome to part two of my exciting story.
If you’re like most of my readers—
“Get on with it!” I say.
“Okay,” says Terry.
Well, it wasn’t long before the shapes started joining up and becoming more complicated shapes—like this …
and this …
and even this!
But once they started, they
couldn’t stop. The shapes just
kept multiplying …
and multiplying …
and multiplying …
“Uh-oh,” says Terry.
“What happened?” says Jill. “Why has everything gone so weird? I feel strange.”
“You look strange,” I say.
“So do you,” says Jill.
“Oh no!” I say, looking down at my body, which is now just a collection of random shapes. “What have you done, Terry?”
“I haven’t done anything,” he says. “You were already a collection of shapes that together formed the shape of a human being! You’re still you, just in a different shape—well, lots of different shapes.”
“But I don’t want to be lots of different shapes!” I say. “I want to go back to how I used to be. I knew I should have never let you narrate!”
“Don’t be too hard on him, Andy,” says Jill. “The story isn’t over yet. What happens next, Terry?”
“Um … er … ah … um…” says Terry. “I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s just great!” I say.
Jill turns to me. “What do you think should happen, Andy?”
“How should I know?” I say. “It’s Terry’s dumb dot story, not mine.”
“Well somebody has to do something,” says Jill. “Look at my animals! They’ve gone all weird, too! This is like a dream—a really bad dream!”
“That’s it, Jill!” I say.
“What’s it?” says Jill.
“It’s a dream is the key to ending this story,” I say. “It’s not the best way to end a story, but sometimes—if you’re really stuck—it’s the only thing you can do, and this is an emergency.”
I clear my throat and start narrating as fast as I can.
And then, suddenly, we all woke up and realized it was all just a dream—a really DUMB dream!
“You did it!” says Jill. “We’re back to normal!”
“Yes,” I say, “but I couldn’t have done it without you. You gave me the idea.”
“And you couldn’t have done it without me, either!” says Terry. “It was my dots that started it.”
“Yes,” I say, “but it was my ending that finished it and saved us all.”
* * *
“Actually, I’m not so sure about that,” says Jill.
“Why not?” I say.
“Look!” she says, pointing to the ground below. “It’s the Story Police—they are real!”
“That’s what I tried to tell you!” I say.
“Yikes!” says Terry.
“OPEN UP!” calls a loud voice. “It’s the Story Police here. We’ve had reports of a dumb dot story with an illegal it-was-all-just-a-dream ending coming from this treehouse, and you are our chief suspects. There is no use resisting. We have your tree surrounded!”
“What do we do now?” says Terry.
“Open the door and let them in,” says Jill. “I’m sure they’ll understand if you just explain what happened.”
“No,” I say. “That’s not going to work. This isn’t the normal police. This is the Story Police—they are really strict. We have to come up with a different ending … or else!”
“Any ideas?” says Terry.
“Yes,” I say. “RUN!”
CHAPTER 5
RUN! RIDE!
So we run.
We run up.
We run down.
We run straight.
We run around.
Around …
and around …
and around …
and around.
We run high.
We run low.
We run fast.
We run slow.
We go …
and we go …
and we go …
and we go.
“STOP!” says Terry, bent over and panting. “I need a rest!”
“We have to keep going,” I say. “The Story Police are right behind us.”
“In here!” says Jill, opening the gate to the tiny-horse paddock. “Quick—but be careful you don’t step on any of the tiny horses!”
We tiptoe in.
The tiny horses gallop up to us.
“They’re so cute,” says Terry. “I wish they were big enough to ride.”
“They can be,” says Jill. “Watch this.”
She whinnies quietly, and the tiny horses group together …
and assemble themselves into a regular-size horse!
Jill climbs up onto the horse’s back. “Come on,” she says to us. “Don’t just stand there. Jump on!”
We join Jill on the horse. At that moment the Story Police crash their van through the gate and drive into the paddock.
“Giddyup!” says Jill.
At her command, our tiny-horse horse gallops to the edge of the paddock and leaps over the fence!
We land on the next level down and gallop into the Underpants Museum.
Our tiny-horse horse bumps and klunks and thumps its way through the underpants displays.
Soon we—and our tiny-horse horse—are covered in underpants.
“This is what Underpants-on-Your-Head Day must have been like in the olden days!” says Terry, peering out from behind a large pair of old-fashioned pantaloons.
* * *
Our tiny-horse horse gallops through the museum, out the other side, and into the Big Top Circus tent.
We ride around the ring, and the crowd cheers. They think we’re part of the show!
There’s a loud honking sound behind us. I look around. We’re being chased by about twenty clowns jammed into one small clown car. The audience laughs and claps.
“I wish those clowns would stop honking their horn,” says Jill. “The tiny horses don’t like it.”
Jill’s right. The tiny-horse horse is shaking and quivering with fear.
The 117-Story Treehouse Page 1
