The 117-Story Treehouse
Page 4
“I didn’t even know there were story rules,” says Mr. Big Nose.
“Ignorance of the law is no defense,” says the police chief.
“But what about us?” says the moose, who I am amazed to realize is the one and only Dr. Moose, author of The Splat in the Hat. “Why have Beatrix Potty, Boris Bendback, and I been arrested?”
“Because,” says the chief, “your books break lots of rules, too, and I believe the children of the world deserve better. I mean, really, what sort of lesson is anyone supposed to learn from ridiculous stories about pooping rabbits, splatting splats, and foolish filing monsters?”
“Well,” says Beatrix Potty, “children can learn a lot of fun facts about nature from my books. For example, some rabbits poop a lot!”
“And,” says Boris Bendback, “Where the Filed Things Are teaches children that even though there’s a place for everything and everything has a place, that place may not necessarily be in a filing cabinet drawer.”
“My book is just supposed to be funny,” says Dr. Moose. “I want to make my readers laugh because, after all, laughter is the best medicine … and I should know because as well as being a writer and an illustrator, I’m also a qualified doctor.”
“Tell it to the judge!” says the chief.
“But I don’t have time to tell it to the judge,” says Mr. Big Nose. “I’m a busy man!”
“So am I!” says the chief. “I have eight prisoners to deliver to the judge and that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
“I’m sorry, everybody,” I say. “It’s all my fault. I should never have tried ending Terry’s dumb dot story with and then suddenly we woke up and realized it was all just a dream. That’s what alerted the Story Police in the first place.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, young fella,” says Boris Bendback. “What do those Story Police know? Some of the most famous books in the world have ended with waking up and discovering it was all just a dream … Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, for example!”
“And don’t forget the The Wizard of Oz,” says Beatrix Potty.
“Thanks,” I say. “That makes me feel a lot better. Do you think I should try it again?”
“No,” says Dr. Moose quickly. “Twice within one book might be a bit much.”
“Then what are we going to do?” says Jill.
“Well,” says Mr. Big Nose, “the way I see it, we’ve got five authors and four illustrators here. You lot should be able to come up with a creative solution to our problem!”
“Dots!” says Terry. “They make great holes, remember?”
“Holes?!” I say. “In a boat? Are you crazy? We’ll sink!”
“That’s exactly what we want,” says Terry. “If we sink the boat, the Story Police won’t be able to take us to jail! Quick: Boris, Dr. Moose, and Beatrix—help me draw some dots on the bottom of the boat—the more we can draw, the faster we’ll sink.”
“With pleasure!” says Beatrix. “I love drawing dots!”
“Me too,” says Dr. Moose.
“Let the wild dotting begin,” says Boris.
It’s not long before water is gushing in through all the newly drawn dot-holes.
“Abandon ship!” yells the chief. “We’re taking on water! Abandon ship!”
We all jump overboard and splash our way back toward the shore.
We drag ourselves out of the water and up onto the sand.
“Yay!” says Terry. “My plan worked. We escaped from the Story Police!”
“Well, yes,” I say, “but not for long. Look! They’re coming!”
Terry turns and sees the Story Police advancing toward us.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ve got an idea for another story—and this one has a really good ending!”
Terry clears his throat and begins narrating:
Once upon a time on an island, Terry, Andy, Jill, Mr. Big Nose, Dr. Moose, Beatrix Potty, Boris Bendback, and a filing monster were surrounded by a load of angry Story Police who wanted to arrest them and put them into storytelling jail for a zillion years. So the brave hero Terry drew a dot …
and the dot got bigger …
and bigger …
and bigger …
And then it stretched out
and got even bigger …
and deeper …
and bigger and deeper …
until it became a
really big, really
deep hole …
and the Story Police all fell in …
and they all lived happily ever after.
“HOORAY!” shouts Dr. Moose. “Now all the storytellers of the world are free to tell whatever stories they want without fear of the Story Police!”
Terry peels the hole off the ground and gives it to the filing monster.
“You might like to file this under H for hole,” he says.
“I’d love to!” says the monster. “And after I’ve done that I’ll get on with filing the rest of the island just the way it was.”
“Please don’t file any animals,” says Jill. “They don’t like it.”
“Or trees,” I say.
“Or rocks or sand,” says Terry.
“What?!” says the monster. “You mean I should just let it all lie around in a big mess?”
“Yes,” says Jill. “It’s called nature and it’s the way it’s meant to be!”
“But I’m a filing monster!” says the monster, looking sad. “What will I do if I can’t file?”
“Well,” says Mr. Big Nose, “I could use an enthusiastic filing monster like you in my office at Big Nose Books.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful,” says the monster. “I always wanted to get into publishing. It starts with P, one of my favorite letters.”
Terry giggles. “P,” he says.
“So,” says Mr. Big Nose, “what happens now? I need to get back to work. I’m a busy man, you know. And you need to get your book done by five o’clock today … or else!”
“We can all sail home on your dot-yacht, can’t we, Terry?” says Jill.
“No,” I say. “It’s not there anymore. One-Eyed Pete stole it.”
“I hate pirates,” sighs Terry.
“So what are we going to do?” says Jill. “How will we get home?”
Terry strokes his chin thoughtfully. “If only we had a basket,” he says, “and a little bit of fire. I could inflate a dot and turn it into a hot-air balloon.”
“I have some fire filed under F,” says the filing monster. “And a basket under B … here you are!”
“Thanks!” says Terry.
Terry draws a dot and attaches it to the basket.
“Everyone climb in,” he says.
We all pile into the basket and Terry uses the heat from the fire to inflate the dot.
As the dot rises into the air, the ropes tighten and lift the basket off the ground.
“We’ll be home in no time,” says Terry. “Then we can get started on our book.”
“The sooner we get started, the better,” I say. “There’s a lot for us to write about. So much has happened today!”
“Dr. Moose and Boris and I could help,” says Beatrix. “After all, we can all write and illustrate.”
“Of course,” says Dr. Moose. “You know what they say: many hooves make light work.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” says Boris. “And I’d love to visit your treehouse—I’ve read so much about it!”
“And I’d like to come and meet all your animals, Jill,” says Beatrix.
“And they would love to meet you,” says Jill. “They’re big fans of your books!”
“Well, that’s settled then,” I say, as the hot-air dot rises higher and higher into the air. “You’re all invited to visit and help us with our book!”
“Up, up, and away!” says Terry.
CHAPTER 13
THE LAST CHAPTER
We float up … and up …
and away …
and away
…
until, eventually, we come to the city.
We drop Mr. Big Nose and the filing monster off at Big Nose Books.
“Thanks for the ride,” says the filing monster as we float away.
“And don’t forget,” yells Mr. Big Nose, “your manuscript is due at five o’clock … OR ELSE!”
We float on a little farther, and finally, at long last, we are home.
“What an absolutely splendidly stupendous treehouse you have here!” says Dr. Moose.
“Yes, I’ve never seen one quite like it,” says Boris Bendback.
“Do we have time to look around before we start work?” says Beatrix Potty.
“Of course,” I say. “We can take you on a tour of the main attractions in our penguin-powered flying treehouse tour bus!”
Jill gives Boris, Beatrix, and Dr. Moose a ticket each.
“Tickets, please!” says Jill, collecting the tickets as they climb aboard the bus.
Terry gets in the driver’s seat and I put on my treehouse tour guide hat and start the tour.
“Welcome aboard!” I say as we take off. “Our treehouse has one hundred and seventeen levels. Some are fun, some are scary, some are fun and scary, some are scary and fun.”
“Do you have any food?” says Boris Bendback. “I’m famished!”
“Of course we do!” I say. “We have ice cream, lollipops, popcorn, marshmallows, pizza, submarine sandwiches, and a chocolate waterfall—you can swim and eat at the same time.”
“Do you have anything a little more filling?” says Boris Bendback. “I’m so hungry I could eat a couch.”
“We have just the thing,” I say. “Terry, take us to the all-you-can-eat-including-the-furniture level.”
“Roger that,” says Terry.
On the all-you-can-eat-including-the-furniture level, Dr. Moose pulls some daffodils from a vase and eats them. Then he crunches up the vase as well.
Beatrix chews on a chocolate-coated chair.
Boris eats a whole couch. “Ah,” he says, licking his lips, “just like the couches Mother used to bake!”
Terry, Jill, and I end up eating everything else.
“Being chased by the Story Police sure does give you an appetite,” I say.
“Roger that,” says Terry.
“Well,” I say, “let’s get on with the tour.”
We all file back onto the bus and continue the tour. We tour high.
We tour low.
We tour fast.
We tour slow.
We go …
and we go …
and we go …
and we go.
“STOP!” says Dr. Moose, pointing at our beautiful sunny meadow full of buttercups, butterflies, and bluebirds. “Can we land down there?”
“Of course!” I say.
Terry parks the bus and we all get out.
“Oh, look!” says Beatrix. “A family of field mice! Stay still, my little friends, while I sketch you.”
Boris Bendback lies on his stomach in a patch of buttercups. “My, this sun is doing my bent back a power of good,” he says.
“Yippee, I’m free!” says Dr. Moose, galloping off across the meadow as fast as his thundering hooves can carry him.
“Dr. Moose!” I yell. “STOP!”
But Dr. Moose just keeps going … and going … and going.
“I hope he comes back in time to help us write the book,” says Terry.
“Not when he gets like this, he won’t,” says Beatrix, looking up from her sketching. “He can run for days, you know. He may be a doctor and an accomplished author-illustrator, but he’s also a wild animal.”
“I think I can get him back with my moose-lasso,” says Jill, pulling a long piece of rope out of her portable animal rescue kit.
Jill swings the rope expertly around her head and then lets it fly.
It sails across the meadow and snares Dr. Moose around the antlers.
Jill drags Dr. Moose back to the bus.
“Sorry about that,” says Dr. Moose, panting. “Once I get going I just can’t stop myself.”
“No need to apologize,” I say as the bus takes off. “Now, if you look down there, you’ll see our giant-fighting-robot arena.”
“Giant fighting robots?” says Beatrix. “Can we have a go?”
“Are you sure?” I say. “The giant-fighting-robot suits are pretty dangerous.”
“Danger is my middle name,” says Beatrix.
“Mine too,” says Dr. Moose.
“Mine as well!” says Boris.
And without waiting for permission, or for Terry to land, all three leap from the windows of the bus.
By the time we land, Beatrix, Boris, and Dr. Moose are suited up and ready to rumble.
They circle one another warily until I ding the bell … and then the fight is on!
KICK!
PUNCH!
STOMP!
CRUSH!
THROW!
POUND!
They blast one another with laser beams …
high-voltage electricity …
and fireballs!
The whole tree is shuddering and shaking.
“We should stop them,” says Terry.
“I know!” I say. “But how? It’s not like we can just go in there and break it up.”
“We can’t,” says Jill, “but maybe the Trunkinator can.”
“The Trunkinator is strong,” I say, “but I don’t know if he’s stronger than three giant fighting robots.”
“I think he is,” says Jill. “And, besides, what’s the alternative? We can’t just let them fight until the whole tree is destroyed. I’m going to fetch him.”
Jill comes back with the Trunkinator and whispers instructions in his ear.
The Trunkinator leaps into the ring. Robo-Beatrix, Robo-Boris, and Robo-Dr. Moose stop fighting with one another and turn to face their new opponent.
Robo-Boris steps forward. “Put up your dukes!” he says.
“I can’t watch!” says Jill, covering her eyes.
Boris Bendback is definitely asking for it, and the Trunkinator certainly lets him have it.
With one punch of his mighty trunk he sends Boris flying out of his robot suit, up into the air …
and down onto the watermelon-smashing level.
Robo-Beatrix and Robo-Dr. Moose immediately back away.
“I surrender!” says Beatrix.
“Me too!” says Dr. Moose.
I leap into the ring, hold up the Trunkinator’s trunk, and declare him the winner.
Beatrix and Dr. Moose get out of their robot suits and rush to the watermelon-smashing level.
We fly over and land the bus next to Boris, who is lying motionless beside a pile of unsmashed watermelons.
Beatrix is kneeling beside him, fanning his face.
“Are you okay, Boris?” says Beatrix.
“Never felt better!” says Boris, suddenly leaping up and stretching out to his full height.
“The Trunkinator punched me so hard, he unbent my back! I haven’t felt so good in years!”
“Me neither!” says Dr. Moose.
We look around to see him enthusiastically smashing watermelons.
“I’ve always wanted to smash a watermelon,” he says, “and now I have!”
“Can we smash some watermelons, too?” says Beatrix.
“Well,” I say, “it’s not an official part of the tour, but since we’re here we may as well—after all, those watermelons aren’t going to smash themselves!”
“Well, this is a lot of fun,” I say, “but we’ve got a book to make! Mallets down, everybody. It’s time to get back on the bus.”
Our visitors resume their seats, and Jill hands out hot towels so everybody can clean themselves up.
We fly through the branches at top speed and land in our high-tech office. We all leave the bus, grab pencils, pens, paint, paintbrushes, and paper, and set to work …
authoring and illustrating …
and illustrator-authoring …
and author-illustrating …
and author-illustrator-authoring …
and illustrator-author-illustrating …
and illustrator-author authoring …
and author-illustrator illustrating …
and author-illustrator illustrating and authoring …