The Deadly 7

by Garth Jennings

  “What’s your name?”

  “Spike. I know. So obvious, isn’t it? Wish I had a nice ordinary name like Richard or Steve.”

  A horned beast with the angriest red skin you’ve ever seen and hands as big as boxing gloves stomped forward on shiny black hooves, pushed Spike out of the way, and shook Nelson’s hand, but only managed a grunt instead of a hello.

  “Hi,” said Nelson, feeling the bones in his own hand being crushed by its powerful grip.

  “Stan,” growled the creature.

  “Hello, Stan.”

  “Easy now, Stan old boy,” warned Hoot, and Stan backed away, looking awkward and angry.

  “Dat one is Crush,” said Nosh, and the smallest monster of the group rushed forward. This one had a ginger-colored body shaped like a cross between a puppy and a foghorn. It bounded toward Nelson on round feet that looked as if they belonged to a miniature elephant. Its eyes were wide, it had big floppy ears like a springer spaniel, four little arms, and a mouth like the bell of a trumpet. The little monster bounced up and down, honking like an old bicycle horn.

  “Honk! Honk! Honk!” went Crush as Nelson reached down to shake its little hand. But all four of Crush’s arms were already wrapped several times around his legs like jungle vines. “Hello,” said Nelson, and Crush replied with an emphatic “Hooooonk!”

  “That’s all he ever says,” said Spike, rolling his eyes, but Nelson couldn’t help but find it quite funny. “Oh, you might like him now, but you soon get tired of it,” moaned Spike as Miser pulled Crush off Nelson’s leg.

  “Where Puff? Puff? Where he gone?” shouted Nosh, but Nelson couldn’t see any more monsters.

  “The last I saw of Master Puff was outside,” said Miser, who had found an old coin on the floor and was hiding it in one of the many pocketlike folds of his skin.

  Nelson’s brain was suddenly engaged. A flurry of questions rushed out of his mouth. “So, who are you and where do you come from and what are you doing here and how do you know my name and—”

  He was cut off mid-question by the sound of a car horn. Miser leaped onto the bookcase below the living room window and peered out through the net curtains.

  “Puff? Puff, dat you?” called Nosh.

  “No! ’Tis the one-legged giant—he has returned!” hissed Miser, and quickly retreated behind an electric armchair.

  “I’ll take care of ’im!” bellowed Stan, pounding his fists together as if readying for a fight.

  “What? No, it’s just my uncle!” cried Nelson, as the other monsters surrounded the front door.

  His words had no effect whatsoever.

  “This is his house!” he yelled and was again ignored.

  There was a jangle of keys followed by the click of the lock and in walked Uncle Pogo carrying two large plastic bags filled with their dinner.

  “Sorry it took so long. They’d run out of haddock so I had to wait around for a bit,” he said, walking straight past the growling monsters.

  That’s right, Uncle Pogo walked right past the monsters without a second glance. Nelson was utterly lost for words, but the monsters had plenty.

  “Mmmm, dat smell ’licious,” groaned Nosh, his slobbery tongue hanging out as Pogo’s take-out bags swung by his face and the smell of fried fish wafted through the house.

  “Sorry, but would one of you remind me who the large fellow is?” said Hoot, now standing on the back of the couch and tilting his head to one side.

  “The one-leg cannot be trusted,” whispered Miser, his eyes following Uncle Pogo to the kitchen as one of his tentacles found its way to the mantelpiece, where it stole a silver letter opener and a medal Pogo had won in a rugby tournament.

  “Miser’s right. I’ll squash ’im like a slug,” growled Stan, and Crush gave a short and rather squeaky honk in support.

  “Please don’t do that!” shouted Nelson, making Pogo jump out of his skin.

  “Oh. Don’t you want fish-and-chips?” asked his uncle, taking two plates from the draining rack as the monsters began to close in around him.

  “Are you feeling all right, Nelson?” he went on, in response to his nephew’s wide-open mouth.

  “Can’t you see them? They’re all around you!” said Nelson, throwing his arms wide.

  “What are you talking about?” Pogo began unwrapping the steaming parcels of fried food.

  Nelson opened and closed his mouth and found he didn’t know how to reply. I mean, it’s not often you find yourself saying, “Your house is full of monsters,” is it? As he searched for a sensible-sounding sentence he felt something tug at his trouser leg. Looking down, he found Miser looking up at him.

  “The one-leg cannot see or hear us. No one can. Except you.” That certainly explained things to Nelson, but it still didn’t help him find a way to explain it all to his uncle. Then, to add to everything else, a great purple bear claw reached up from outside the window and grabbed hold of the sill.

  “Something’s out there,” said Nelson, pointing at what was now two large purple bear claws clinging to the window frame.

  “Really?” said Uncle Pogo, putting down his knife and fork and turning to the window. “You might have a point—it’s the first time that dog’s stopped barking.” He got up from his chair.

  “No need to get your hopes up—it’s only Puff,” moaned Spike, but Uncle Pogo was already leaning out the window.

  “Dat is Puff, Nelly-son,” wheezed Nosh, as a seventh monster, a furry and very slow-moving ball of purple, flopped through the window and onto the floor. It looked as if someone had deflated a huge purple cat. Puff had fat paws, a soft pink nose, and huge eyes that were almost completely hidden under heavy purple eyelids. He yawned and revealed the inside of his mouth, which was pastel blue except for his teeth, which were banana yellow.

  “Crikey O’Mikey!” exclaimed Uncle Pogo, without any idea there was a purple monster at his feet. “Where on earth is the dog?” He craned his neck to see farther into the yard. A ripple of giggles, cackles, and laughter began to break out among the monsters. The purple monster, Puff, slowly opened his eyes and yawned again with a mouth that opened like a large purse filled with teeth and tongue instead of coins.

  “What are you all laughing at?” whispered Nelson to the monsters, noticing that the only ones not laughing were Nosh and Puff.

  “It appears that Nosh has consumed the beast, Master Nelson,” said Miser.

  “Nosh was hungry,” pleaded Nosh, blushing even pinker than he already was.

  “What? You actually ate my uncle’s dog?” hissed Nelson, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

  “Did you say something?” asked Uncle Pogo, but Nelson just shook his head.

  “Oh, dearie me. Was this doggy a friend of yours?” said Hoot with real concern, but this only made the others laugh louder.

  “That dog must have gotten out over the fence somehow,” said Uncle Pogo, scratching his head as he turned back toward the dinner table.

  “Uncle Pogo—watch your step,” shouted Nelson, but it was too late to stop him from stepping on the great hairy blob called Puff, who was so squishy that Pogo didn’t even notice.

  There was the most humongous fart as Puff deflated under Pogo’s false leg like a squished whoopee cushion.

  “Oh, Puff! You wretched beast! You foul and odorous cretin!” cried Hoot, flying back to take a position on the banisters as a cloud of purple bubbles rose into the air.

  “Run, Master Nelson! Flee before the bubbles burst!” urged Miser, but Nelson just stood there as the bubbles popped, each releasing a cloud of purple gas.

  It was Stan who took control of the situation by charging at Nelson like a bull.

  Blam! He crashed into Nelson’s stomach, knocking every ounce of air from his lungs. Crush had already reached the front door and flung it open.

  “What on earth is going on?” exclaimed Uncle Pogo, as he looked up to see his nephew flying out the front door, which slammed shut of its own accord behind him. But before
he could say anything, the smelly purple gas found its way up his nose, overpowered his brain, and switched him off like a light. Uncle Pogo’s eyes rolled back as if he was looking at the ceiling and the fork fell from his hand.

  “Uh-oh! Dat bubble fart gone right up da man’s nose!” cried Nosh as Uncle Pogo tipped forward and collapsed into his plate, sending fish-and-chips flying in all directions.

  SOUL DIVINING

  Nelson banged on Uncle Pogo’s front door, setting off the security light, until his fists turned red. “Open up! Let me in!” he shouted, but it was at least six minutes before Hoot opened the door and Crush rushed out to greet him.

  “Honk! Honk! Honk!” cried Crush as he clutched Nelson’s leg and squeezed it with all his might.

  “Sorry about that, old bean. Couldn’t have you breathing in all that toxic gas now, could we?” chuckled Hoot, but Nelson wasn’t listening; he was too busy trying to get across the living room with Crush clinging to his shin.

  “What have you done to my uncle?” said Nelson.

  “He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just asleep. All right for some, eh?” said Spike.

  “Then why won’t he wake up?” said Nelson, with real panic in his voice.

  “’Twas a ripe old stinker that Master Puff let loose from his derriere. Days may pass before the one-leg rises again,” said Miser.

  “Days?” cried Nelson, his brain realizing that there was now no adult to look after him. Uncle Pogo started to snore.

  “Who are you?” shouted Nelson, and the monsters fell into a stunned silence.

  “And what are you doing here—farting in my uncle’s house and pushing me out like that?” he went on, trying hard to keep his voice from showing how freaked out he was.

  “Is the boy sick or something? Don’t he know?” grumbled Stan, but Hoot fluttered forward and spoke on behalf of the group.

  “Dear boy, it was you who made us. Or rather, I should say, you who crudely extracted us.”

  “Extracted you? From what?” said Nelson.

  “Your soul,” said Spike with a big sniff.

  “My soul?” said Nelson.

  “Is ’e gonna repeat everything we say?” snarled Stan, and Crush honked angrily in Nelson’s defense and squeezed his leg even tighter.

  “Master Nelson is no doubt aware of the red marks on his back?” said Miser, now standing on the table behind Nelson.

  “Oh, yeah. But I didn’t do it on purpose. I fell on a table with needles on it. It was an accident,” said Nelson. Then something occurred to him as he remembered Doody on the news. “Hang on. Did you come out of that machine? Are you…? Are you my sins?” It wasn’t the weirdest sentence he’d ever said, but it came pretty close.

  “Yes, Nelly-son! Deadly sins! Deadly seven!” said Nosh enthusiastically. “I gluttony! Eat everyfing!”

  “But I’m not a glutton!” said Nelson, choosing to forget how much lasagna he could eat in one go. He didn’t think he ever did much in the way of sinning at all, but he supposed that everyone did, a bit. Perhaps some people’s sins might make for scarier, less ridiculous monsters than the seven standing facing him right now. He could remember studying the sins at school, and after listing them on his fingers he decided that Hoot must be pride, Stan was obviously wrath (another word for anger), Spike was envy, Puff was sloth (which is laziness), and Crush must be lust (which, when you’re eleven, is mostly expressed as a powerful desire for things like football stickers or new sneakers). Miser, who was still stealing as many knickknacks from the mantelpiece as he could, was clearly greed. Now he came to think of it, Nelson could remember feeling most of these things over the last twenty-four hours.

  “So did you not extract us in order to help you?” asked Miser.

  “Help me with what?” said Nelson.

  All the monsters (apart from Puff, who had gone back to sleep) groaned.

  “Oh no. Please don’t talk about her. It hurts too much,” groaned Spike, clutching his chest.

  “What? About who? What are you talking about?” said Nelson, but somewhere in the back of his mind the answer to his question was already there.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I’m a little lost too. Do remind me—whom exactly are we talking about?” said Hoot.

  “Celeste, you idiot!” barked Stan, and all the monsters howled. In fact, Stan was so angry that he punched the nearest thing to him—which happened to be Hoot—sending Hoot hurtling across the room and crashing into a piano that had been stripped of its exterior and had all its inner workings on display. You can imagine the noise Hoot made as he hit it.

  All the monsters howled with the same awful howl Nelson had heard outside the house before they had come in. Nelson sympathized. He too felt like howling at the mention of Celeste’s name, but he managed to control himself enough to speak.

  “How do you know about my sister?” he said, and this time it was Miser who answered.

  “We share in your pain, Master Nelson, for we are born from your soul,” he wheezed, wincing as if he had just been punched in the stomach. The other monsters were still howling and clutching themselves as if struck by bellyaches, and without waiting for Nelson to say anything else, Miser continued: “This pain … It will not go away for any of us until we find her.” He seemed to be struggling to keep himself from toppling over.

  “Find Celeste?” said Nelson, his voice cracking, and the animals howled again. “But they don’t know where she is,” he added, and at that all the monsters turned to look straight at him.

  “We’re wastin’ time,” growled Stan, kicking the couch in anger.

  Spike tottered forward to speak to Nelson. “Nelson, your soul is connected to your sister’s, and we’re connected to yours. Until we find her, we’ll all suffer this pain with you,” he said, straining to speak clearly.

  “Stop da pain! Find da sister!” sobbed Nosh, tears rolling out of his tiny black eyes.

  “Yes, but I can’t,” said Nelson, becoming more desperate by the second.

  “We can find her,” hissed Miser, and the other monsters nodded and groaned in agreement.

  “What do you mean? How is that possible?” said Nelson.

  “Divining of the soul,” said Miser, and the rest of the monsters nodded again.

  “How do you think we found you here, in this house, in this street so far from where you left us?” said Spike, but Nelson could not think of a reply.

  “Close eyes, Nelly-son,” said Nosh, and all the monsters became still and closed their eyes too. The only sound was Uncle Pogo snoring into his fish-and-chips.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Nelson, with a pain growing inside his stomach.

  “To divine the soul we must focus, so we close our eyes,” said Miser, and Nelson obliged.

  “Now we say ’er name,” said Stan, before taking a very deep breath.

  As if under some kind of hypnotic spell, Nelson said his sister’s name. At the very same time, the monsters did too.

  “Celeste.”

  It was very strange to hear so many weird voices speaking in unison, but it sounded harmonious, almost musical, like the final note of a beautiful song.

  There followed a peacefulness that Nelson had not expected. It was as if all his thoughts had suddenly floated out of his head. He slowly opened his eyes to see all the monsters standing as still as statues with their arms pointing in exactly the same direction. And they were humming.

  “Ommmmmm,” they hummed.

  “What are you all pointing at?” whispered Nelson, and all seven monsters growled at once.

  “The way to Celeste.”

  THE RIVER OF LIFE

  In the entire history of Planet Earth, only three human beings had ever discovered this particular part of the Brazilian jungle, and one of those humans was about to appear. His arrival would take place on a patch of ground that used to be filled with the most extraordinary and colorful flowers but now looked as if it had been scorched black by fire. Even the trees su
rrounding this little clearing appeared to have been barbecued and leaned backward as if trying to get as far away from the patch as possible. The reason the trees were in such bad shape was because this had been the site of many explosions, and it was an explosion now that heralded the arrival of the human being.

  The bang was tremendous.

  Once the noise had echoed away into the distance, all that remained in the center of the scorched patch was a cloud of blue smoke swirling ghostlike through the trees and a very large man dressed most inappropriately for the jungle. A sun hat pulled low over his eyes made his ears bend like tiny pink wings, and the belly bulging from beneath his shirt was large, pink, and smeared in sunscreen. Yes, you’ve probably already recognized him, but for those of you who haven’t, this was the slippery giant we met at the very beginning of the story.

  As the smoke cleared the man opened his bulbous white eyes and fell to his knees, grabbing his throat as if about to be sick. And then he was sick. He leaned forward and opened his mouth, but instead of a disgusting mess, a bluish stone plopped out of his mouth and onto the oily black ground. As the man coughed and spluttered, the blue stone trembled and fizzed like ice cream in a glass of Coke. Tiny bubbles rose from the stone’s milky blue surface and the unmistakable rotten egg stench of sulfur filled the air. The man continued to cough while reaching into a satchel slung across his shoulders and producing a very old-looking clay pot into which he put the blue and seriously smelly stone.

  This is a Bang Stone. Yes, it’s exactly like the one Uncle Pogo said his father had discovered. What Uncle Pogo didn’t know though was where Bang Stones come from, but I can tell you that. They came about when the universe first began. As you may already know, the universe began with a very big bang, and if you imagine this big bang as a cake exploding, then the Bang Stones are like cake crumbs.

  “Brian,” whispered a voice, and the man looked up with swollen and soulless white eyes. It was unmistakably a woman’s voice that had called his name. In fact, it didn’t just say his name, it sort of sang it, like a mermaid calling a sailor from the deep. “Briiiiiii-aaaaaaan,” came the voice again, and Brian got to his feet.