by Sam Copeland
About the Author
Sam Copeland is an author, which has come as something of a shock to him. He is from Manchester and now lives in London with two smelly cats, three smelly children and one relatively clean-smelling wife. Sam also works as a dinosaur de-boner, removing skeletons from dinosaurs and giving them to museums. Once the museums have finished with them, he then re-bones the dinosaurs, much to their relief. Charlie Turns Into a T-Rex is his second book. Despite legal threats, he refuses to stop writing.
Follow Sam online:
www.sam-copeland.com
@stubbleagent
#CharlieTurnsIntoaTRex
Books by Sam Copeland
CHARLIE CHANGES INTO A CHICKEN
Contents
Chapter 1
Author’s Note
Author’s Note II
Chapter 1 (Continued)
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Puffin Books
80 Strand
London
Dear Reader,
You might recall at the end of the previous ‘book’, Charlie Changes Into a Chicken, we recommended that you never read anything by the so-called author Sam Copeland ever again. We warned you that he was a disreputable liar and a writer of little talent.
And yet here we are.
Despite our stern warning, you have his new book in your hand. You have even begun to read it. Don’t try to deny it. You’re reading this sentence.
And this one.
Why aren’t you stopping?
STOP READING NOW.
You’re still reading, aren’t you?
Why would you ignore such a clear warning? Perhaps you are the type of person that sticks their hand into a flame to see if it really is hot, or picks up a rabbit dropping and pops it in your mouth and starts chewing because you think it looks like a raisin, even though you’ve JUST been told, ‘Don’t put that in your mouth; it’s a rabbit poo.’ That might explain your actions.
Well, let us once again try to be as clear as possible: this next ‘book’ really is no better than the first. If anything, it’s worse. Much worse. But then, as we have seen, you obviously don’t listen to warnings.
You may also recall that we promised that we would never publish a book by Sam Copeland again. Unfortunately it has been brought to our attention by a large number of lawyers that we are legally obliged to publish this. That means by law we HAVE to. You didn’t HAVE to read this book. You chose to. You have no such excuse.
If by some chance you are in a bookshop or library holding this book, simply put it down and walk away. We urge you to choose something more wholesome and educational instead.
And if it is too late, and you are sitting at home, perhaps curled in front of a crackling fire or cuddled up snug in bed, and have just settled down to reading this book, we have one thing to say:
We hope you hate reading this book as much as we hated publishing it.
Yours faithfully,
The Publisher
Charlie McGuffin was being followed.
A malevolent shadow was watching him. Waiting.
Something – or someone – was stalking him through the corridors of the school. A dark presence, menacing, unseen and unknowable –
‘Look, Dylan, I know it’s you following me. I can see you there,’ Charlie said, hands on hips. ‘Can you actually stop? You just look weird doing it. Seriously, Dylan – come out from behind the pillar.’
Dylan stepped out from behind a pillar.
‘And take that ridiculous hat off,’ Charlie added.
Dylan took off the ridiculous hat, a floppy summer hat borrowed from his mum.
‘And the sunglasses. Take those off as well.’
Dylan took off the sunglasses.
‘Now please stop following me.’
Dylan stepped forward, chest puffed. ‘You know you can run, McGuffin, but you can’t hide. You. Can’t. Hide.’ A smile slid across Dylan’s face like a slug trail. ‘I’m your shadow. Your dark half. Wherever you go, I will be there. Hunting you. Ready to pounce like a … like a … frog.’
‘A frog? A pouncing frog? Frogs don’t even pounce.’
‘Yes, they do. They pounce on flies. And you’re my fly. Trapped in my web.’
‘A … frog web?’ said Charlie, looking a little baffled.
‘You think you’re so clever, McGuffin, don’t you? Well, you’re not. Your silly little friends might think you’re a genius –’
‘I’m not sure they do actually. In fact, I’m pretty certain Flora thinks I’m the total opposite. She even said that to me yesterday. She said “Charlie, you are actually the total opposite of a genius.”’
‘Enough!’ Dylan held his hand up. ‘Just know that I am going to capture you.’ Dylan opened his hand. Inside was a matchbox. He shook it. It was empty. ‘I am going to wait until you change into an animal. And I’m going to trap you. And then you won’t be laughing. Or if you are, no one will hear you. Because you’ll be trapped in
a matchbox. A matchbox prison!’
Dylan started laughing to himself and then walked off, still laughing wildly, leaving Charlie standing alone in an empty corridor.
Charlie couldn’t help it – Dylan was getting to him. He could feel his stress levels begin to rise, little shivers of electricity darting through him. This was the first sign that Charlie was about to change. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply a couple of times, focusing on his breathing. Then he opened his eyes wide.
‘Hey, Dylan!’ Charlie shouted to the small figure at the end of the long corridor. ‘Dylan! I think I’m changing! Quick!’
Dylan turned round and began running back as fast as he could.
‘Quick, Dylan! It’s happening!’
Dylan sprinted as fast as he could. He reached Charlie, panting.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Charlie said. ‘False alarm.’
Dylan glared at Charlie. ‘WHAT?’
‘I’m sorry!’ Charlie said, grinning. ‘I could have sworn I started feeling it. Ah, well, it’s an unpredictable science, this whole changing business. Better luck next time. Actually there won’t be a next time. You’re wasting your time. I’ve worked out how to control it, you see, so I can absolutely guarantee a hundred per cent that there’ll be no more Charlie changing into anything.’
Charlie winked at Dylan, and then walked off, laughing maniacally, leaving Dylan standing alone in the empty corridor.
If you haven’t read Book 1 in this series, Charlie Changes Into a Chicken, then you’re probably pretty confused about what’s going on right now.
Tough luck.
You should have bought Book 1.
You come waltzing in here thinking, Oh, I don’t need to read Book 1. I’m very clever and I’m sure I’ll work out what’s happening as I go along.
Well, NOW who looks silly? You haven’t a clue what’s going on, have you? You don’t know who Charlie is or who Dylan is or why Dylan is trying to put Charlie in a matchbox. All I can say is good luck with the rest of the book, dunderhead.
The publishers have informed me that apparently I am not allowed to refer to my ‘valued readers’ as ‘dunderheads’. They have therefore instructed me to apologize to you. So, here we are:
I’m really, really, truly sorry.fn1
I hope you’re happy.fn2
They have also instructed me to give you a quick run-down on what happens in Book 1. So, for those of you too lazy to go to the library to get it, here we go:
&n
bsp; Charlie McGuffin keeps turning into animals. He discovers, with the help of his friends Flora, Mohsen and Wogan, that he changes when he is stressed and upset. Together they work out that he can control it (sort of) if he relaxes and tries to be happy. Also, Charlie’s nemesis, Dylan, who you just met, saw Charlie change and basically went very weird and turned into a bit of a movie villain who’s determined to expose Charlie’s secret to the whole world.
OK, now you’ve caught up, shall we get on with the story? Good.
‘Wow! So you’re sure you have the whole changing-into-an-animal thing under control?’ asked Mohsen.
‘Oh yes. Absolutely,’ replied Charlie.
It was playtime, but he was sitting with Flora and Mohsen in a noisy classroom, as cold sleety rain was pattering against the window. Flora was absent-mindedly flicking through a magazine called The World’s Fluffiest But Deadly Animals. The autumn term was coming to an end, and Christmas was on everybody’s mind. The class had spent the morning making paper chains, and they were now hung all across the classroom.
Wogan was over the other side of the room, talking to the new girl, Daisy. Daisy had long brown curly hair and she loved unicorns more than anything. And ponies. But mostly unicorns. Wogan had spent the whole of the past couple of days telling anybody who listened that he absolutely did not think Daisy was pretty and that he had, in fact, actually always thought unicorns were ‘cool’.
‘You’re totally sure?’ Flora said to Charlie, eyeing him suspiciously.
‘Yes! Definitely. Sheesh! I told you. Dylan tried getting me to change in the corridor just now, but I stopped it. So I’m completely one hundred per cent sure that I am totally in control of the whole changing-into-an-animal thing and it won’t happen again. I can guarantee that.’
Charlie couldn’t guarantee that.
In fact, Charlie, deep down, wasn’t at all sure that he had control of the whole changing-into-an-animal thing. But he wanted to be brave in front of Flora, who had managed to increase in awesomeness by about six per cent since Book 1 after winning the Interschool County Rap Battle with her rap ‘Top Flor’.
‘Charlie, you don’t have to be brave in front of me, you know. You can tell me the truth,’ Flora said, placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
‘Will you stop putting that thing on me?’ Charlie said, knocking the fake toy hand off his shoulder. ‘Honestly, it’s just weird.’
‘Well, it’s just … It’s just … It’s a big thing to have to learn and it might take time to get the hang of it completely,’ said Flora, picking up her toy hand and putting it in her bag. ‘Don’t be disappointed if you do change again.’
Charlie made a humphing noise.
Mohsen wandered over. ‘Hey, Charlie,’ he said. ‘Have you changed into any animals again?’
‘NO! I HAVE NOT! I CAN CONTROL IT, OK?’ Charlie snapped.
Mohsen and Wogan edged away from Charlie.
‘O-K,’ said Mohsen, holding his hands up. ‘That’s great. Good for you.’
‘Guys!’ whispered Flora. ‘Keep it down! We don’t want everyone to hear!’
‘It really is quite amazing,’ said Mohsen in a low voice, ‘that you, a small boy of just nine years of age, have succeeded so easily in totally mastering your mysterious and extraordinary power, the likes of which mankind has never seen before.’
Charlie narrowed his eyes. ‘You don’t believe me! You don’t think I have mastered it! Well, I have. It won’t happen again,’ said Charlie certainly.
***
Well, thought Charlie later that very evening, as he began licking himself clean, I was certainly wrong.
And why was Charlie licking himself clean?
Well, to find that out let’s go back a short while in time …
Charlie had arrived home feeling pretty chipper. It had been a good day: his class had had the supply teacher in all day, because their usual teacher, Arthur Wind, was on a three-day intensive strategy course with the headteacher, Miss Fyre, on a boat on the Norfolk Broads.
Mr Pointment, the supply teacher, had let them sit wherever they liked, and had let them do whatever they wanted in class as long as they were very quiet and hadn’t bothered him. He had sat at the front of the class for almost the whole day, eyes closed and holding his head in his hands, apart from a couple of times when he’d suddenly run out of the room, a look of pale urgency on his face.
Charlie’s good mood was spoilt not long after he got home. He and SmoothMove (Charlie’s big brother who had been ill but was now much better) had wolfed down their tea and were lying in front of the TV under the glow of the Christmas-tree lights, playing FIFA 19.
Charlie was losing as per usual.
They heard the key in the front door. It was their dad, home unusually early. He didn’t poke his head into the sitting-room to say hello, which was also unusual.
Charlie and SmoothMove could hear a low muttered conversation between their mum and dad coming from the kitchen. They could tell by the tone of their parents’ voices that all wasn’t right. SmoothMove and Charlie looked at each other.
‘What’s that all about?’ asked Charlie.
‘Dunno,’ SmoothMove replied. ‘Boring adult stuff, I reckon.’ He shrugged, then turned back to the game, but a nervous tension still rippled between them.
A little while later, their mum called them both into the kitchen. They both wandered in. Their mum and dad were sat at the table, both looking serious, both with their arms crossed.
‘Could you sit down?’ Charlie’s dad said. ‘We need to have a family conference.’
Charlie knew a family conference meant something big. Either something good-big or something bad-big. Unless Charlie was very much mistaken, the looks on his parents’ faces said this was something bad-big. His first thought was something was wrong with SmoothMove again, but his brother was sitting opposite him looking healthy and equally mystified at his dad’s behaviour, so it couldn’t be that.
‘I’m afraid to say,’ his dad announced, ‘we’re going to have to tighten our belts a little for a while.’
‘Why? Are we losing weight?’ Charlie asked.
‘No, Charlie. It’s an expression. It means we are going to have to save some money. A lot of money actually.’
This sounded like pretty terrible news to Charlie, especially as Christmas was fast approaching.
‘You see,’ continued his dad. ‘There’s been a bit of trouble at work and it could have some pretty serious repercussions.’
Charlie thought that Reaper Cushions sounded both awesome and comfortable but knew, by looking at his dad’s face, that now was not the time to say that.
‘What sort of repercussions, Dad?’ SmoothMove asked.
‘Well, it looks like we might have to downsize.’
‘Downsize? How do you mean?’ Charlie asked.
‘I mean that we might have to sell the house,’ his father replied.
Silence hit the kitchen. Charlie stared at his dad.
‘And then what?’ asked SmoothMove. ‘Where will we live?’
‘Well, there’s a chance we might have to move in with Aunt Brenda. Just for a short while. Until we sort things out more permanently.’
‘Aunt Brenda?!’ cried Charlie. ‘We can’t move in with Aunt Brenda!’
Aunt Brenda’s house was all the way over the other side of town and it smelled of cat wee.
Aunt Brenda had seventeen cats and one leg. She refused to get a fancy modern prosthetic leg, and as she walked around her house her wooden leg rapped on the floorboards like the deck of a pirate ship.
‘Now, it’s not certain,’ his dad continued. ‘Nothing’s set in stone. Fingers crossed, we’ll be able to sort out the work issue and everything will just go back to normal. But in the meantime we’re going to have to make a few savings.’ Charlie’s dad gave the table a watery smile.
‘But try not to worry, kids. We’ll all pull together as a family,’ said Charlie’s mum. ‘And if the worst comes to the w
orst, we can sell one of you,’ she continued with a twinkle in her eye.
‘Oh, that’s a good idea!’ said Dad, a cheeky smile crinkling his face. ‘That would be a proper money-saver. But it will be too tough to decide which one of you to keep, so you boys need to do rock-paper-scissors and the loser gets eBayed.’
They all laughed, breaking the tension a little.
But although his dad might have been smiling again, Charlie couldn’t mistake the shadow of concern still clouding his father’s eyes. And that shadow gave Charlie a knot in his stomach.
After a meal full of forced laughter, Charlie trudged upstairs, the knot in his stomach twisting tighter. He flopped on to his bed, staring at the ceiling, hands by his side. What exactly had happened at his dad’s work? Why was it so serious?
If Charlie was completely honest, he wasn’t even sure what his dad’s work involved. Something to do with computers? Inventing stuff, maybe? Charlie had asked umpteen times before, but whenever his dad had started replying with ‘Well, son, I mean, I have explained this to you a number of times before, but never mind, my job involves …’ he just switched off. He couldn’t help it. His ears stopped working. And now something was happening at his dad’s work that could mean they might have to sell their house and move in with Aunt Brenda?! Charlie groaned.
A feeling, and yet not a feeling – a memory of a feeling – rippled through his body unnoticed.
Would he have to share a room with SmoothMove?
Charlie was so preoccupied with worrying, he didn’t even notice his fingers beginning to crackle with static or his right eye twitching.
I mean, SmoothMove smelled awful. He never changed his socks. Charlie couldn’t possibly share a room with him – he’d have to wear one of those gas masks he’d seen in history lessons about the First World War.
His left eye twitching. Both eyes twitching.
