S P L U T !
Meanwhile, in the back, Mrs Glutton had been counting the cash she’d stolen from the Twaddle children. Because of the sudden stop she found herself upside down on the floor of the van.
“HELP ME, YOU FOOL!” she cried out to her husband, unable to pull herself up to stand.
“I CAN’T SEE!” shouted Mr Glutton as he scrambled over his seat into the back of the van. As he did so, his huge foot knocked the tap on the ice-cream pump.
Mr Whippy began swamping them.
“ARGH!” cried Mrs G. “My botty is frozen!”
Still blind from having a face full of ice cream, Mr G tripped over his wife and fell right on top of her.
“OOF!” he cried.
“OUCH!” she cried. “GET OFF ME, YOU GREAT LUMP!”
“I AM NOT A GREAT LUMP!”
“NO! I AM SORRY. I GOT IT WRONG. YOU ARE A MASSIVE LUMP!”
Ned, who was still hovering outside the window, burst out laughing.
“HA! HA! HA!”
“SOMEONE’S LAUGHING AT US!” barked Mr Glutton.
“THEY ARE REALLY GOING TO
GET IT!”
bawled Mrs Glutton.
* The Walliamsictionary is never wrong.
Mrs Glutton shoved her lump of a husband off her and scrambled to her feet. Next she shut off the ice-cream tap, which had still been splurging away.
CLICK!
“It’s Ned,” announced Ned, still hovering outside their van on his slocket. “Remember me?”
The boy was sure the pair would, after so cruelly stealing his pound note.
“No!” barked Glenda. “Should I?”
“Yes!” said the boy, miffed that he hadn’t been remembered.
“I know you!” began Glen.
Ned smiled. “Go on…!”
“Aren’t you the boy who was just flying by the window?”
“YES!” snapped Ned. “But I mean before then! Obviously!”
“You don’t ring any bells,” muttered Glenda.
“I am Ned. I ordered a Mr Whippy. I gave you a pound note. You just stole it and sped off! No ice cream. No nothing!”
Mr and Mrs Glutton looked at each other.
“Sorry, still no. Not a clue,” said Mrs Glutton.
“To be honest,” began Mr G, “we do that all day, every day, so try as we might we can’t remember individual victims.”
“Don’t take it to heart, boy,” chirped Mrs G, licking Mr Whippy off her chin with her thick, rough tongue.
If this was meant to pacify Ned, it had the opposite effect. The boy became enraged.
“Well, I am going to get my revenge on the pair of you! For me, and the hundreds of other children you have robbed.”
The pair looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“HA! HA! HA!”
“Hundreds?” began Mr Glutton. “It’s more like thousands!”
“Millions!” his wife chuckled.
“Billions!”
“Trillions!”
“Zillions!”
“HA! HA! HA!”
“Well, I, Ned, am going to use my
for all of them!” announced Ned.
“Your what?” grunted Glen.
“The boy is bananas,” grunted Glenda.
“Your crime spree is over!”
“You’ll have to catch us first!” exclaimed Mr Glutton. With that, he hauled himself on to the driving seat and stamped on the accelerator pedal.
STOMP!
BRRRRRRMMM!
“SO LONG, SUCKER!” they shouted.
The ice-cream van lurched off…
SCREECH!
…toppling Mrs Glutton off her feet again.
“OOF!” she cried as she landed on her ample bottom.
The problem was that the windscreen was STILL covered in ice cream. Mr Glutton couldn’t see a thing.
As a result, the van skidded off the road.
SCREECH!
Smashed through a hedge.
CRUNCH!
Then bumped its way across a field of cows.
BUMP! BUMP! BUMP!
“MOO! MOO! MOO!” cried the cows, as well you might if an ice-cream van was speeding straight at you, and, of course, you were a cow.
“WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, YOU FOOL!” yelled Mrs Glutton, bouncing up and down in the back.
“I CAN’T SEE A BLASTED THING!” yelled Mr Glutton.
He flicked on the windscreen wipers.
SWISH! SWASH! SWISH! SWASH!
“THE ICE CREAM WON’T COME OFF!” he bellowed.
“THAT’S BECAUSE IT’S ON THE INSIDE, YOU IGNORAMUS!” Mrs Glutton bellowed back.
The man shook his head and wiped the inside of the windscreen with his sleeve.
At last he could see! But the sight that greeted Mr Glutton made him shriek with horror.
“AAARRRGHHH!”
On Ned’s suggestion, Slime had formed into a giant Mr Whippy ice cream. The boy was the topping!
“REMEMBER ME NOW?” called Ned.
The ice-cream van was heading straight for it.
“STILL NO!” barked Mr Glutton. He was driving too fast to make the van stop!
He stamped on the brake hard.
STOMP!
So hard that the back wheels jumped up into the air.
WHOOSH!
It somersaulted over the giant Mr Whippy before crash-landing upside down on the grass.
KERTHUMP!
“MOO!” cried the cows as they scattered out of the way.
Slime trans-slimed back into a blob, placing Ned on to the back of a peeved-looking cow.
“MOO!”
Ned patted the cow. “Good girl!”
“WE’LL GET YOU FOR THIS, BOY!” shouted an upside-down Mr Glutton.
“WE’LL GET YOU GOOD AND PROPER!” agreed an upside-down Mrs Glutton.
Then the boy gave the cow a gentle slap, and it trotted closer to the ice-cream van. “Well, seeing as you love ice cream so much, I thought you might like to try the special slime flavour.”
“SLIME FLAVOUR?” bawled Glen.
“SOUNDS DISGUSTING!” bawled Glenda.
“It is!” replied the boy. “Slime! Let’s give the good Mr and Mrs Glutton a humongous helping!”
“A splendid idea, Ned,” it said, before oozing through the gap in the window.
“NOOOOOOO!” the pair screamed as goo began filling their upturned van.
Still the slime oozed and oozed in, until the entire upside-down ice-cream van was full to bursting.
Then the windscreen, windows and the doors exploded with the pressure.
CRACK!
SMASH!
BOOM!
The van broke into pieces.
CLATTER!
CLATTER!
CLATTER!
The gruesome twosome oozed out on to the cowpat-covered grass in a giant puddle of slime (or “sluddle”*).
“EURGH!” moaned Mrs Glutton. “I am all slimy!”
“What’s he done to our van?” cried Mr Glutton.
“Slime! Seize their ice cream!” ordered Ned.
“Goody! Goody!” replied the blob as it gathered itself back together.
“NOO!” cried the pair.
“We’ve barely eaten today!” said Mr G.
“We are starving!” added Mrs G.
But Slime was quick and had soon pulled the huge metal ice-cream dispenser out of the wreck of the van.
CLUNK!
“We have some hungry children to feed!” Ned announced. “Let’s fly.”
Slime became a giant airship or “SLIMEPPELIN”* and picked up the boy from the back of the grateful cow.
“MOO!”
Then it whisked Ned and the ice-cream dispenser high into the sky.
“WE’LL GET YOU…!” began Mr Glutton. “WHAT’S YOUR NAME AGAIN?”
“SO LONG, SUCKERS!” called back Ned.
* “Sluddle” could also mean “slime cuddle”, so be careful when using i
t in everyday speech. If in doubt, consult your Walliamsictionary.
* A genius merging of the words “slime” and “Zeppelin”, the old German airship named after its inventor, proving that The Walliamsictionary is an excellent educational tool.
The kids from Twaddle School for Noble Offspring were still boo-hoo-hooing beside the ruin when Ned returned in his airship made of slime.
“BOO! HOO! HOO!”
“KIDS!” called out Ned. “I told you I would be back! And I’ve brought ice cream!”
“YES!” they all cheered as Slime and Ned descended. Slime set the ice-cream dispenser down on a boring block of stone that the grown-ups claimed was once part of Mulch’s Medieval Fort.
The posh children all rushed over to the big metal box of Mr Whippy.
“ICE CREAM!” they cried. “YAHOO!”
Slime was now back to its blobulous self, sitting next to Ned on a mossy stone. The friends shared a smile at another job well done.
In an instant, the cheers of the children turned to silence.
“Excuse me, but where are the cones?” asked one.
“Oh, sorry, we didn’t think to bring any cones,” replied Ned, rather taken aback.
“And I am partial to a chocolate flake,” remarked another.
“Well, we didn’t really have time to—”
“And the hundreds and thousands?” enquired a third.
“Ungrateful little—” began Slime.
“Shush!” shushed Ned.
“BOO! HOO! HOO!” they all bawled together.
“NOW WE ARE NOT GOING TO HAVE ANY ICE CREAM!” moaned one.
“THIS TRIP HAS GONE FROM BAD TO WORSE!” whined another.
“TAKE ME BACK TO DOUBLE MATHS!” whimpered a third.
Slime rolled its eyes. “I’ve got a good mind to take that ice-cream dispenser, and shove it—”
“SHUSH!” shushed Ned. “Look, kids, all you have to do is flick the nozzle and it’s… AN ICE-CREAM PARTY!”
Ned did just that…
CLICK!
…and the soft white Mr Whippy ice cream splurged out.
SPLURGE!
It splurged all over Ned.
SPLURGE!
It splurged all over Slime.
SPLURGE!
It splurged all over the children.
SPLURGE!
It splurged all over Mulch’s Medieval Fort.
In no time, everyone was covered in the stuff! They looked like snowmen!
“ICE-CREAM PARTY!” cried one, licking the ice cream off her nose.
“THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!” cried another, scooping handfuls of ice cream off the top of her head and shoving them in her mouth.
“I still would have liked a flake,” muttered a third, tearfully.
“I am dairy intolerant,” remarked a fourth. “Is there a vegan option?”
“You can’t please everyone,” muttered Ned to Slime.
“It certainly seems that way,” it replied. “Where next, my friend? The day is coming to an end.”
Ned instantly knew where. “Everything today has been leading up to this. This is the last one. And it is going to be dangerous.”
“Goody! Goody! I love danger!” Slime replied.
Are you allergic to cats?” asked Ned. It was an important question. Aunt Greta had 101 of them.
“Not that I know of,” said Slime.
“Then let’s go!” exclaimed the boy.
“Do you have a preferred mode of transport?”
“Surprise me!”
Slime smiled, and trans-slimed into a flying saucer.
“A flying saucer!” exclaimed Ned as he watched the thing spin and spin.
“I suppose I was thinking of cats. Cats drink out of saucers!”
“You are clever.”
“I know!” agreed Slime.
“Let’s go!”
Slime plucked the boy from the fort and placed him on top of the flying saucer.
“Which way, Ned?” it asked.
The boy was spinning round on top of the saucer and beginning to feel more than a little dizzy. However, he could see his aunt’s colossal castle sitting proudly on the tallest hill on the island.
“THAT WAY!” he said, pointing in every direction.
“You mean the castle?” asked Slime.
“YES!”
“So, who lives there?”
“The person who owns this wretched island. The one who loathes children more than anyone, my Aunt Greta.”
“She sounds delightful!” joked Slime.
“Delightful is not the first word that springs to mind.”
“So I take it you are not close?”
“Close? Ha! Ha! I haven’t seen Aunt Greta in a long, long time!”
“Well then, we need to pop by!”
The Slime flying saucer spun faster and faster through the sky, with poor Ned clinging on for dear life.
WHIRR!
There are cat ladies, and there are CAT LADIES. Aunt Greta Greed was a CAT LADY. She had over a hundred of them. Aunt Greta and her 101 cats (I told you she had over one hundred) lived in a remote castle. It stood high on a hill overlooking the entire Isle of Mulch, which she owned. Because of her obsession with cats, Aunt Greta had named her home KITTY LITTER CASTLE.
The grand old lady wore long flowing dresses dotted with images of cats. Whenever she walked, she clanked, because she was drowning in jewellery.
All Aunt Greta’s jewellery was, of course, cat-themed.
Cat brooches.
Cat earrings.
Cat bracelets.
Cat rings.
Cat watches.
Cat pendants.
She even had a cat tiara, a crazy cat crown!
On her walls the lady had the most extraordinary collection of artwork, as long as you liked cats. The cats were often rendered in re-creations of famous paintings.
The Mona Moggy
The Cat’s Scream
Pussy with a Pearl Earring
The Son of Cat
The Moggy’s Mother
The Cat’s Kiss
The Laughing Catalier
Pussy Portrait with a Bandaged Ear
Cat Leading the Cats
The Cat’s Luncheon on the Grass
But there weren’t just paintings of cats. Oh no. There were also statues of cats everywhere, in bronze, silver and gold.
Here was a statue of a cat playing with a ball of wool.
Here was another of one curled up asleep.
She even had one of a cat licking its own bottom.
As Aunt Greta had 101 cats, she couldn’t possibly remember that many names. So she decided to name every single one of them Tiddles.
“Tiddles! It’s dinnertime!” she would call, and 101 cats would charge towards her, sweeping her off her feet.
Cats were Aunt Greta’s only friends.
The lady didn’t like people. She didn’t trust them. Even though Ned was her nephew, she never, ever saw him, or her niece, Jemima, or even her younger sister, their mother. That is because Greta had come into a large inheritance from a long-lost relative. It was millions upon millions upon millions.
And Greed wasn’t sharing a penny of it with anybody!
There was a huge sign outside the castle that read:
If this wasn’t enough to put you off trying to get in, then the lack of a drawbridge over the moat might. Years ago, Aunt Greta Greed burned it, and it sank into the water below. With no drawbridge to the castle, nobody could come near. Greed could be left all alone with her riches. And, of course, her cats.
These pampered creatures sported sparkling diamond-encrusted collars, devoured caviar (fish eggs, which might not sound expensive, but which are hideously so), and slept on silk sheets in four-poster beds.
In the event of her death, Aunt Greta was planning to leave Kitty Litter Castle and all its contents to – you’ve guessed it – her cats.
There were times when those close to Aunt Greta begged for
her to help them.
For a morsel of food.
For somewhere to sleep for the night.
For a penny to help anybody, even those in desperate need.
Even Ned, when he needed some new tyres for his wheelchair, had been spurned by his wicked aunt. As were all the children of the island. One day a group of children plucked up the courage to ask, “Please may we play a game of football on one of the fields you own?”
Without a word to them, Aunt Greta set her 101 cats on the children.
“TIDDLES! ATTACK!”
Needless to say, the children never asked again.
But they never forgot her cruelty.
And neither did Ned.
The Slime flying saucer or USO (Unidentified Sliming Object) spun through the sky. It spun so fast that poor Ned couldn’t hold on any longer. One by one Ned could feel his fingers lose their grip. As the USO flew over KITTY LITTER CASTLE, the boy felt himself flying through the air.
“ARGH!” he screamed.
Slime chased after him, but Ned was spinning so fast it couldn’t catch him.
He tumbled through the air into the castle’s moat.
SPLOSH!
The boy sank deep under the water. He couldn’t swim. Unless Slime did something, and fast, Ned would be no more.
Slime dived down into the moat and came back up as some kind of sea monster with a soaked Ned riding on its back.
Needless to say, as it was wet, the monster was ssslippery too! Ned couldn’t hold on.
“WHOA!” he cried as he slid down the monster’s back.
Just as he was about to fall off completely, the monster swished its tail and sent the boy flying through the air.
Slime: The new children’s book from No. 1 bestselling author David Walliams. Page 7
