Attack of the Alien Brain

by Steve Hartley

  Toby Hadron had come first in a science competition and won a trip to see the collection of dinosaur fossils at the Museum of Prehistory. He showed us a scary fossilized T-rex tooth he’d been given as a prize.

  Hattie Hurley said she’d been selected for the Super-Spellers Cheerleading team, and was going to Australia in the summer holidays to compete in the World Championships.

  Hattie then showed part of her cheerleading routine, bouncing around at the front of the class, waving red, white and blue pom-poms above her head, and chanting:

  Peaches told us she’d lost her sun hat over the weekend, and showed us one she’d made out of recycled yogurt pots. (Pea eats gallons of yogurt, because she says it’s good for her gut flora – whatever that means!)

  Bobby Bragg laughed and said she looked barmy.

  Hattie Hurley said she looked bizarre.

  I said she looked BRILLIANT.

  ‘After last Monday’s performance, I hear that Oliver has been grounded all week,’ said Miss Wilkins, after calling my name out. ‘So I don’t suppose he’ll have much to SHOW AND TELL today.’

  She was right – I didn’t. As I began to walk to the front of the class, I noticed Peaches frown at me and shake her head. But then I saw Millie Dangerfield’s face looking at me, desperate to hear more about the alien brain, and just like last time the words came out before I could stop them.

  ‘At midnight on Tuesday,’ I said. ‘The brain came back!’

  Several of the kids gasped, and glanced nervously at Miss Wilkins.

  ‘Oliver …’ she growled.

  But the pictures were already running through my mind, so I carried on anyway, waving my arms about dramatically.

  ‘Oliver …’ warned Miss Wilkins.

  ‘It was gently, glowing with a strange green light from the luminous slime it had picked up in the drains,’ I told the class. ‘It was covered in lumps of dark, icky, sticky stuff, and it STANK of …’

  ‘I think we can all guess what it stank of, Oliver,’ interrupted Miss Wilkins. ‘Now go back to your seat …’

  ‘Awww, but, miss,’ said Millie Dangerfield, ‘I want to know what happened!’

  Amazingly, shy little Leon Curley put his hand up and said, ‘Me too.’

  Miss Wilkins sighed. ‘Go on then, Oliver, tell us how you escaped from the brain.’

  ‘That can’t have taken long,’ laughed Bobby Bragg.

  Everyone laughed with him. Even Miss Wilkins smiled.

  ‘I felt the cold, slimy goo creep into my ears and up my nose,’ I said. ‘I was seconds away from having a jelly-baby brain.’

  ‘Too late!’ shouted Bobby Bragg. ‘You’ve already got one, Oliver Fibbs!’

  ‘Shh!’ hissed Millie Dangerfield.

  ‘EUGHHHHH!’ groaned the class. Hattie Hurley went pale.

  ‘It turns out that my goldfish, Tango, is actually an intergalactic alien hunter from the planet Pondalia.’ I explained. ‘He’s been tracking the alien brains across the Milky Way, and rounding them up one by one. That’s why those brains were in jars in the cupboard.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Millie Dangerfield.

  ‘Of course,’ laughed Toby Hadron. ‘It all makes sense now!’

  Peaches glared at him. ‘You’re not funny, Toby.’

  I carried on. ‘He said that the invasion of Earth is being masterminded from the drains beneath our city by a mysterious SECRET ORGANIZATION.’

  ‘Well, children, isn’t it amazing what exciting things can happen when you’re grounded?’ said Miss Wilkins. ‘And, Oliver, what have you got to show the class to prove that this actually happened?’

  This time, I was ready.

  I put my hand in my pocket and took out the blob of luminous green Slimy Stuff that Algy had put in the twins’ ballet slippers. It dripped and oozed between my fingers.

  ‘This is all that’s left of the brain from the drain.’

  Hattie Hurley threw up again.

  Bobby Bragg shouted, ‘Phoney baloney, you make me go groany!’

  I lost two more SHINE TIME points, which took my score down to -3. I also got playtime detention again. As the kids in my class rushed and pushed to get out into the playground, some of them were definitely looking at me differently.

  I sat with Miss Wilkins in the empty classroom, and while she pinned up pictures of EGYPTIAN gods for our new history project, I wrote down the latest instalment of my

  It was actually good fun, but as it was supposed to be a punishment I sighed a lot and pretended to look fed-up.

  At lunch break that day, I was just tucking into a BIG DOLLOP of yummy lasagne, when someone suddenly whispered in my ear: ‘Bad things happen to people who tell fibs.’

  I jumped with fright, and slopped lasagne down my shirt. I turned, and Bobby Bragg leaned his sneering face so close to mine I could smell the pickled onions he’d had with his lunch.

  ‘They’re not fibs,’ I said. ‘They’re … stories.’

  Bobby snorted. ‘Well, they’re rubbish stories – Dull And Boring, just like you.’

  He swaggered over to the SAS KIDS’ table.

  Peaches shook her head, and opened her bag. She unzipped one of the pockets inside, pulled out a packet of tissues and wiped the cheese and tomato from my shirt.

  ‘You need to wash that off when you get home,’ she said, taking her notebook out of the bag. ‘If you don’t, it’ll leave a stain.’

  She opened the notebook to the page where we’d been putting our ideas for the playground, and began to read out the list:

  ‘Slide, climbing frame, hopscotch, sandpit, comfy benches, football goals, basketball hoops, seesaw, roundabout, picnic tables …’

  Suddenly, a hand reached over her shoulder and snatched the book away.

  Bobby Bragg stood over her, grinning as he read the list. ‘Is this all you’ve got?’

  Peaches tried to grab the book back, but Bobby held it in the air, out of her reach.

  ‘Hey, gang!’ he called to the SAS KIDS. ‘Listen to this!’ Then he read out our ideas in a silly voice. ‘Pathetic!’ he sneered at the end of it.

  Peaches stood up and held her hand out. ‘Give it back. That’s private.’

  Bobby grinned at her, but continued to hold on to the book. ‘You might as well give up now,’ he said, nodding towards the SAS table. ‘Look.’

  They had started making a 3-D model of their playground idea, complete with cardboard trees and cut-out children.

  Jamie Ryder hurried over to our table. ‘Leave them alone, Bobby,’ he said, taking Peaches’ book and handing it back to her.

  ‘You’re nothing but a great big SHOW-OFF, Bobby Bragg,’ said Peaches.

  ‘Losers!’ he laughed, and swaggered back to his seat.

  As I watched him, I thought, WHAT IF … my Agent Q pen could project an anti-gravity ray at the big jug of custard on the serving counter?

  ‘Take no notice of him said Jamie. ‘Melody and I have decided to form our own team for the competition. We’ve all got good ideas, but Bobby Bragg just thinks his are the best.’

  He smiled at me. ‘Cool SHOW AND TELL today, Ollie.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I replied.

  When Constanza came to school to pick me up (twelve minutes late – she couldn’t find the stupido car keys), she looked really worried as Miss Wilkins told her about my performance that morning. This time, Constanza was frowning like she’d caught a bad case of . I could see that even she was beginning to think I was like Peter Cowper.

  Will I be grounded again? I hoped. No chance. Mum and Dad really punished me this time:

  ‘You’re banned from reading comics for the whole week!’ ordered Mum.

  ‘But what will I do?’ I wailed.

  ‘Here’s a good idea,’ said Dad. ‘You can watch the twins rehearse for the ballet on Saturday afternoon, then go and see them perform in the evening. That’ll be fun!’

  I wondered,WHAT IF … the mutant radioactive bacteria had spread from their feet to their whole bodie
s?

  Now that would be fun!

  On Sunday, I watched Algy compete in his big European Qualifier chess match. He won easily this time. I saw him at me and wave, so I put my thumbs up to congratulate him.

  WHAT IF … Algy was a TOP-SECRET D.O.P.E.S. robot?

  When we got home that afternoon, Mum and Constanza were standing together outside the downstairs bathroom, looking worried and whispering to each other. The sound of the flushing toilet filled the hallway. They gasped as we walked in, and I saw Mum try to hide Tango’s empty goldfish bowl behind her back.

  ‘Oh! Oliver! You’re home early!’ she said, flustered.

  ‘Algy won in nineteen moves,’ I explained. ‘What are you doing? Where’s Tango?’

  Mum glanced guiltily into the toilet. ‘Oliver, I’ve got some bad news …’

  ‘You’ve flushed Tango down there!’ I cried with horror.

  Constanza put her arm round my shoulders. ‘Oliver, I’m sorry, but your fish goes to heaven when you are out,’ she said softly, speaking in English for once. ‘I find him floating – how do you say? – bottom-side up in his bowl.’

  ‘Upside down,’ I corrected.

  ‘We got you another one from the Cowpers next door,’ said Mum, pointing to a goldfish around in a jam jar on the hall table. ‘They have a tankful. We didn’t think you’d notice the difference.’

  I looked at the other fish. ‘He’s nothing like Tango,’ I said.

  ‘Oliver, he’s exactly like Tango,’ said Dad.

  ‘He’s not an intergalactic alien hunter from the planet Pondalia, for a start!’

  No one spoke. They all looked at me like I’d grown another head. I could almost see the thoughts forming:

  I peeked down into the toilet. Suddenly, Tango’s body appeared from round the U-bend and floated slowly to the surface of the water.

  ‘He might just be asleep,’ said Algy, picking up the toilet brush and giving Tango a gentle poke.

  My goldfish sank a few centimetres into the water, rolled gracefully over and then bobbed back to the surface again. He didn’t wake up. There was no doubt about it: Tango was as DEAD as the DEADEST goldfish you can imagine, times a million.

  ‘Sorry, Ollie,’ said Algy.

  WHAT IF … I killed Tango? I wondered. WHAT IF … the shock of having a clean fishbowl had given him a heart attack? WHAT IF … the mastermind behind the alien invasion had sneaked up from the drains and poisoned him?

  ‘Goodbye, Tango,’ I said, and with a deep sigh flushed the toilet once more. ‘Go and save the world.’

  There were bright flashes of orange as his little fishy body tumbled in the bubbling, churning water, then he was gone. We all peered into the toilet, waiting to see if Tango would float back up again, but this time he’d gone for good.

  ‘I don’t want another fish,’ I said sadly, and went up to my room.

  I studied my collection of Agent Q comics, lined up in numerical order on three bookshelves in the corner of my bedroom. I know I was banned from reading them for the weekend, but this was an emergency. I pulled Beasts from the Deep from the middle of the second row, and sat on my bed to read it. But for once I couldn’t get interested in the story. I kept going over the same strip of pictures again and again, but the words just wouldn’t stick in my head.

  There was a knock at the door, and Mum came in. I slid the comic quickly under my pillow, and tried to look casual.

  ‘Oliver, I’m really sorry about Tango,’ she said, sitting down next to me. ‘I didn’t realize you were so fond of him.’

  ‘He was my pet,’ I said, being careful not to mention the alien-spy-hunter thing again.

  ‘I know, I just never realized you were so interested in fish,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not interested in fish,’ I told her. ‘Just Tango.’

  ‘Oh, I see. So there’s no point in getting you some books on marine biology then.’

  ‘No.’

  Mum sighed and stared at me for ages, while I picked at a loose piece of cotton on my duvet cover, and imagined Tango’s body floating through the drains and eventually finding its way to sea.

  ‘Oliver,’ she said quietly, ‘if you could do one thing in the world – anything – what would you want to do?’

  I looked at her. ‘Anything?’

  ‘Anything.’

  I’d be a SUPER-SECRET SPECIAL AGENT working for a SUPER-SECRET ORGANIZATION whose sole aim was to save the world from evil and … stuff.’

  Mum narrowed her eyes a little. ‘Apart from that,’ she said.

  ‘Read more comics.’

  ‘Oliver, you can’t spend the rest of your life reading comics.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s a waste of time,’ Mum replied. ‘You need to find out what skills you have, what you’re BRILLIANT at.’

  ‘Well, I can blow BUBBLEGUM BUBBLES as big as a football,’ I said. ‘Peaches says that’s a spectacular skill.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ said Mum. She sounded tired. ‘Maybe you’ll be a star performer with GIRQUE DU LUNE one day.’

  I grinned. ‘That would be cool.’

  time was especially bad the next morning.

  Bobby Bragg showed us the five gold medals he had won at the inter-schools athletics tournament. Bobby said that Mr Beam, the PE teacher, had said that one day Bobby could be the best athlete the world has ever seen.

  Melody Nightingale had sang for world-famous popstar Barry Barlow (which is pretty spectacular).

  Toby Hadron showed us a photo of Saturn he’d taken through his super-duper astronomical telescope at home (I looked hard but couldn’t see any aliens).

  Peaches had found a potato shaped like a hamster (I thought it looked more like a hippo).

  When my turn came, I held up Tango’s empty goldfish bowl.

  ‘My goldfish died yesterday.’

  All the girls in the class went, ‘Awwwww.’

  Miss Wilkins looked sad and said, ‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Oliver. What happened?’

  I did it again.

  ‘He was killed by the EViL BADDiE who’s masterminding the invasion of the Earth,’ I replied.

  ‘Oh!’ said Miss Wilkins.

  I put the bowl on the table and carried on.

  ‘Tango had decided to take the ALIEN brains in jars back to his planet and lock them up,’ I said quickly. ‘I dressed him in a hat and overcoat and sunglasses, so no one would suspect he was really a two-metre-tall ALIEN hunter from the planet Pondalia. Then we climbed into my Mamba Venom Mark 3 sports car …’

  ‘Cool car!’ said Jamie Ryder.

  ‘Totally!’ I agreed. ‘Then I pressed the secret rocket activation button on my special pen, and the Mamba transformed into a rocket ship.’

  ‘There was no time to lose,’ I told the class. ‘Tango had to go down the toilet.’

  ‘I wish you would!’ shouted Bobby Bragg.

  ‘Bobby, that’s enough!’ snapped Miss Wilkins. ‘Go on, Oliver.’

  ‘I rushed from the hospital and into the car park. There was a manhole cover in the corner near the building, so I heaved it off, dived down the drain and into the sewers.’

  EUGHHHHH!’ went the class.

  ‘In the distance, echoing down the long smelly tunnel, I heard the sound of fighting.’

  I saw Peaches’ hand fly to her mouth as she giggled and glanced at Bobby Bragg. She knew the SHOW-OFF’s SECRET IDENTITY. Bobby frowned and looked cross – I think he knew it too!

  It was so quiet in the classroom, you could have heard a beetle burp.

  ‘How did you escape?’ whispered Millie Dangerfield.

  ‘I suddenly remembered I had my D.O.P.E.S. pen in my pocket,’ I said. ‘Quick as a flash, I whipped it out, pressed the anti-gravity button and fired.’

  ‘I grabbed Tango’s body …’

  ‘But he’s two metres tall,’ said Bobby Bragg. ‘How could you lift him?’

  ‘I told you: his body had shrunk back to goldfish size befor
e he dived down the toilet.’

  ‘Try to keep up, Bobby,’ laughed Peaches, and he shot her a furious look.

  ‘Anyway,’ I went on, ‘using the torch on the end of my D.O.P.E.S. pen, I ran along the tunnel back to the drain but, just when I was nearly free, something grabbed my leg! I kicked hard and slammed the manhole cover down, chopping off the alien’s hand! It wriggled on the ground for a second,’ I said, wringgling my own hand to demonstrate, ‘and then shrivelled into a wet, messy blob.’

  Hattie Hurley covered her mouth and raced from the room.

  ‘What did you do with the fish?’ asked Millie Dangerlield.

  ‘I sent him home for a decent burial.’

  ‘Well, Oliver,’ said Miss Wilkins. ‘What a cliff-hanger!’

  ‘How come you’ve still got the goldfish bowl if it blasted into space?’ said Toby Hadron.

  I’d forgotten about the bowl!

  ‘Er … the Pondalians sent it back to me,’ I replied. ‘As a thank-you present for helping Tango.’

  Bobby snorted. ‘Fake, fake! You eat squashed cake!’

  I got playtime detention again, and wrote down the latest episode of DABMAN . For some reason, Miss Wilkins didn’t take any more SHINE TIME points off my score. She must have forgotten.

  At lunchtime, I sat with Peaches in the school playground, munching on a banana. I stared at the shabby slide, the rusty roundabout and the creaky climbing frame, and racked my brains for ideas. It was no use; my mind was as as the space beyond the edge of the universe.

  ‘The competition closes on Friday,’ said Peaches. ‘What are we going to do?’

  The other kids ran and skipped and hopped, kicking footballs, playing tag, laughing and shouting to each other.

  Bobby Bragg was climbing the steps to the top of the tunnel slide – a long, curling metal tube. He saw me and grinned.

  ‘Look out, Fibbs!’ he shouted, pointing at the climbing frame. ‘That space rocket has just landed, and it’s full of ten-eyed, eight-bottomed, twelve-legged from the planet Biggadiggaboomboom! Better get your dopey pen out and start fighting!’

  I tried to ignore him.

  ‘If you need any help, let me know,’ he laughed. ‘I’m a real fighter!’