by Sam Rhodes
“How did he get up there?” said Simon.
“Maybe Vince and his pals?” said Ricky. “We’ve got to rescue him.”
“Be careful!” said Simon. “That hippo is still on the loose. Maybe you should leave it to the fire brigade.”
“They won’t get there in time,” said Ricky, already donning his Long Arm suit.
He ran across the lab, to where an oil-stained sheet lay draped over a workbench. He whipped it off, to reveal the Vecta3000. Wondering what that is? Well, it was a skateboard, with some rockets attached.
Ricky climbed on. “Light me up!”
Simon lit the rockets, and Ricky shot off through the tunnel.
He emerged by the sports pavilion in the school fields, then steered the Vecta3000 through the streets of Wolvesley, until he arrived at the town square.
“Help me!” cried Spencer. “I’m going to fall.”
“Don’t panic!” called Ricky. “Long Arm is here.”
A crowd had gathered around the bottom of the statue, and Ricky pushed his way through. He reached up his arm, letting it uncoil and loop over the statue’s shoulder until his hand was hanging down the other side.
“You’ll have to let go!” he shouted. “Take my hand.”
Spencer looked down, beads of sweat pouring off his forehead.
“I can’t!”
“Do it!” said Ricky. “Trust me!”
Then Spencer’s fingers slipped and he plummeted.
All of Wolvesley watched in horror.
Ricky stretched his arm, and snagged Spencer’s belt just before he hit the ground.
All of Wolvesley cheered.
And then went about their business. They were getting used to Long Arm’s heroics.
Ricky led Spencer away from the statue to a quiet spot on a bench.
“Thank you!” said Spencer. “You saved me, Long Arm!”
Ricky thought he sounded a bit sad.
“No problem,” he replied. “But how did you even get up there?”
Spencer blushed. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why are you sorry?” said Ricky.
“For this,” said Spencer. Ricky saw he was holding something in his hand. It was a brown canvas bag. He lifted it above Ricky’s head.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER 7
A PAIN IN THE NECK
Bright lights blinded Ricky.
He was lying face-up, and when he tried to move, he realized his arms and legs were tied.
Gradually, squinting, he made out a vast windowless room. He was on a table. He managed to turn his head, and the first thing he saw was a motorbike.
“Wakey, wakey!” said a voice he recognized.
Mrs Schofield stood over him. “Take off his mask,” she said.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” said Spencer’s voice.
“Don’t you want to know who the mysterious Long Arm really is?” she replied.
“No!” mumbled Ricky.
But Spencer appeared, hooked his fingers under the mask and pulled it off.
“Ricky Mitre!” he said.
“Of course it’s young Mitre!” said Mrs Schofield. “Couldn’t you even work that out, silly boy? The four-foot-tall boy who can suddenly score twenty slam dunks in a basketball match… The lateness at school timed perfectly with superheroics in Wolvesley… The grades plummeting almost as fast as Long Arm’s fame grows…”
Spencer was pale with shock.
“What’s going on?” said Ricky. “Let me go!”
Mrs Schofield smiled. It was the same smile she’d used in assembly, only instead of looking sweet and nice, it now looked like the sort of smile a crocodile might give you if you happened to stick your head into its pen at the zoo.
“I’ve been following you,” said Mrs Schofield. “Ever since Long Arm hit the news, I’ve wanted to know your secret.”
“You took the Orange Ade, didn’t you?” he said.
“You might not know it, but Orange Ade contains Plutonium six, a rare ingredient known for stretching molecules.”
“And it tastes great!” said Spencer.
“You really shouldn’t drink it,” said his mother. “Plutonium six was used by the Russians for fuelling rockets in the sixties.”
“The animals – that was you too, wasn’t it?” said Ricky.
“I heard you were no good at maths, Mitre. But at last you’ve put two and two together!”
“And Spencer was just bait!”
“Which you swallowed hook, line and sinker!”
Ricky fought against the bonds, but couldn’t move.
Mrs Schofield looked up and down his arm. “Such power!” she said. “And now it will be mine.” She took out a pair of scissors.
“Are you going to try and cut my arm off with a pair of scissors?” said Ricky. “I really don’t think that will work.”
“No, you idiot!” she said. “Not yet, anyway.” She came closer, then took his hand in hers and with a quick snip, cut off a sliver on his fingernail. She walked quickly across the room to what looked like a giant metal egg. “I just need your DNA,” she said. She pressed a switch and a panel slid back. She laid the piece of nail inside and the panel closed again. “My machine will analyse your biological make-up, and I will replicate your power. Soon I will be Long Arm, and I will rule the world!”
“Er… how will a long arm let you rule the world?” said Ricky.
“Shut up!” screeched Mrs Schofield. “Do not question my evilness.”
“What will you do with Ricky?” said Spencer.
“I haven’t decided yet,” said his mother. “Rest assured, it will be … messy.”
“But he’s my friend,” said Spencer.
Mrs Schofield rolled her eyes. “You don’t need friends, Spencer. Soon you will be a prince in my empire.”
“Again,” interrupted Ricky. “Not sure you’ve completely thought this through…”
“Enough!” said Mrs Schofield. “The time has come.”
She opened the door to the egg-shaped pod, and stepped inside. As she closed the door behind her, lights flashed over the surface.
“What’s she doing?” asked Ricky.
Spencer just swallowed.
Back in the lab, Simon was wondering where Ricky had got to. He’d watched the rescue at the statue on the monitors, then gone back to sifting the footage looking for missing animals. And at last, he found something.
It came from the zoo camera focused on the ape enclosure. It showed someone sneaking inside, and bundling up a chimpanzee. At first Simon couldn’t tell who is was, but then he recognized the shoes. Biker boots.
“It’s Mrs Schofield!” he gasped.
But why was she stealing animals?
*
“Why’s she stealing animals?” asked Ricky.
“Experimentation,” Spencer replied. “She’s wanted your secret from the start, but she didn’t want to test on herself.”
Ricky’s veins flooded with anger. Elliot … what had she done to him?
In the lab, Simon tried calling Ricky again on their communicators. No answer.
He went back to the footage from the rescue. He saw Ricky lead Spencer away. A horrible feeling dawned over him, like someone pouring iced water into his underpants.
“If Mrs Schofield was bad…”
He swapped cameras and found Long Arm and Spencer on a bench together. They were talking. Then … what was that? A hood!
Simon watched as Ricky toppled over. A few seconds later a motorbike cruised into view, ridden by Mrs Schofield. Spencer helped load Ricky’s limp body across the seat. Then they sped away.
But where was she taking him? Simon scanned all the monitors. No sign of the bike, Mrs Schofield or anything suspicious. Which meant they’d gone to the only place the cameras were down.
“The docks!” said Simon.
*
As the fizzes and pops ended, the pod was glowing orange from all the Orange Ade. The door ope
ned with a hiss and orange smoke billowed out. Spencer was trembling.
A single arm emerged from the smoke.
Then another.
Both were normal length. Ricky breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t worked.
Then Mrs Schofield staggered out.
Something was wrong.
She had no head. Or rather, her neck didn’t end in a head. It ended in more neck. She walked out, and with every step another foot of neck was revealed.
“What’s happening?” she said, her voice coming from inside the pod. Her feet stumbled and tripped as though she couldn’t see where she was going, and still her neck unravelled. Spencer leapt back as she lumbered aimlessly towards them.
Then, finally, her head appeared.
“Oh dear,” she said.
Simon shot across the sky in his ED costume. His on-board systems analysed trajectories and windspeeds, satellite movement and traffic flow. And, of course, Twitter.
“One minute until destination,” said the suit calmly.
Simon angled down, heading straight for the warehouses that lined the dockside. Mrs Schofield was there somewhere.
And so was his friend.
“Mum?” said Spencer. “Are you OK?”
Mrs Schofield’s head shot down to face him.
“Never better!” she said. Her neck wobbled around like a melted cheese stick. “Just getting my bearings.”
“Why is your neck long instead of your arm?”
“I have no idea,” she replied. “But this won’t stop me. Wolvesley will still be mine. And then, the world!” She switched on a TV screen. Britain’s Got Flatulence was on. For a second Mrs Schofield forgot what she was meant to be doing and instead startingwatching the greatest TV show in the world.
She quickly snapped out of it and switched over the twenty-four-hour Wolvesley newschannel, which showed Sammy Sammerson fast asleep with his head on his news desk. “You’ll have a prime view…”
Ricky pleaded with his teacher. “Please, Mrs Schofield. Don’t do this!”
Mrs Schofield glowered at him. “Quiet!” she shouted. “I am no longer Mrs Schofield, I … am Long Neck.”
She began to laugh uncontrollably, violently throwing her head from side to side like the Loch Ness Monster thrashing in the water.
“Spencer, you make sure he stays exactly where he is.”
Then she marched right out of the door, banging her head on the way.
Simon couldn’t believe what he saw. Coming out of one of warehouse doors was Mrs Schofield. Or most of her, at least. Her neck looked like stringy piece of melted cheese, stretched and stretched until it was over fifty feet long.
“Arm missiles!” he said.
ED locked on target.
“Fire!”
The twin missiles scorched through the air towards Mrs Schofield. Her neck contorted into an S shape, and both missed, exploding in the water behind.
“Glad you could join me!” said Mrs Schofield, suddenly right in Simon’s ear. He felt something tightening around his middle. She’d clutched him in the coils of her neck.
Then she hurled him across the warehouse rooftops.
CHAPTER 8
LONG NECK ON THE RAMPAGE
“Welcome to The Wolvesley Hour. I’m Sammy Sammerson, wide awake for once. This just in... We have reports of a sighting of a mystery creature reaching enormous heights down at the Wolvesley docks. More on this as we get it…”
Mrs Schofield marched into the centre of Wolvesley. “Kneel, my subjects!” she boomed.
But no one heard her, because she was too high up.
And that only made Mrs Schofield angrier!
She headbutted a couple of seagulls out of the sky, just because she could.
“You’re listening to Wolvesley FM where we guarantee to make your ears smile. I’m Clare Waves. I’m interrupting the Desert Penguins to bring you news that a new threat faces our town. She’s being dubbed Long Neck and right now she’s breathing on the highest windows in town and writing naughty messages. The question on everyone’s lips… Where is Long Arm? Where is our saviour?”
“Spencer, you have to let me go!” said Ricky, as he watched the news footage of the poor seagulls. “I’m the only one who can stop her.”
“I … I can’t,” said Spencer. “She’ll go mad.”
“I think that boat might have sailed,” said Ricky. “Hate to break it to you, Spence, but your mum’s bonkers. She just ate a pigeon.”
“She’s just misguided,” said Spencer.
“Well, she’s going to hurt innocent people,” said Ricky.
Spencer swallowed. “But … she’s my mum.”
“Then you need to help her,” said Ricky. “Help me, and I can stop her before the Air Force scrambles fighter jets to shoot her down.”
Spencer’s eyes went wide. “Would they do that?”
Ricky nodded.
Spencer took the scissors and snipped off the ropes tying Ricky down.
Just as he’d finished, the door burst inwards. Simon stood there, in his ED suit.
He ran straight at Spencer, brandishing Mr Smears’s mophead like a sword.
“You’ll pay for this!” he cried.
Spencer cowered as the mop came down with brutal force.
Ricky caught ED’s hand just in time.
“Spencer’s on our side. We need to work together,” said Ricky. “All three of us.” Even though Simon was angry, he trusted his best friend. “OK,” he said. “Let’s stop her.”
“First, where’s Elliot?” said Ricky. He grabbed his mask and tied it back in place.
“Follow me,” said Spencer.
*
Meanwhile, back at home, Mr Pinkerton was making some final preparations.
Tonight was a big night for Ricky’s teacher. The regional auditions for Britain’s Got Flatulence were taking place in the local theatre in just a couple of hours. His moment was coming.
The previous weeks had been hard. Normally Mr Pinkerton would trump about a dozen times a day. He took pride in the wrinkled faces of the children as his invisible clouds of foulness collided with their nostrils.
But not any more. Because Mr Pinkerton had not trumped for close to two weeks. He was taking his training very seriously indeed. Eating the right food – lentils, beans, raw eggs and the mouldiest blue cheese he could find – all designed to produce the worst bottom-burp in the history of mankind. Or animal-kind. The most poisonous gas ever produced.
He would be a star.
Sometimes he woke up sweating, his stomach in knots of pain, just begging for the release. But each time he fought back, keeping the build-up of gas inside.
He couldn’t wait to see the looks on the judge’s faces – if they managed to stay conscious. Fame and fartune awaited.
Mr Pinkerton was just about to leave the house when he caught a glimpse of the TV. Every channel was showing the breaking news of Long Neck causing havoc in Wolvesley.
“Mrs Schofield!” he said. “I knew she was a bad egg!”
Mr Pinkerton shook his head in disgust, switched off the TV and rushed out of the house. He had to get to the theatre, whether there was a raving, long-necked madwoman on the loose or not.
*
Spencer led Ricky and Simon down a dark corridor. Ricky was terrified at what he might find. If Mrs Schofield had hurt Elliot, he would be devastated.
“None of the experiments quite worked,” Spencer said. “She never got the right mixture of ingredients.”
Spencer flicked a light switch, and a number of lamps lit up a row of cages.
Ricky walked past them slowly. He saw a bald hamster, a blue-and-green striped chimpanzee, a hippo with wings, and a cat on two legs, skipping with a rope. He saw a pigeon doing a Rubix cube, and a brown bear levitating in the lotus position. With every step, he wondered what on earth he would find next.
Last of all, he came to a dog sitting in the middle of the cage, tail wagging happily and tongue lolling.
His dog looked completely unharmed.
Normal. Ricky’s heart sang.
“He’s fine,” said Ricky. “Not bald, no wings in sight, perfectly normal.”
Spencer looked at Ricky with a guilty face and said, “Not quite normal.”
“Hello, old chap,” said the dog. “Any chance we could leave this dreadful place?”
Ricky stood in silent shock.
“Cat got your tongue, my good man?” said Elliot. “No surprise. But really, it’s frightful in here.” He pointed with his paw at the bolted door. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
Ricky unfastened the bolt, and Elliot padded out.
“Right,” said Elliot. “What now?”
“We’ve got a criminal mastermind to stop,” said Ricky.
“Lead on!” said Elliot.
“I haven’t got your lead,” said Ricky.
Elliot cocked his head. “That isn’t quite what I … Oh, never mind. Proceed!”
CHAPTER 9
LONG ARM VS LONG NECK
“Welcome to The Wolvesley Hour. I’m Sammy Sammerson and there’s no time for napping. I’m on location in central Wolvesley witnessing extraordinary scenes. Long Neck continues to wreak havoc across town. The army battalion sent to tackle her has proved ultimately useless…”
“But who is this? Could it be… It is!”
Ricky planted his feet in the street and faced the oncoming tank.
“Stop right there!” he said.
Mrs Schofield laughed from on high. And this time, because she had acquired a megaphone, people could actually hear her. “You can’t stop me, Long Arm!”
She aimed the tank’s gun turret at Ricky, and pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
Ricky didn’t have time to duck. But just as he thought it was the end, something flashed past.
ED!
The cannon’s round collided with the robotic suit, and it spun off in a shower of sparks. It slammed into the leg of the Long Arm statue, smashing it in two, and exploded in a ball of flames.
