Miss Comet filled in the details. Mrs Christmas couldn’t believe her ears. Her eyes sparkled and she almost danced. ‘It’s all beginning to make sense!’
‘It is?’ asked Miss Comet. ‘Thank goodness!’
‘Don’t get too excited, dear. I don’t know everything and I certainly don’t know what to do. Where shall I start? I have received an urgent message from my husband. It was just two words – BAD CHRISTMAS.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Amy.
‘Bad Christmas is the name of my husband’s brother.’
Dylan snorted. ‘Father Christmas doesn’t have a brother.’
‘My dear child,’ said Mrs Christmas patiently, ‘I think I’m in a better position than you to know that. You have never heard of him because for the last two hundred years he has been imprisoned on The Other Side. That’s how bad he is. He wasn’t born bad, but when he was three he was given Christmas pudding to eat. He didn’t like it and spat it out. His parents made him eat it and he hated it. He never forgave them. He’s had a thing about Christmas pudding ever since.
‘I think there’s a connection between Bad Christmas and the puddings that have zombified your classmates. He is certainly behind this, but what is he trying to do, and why? It’s bound to be something horribly evil. For one thing, I am pretty sure that he has captured my husband.’
‘Bad Christmas has kidnapped Father Christmas?’ asked Lewis. ‘Doesn’t that mean there won’t be any Christmas?’
‘It seems like it, but even that may not be Bad Christmas’s plan. I think he’s got something else up his sleeve.’
At that moment they were interrupted as Dylan’s father pushed his way into the little circle.
‘Dylan! Thank goodness you’re all right! I came as quickly as I could.’
‘Dad, OK, you can put me down. Stop hugging me so hard. Daaaad!’ Dylan struggled free, red-faced and embarrassed, while Miss Comet watched with an interested smile. Rufus acknowledged her with a nod.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked. As he listened he frowned and his eyes narrowed. ‘So we need to find Father Christmas and his brother? Mrs Christmas, you know more about them than anyone – what’s the best way to do that?’
‘My idea was to let the reindeer sniff out my husband. The big problem is that I’m no good at handling reindeer.’ She glanced back at the accident scene. ‘As you saw.’
‘I’ve driven a horse and cart a few times,’ Miss Comet offered and a wave of excitement swept through the little group.
‘Let’s go, then,’ cried Mrs Christmas, and they hurried after her.
‘I think Miss Comet is brilliant,’ Amy whispered to the others.
‘So does Dylan’s dad,’ sniggered Freya, glancing at the pair as they strode along beside each other, talking and smiling.
Father Christmas worked mechanically, trudging up and down roofs, dropping down chimneys and filling stockings with chocolate-covered puddings. He ignored the mince pies, sweets and drinks that had been left out for him. He didn’t notice astonished eyes peeping out from beneath covers. He didn’t feel the odd crazy dog tugging at his boots and barking at the world to announce he’d just caught a burglar and wasn’t he clever? He just trudged back and forth like a zombie because, of course, he was a zombie!
Already, in some houses, children were sneakily opening their stockings. They found their charming little chocolate ball, wrapped up in shiny paper. Chocolate in the middle of the night when you are supposed to be sleeping is the best kind of chocolate there is! They bit into it. They shook their heads. Their eyes glazed over and they collapsed back on their beds, waiting for orders – orders that could only come from Bad Christmas.
The Death Pudding was orbiting Earth. In the Command Centre Bad Christmas and his elves kept track of Father Christmas, making sure that everything was going to plan. But why did nobody on Earth spot the Death Pudding? After all, the planet is covered with telescopes and radar stations, all pointing their equipment at the sky.
Our chief scientific adviserator, Professor Bonk-Drumkitt, explains:
‘Now, listen, I’m getting very tired of having to explain things all the time. It must be clear to the smallest brain that nobody could see the Death Pudding. Why not, you may ask? Because it was invisible. Bad Christmas had covered the Death Pudding with a cloak of Invisibility Cream. Invisibility Cream is an ultra-thin special cream made up of millicules. As you may know, all things in the universe are made of molecules. That is, all things except Invisibility Cream, which is made from millicules. Millicules are the exact opposite of molecules because whereas we know molecules exist, millicules don’t – that’s why they’re invisible! I told you it was simple. Now then, if you bother me with one more question I shall put you all in detention. Goodbye!’
The elves in the Command Centre were getting jittery. Some of them had spotted a blip on the radar, something that shouldn’t have been there. Big Chief Elf shuffled across to Bad Christmas, who was standing at the great window gazing fondly at the blue planet below and sucking Boo-Boo’s right ear.
‘Great Master, an unknown object is tracking Father Christmas.’
‘Really?’ Bad Christmas’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Hmmmm. I wonder what that could possibly be? A fighter jet from some daft country, maybe?’
‘No, Great Master. It is too slow and it wanders around too much.’
‘Indeed? How intriguing. Move the Death Pudding to a position where we can make contact, if necessary. Prepare to seize it with the tractor beam.’
Big Chief altered course and soon the machine of doom was silently slipping round the Earth.
‘And there it is!’ cried Bad Christmas. ‘Oh, joy of joys! It’s Father Christmas’s sleigh! That can only be his dear, darling wife, Mrs Christmas. How nice it will be to see her again after all these years. It will be quite a family reunion.’
A scowl descended upon his face. ‘Bring the Death Pudding closer. Prepare an ambush team and make sure they are well armed with Sticky Matter Blatter-Splatters. I will lead them. I don’t want that interfering old bag mucking things up. We must get her. Now, go!’
Bad Christmas turned back to the window and rubbed his hands. ‘Oh, goodness me, I’m getting quite excited. Christmas is coming! Ho ho ho ho ho!’
‘We’ve been searching for almost three days and we’re running out of sandwiches!’ wailed Mrs Christmas, tense with frustration. She suddenly stood up in the sleigh and yelled at the top of her voice. ‘Jellybean! Where are you, you stupid stocking-stuffer?’
No answer came back from the star-spangled heavens, but the sleigh wobbled alarmingly, and Miss Comet grabbed at Mrs Christmas and pulled her back into the seat.
‘I do wish you wouldn’t do that. I’m sure we will find him – eventually. At least the reindeer still seem to be on some kind of trail.’
Mrs Christmas grunted. ‘Huh. They spent the whole of yesterday just creeping about outer space looking for Christmas puddings, if you remember. They never think of anything except their own stomachs. And heaven alone knows why outer space smelled of Christmas pudding anyway. It’s all rather odd, if you ask me.’
Miss Comet smiled to herself. After three days of sitting next to Mrs Christmas she had grown used to the barrage of complaints that came from her. As for herself, Miss Comet had proved to be a dab hand at team driving. She sat at the reins, with a huge fur rug pulled up to her chin and Mrs Christmas beside her, giving helpful comments from time to time as she caught up with her knitting.
‘Tuck the bottom edge of the rug right under your feet. You’ll find the draught doesn’t get up your skirt, dear. I told dear old jellybean he needed something better than this windy antique, but did he listen? No – not until last year when he got back with such a stinking cold his sneezes blew tiles off our roof.’
There was not enough rug for Rufus and the children to snuggle under and they had to make do with a pile of old toy sacks, while snow whirled round them, into their eyes and ears, up th
eir noses and down their necks. They climbed inside the sacks, pulling the tops over their heads and lay huddled together, shivering and grumbling in the back of the sleigh.
The reindeer galloped the sky, tracking down their master. It was a complicated task. They lost the scent completely at one point because the strong odour of Christmas pudding was hanging about that particular area. It took the reindeer hours before they eventually managed to pick out the faint whiff of Father Christmas and set off once more.
Once they had picked up a fresh trail they made steady progress, and at last they began to plunge down towards Earth, faster and faster.
‘I think they’re on to something!’ whispered Miss Comet excitedly, and Mrs Christmas immediately stood up to get a better look. ‘SIT DOWN, YOU MAD OLD BAT!’ squeaked Miss Comet frantically as the sleigh almost turned right over.
Mrs Christmas hastily took her seat and smiled sheepishly while Miss Comet turned bright red and spluttered an apology. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I was just…’
‘It’s quite all right, dear,’ chuckled Mrs Christmas. ‘That’s exactly what my husband calls me. Makes me feel quite at home.’ She suddenly leaped up from her seat again. ‘Look! There it is! There’s the rocket-sleigh, right next to those houses!’
Poor Miss Comet saved the sleigh from a major accident yet again and calmly turned to her companion. ‘Mrs Christmas, if you do that once more I shall make you sit in the back with the others. There’s to be no more bad behaviour.’
The two women exchanged glances and burst out laughing. ‘Set down here,’ said Mrs Christmas. ‘Bad Christmas may be close by. We shall have to creep up carefully.’
Miss Comet brought the sleigh down for a perfect landing. While the reindeer shook snow from their antlers and steamed quietly from their efforts, she helped Mrs Christmas down.
‘You were born to command a sleigh,’ Mrs Christmas told her. ‘That was quite superb, especially for a first time.’
A muffled noise came from beside them.
‘What did you say?’ asked Mrs Christmas.
Rufus growled back, ‘I said, can we come out yet? Has it stopped snowing? We’re freezing!’
‘No, stay there and try and keep warm. We’re going to see what Father Christmas is doing. We’ll be back in a jiffy.’
The women set off across the snow towards the houses. They were almost at the rocket-sleigh when they saw Father Christmas returning from his mission. Mrs Christmas brightened at once.
‘There he is, the dear old walrus. He’s walking a bit funnily, don’t you think? He looks like a robot.’ Mrs Christmas was looking around warily. ‘There’s no sign of his wicked brother anyway That’s good. Let’s go and hear what he has to say for himself. Fancy sending out a message like that when everything seems to be fine. Hey, jellybean! What’s up with your legs? You look like one of your mechanical toys. Have your batteries run down?’
Father Christmas ignored her. He collected another sack and began to clump back to the houses. Mrs Christmas hurried up to him and tapped him on his shoulder.
‘Don’t ignore me, you fat tomato. And look at me when I’m talking to you!’ Mrs Christmas tried to stand in front of him, but Father Christmas simply carried on walking. She stumbled back into the snow and he trudged right across her. ‘Hey! That’s not funny!’ Mrs Christmas struggled to her feet and ran after him. She waved a hand in front of his glassy eyes. She slapped his face and beat her fists on top of his head. ‘Listen to me! I’m talking to you, you great clod-poll!’
‘Do stop fussing, woman, and let him go. It won’t do the slightest bit of good.’
Light and Sound FX: Enormous cymbal clash, accompanied by lightning flashes and huge dark clouds scudding across sky at high speed. Pish! Fizzz! KRRANNGG! Pish!
Mrs Christmas spun round and found herself staring aghast at someone she hadn’t seen for many, many years.
‘Bad Christmas,’ she whispered. ‘It IS you behind all this! But how did you escape from The Other Side?’
‘I’m far cleverer than you think,’ Bad Christmas sneered.
Mrs Christmas snorted. ‘I see you haven’t given up Boo-Boo yet.’
Bad Christmas pretended to claw at Mrs Christmas with the beanie monkey. ‘Raargh, raargh!’ he growled. ‘That’s right, Boo-Boo, scratch her eyes out.’
Mrs Christmas turned away in despair.
‘Help!’ Miss Comet cried. ‘I’m being kidnapped by tartan monkeys!’ Several elves were trying to pull Miss Comet in different directions. ‘Let me go!’
‘My, my, you’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Don’t bother struggling,’ crooned Bad Christmas. ‘It won’t get you anywhere. If you break free my elves will simply shoot you down with Sticky Matter. Right then, now that I have you two safely in my care, we can leave Father Christmas to get on with his task. We’ll go and fetch your ridiculous sleigh. What century do you think we’re in, the seventeenth? Huh! Give me a Death Pudding every time!’
Bad Christmas turned to Big Chief Elf. ‘I shall take the prisoners to the ship. You take four elves and bring the sleigh and reindeer on board. I want everyone to see my moment of triumph when the world brings ME presents and I sit on Father Christmas’s throne!’
Sound FX: More thunder, lightning and generally scary stuff.
‘I’m bored,’ muttered Dylan.
Freya giggled from deep inside her sack. ‘We could play I-spy.’
‘Oh, great,’ Lewis groaned. ‘I-spy from inside a sack.’
‘Ssssh!’ hissed Rufus. ‘Someone’s coming back.’
A faint, rhythmic sound drew closer. ‘Left, right, left, right, Ambush Party – halt!’
‘That’s not them,’ whispered Rufus anxiously. ‘Whatever happens, keep quiet.’
Big Chief carefully avoided the reindeer. He hated big, four-legged animals. Their front ends had nasty teeth. Their sides had kicky legs and as for their back ends – that was the most dangerous bit of all.
‘Ambush Party, climb aboard. You lot sit in the back with those sacks. Go on, get a move on!’ The four junior elves climbed over the seat and tumbled on to the sacks.
‘Ow!’ squeaked Amy. Everyone froze. The children, Rufus, the elves – all of them. At last Big Chief spoke.
‘Did you say “ow”?’ he asked one of the elves.
‘No, Chief.’
‘Did you say “ow”?’
‘Not me, Chief.’
‘You?’
‘Very much not at all, Chief. Didn’t say nuffink.’
Big Chief’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. He peered over the front seat at the sacks. ‘Give that one there a good kick.’
One of the elves gave Rufus’s sack a thumping kick. It got him right in the middle of his back but he had his teeth firmly gritted and didn’t make a sound.
‘Try that one,’ pointed Big Chief, and another elf gave Amy’s sack a cracking whump.
‘OW!’ yelled Amy.
‘Idiot,’ hissed Lewis, then clapped a hand to his mouth, but it was too late. The elves were already pulling the two sacks apart and hauling out the children. Amy had tears in her eyes and a bruise on her arm.
‘It really hurt, Lewis,’ she complained and he grunted an apology.
‘Two more prisoners for Bad Christmas!’ cried Big Chief. ‘He will be pleased.’
‘What about these sacks, Chief?’ asked one of the elves.
‘Kick ’em.’
Freya and Dylan both received heavy wallops, but they managed to stay quiet. ‘That’s all there are, Chief,’ the elves reported.
‘Let’s get going, then. I’m starving and I need a smackerel or two. Giddy up, you stupid reindeer! Get on with it!’
Bad Christmas swaggered up and down the Command Centre deck. He was almost ready for the greatest moment of his life but first of all he had a little bit of business with Planet Earth.
‘Prepare me for my audience!’ he ordered his elves. ‘Where’s Make-Up? Come on, get a move on. I have an
adoring public to address. Are the cameras rolling? Do stop waving that brush in my face, YOU’RE SCARING BOO-BOO! What do you mean, he bit you? Serves you right. No, I will definitely NOT have blue eye make-up. I don’t care if it does make me look soft and gentle. I am Bad Christmas, Master of Earth, Commander of Billions and still counting!’
It was sad but true. Bad Christmas was achieving his dream. Millions of children across the world had eaten their mini chocolate puddings. And those people without children were tucking into their Christmas dinners and guess what was for pudding? Man by man, woman by woman, and child by child they became puddified. Even pets fell beneath Bad Christmas’s spell, as their owners fed them little titbits off the festive table. Dogs, cats, rabbits, hamsters, even budgerigars turned into zombies.
Bad Christmas was ready to speak to the world. Television channels round the globe were interrupted as his broadcast went out. Screens flickered for a moment and there was Bad Christmas. And Boo-Boo.
‘Hello, viewers! Yes, it is dearest me, the new Father Christmas, and Boo-Boo here, saying Happy Chewing to all you lovely puddified people. Do give me a cheer, hip hip –’
A robotic cry of ‘Hooray!’ drifted up from the planet.
‘I thank you, I thank you,’ drooled Bad Christmas, getting up, giving a bow and strutting up and down.
‘Sit down, or you go off camera,’ warned TV Director Elf as the two cameras tried to keep track of the wandering megalomaniac. Bad Christmas stopped in his tracks.
‘Don’t you tell me what to do!’ he snapped back. ‘I am Supreme Commander of All Things and I’ll do what I like.’
‘Yes, but you’ll still go off camera if you stand up,’ insisted TV Director Elf.
‘I’ll speak to you later,’ hissed Bad Christmas.
Invasion of the Christmas Puddings Page 4
