by Jim Smith
‘Come again?’ said Bunny.
‘The mix of those chewed-up leaf socks and Gozo’s spit has created a sort of gluey cement – it’ll never wash out,’ chuckled Jamjar.
‘S-so what am I supposed to do now?’ stuttered Mayor Goodhair, patting his gloopy barnet.
Jamjar pressed a button on her Triangulator. ‘There’s good news and there’s bad news,’ she said.
‘What’s the good news?’ asked the mayor.
Jamjar pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘The good news is that your hair will grow back,’ she said.
‘I don’t think I want to hear the bad news . . .’ whimpered Mayor Goodhair, as Norman peeked out of his trouser pocket.
Jamjar smiled at Norman. ‘You know what to do, Norm!’ she smiled, and he blinked, then floated out of the pocket, up to his owner’s hair.
‘Been anywhere nice on your holidays?’ he squeaked, swishing his blades open.
‘NOOOO!!!!’ cried Mayor Goodhair, as Norman started to chop.
It was Flursday night and I was outside Bunny Deli, standing inside Wheelie with Not Bird tucked under my arm. Leaf socks swayed in the wind and multicoloured raindrops pitter-pattered on to my goggles.
‘Say hello to your mum from me!’ shouted Bunny over the crackle of thunder, and I gave her a thumbs-up.
Splorg and Twoface smiled sadly, as Jamjar pointed her Triangulator at Wheelie. ‘Don’t forget to use the Memoriser 350 as soon as you see your family!’ she cried, her hair blowing across her face.
I held up the little gizmo she’d just given me. It was a see-through plastic stick with three prongs sticking out the end of it. ‘Point it at their foreheads and press the button,’ she said. ‘It’ll wipe their memories – they’ll think you’d just popped down the shops!
‘NOT!’ squawked Not Bird, and I patted his furry little head.
‘There, there, Not Bird,’ I said. ‘Everything’ll be OK.’
Wheelie flapped his lid, banging my head by accident. ‘MAY I TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO SAY FAREWELL, SIR?’ he bleeped.
‘But you’re coming with me!’ I shouted over the storm.
‘THIS IS TRUE,’ bleeped Wheelie. ‘BUT I WON’T BE QUITE THE SAME AFTER OUR JOURNEY.’
A white line zigzagged across the sky.
‘AS MADAM JAMJAR EXPLAINED, WE’LL BE ZAPPED BACK TO OUR ORIGINAL SELVES BY THE LIGHTNING,’ he bleeped.
I gripped one of Wheelie’s rubber gloves and looked him in the bit of his lid where his eyes would be if he had any. ‘This is your last chance, Wheelie,’ I said. ‘You can back out now and I won’t mind – I promise!’
‘NONSENSE!’ bleeped Wheelie, and Not Bird squawked ‘NOT!’
I peered through the rain at the gang, huddled outside Bunny Deli under its hover-awning. Splorg’s blue head glistened and Twoface was smiling with both his mouths. Bunny was waving all ten of her hands while Jamjar was still fiddling with her Triangulator.
She pushed her glasses up her nose one last time. ‘Ratboy!’ she cried. ‘According to my calculations, there should be a bolt of lightning any . . .’
EVERY THING WENT DARK.
I opened my eyes. ‘What happened?’ I said.
I realised I was sitting down, so I stood up.
‘OW!’ I said, bashing my head on the inside of Wheelie’s lid. ‘Sorry Wheelie.’
Nothing.
I flipped the lid open. I was back in my front garden – the one from the olden days. The sun was in the sky and a bird cheeped up in the branches of our little apple tree.
‘It worked!’ I cried. ‘The lightning zapped us home, Not Bird!’
Nothing again.
I glanced down into the bin and spotted Not Bird, lying by my feet.
But Not Bird wasn’t Not Bird any more – he was just a cuddly toy bird.
I looked up in the sky. No hover-cars were flying past, and the buildings next to my house weren’t ginormous skyscrapers, they were just boring old normal houses like mine.
‘What have I done?’ I said.
‘NOT!’ squawked Not Bird, fluttering out of Wheelie and landing on a branch of the apple tree.
‘Huh?’ I said.
‘EVERYTHING’S SHIP SHAPE OVER HERE, MASTER RATBOY!’ bleeped Wheelie. ‘AH, IT’S NICE TO BE BACK IN THE GOOD OLD DAYS!’
‘But Jamjar said you’d be zapped back to normal!’ I cried, pinching the end of my nose to stop Wheelie’s bin breath wafting up my nostrils.
And that’s when I noticed something strange. ‘Duh, dat’s deird,’ I said. ‘Dy dose dill das a dlack dlob don de dend dof dit.’
‘EXCUSE ME, SIR?’ bleeped Wheelie. ‘WOULD YOU MIND REMOVING YOUR FINGERS FROM THAT HOOTER OF YOURS SO I CAN UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE ON ABOUT A LITTLE BETTER?’
I de-pinched my sniffer. ‘My nose still has a black blob on the end of it,’ I cried, patting the rest of my shnozzle. ‘Waaahhh! It’s still all hairy!’
Wheelie did a twirl on the spot. ‘WELL, WELL, LOOKS LIKE MADAM JAMJAR’S CALCULATIONS WERE INCORRECT!’ he bleeped. ‘WE’VE BEEN ZAPPED BACK TO THE PAST, ALRIGHT – BUT AS OUR FUTURE SELVES!’
‘This can’t happen!’ I cried. ‘I’m sposed to be Colin Lamppost . . . what’re my mum and dad gonna think when a half boy, half rat, half TV turns up on their doorstep? I don’t think the Memoriser 350 is designed to deal with that!’
‘C-colin?’ wailed a familikeels voice. ‘Is that really you, my darling?’ wailed a familikeels voice.
‘Oh my unkeelness, it’s my mum!’ I said, twizzling round at super-Future-Rat-speed so she couldn’t see my face, and a shiny piece of paper fluttered out of my pocket, on to the grass.
I bent down and picked it up, flipped it over and looked at the faces smiling out at me.
‘Now what do I do?’ I said to the photo of Twoface, Splorg, Jamjar and Bunny.
Which was a stupid thing to do, because everyone knows photos can’t answer questions.
And that was when the weirdest thing of all happened.
‘Did you see that?’ I gasped.
‘SEE WHAT, SIR?’ bleeped Wheelie.
‘Jamjar’s eye,’ I said. ‘It just winked!’
‘NOT!’ squawked Not Bird, but I just ignored him and carried on staring at the photo.
‘Jamjar, is that you?’ I whispered, and she waved, then Splorg waved too. And Bunny and Twoface three.
‘Happy birthday, Ratboy!’ they all called, and I lifted the photo up to my lips and gave it a great big ratty kiss.
‘Thanks, keel-dudes!’ I grinned. ‘Who cares what I look like when I’ve got you lot as my friends!’
I stuffed the photo into my pocket and turned round to face the future. ‘Mum, Dad, I’m home!’ I cried, forward-rolling towards it.
THE END!
Jim Smith is the keelest kids’ book author in the whole world amen.
He graduated from art school with first class honours (the best you can get) and went on to create the branding for a sweet little chain of coffee shops.
He also designs cards and gifts under the name Waldo Pancake. And removes his nose and eyeballs every evening before bed.
