For my boys
New York • London
Copyright © Georgia Pritchett 2015
First published in the United States by Quercus in 2015
Cover design and illustration by Jamie Littler
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e-ISBN: 978-1-62365-880-9
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, institutions, places, and events are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
Chapter 1: The Beginning
Chapter 2: Which Actually Comes before Chapter 1. So in Actual Fact Should Be Called: Chapter minus 1 the Very Beginning
Chapter 1: The Beginning (It Really Is This Time, I Promise)
Chapter 1: The Beginning (What? This Is Getting Silly.)
Chapter 2: The Beginning (Hang on!) of the End (Oh, All Right Then.)
Chapter 3: Wilf Saves the World
Chapter 4: Oh No, He Doesn’t
Chapter 5: Wilf Really Needs to Hurry up If He’s Going to save the World
Chapter 6: Wilf Saves a Bit of the World
Chapter 7: Wilf Finally Saves the World
Chapter 8: No Wait, Hang on, He’s Messed up Again
Chapter 9: The World Ends
Chapter 10: Or Maybe It Doesn’t, Things Are Looking up
Chapter 11: The Very End
What Happened Next
Hey, you! Yes, you. Come over here a minute.
OK. Now listen. I’ve got something to tell you. It’s very important.
And it’s a secret.
Just between me and you and no one else. Promise you won’t tell anyone? Good.
Right, well, you know the world? Yes. The world. That great big round thing you’re standing on. Well, that nearly ended. Yes it did. Last week. And not in a good way.
Oh, there was a great
and I know exactly what happened—and I don’t mind telling you, but I don’t want anyone else to know. OK? So, you know that boy called WILF? Yes you do. Yes you doooooooo! That small tiny one from school. His hair’s sort of scruffly like this. And his ears are kind of pingy like this. And his head’s so full of ideas it’s like busy bees packing for their vacation inside his brain. Remember now? Yes! Him! Well, he saved the world. He did. Honestly.
Now, WILF isn’t your typical superhero. For a start, he doesn’t have a cape. Plus, he can’t fly. Or climb tall buildings. Which is probably a good thing because he’s scared of heights. In fact, he’s scared of quite a lot of things—so many things that he has made a list so that he can remember them. This is his list:
Admittedly, you don’t see many Vikings these days, but that doesn’t stop Wilf worrying that he might see a Viking. You see, Wilf is a bit of a worrier. He worries all the time. If worrying was an Olympic sport, he would be worrying whether he was going to get picked for the team. And it would probably be best if he wasn’t picked for the team, because he’s allergic to Lycra. Come to think of it, Wilf is allergic to loads of things:
Sometimes it isn’t easy being Wilf. But he is good at a lot of things too, like:
All right, that’s only three things he’s good at—but he’s really good at those three things.
He can do puffy-out whistles, sucky-in whistles, and a whistle that sounds a bit like a grasshopper playing a tiny flute.
He can also hop. Hopping is lucky. He can do long hops and high hops and big skippety hops. And he’s very good at knitting, which is useful for taking his mind off all the things he has to worry about.
Wilf lives with his little sister, who is called Dot. Or Stinky McGinty for short. Well, not for short, for long.
Dot has a crusty face and is generally a bit sticky. Her main interests are eating things and hammering. In her spare time she makes smells. Because she’s a baby and that’s what babies do.
Dot has a favorite teddy that is actually a pig whose name is Pig. Pig used to be pink and fluffy but now he is gray and shiny and smells like an old mop. That’s just what happens when you love things a lot and don’t wash them very often.
Wilf’s best friend is his pet woodlouse named Stuart. They’ve been together since back in the olden days when Wilf was only five. Wilf and Stuart are soul mates. They understand each other’s funny little ways. They like all the same things. They finish each other’s sentences. Actually, that’s not true because Stuart can’t talk, but Wilf doesn’t say much either so, in a way, they finish each other’s silences.
Stuart looks up to Wilf. He wishes he could have ideas like Wilf does. He wishes he could whistle like Wilf does. He even wishes he could knit like Wilf does—but he can’t do any of those things because he is tiny and he has a tiny brain and no lips and no thumbs.
Sometimes he wishes he was Stuart, because then he could scrunch up in a ball and roll away when things get difficult. But that isn’t allowed when you’re a human. He tried it once at a birthday party, and people had looked at him strangely.
Wilf also lives with his mom, who is a grown-up but she can’t help it and Wilf tries to make allowances. Mom has a job that is very complicated and involves a lot of making phone calls and being nice to people and a lot of saying rude words when she hangs up.
Anyway—where was I? Oh yes, the world ending. So it nearly did—and it was a little bit very scary, I can tell you. Take my word for it.
What?
What? You’re not going to take my word for it? I have to tell you what happened? But I’m busy!
Sheesh! All right, stop your badgering and listen carefully. I’ll start from the very beginning . . .
Once upon a time, great big tall high dinosaurs roamed the earth.
Then one day one of them said, “Let’s have a massive game of hide-and-seek!”
So all the dinosaurs hid, but they forgot to pick anyone to do the seeking, so they’re not actually extinct, they’re just hiding. It’s true! Ask anyone if you don’t believe me.
So then not much happened for about a kerbillion years, and then I think it got a bit chilly and then—
Hang on. I think I’ve started this story too far back. Let’s go forward a bit.
Once upon a time, an alien said, “Gleep. Piddleydoo piddleydoo plip plim xlank.”
Oh no! Now I’ve gone too far forward!
OK. How about if we start when somebody moved into the house next door to Wilf. A big moving truck arrived outside and Wilf rushed upstairs to peep through the window on the landing. He wondered whether it might be a boy with really great toys. Or maybe a girl with really great toys. Or maybe a kindly old lady who lik
ed to spend her days giving candy to the boy next door.
But when Wilf saw his new neighbor he was very disappointed. It wasn’t a girl and it wasn’t a boy and it wasn’t a kindly old lady. It was a small man. The small-man-next-door had a lot of stuff. Because the small-man-next-door was rich and had everything a small-man-next-door could want. And the small-man-next-door also had a name that I’m going to start using so that I can stop writing the small-man-next-door.
The name of the small-man-next-door . . . Drat! I did it again! Why didn’t you stop me?
The name of the s-m-n-d was Alan.
Alan didn’t have toys or candy. He had grown-up things like bills and a lawnmower and a mustache. He also had a very tall wife who had very sproingy hair. Pam spent a lot of time making her hair sproingy and also changing the color of the sproings—red, green, purple, blue, pink. Sometimes she unsproinged her hair for a change and nobody noticed and that made her angry.
While Wilf was peeping at Alan, Wilf’s mom came and looked out of the window too.
“Oh goodness. What a lot of stuff they have. I hope they’re not going to use our trashcan,” she said, frowning.
Then Mom told Wilf to go next door and ask Alan if he’d like to come over for tea. She was hoping to broach the subject of the trashcan.
But Wilf didn’t want to go over. He didn’t like talking to new people. And his lucky shorts were in the wash. And if Alan came over for tea he might use Wilf’s special cup that said “Wilf” on it. And then Wilf wouldn’t want to use it again.
More important, while Wilf was peeping out of the window, he had noticed Alan putting a stuffed duck in his hallway. Stuffed animals were on Wilf’s LIST OF THINGS I AM OFFICIALLY SCARED OF. He always worried that a stuffed animal was going to strangle him.
Wilf tried to explain this to his mom, but she told Wilf not to be silly and to go over right away.
Wilf went to his bedroom and got out his shoebox of precious private things. Inside was a leaflet from the library called “HOW TO STOP WORRYING.” It had ten suggestions of things to do that might help.
Wilf looked at NUMBER ONE.
1) Draw a picture of the thing you are worried about.
Wilf drew a stuffed duck.
NUMBER TWO said:
2) Think of the worst-case scenario.
Wilf thought. What could be worse than being strangled by a stuffed duck? Not much. But possibly being strangled by a stuffed duck that was holding a peanut butter sandwich. Wilf was scared of getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth. And it would be worse still if the stuffed duck was wearing a turtleneck sweater. Turtleneck sweaters made Wilf feel all brahhaaaaahhhoooooeeeuuurrggghhhhh.
Wilf drew his
WORST-CASE SCENARIO.
Even looking at the picture made Wilf feel wobbly, so he did a few nonchalant whistles to make himself feel better. And he read on.
NUMBER THREE said:
3) Think of a plan of action if the worst-case scenario happens.
Wilf thought.
If a stuffed duck wearing a turtleneck sweater carrying a peanut butter sandwich tried to strangle him, he would wear all three of his scarves (which he had knitted himself) to protect his neck. Then he could put the peanut butter sandwich in a Tupperware box, before catching the duck in a big net.
Wilf drew this.
Then he packed his knapsack with a Tupperware box and a net and wrapped all three of his scarves around his neck. He looked at his leaflet again.
NUMBER FOUR said:
4) Think of some facts or rational thoughts about the situation.
Wilf thought and then he wrote down:
So, in fact, Wilf would be safer going over to Alan’s house than staying at home.
Wilf took a deep breath, gave Stuart a kiss, and popped him in his pocket. It would be all right. He would be all right. He wasn’t wearing his lucky shorts, but he was wearing blue shorts and blue was his third favorite color. Plus it was a Tuesday, and Tuesdays are a sort of bluey color. And if he took Dot he would be all right, because she didn’t worry about talking to new people or lucky shorts or special cups.
And this was where the whole saving the world shenanigans began . . .
Wilf hopped up Alan’s path doing one of his special whistles (for good luck).
He rang the bell. And then Dot rang the bell thirteen more times because she liked pressing buttons.
The door flew open. Alan stood there with his hands on his hips, frowning a very frowny frown.
“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes,” he said thirteen times. “I heard you the first time,” he said once.
“Sorry,” said Wilf, “that was my sister. She likes pressing buttons.”
Dot’s sticky little fingers were already reaching for the bell again.
“Eeurgh! A baby! I hate babies!” said Alan, looking horrified. Dot smiled back at Alan with her smeary crusty face.
“She doesn’t mean any harm,” said Wilf.
“Eeeurgh! A child! I don’t like children either!” said Alan. “With their irritating skippy little feet and their stupid chirpy little voices and their annoying tufty little hair and their silly puny little bodies,” ranted Alan, pacing up and down in what might have looked, to many, like a silly puny little body.
“Sorry about that,” said Wilf politely.
“And what’s that smell?” asked Alan, making a face.
“Is it Dot’s diaper?” asked Wilf.
“No. It’s happiness,” said Alan. “What do you want?”
“It’s just, Mom wondered whether you wanted to come over for tea?”
“I’m very busy being evil. Let me introduce myself. I’m Alan,” said Alan, “and I’m an evil lunatic.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re not,” said Wilf politely. “I’m sure you’re absolutely lovely once people get to know you.”
“No, I’m not,” insisted Alan. “I’m evil. Not just a little bit evil by accident but properly bigly evil all the time on purpose.”
“You’re just being hard on yourself,” said Wilf sympathetically. “You seem very nice to me.”
“I am not nice,” said Alan. “I’m the baddest, I’m the baddest, I’m the biddly, boddly, baddest man in the whole wide world, and soon everyone will know my name and I will be world famous for being evil and I will go down in history!”
“Oh,” said Wilf. “Couldn’t you be world famous in a different way? Like by inventing some kind of really good vacuum or something? Or you could enter a talent contest—a lot of people do that these days. What’s your favorite song . . . ?”
“Right,” said Alan, “if you won’t believe me, I’m going to have to show you how evil I am.”
Alan picked up Dot, holding her at arm’s length.
“This small, sticky creature is the perfect size to fire out of my giant bazooka,” said Alan. “It will be tremendous fun, although not for her, because she’ll be splatted and in my experience it’s much more fun to be the splatter rather than the splattee.”
And with that he took Dot inside, slamming the door.
Wilf was flabbergasted. He felt very trembly and his ears went all hot. He felt sick—but just in his neck—and his knees felt like they might bend the wrong way. What was he going to do? Dot was his sister and although she could be annoying at times he didn’t want her to be fired out of a bazooka.
Wilf wanted to run and he wanted to hide and he wanted to cry and he wanted to knit something very elaborate that would take a long time and wouldn’t be finished until it was all over. Maybe a sweater for his cuddly octopus.
But he didn’t do any of those things. He had a great
and then he had a great big old think and then he thought so hard that his brain hurt
And then he had an idea. He took out the Tupperware box from his knapsack and he stood on it, which was very scary because it was bendy and also it smelled of egg. He stood on tiptoes on the box and he reached and stretched and he found he could just ab
out reach the windowsill of the window next to the door.
He clambered up onto the windowsill, which is not easy when your knees keep wanting to go the wrong way. Then he unwrapped all his scarves from his neck, even though it was quite a drafty day, and he tied them all together to make one big long scarf.
He tied one end of the big long scarf to the drainpipe above the window and the other end to his ankle. It meant ruckling his sock right down, and nobody likes a ruckly sock, but this was no time to be stopped by a ruckle.
Wilf scrunched his way through the top of the window, which was an extremely tight squeeze. His pingy ears got flattened to the side of his head and he was worried they might get their crinkles ironed out, but this was no time to be stopped by a crinkle.
Holding the duck net, Wilf lowered himself, in a wibbly wobbly trembly way, into Alan’s house.
Meanwhile, Alan was struggling with a large box marked “Bazooka—This Way Up,” which was upside down. Dot was watching him carefully. She took off her sock, wiped her nose with it, and tossed the sock over her shoulder.
Silently, Wilf waggled the net toward Dot. It was like trying to catch a fish. A rather heavy sticky snotty fish with a full diaper. Dot watched with interest as Wilf swung from his ankle this way and that, wildly waving the net. Finally Dot thought she saw an interesting-looking crumb in the bottom of the net and she crawled in.
Wilf the Mighty Worrier--Saves the World Page 1
