by Andy Stanton
‘Right, I got a brilliant move,’ growled Mr Gum. ‘I’m gonna move me Bishop over there an’ smash your Queen up right in her stupid face!’
‘Oh, yeah?’ rasped Billy. ‘Well, I’m gonna fart all over your Bishop with this one what looks like a little horse!’
‘What on earth am I doing out here?’ trembled Jonathan Ripples as he patrolled the dark streets with only a broken torch and a double cheeseburger for company. He wished he hadn’t volunteered to guard the town. What a stupid idea that had been!
He held up the cheeseburger, flapping it open and shut in his chubby hand like a puppet.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Jonathan Ripples in a funny little voice, as if it were the cheeseburger talking.
‘Everything’s going to be aaaaaall-right.’
‘Oh, Burger Boy!’ said Jonathan Ripples gratefully. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes,’ squeaked Burger Boy. ‘Everything’s going to be just –’
The savage noise cut through the night air like an aeroplane made of teeth.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Burger Boy.
‘I think it’s the Hound,’ said Burger Boy. ‘Try and stay calm –’
‘THE HOUND!’ yelped Jonathan Ripples, taking off down the road, Burger Boy clutched tightly in his hand. He tried to run but everything had turned to slow motion, like in a scary film or when your mum goes shopping and drags you round about ten million different shops trying to save twenty pence on a new kettle.
‘THE HOOOOOUUUND!’ screamed Jonathan Ripples – but then he tripped and hit his head hard against the cobblestones. And he was out like a fat light.
Chapter 5
The Townsfolk Point Their Townsfingers
It was Martin Launderette who discovered Jonathan Ripples lying in the road the next morning, covered in fur, dribble and cheeseburger crumbs.
‘Martin?’ groaned Jonathan Ripples, holding his aching head. ‘What happened? And why are there three of you? And where’s Burger Boy?’
‘I’ll tell you what happened!’ snorted Martin Launderette, as a crowd gathered to see what was going on. ‘The Hound came back, that’s what happened! And there he is now!’ he yelled, pointing to where Jake the dog was frolicking happily with a sparrow not twenty yards away. ‘HE’s the one that’s been terrorising Lamonic Bibber! Jake, I mean, not the sparrow,’ he added.
The townsfolk looked from the fur on Jonathan Ripples’ jumper to the fur on Jake’s back. They looked from the dribble on Jonathan Ripples’ leg to the drool slurping out of Jake’s mouth. Could it be true? Could Jake be behind the whole thing?
‘Look at his eyes,’ whispered Old Granny, taking a sip of sherry to calm her nerves. ‘They’re the eyes of an animal!’
‘Sometimes good dogs turn naughty,’ whispered the little girl called Peter. ‘It’s true, I saw a documentary about it called Mummy, Why Did Rover Eat Grandpa?’
‘Is Jake really the dog in the fog and the smog?’ whispered Beany McLeany.
‘Of course he is!’ spat Martin Launderette. ‘It’s obvious!’
‘No, it isn’t!’ cried Polly. ‘It isn’t obvious even slightly at all! Has you all got “OUT OF ORDER” signs on your brains?’
But no one paid Polly any heed.
‘Jake the dog is a criminal!’ shouted Martin Launderette. ‘First he attacks our gardens, then he attacks Jonathan Ripples in the fog and murders Burger Boy – where will it all end? We have to get rid of him! Let’s send him to Australia on the next boat!’
‘Martin Launderette is right!’ cried Old Granny, drunkenly waving her bottle of sherry.
‘Australia’s where he belongs, with all those other naughty dogs!’ shouted the little girl called Peter – and soon they were all at it, shouting at poor Jake and poking their tongues out at him and trying to make daddy-long-legses go near him to frighten him.
‘What in the name of marmalade’s happened to you lot?’ cried Polly. ‘Sure as squirrels is squirrels, I gots to do somethin’ ’bout this!’
Chapter 6
The Greatest Detective of Them All
Later that morning, a wonderful old fellow called Friday O’Leary was sitting alone in his secret cottage in the woods. He was watching a film on TV about a man sitting alone in a secret cottage in the woods who was watching a film on TV about a man sitting alone in a secret cottage in the woods who was watching a film on TV about a man sitting alone in a secret cottage in the woods who was watching a –
Suddenly – KNOCK! KNOCK! – the doorbell rang.
‘Thank goodness,’ said Friday, jumping up from his armchair. ‘That film was starting to drive me crazy.’
He threw open the door and there was Polly, standing on the doorstep with a look in her eye that meant business and a hairclip in her hair that meant she’d recently bought a new hairclip.
‘Polly!’ smiled Friday. ‘What brings you all the way out here, little miss?’
‘Oh, Frides,’ sighed Polly, ‘I hardly knows how to begin.’
‘Begin at the beginning,’ said Friday wisely, tapping his nose. ‘And when you get to a bit you can’t remember, just make it up. That’s what I do.’
So Polly told Friday all about it. How the townsfolk were blaming Jake for the night-time attacks, even though they had no proof – and how they were going to send him off to Australia for the crime.
‘So who’s really behind it, if it’s not Jake?’ said Friday when Polly had finished. ‘It’s a mystery. But luckily you’ve come to the right place. When it comes to solving amazing mysteries, I am the greatest detective of them all.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Polly.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Friday, twirling his imaginary detective’s moustache grandly. ‘Just listen to this and you’ll know it must be a fact!’
And slipping on a pair of tap-dancing shoes, he burst into flame. I mean, he burst into song:
I’M A DETECTIVE
You know I’m not a florist or
a cowboy on the farm
I’m not a lizard keeper at the zoo
I am no baby with a dummy
Always crying for his mummy
So if you ever ask me what I do . . .
CHORUS:
I’m a detective!
I find the clues!
I find the things that others overlook
And I write them down in my little black book
And then I say ‘I’ve solved the crime’
And everyone says ‘hooray!’
It’s true I’m not a preacher or a teacher
Or a smeacher
You’ll never find me cleaning out the drains
I don’t work at a factory
That would not be satisfactory
Instead, I use my cunning and
my brains . . .
CHORUS:
I’m a detective!
I’ve got a hat!
The clues that criminals drop
I tend to spot
And I think about things an awful lot
And then I say, ‘I’ve solved the crime!’
And everyone says ‘hooray!’
Yes, everyone says ‘hooray!’
Yes, everyone says, ‘hooray for Friday!
He’s the funkiest, unbelievab’list
Most spectacular, chasing bad
guys-est, Sherlock Holmes-iest,
clue-discov’ring-est
Detective bloke we’ve ever, EVER
seeeeeeeeen!’
‘Well, now do you believe me?’ panted Friday.
‘I thinks so,’ said Polly.
‘THE TRUTH IS A LEMON MERINGUE!’ yelled Friday, as he sometimes liked to do. ‘Let’s get detecting!’
Chapter 7
A Clue or Two
Back at Billy William’s butcher’s shop, Mr Gum and Billy were having a deep and meaningful discussion about life.
‘I’ll tell you who I hate,’ said Mr Gum thoughtfully, as he chewed on an out-of-date pork chop, ‘everyone in the world, includin’
meself.’
‘An’ I’ll tell you what annoys me,’ said Billy, snorting a bunch of entrails up his nose, ‘absolutely everythin’.’
‘An’ I’ll tell you what I can’t stand,’ said Mr Gum. ‘Runnin’ out of beer. Go an’ steal us a few more cans, Billy, me old candlestick.’
‘Righty-o,’ said Billy.
‘An’ be quick,’ Mr Gum shouted after him. ‘I ain’t got all day. Shabba me whiskers!’ he muttered. ‘It’s hard work bein’ me. I’d better have a nap.’
And he lay down on the filthy counter, shut his eyes and fell into a half-drunken doze.
RAP! RAP! RAP!
‘Eh?’ said Mr Gum, starting awake. ‘What’s that?’
‘We knows you’re in there, Mr Gum!’ yelled a voice. ‘Let us in!’
Muttering to himself, Mr Gum unlocked the door. ‘Jibbers!’ he scowled when he saw Polly and Friday O’Leary standing there on the pavement. ‘What do you two meddlers want?’
‘Mr Gum, we want to ask you some questions,’ said Friday. ‘Questions about the mysterious Hound that’s been hounding this town like some sort of hound.’
‘Why would I know anythin’ about that?’ growled Mr Gum, scratching furiously at his dirty red beard.
‘Cos you are the worst, Mr Gum,’ said Polly. ‘Whenever bad stuff happens ’round here you’re usually behinds it, or at least standin’ quite nears it.
‘Now, tell us what you been up to last night when that Hound-dog done attacked Mr Ripples – an’ don’t you do no lies on me, you rascal de la splarscal!’
‘Why,’ said Mr Gum, ‘I been stayin’ ’round here at Billy’s. We been playin’ chess, that’s all. See?’ And he pointed to a grimy chessboard which sat on the shop counter.
‘Hmm,’ said Friday. ‘Mind if we take a look?’
‘Do what you like, you weirdoes,’ scowled Mr Gum. ‘See if I care.’
Friday and Polly stepped nervously through the door. It was horrible in there. Bones and bits of meat littered the floor. The walls were crawling with mould. And everywhere you looked there were flies, buzzing through the air or feasting on the slop buckets Billy left out for them. Billy William loved those flies and he knew all their names, even the babies. They were like a family to him.
‘Where is Billy, anyway?’ asked Friday, brushing a bluebottle called Gary from his hair.
‘Billy had to nip out to stea– I mean, to buy some beer,’ growled Mr Gum, ‘not that it’s any of your business, Captain Nosey.’
‘Well, who’s that then?’ said Polly, pointing to a figure lying sprawled on the floor. ‘It looks like Billy to me.’
‘Borklers!’ Mr Gum swore under his breath. ‘Oh, yeah, there he is. He must’ve come back while I was asleep.’
Friday nudged Billy’s arm with the toe of his boot. ‘Is he all right? He’s not moving.’
‘He’s FINE,’ snapped Mr Gum. ‘He prob’ly just had too much to drink. Now, forget about Billy, you wanna see this chessboard or not?’
Polly ran her finger over the wooden chessboard and shuddered. The thing was slippery with grease and entrails.
‘See?’ said Mr Gum triumphantly. ‘Me an’ Billy loves our chess. An’ if that’s a crime then I dunno what this town’s comin’ to.’
‘Well, they’re def’nitely up to somethin’,’ exclaimed Polly when they were back outside. ‘Did you notice how nervous Mr Gum looked when we was doin’ our ’mazin’ detectiver stuff?’
‘Oh, yes,’ lied Friday, ‘definitely.’
‘An’ look,’ said Polly, holding up her finger. It was covered with grease from the chessboard. But there was something else there too.
‘Fur,’ said Friday, screwing his eyes up like he’d once seen a cool detective do on TV. ‘Just like the fur when the Hound attacked.’
‘Them two’s up to somethin’,’ said Polly. ‘But what we gonna do ’bout it, Frides?’
Friday thought for a moment. Then he thought for another moment. Then he thought for an hour and a half. ‘We’re going to drink coffee,’ he said finally. ‘Lots and lots of coffee. Except for you, Polly, you’re only nine. You can just look at a photo of some coffee instead.’
‘But why, Frides, why?’
‘Simple, little miss,’ replied Friday, twirling his imaginary detective’s moustache so hard it nearly became real for a moment. ‘We need to stay awake, because tonight we’re going on a stake-out. Plus I quite fancy a coffee anyway.’
Chapter 8
The Stake-out
Swirl.
Night time once again and the fog was back, thick and whirling. Almost everyone in town was fast asleep in bed. Not the same bed, that would be weird. Different beds. In the zoo, all the animals had been switched off for the night. A copy of that morning’s Lamonical Chronicle blew along the deserted pavement, its headline plain to see:
‘Stupid newspaper!’ said Polly. She and Friday were crouched down behind a couple of dustbins on the high street, directly opposite the butcher’s shop. That way they could lie in wait for the Hound and keep an eye on Mr Gum and Billy at the same time.
‘Look,’ whispered Polly as the night sky began to cloud over and a damp chill crept into the air, ‘it’s gonna be another right old fogger-me-smogger.’
‘Good,’ replied Friday, who had disguised himself as an owl by drawing circles around his eyes and sticking a squeaky toy mouse in his mouth. ‘That’s exactly what we want. If it’s foggy then the Hound will come out – if it really is a hound. And then we can catch it in our net – if it really is a net.’
‘Are stake-outs always this borin’?’ said Polly two hours later.
‘SQUEEK,’ replied Friday, chewing on the toy mouse. ‘It depends. Generally, in my experience –’
‘Hold on,’ whispered Polly. ‘Somethin’s happenin’.’
It was true. Up until that moment the butcher’s shop had been completely dark. But now a candle had been lit, its flickering flame just visible through the thick fog.
‘SQUEEK,’ said Friday. ‘Let’s go and take a closer look.’ Friday crept out from behind the dustbin and went slithering across the street on his stomach, keeping his eyes shut so he’d be invisible. Polly followed close behind.
And now they could see Mr Gum and Billy through the shop window. The two of them were hunched over the chessboard, Billy looking thoughtful with one hand to his chin, Mr Gum dangling his Bishop over the board, as if deciding exactly where to place it.
‘Right, I got a brilliant move,’ they heard Mr Gum growl. ‘I’m gonna move me Bishop over there an’ smash your Queen up right in her stupid face!’
‘SQUEEK,’ said Friday.
‘They really are playing chess!’
‘Yeah,’ said Polly, ‘but I reckons they’re jus’ fakin’ it in case anyone’s watchin’ them. Any moment now they’re gonna stop pretendin’, sneak out the door an’ go runnin’ all over town destroyin’ stuff up.’
‘You mean –’ began Friday.
‘Yes,’ whispered Polly, ‘I reckons Martin Launderette only thinks he saw a Hound the other night. If you asks me, what he actually done saw was Mr Gum an’ Billy disguised as –’
But at that moment a dreadful howl shattered the silence of the fog, a howl so terrifying that it would have reduced the most courageous eagle on earth to little more than a whimpering doughnut with a beak.
‘It’s the Hound!’ chuckled Friday.
‘I mean – it’s the Hound!’ he screamed in terror.
‘I don’t understands,’ said Polly, glancing back at the butcher’s, where Mr Gum and Billy were still hunched over their game. ‘I was so sure them two was behind it . . .’
‘It seems you were mistaken, little miss,’ said Friday. ‘There really is a real Hound who’s really on the loose for real! Now come on, Polly – after it!’ he cried, taking off around the corner, his coat-tails flying out behind him. ‘THE TRUTH IS A LEMON MERINGUE!’
‘Frides! Frides!’ Polly ran after her friend but it was no
good – she was instantly lost in the swirling fog.
Swirl, swirl, swirl.
Polly ran up and down the damp cobblestones, the fog closing in all around her. Which way was which? What was what? She didn’t have a clue what was going on. It was like being trapped inside a giant French exam.
Chapter 9
It Was All Just a Bad Dream
When Polly awoke she was back in her cosy pink bed, safe and sound.
‘Oh, Mummy!’ she exclaimed. ‘What a terrible dream I just had! I was running through the fog and there was a horrid great doggie chasing me and –’
‘There, there,’ said Polly’s mother kindly. ‘It was only a bad dream. And today is your birthday, remember? Look what we’ve bought you.’
‘Oh, Mummy!’ exclaimed Polly, clapping her hands together. ‘A new pony and an enormous castle made of chocolate!’
But unfortunately that wasn’t the Polly in this story. That was a different Polly who lived in a mansion in New York City, miles and miles away from the little town of Lamonic Bibber.
‘La la la la la,’ sang the Polly who wasn’t in this story. ‘I’ve never once been in danger in my whole life. I’m the luckiest little girl in the world!’
Chapter 10
It Wasn’t All Just a Bad Dream
When the Polly in this story awoke it was still dark. She was lying outside in the cold and the fog, at the bottom of Boaster’s Hill. And the Hound was right there with her, staring directly into her eyes.
‘YOIFLE!’ screamed Polly. And she fainted all over again.
It was some time later when Polly came to her senses. Through the thinning fog she could see the moon, gazing down upon her with its lonely silver smile, gazing down as if to offer comfort, gazing down as if to say, Look out, Polly. Something’s licking your knee.
