by Steve Cole
“Technically, you didn’t punch him,” Zola pointed out. “I’m not sure the joke works.”
“Could we try and stay focused, please?” I called, still half outside, clinging on to poor, dazed Verity. “We’ve got to get her inside the helicopter!”
The landscape shook as heavy reptilian feet crashed around close by. Slime splattered, energy blasts crackled and trees burst into flame or were knocked down around us as Alfie’s big (or frankly, ENORMOUS) sisters fought the might of the Monster Army.
Hang on, I thought. Killgrotty’s missing. Shouldn’t he be leading the fight? Where’s he gone?
But there was no time to worry about Killgrotty now.
“Look out!” Zola cried, pointing to the Chopper, who was back on his feet. He swung his axe at the side of the copter, drawing sparks from the metal. Alfie spun us round again, tangling the Chopper up in Alfie’s banner behind. The jollywobble struggled, making the copter pitch like crazy.
Then, over the roar of the rotors I could hear the fierce crackle of energy blasts and the angry roar of a Big Sis: “”
“Uh-oh,” Alfie yelled. “Big Sister incoming. That belly of hers will take out this part of the forest – we have to take off ”
Unfortunately, the Chopper had other ideas – and a tight hold on the banner’s towrope. He wouldn’t let us go.
Verity’s eyes flickered open – and widened with fear as she scrabbled for a better grip on the landing skid. “What the—?”
“Keep holding on!” I yelled over the din.
“To what, my sanity?” Verity panted. “I’m exhausted, I’m hanging from a helicopter and I seem to be flashing my pants to a crazed, axe-wielding, mallet-swinging jollywobble!”
“And on top of that, a giant Crudzilla is about to start an earthquake!” I yelled. “Alfie, we’ve got to break loose right now!”
“Allow me!” Verity kicked out with her foot-claws and sliced through the rope. The Chopper fell back onto his splinter-filled bum.
“Whoa!” Alfie struggled with the control stick as we rose up into the air. “The engine’s really straining. Your furry friend on the skid must be heavier than she looks!”
“Cheek!” Verity squeaked.
“But I’m guessing your sister is just as heavy as she looks,” I said, fascinated as a blur of orange scales flashed past the window – the Chopper, several greenies and a fair-sized portion of Wilderness Woods were squashed flat by the giant, nosediving she-monster.
As the shockwaves rumbled through the forest below, I felt a tidal wave of relief wash over me. “Whew! That’s taken care of our pursuers, then.”
“Er, not quite!” Verity squeaked. Still hanging onto the left skid, she was staring in horror at the right skid.
Where a familiar, grimacing green figure was dangling outside, glaring up at me.
Killgrotty had escaped the giant Crudzillas. . . by grabbing a free ride with us!
I watched, whimpering, as Killgrotty stared up at me from the landing skid. “You revolting human,” he growled, “you’ve got to be stopped!”
Zola leaned over, pulled off her shades and tried to gorgon-glare at him, but Killgrotty looked away quickly.
“Hey, man, I don’t pick up hitchhikers!” Alfie took the copter higher into the air, weaving from side to side. “You get me?”
“Careful!” I warned him. “You’ll shake off Verity too!”
“Let the fluff-ball go!” I heard Killgrotty shout. “You can’t use her like this!”
“Huh?” I leaned out the window, but could only see his big green fists holding on to the skid. “Captain, seriously, I’m not using Verity like anything!”
“You want to use the Star Jewel to grant your evil wishes,” Killgrotty was saying. “You’ll bring disaster down on us all. Is it worth it? ”
“What are you on about?” I cried. “I just want to go home!”
“Release her!” Killgrotty snarled. “You landed yourself here, and you’ll never get out.”
“Hey, I just had an idea,” Alfie piped up. “A real bulb-over-the-head moment.”
Looking up, I realised our pilot was speaking literally – he was steering the copter straight for the skybulb! It was bigger than I’d thought – the size of a caravan at least, and fizzing with pinky-white light.
“” Zola squealed, and her snakes looked delighted. “Goddess above, what an artistic statement THIS is going to be!”
It was too late to shout any warnings, too late to do anything – even close my eyes. Alfie turned the copter at the last moment so that the right landing skid smashed into the skybulb – with Killgrotty still holding on.
The glass shattered. Light flared out from inside like a caged creature suddenly released. Killgrotty was knocked from the skid and held suspended: zapped, blapped and eerie-fied in the power-flow while we flew on, with Verity still somehow clinging to the other skid. The spooky glow sputtered and faded, leaving darkness.
“I guess we made light work of Killgrotty, huh?” quipped Alfie, holding up a pincer. “Oh, yeah! I’m ”
“Ooooh, Alfie!” Zola was quivering. “That was, like, radical sky theatre!”
“You’ve killed him!” I cried in shock.
“Nah.” Shaking his head, Alfie flicked on the copter’s headlamps and circled back towards the wreckage. “Look!”
With a mix of fear and admiration, I saw that Killgrotty had managed to grip hold of the filament inside the shattered skybulb. Scorched, singed and smoking, the soldier dangled there grimly as Alfie circled round for another view.
“” Killgrotty shouted. “Breaking skybulbs is punishable by the death of a thousand splats.”
“Don’t get heavy, man!” Alfie saluted. “You should get Get it?”
Letting go with one hand, Killgrotty drew a gun from his hip holster. “I’ll show you heavy!”
“No,” said Zola. “I’ll show you!” She glared at the soldier through the window. The tough monster had no time to look away.
And in a blink and a blur, Killgrotty and his gun were transformed into scrap-metal, the same colour and texture as the copter itself, bashed about, bolted together – but also festooned with flowers. He plunged from the roof like a highly decorative meteor, soon swallowed by darkness.
“Well, whaddyaknow!” Alfie beamed. “He’s gone down with the ”
“I call that still life, Heavy Petal.” Zola put on her shades and smiled happily. “Did it make your heart sing, artsy human boy? Did it?”
“Hey!” came a weak squeak from outside. “Anyone interested in helping out a half-flattened furry thing?”
“Verity! Flip, I forgot about you . . .” I leaned out into the darkness, felt for a furry arm, found it. With Zola’s help, I hauled in the hamster-monster. She lay quivering on the floor, looking up at us, a faint green glow in her eyes, just as when she’d fought Killgrotty and his goons up on Level One.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “It’s over now.”
“Over?” Verity smiled weakly up at me. “Abso-nibblin’-no way! After tonight’s little show the Monster Army will chuck everything at us. They’ll do anything to stop us now! We’ve to find the Star Jewel as quickly as possible.”
Confused cries and shouts were floating out from the darkened caves and cliffs below.
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“Um, something tells me I’d better get out of here till the heat is off a little,” said Alfie. “I have a request. Well, it’s re: your quest. Zola mentioned you’re all looking for the Star Jewel. Can I come with?”
“Sure! You just earned it, pilot boy!” Verity winked at him. “And as a reward, when we find the jewel, you can use it to wish for your heart’s desire. How cool is that?”
“That’s , man!” Alfie punched the air with his little pincer. “Okay! Which way? Which way?”
Verity pulled her uncle’s
crumpled notes from inside her toga. “Let me see . . .”
I was slightly surprised at how easily Verity had let Alfie join our little band, but then he had proved himself to be good in a tight spot, just like Zola, and his copter could keep us clear of the nasty, destructive monsters below.
“I’m glad that the skybulb’s gone out,” Verity murmured, “because now, no one will see us sinking and try to follow us.”
“Sinking?” My heart was doing much the same. “We’re in a helicopter! What do you mean, sinking?”
“I mean that according to the map, we’re going to have to touch down in the porridge swamps to the west.” The green glint had left her eyes now – they fixed on me, wide and black. “Of course, it’ll seem like we’re sinking to our deaths as the slop slips over us, buried forever in grey lumpy sludge. But Uncle says there’s a big crack in the ground below. All we have to do is get through it, and we’ll be in the next level!”
“Is that all?” I groaned. “Can’t we just go there by nogglodon?”
“That’s ‘nogglooooodon’.”
“Stop that.”
“Anyway, Killgrotty will have all those exits covered, remember?” Verity went on. “We have to take the road less travelled.”
“Or the swamp less died in,” Alfie suggested.
“Oh, a whole lot of folk have died in it,” Zola informed us cheerily. “But Verity’s right. It’s very wise to sneak into Level Six – it isn’t safe. It’s the extreme opposite of safe.”
I looked at her, uneasy. “Sounds as if you know a lot about it.”
“I do. Level Six is where I’m from,” Zola revealed. “I’ve heard of this back way in. We’ll plop out in Death-Eye Canyon in the gorgon capital of Gorgopolis – one of the deadliest spots in all Terra Monstra!”
No one spoke for a little while.
“Well,” said Alfie in a small voice, “maybe being crushed to a pulp by my gigantic killer sister won’t be so bad after all! How about I just drop you off near the swamps and—”
“Awww, c’mon! It’ll be a hundred times harder without you.” Verity put an arm around Alfie and licked his cheek. “Anyway, we’ll be all right. No risk, no frisk! Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
“I think mine’s been exorcised,” I said miserably. Killgrotty was so wrong! I wasn’t using Verity. It seemed that, if anything, she was using us!
But I was glad she was still on my side after all she’d been through since I pitched up here. To get the jewel, and to get out of Monsterland . . . how could I do it without her?
I reached over and gave her paw a squeeze. She smiled back at me happily.
But Zola did not look happy at all.
An hour later, Alfie brought the helicopter low over the porridge swamp – which was just as weird and unpleasant as it sounded. The worst thing was the smell, which was more like an over-excited skunk setting off stink bombs in a rotten-egg-and-cabbage factory.
Well, I say that was the worst thing. But then a few minutes later we were slowly descending towards that evil-stinking mire. In the helicopter’s headlights I watched it surge, bubble and plop. It seemed almost . . . hungry.
I looked at Zola. She had hardly spoken the whole journey, staring at the map through her shades. “You sure this is the right spot?”
She nodded. “This is it, all right.”
Suddenly we stopped going down. “I . . . I can’t do this!” Alfie cried. “This is crazy, man! I mean, no magic wish is worth getting suffocated by porridge for. Am I right?”
“Abso-nibblin’-no-you’re not!” Verity tipped him out of the pilot’s seat and pushed up on the control stick. With a lurch and a jolt and a we swooped down into the sick-smelling swamp of monster porridge.
Alfie made a high-pitched squeaky noise. “What have you done?”
“Speeded things up a little,” said Verity, switching off the engines: the rotors sighed to a stop, and all was sinister silence. “Killgrotty won’t have stayed as metal for long – and he’ll be jumping mad, coming after us with everything he’s got, trying to stop us reaching the Star Jewel. Every second counts.”
“Especially when you’re running out of them,” I agreed dismally. Already the thick, slurping porridge was up against the windows. We were sinking . . . sliding.. . .
“Maybe you should switch on the rotors again,” I said, “we could rise back out of here?”
“Too late,” Zola whispered. The gloop was almost at the top of the windows now. Disgusting sounds were growing louder all around us. The headlights had been swallowed; I couldn’t see anything at all through the windows, the darkness of the swamp-muck was absolute. The helicopter’s hull creaked and groaned as the porridge pressure increased, as the sucking, slurping noises got louder, deeper and more revolting. The faint glow of the copter’s controls gave our only light.
“How does this crack in the bottom of the swamp even work?” cried Alfie. “If it’s real, what stops the porridge in the swamp from seeping out of it?”
“I don’t know,” Verity admitted. “But Uncle Voshto is an expert. If he says it’s the best way in, it’s the best way in.”
The porridge closed over us. An oaty silence settled.
“We’re completely under the swamp,” Alfie whispered.
“How do we even find this crack in the bottom?” I asked Verity.
A deep, growling, horrible noise echoed all around us.
Zola looked grave. “Sounds as if something has found us!”
Alfie flicked a switch and the headlights grew brighter, spilling just a little light through the cockpit windows. I saw the sluggish swirl of gloop draining away into a dark hole.
A dark hole with a fat red tongue lolling in its centre.
A dark hole framed by huge, tombstone teeth.
“There’s something horrible down here,” I realised. “It’s going to swallow us whole!”
“Help! Help!” I wanted to run around in a panic, but the cockpit was so squashed with four of us inside that I could hardly move. “What are we going to do?”
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Alfie was hammering the engine buttons, trying to restart the rotors. “I didn’t sign up to be lunch for a monster.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.” Verity was totally calm, quietly licking at her fur. “I know something you don’t.”
“Of course!” Zola nodded, as her snakes stifled little giggles. “The reason you wanted to come here inside something.”
“Less mucky that way,” Verity agreed.
“What?” I demanded. “What’re you on about?”
The sludgy blackness around us gave way to pink, glistening flesh, and suddenly we were thrown about, tumbling down into unknown glistening depths.
“Noooooo!” I shouted, horrified. “We’re falling down this thing’s throat!”
“We have to, Bob-ob-ob!” Verity assured me. Disgusting wobbling, bobbling, fleshy walls pressed in all around. “It’s the only way down to the crack.”
“Huh?” Alfie looked blank. “But, the swamp is outside, and we’re inside this thing . . .”
Zola smiled. “It’s not a crack in the bottom of the swamp. It’s a crack in the bottom of this monster!”
“You mean . . .” I blinked. “This crack we’re going through is a bum-crack?”
Verity held up a page from her uncle’s notes and read aloud: “There is a vast monster in the porridge swamp that feeds on nothing but the horrid gunk all around there. Its giant bottom sits in a sinkhole like a humungous plug in the base of a bathtub. Breathing through an extra-long snorkel, I plan to sink into the monster’s mouth and pass through its digestive system, finally exiting safely via the bum into a cave in Level Six.” She looked up and grinned a broad, beaverish grin. “Since I forgot to pack an extra-long snorkel and a change of clothes, I thought maybe we could go down in this thing instead, huh?”
“When you said we’d plop out, Zola, man, I didn’t realise how right you were!” Alfie clutc
hed his rubbery stomach. “You do realise my copter’s not insured for ‘acts of bottom’?”
The sounds of gurgling and belly-growls grew even louder. I just hoped the thing that had swallowed us wasn’t constipated.
“My monster movies were never like this,” I said. “Although I guess there was the Blob in, er, The Blob. That was a big red amoeba from outer space that grew bigger the more people it ate.”
“Eating people? Ugh!” Zola turned up her green nose. “I’d sooner have the porridge.”
“Me too.” I gave a wistful sigh. “You know, I used to be 83% certain I wanted to become a film director and make my own monster movies when I grew up. Now, I don’t know.”
Alfie looked at me. “So, there are other movies up top besides the ones about Cousin DinoBeast, huh?”
“They’re just stories,” I told him. “Humans like to make up stories about monsters.”
“Why?” wondered Verity.
“Well, cos creepy monster stories are cool.”
“You like being scared?” said Zola. “You must love it here.”
“No,” I said with feeling. “Humans only like being scared when we know it’s not real. But no one knows that monsters are really real . . . except me, now.” I shook my head. “You know, it’s way too much of a coincidence that I love monster movies so much and wound up here. It must be cos my family have lived on top of the leak from Terra Monstra for so long. It must’ve affected us. You know, like when you dream about something you’ve been thinking of that day? 61% of my dreams are like that.”
“What’s with you and percentages, Bob-ob-ob?” Verity wondered. “You seem to use them quite a lot.”
She was right, of course. I use percentages maybe 40 – 50% of the time. “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Everyone in my family does it. It’s just a thing. Like the way you can’t say nogglodon.”
“Nogglodon.”
“Leave it.”
A protesting, squeaking, squelching noise started up and the copter slipped downwards. “Ugh! Alfie waved a pincer in front of his beak. “What a stink!”
