“Anyway,” he said, his voice going just a bit wobbly, “once every kid in the country has a Pumfrey-Soames skatebed, we won’t need any registered Monster Investigators, will we? Think about that, Slater. And only the kids I like will get jobs in the new improved Ministry.”
I gritted my teeth.
“You trying to threaten me, Clyde?”
“Just telling it like it is, kid.”
“You can have this back now, then,” I said, and flung my badge on the desk. It skidded across the polished surface and fell on the floor. “Save you the trouble of asking for it later.”
I didn’t look round as I left the office.
I flicked through the magazine – Cool Stuff for Kids – when I got home. It was absolutely what I’d have expected Clyde to read, all about the latest toys and games and gadgets and clothes – everything that a kid might want and money can buy.
He’d circled some of the best stuff. There was a double ring round an item about the new, not-yet-released I-Zak 750 – a combination mobile videophone, games platform, MP3-player . . . you name it, the I-Zak can do it. Press the right button, it’ll probably walk the dog and tease your sister for you, too. Just the sort of thing Clyde loved to have, to show off about how rich and important he was.
If he wanted an I-Zak soon, though, he was going to be disappointed. Apparently the test-model they’d made had been stolen from right by the inventor’s bed in the middle of the night, while he was fast asleep. They reckoned it was going to take him three months to build another one as good, and another three to get it into the shops. Oddly, Clyde had put a tick and a smiley face next to that bit. Maybe six months was just in time for his birthday. Who knows?
I threw the magazine down. I had more important things to think about than Clyde’s I-Want list. The way I saw it, nobody else was going to do anything, so it was up to me. Calling all the other Monster Investigators was out of the question. Even if I hadn’t resigned, Clyde was the only one who knew all their names and phone numbers.
So there was only one thing to do.
Something no one had ever done before.
Somehow, I had to find out how to get into the monster underworld. I had to rescue Bernard. I had to find out what the monster plan was. I had to stop it.
And I had to do it alone.
If you’re going to face down monsters, you’ve got to be properly dressed. And that means just one thing.
Pyjamas.
Not just any old jim-jams, though. As soon as evening fell, I slipped into my Slater Specials: the Night Operations Utility Pyjamas, their strong fabric hiding all the equipment I needed – each item in its own hand-stitched pocket. Penlight torch, spare batteries, Ministry-issue night vision goggles, extra-strong string, Swiss army knife – you name it, I had it. And, of course, Freddy the Teddy.
Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds completely goofy. Jack Slater, big tough Monster Investigator, goes to bed with a teddy in his pocket.
But remember what I said before? Most of the stuff kids make up to stop themselves being afraid of monsters really does work. And how many of you have a special toy in your bed to help keep the monsters away?
It can’t just be any old toy, though. The more cuddled and loved it’s been, the better. I’d had Freddy since I was a baby, and together we’d seen off a lot of monsters. Teddies, snugglies, even pillows – if it’s soft and cuddly and a kid loves it, monsters will hate it.
When I came back from brushing my teeth, there was a note sticking out from under my bed. Written in the same monstrous handwriting as before, it said:
Pleasant dreams yourself, I thought, switching off my monster traps and getting ready for bed. I wonder how they found out so quickly?
It came around midnight.
I was lying awake, listening, when there was a scratching sound from under my bed. Suddenly, something scuttled out and darted up onto my pillow.
“Ha! Goodbye, Monster Investigator!” it shrieked, and sank its long pointed fangs into my head.
“Eeeek!” it continued, as my head went BANG!
“Erk!” it went on, as someone grabbed it from behind.
“Don’t move!” the Someone hissed.
And that Someone, of course, was me. You see, the “head” the little creep had punctured – well, that was just a balloon, part of the dummy I’d put together for just this kind of situation. My real head had been with the rest of me, lying on the floor on the other side of the room, wearing the night vision goggles and waiting for the monster I was sure would come.
You don’t get to be the world’s greatest Monster Investigator without making a few enemies.
Not that I recognized this little squirt, mind you. But then, no monster who’s actually faced me is going to come back for a second go, are they?
The little horror froze as instructed – for all of ten seconds. Then, quick as a flea, it twisted round and sank its teeth into my arm.
Except it wasn’t my arm.
“Aaaaaaugh!” it yelled, spitting and yowling.
“Now, that wasn’t nice,” I said disapprovingly. “Poor Freddy! I’ve had him since I was a baby, you know.”
“Help! Help! Get it off my teeth!” the monster howled, as it realized what it had in its mouth. At least, I think that was what it said, although it sounded more like, “Hef! Hef! Ef if off i eef!” Freddy was so well-loved that, to a monster, a mouthful of him must have been like biting on barbed wire.
“Yeah, yeah, in a minute,” I answered. It must have been in agony by now, but I didn’t care. In fact, I felt a lot worse about letting the little beast puncture my poor teddy, but Freddy’s a trooper. He’s survived worse.
Still holding the monster by the fur, I reached down beside the bed and flicked a switch.
“Now,” I went on, “let me fill you in on a few things. You listening?”
The monster nodded its head, wide-eyed and terrified.
“First,” I told it, “I’ve just put a light on under the bed. There’s a light on outside the bedroom door too, and a streetlight right by the window. I can open the curtains and show you if you like.”
The little monster shook its head frantically.
“So you’re trapped in here with no way out,” I told it. “Understand?”
It nodded again, eyes even wider – except for the one in the middle of its forehead, which was blinking rapidly as if it was trying not to cry.
“OK,” I said, “you’re going to be a good little monster for Uncle Jack, aren’t you?”
By this time all three eyes were blinking and filling up. “Ef,” it whispered, which I took to be a “yes”.
I kept my eyes on it, and one hand on the torch, while I gently pulled Freddy off its fangs and carefully stowed him back in my pocket.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Seymour,” it whimpered.
“Well, Seymour,” I suggested, “why don’t you and I take a little trip to the monster underworld together?”
Both his mouths fell open, which was a surprise to me as I’d only noticed the one with the fangs. The second was much smaller, with no teeth worth speaking of.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” I went on. “I’ll switch off the light under the bed, and you take me there – but somewhere nice and quiet, with no other monsters around. Deal?”
Seymour’s mouths snapped closed again, one after the other. Then the big one opened again.
“Um, um, OK, yeah, yeah,” he said, his words racing out like kids at playtime, “yeah, I take you, I take you there but you gotta let me go, OK? You gotta let me go—”
I held up the penlight, and he shut up.
“Seymour, old pal,” I told him, “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands.”
He nodded dumbly, his eyes fixed on the torch.
“I’ll do what’s right, and I’ll play fair,” I went on, “but I’m not going to forget that you tried to use my face as a dental brace. Now, let’s go.”
I fitted a collar and lead to Seymour, pointed the torch at him again, and switched off the light under the bed.
“No funny business,” I warned him. “Lead on.”
Seymour squirmed under the bed. I followed, the penlight aimed at his back.
It was dark. Really dark. Even with the night vision goggles on, I could just about see Seymour, but nothing else.
Which must be why I didn’t see how it happened. But after a minute or so we were still crawling forwards, and we hadn’t hit the bedroom wall yet. And then I became aware that it was colder, and that I could hear a far-off drip drip drip sound.
And that the carpet was gently wriggling beneath my fingertips.
We were in the monster underworld.
I yanked on the lead, and Seymour stopped.
“Where exactly are we?” I whispered.
“Monster underworld, yeah, yeah, in the monster underworld,” he jabbered. “You maybe gonna let me go now maybe, please, please?”
I stood up slowly, my hand above my head, feeling for the ceiling. There was plenty of headroom.
“Not yet, Seymour,” I told him. “First, you’re going to show me what they do with the bad monsters. You know, the monsters who break the monster rules.”
The goggles were adjusting to the incredible darkness now. I could see Seymour thinking about what I’d just asked for. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
“Monster prison? OK,” he said, and trotted off. I followed.
Just round the next corner, he jumped on me.
The little rat caught me off guard. The penlight flew from my hand, and within seconds I was on my back with those stiletto-sharp fangs just inches from my face.
“Ha!” he crowed. “Not such a big big-shot now, Mr Monster Investigator, hey? Hey? Not so big now, no. Now I be the hero, yeah, big-shot monster me, yeah, yeah, the monster who finished off Jack Slater, oh yes, all those big monsters who push me around, they gonna treat me with more respect, hey?”
You know, I’d love to tell you about the clever move I made that got me out of this one. Like maybe I made some funny wise-crack, and then came up with some really smart trick that Seymour hadn’t been expecting?
Except I can’t, because it didn’t happen. What happened was me trying to hold Seymour off, but the creep was stronger than he looked – a lot stronger – and those fangs were inching closer and closer every second, slobbering slime onto my face. I was straining and pushing, trying to hold him off, keep him away, and all the time I was thinking, how undignified for the world’s greatest Monster Investigator to be finished off by a little squirt like Seymour . . .
. . . and then there was a very menacing click, like someone snapping a battery-cover shut, from somewhere just behind Seymour’s head. Seymour froze.
He was getting very good at that.
A cold, hard voice whispered, “Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking – ‘she’s been down here three days. Those can’t be fresh batteries she’s just loaded – can they?’ Well, you know what? In all this excitement, I kind of lost track myself. But considering this is a Night Blaster 35 – the most powerful hand-torch in the world, and could light you up like the Blackpool Tower from half a mile away – what you have to ask yourself now is: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do you – punk?”
Seymour made a funny sort of squeaking noise. Then there was a THUNK! as he fainted clean away and rolled off my chest, hitting the floor.
“Thanks,” I said a little shakily, picking myself off the floor and checking my face for punctures. There weren’t any. “Nice speech,” I added.
“Thanks yourself,” she answered – and now that she wasn’t whispering it was easy to tell she was a girl. “I got it off a cop movie.”
I looked at her properly for the first time. She was about my age, kitted out in combat nightie and padded slippers, wearing night vision goggles and a backpack shaped like a cuddly pig. In one hand was a huge torch. Her hair and skin were so dark it was difficult to see her even with the goggles on full – except when she smiled and her teeth showed up, bright and white.
“Cherry Jackson,” she said, sticking out her free hand. “Official Government Monster Investigator. You’re safe with me.”
“Jack Slater,” I told her, taking the hand and shaking it. “Freelance Monster Investigator. You’re even safer with me.”
She laughed again and said, “There’s no such thing as a freelance M.I.”
“There is since this afternoon,” I told her. “I threw my badge at Clyde and walked.” She looked at me to see if I was joking, and decided I wasn’t. I could tell she was impressed. “But enough about me,” I went on, “let’s deal with Seymour here.”
I looked down at Seymour and nudged him with my foot. He was still out cold.
“Well, I say we put his lights on – permanently,” she said, and reached down to pick up my penlight.
I got to it first. “Not so fast,” I told her. “The little rat may have tried to double-cross me, but I still need him.” I filled her in about Bernard, and how I reckoned Seymour could help me find him.
She nodded. “OK, then we need to restrain him,” she said, taking off her cuddly backpack pig. “And I think Mr Piggy here has just the thing – don’t you, Piggy?” She unzipped him and drew out a thin, threadbare-looking blanket. “It used to be my mum’s,” she said, “and before that, my grandma’s, not to mention all the aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters. This particular blankie has kept three generations of my family safe from monsters over the last seventy years.”
Wow. All the cuddles and love and trust it must have soaked up. If that didn’t keep Seymour wrapped up and on his best behaviour, I thought, nothing would.
I helped Cherry wrap Seymour up in the blanket, tying it tightly with the string I’d brought with me for just this sort of situation.
“So – have you really been down here for three days?” I asked her, helping her to stuff Seymour into Mr Piggy so only his head showed.
“Yep. Some little weasel of a monster turned up in my room and stole my brand new trainers. I chased the thing under the bed, hoping to catch it, and ended up down here. I’ve been trying to find my way back ever since.”
Now that was weird. What would a monster want with a pair of trainers? Maybe they were linked to the Ghost Burglars after all.
“Well, if we find Bernard he can show us both the way home. But before we do – I’ve got to know: those batteries you just loaded into your torch . . . were they fresh?”
She grinned, lifted the torch and pulled the switch.
In the heart of the bulb, the tiniest of glows flickered just for a moment, and died.
“You can’t change the batteries in these babies,” she said. “You have to recharge ’em from the mains.”
Once Seymour had woken up, we got going quickly. The weaker a monster is, the lighter it gets – don’t ask me why – so he wasn’t hard to carry, and just a few minutes later we found ourselves looking down a long thin corridor carved out of rock. Or maybe chewed out of rock, judging from the tooth-marks on the walls.
“Monster prison down there, OK, down there,” Seymour moaned. “Now maybe you’ll let me go, maybe now, huh?”
“Button it, Seymour,” I snarled, “or you’ll get a mouthful of teddy.”
He buttoned it.
“How many guards do you think there’ll be on the place?” Cherry asked me.
“Too many,” I answered.
We set off nervously down the corridor. Between us, we had one torch and a guide who’d drop us both in it first chance he got. Our mission: to rescue a monster we wouldn’t even recognize if he crawled out from under our beds waving a sign that said, “It’s me, folks!” Following which we had to find out what the other monsters were planning, stop them, and then get home safely.
Personally, I didn’t think we stood a chance.
Of all the tunnels and rooms we saw in the monster underworld, those in the monster prison were the mo
st cheerful. Everywhere else was drab and gloomy, but someone had gone to the trouble of decorating this place with flowery wallpaper.
Admittedly the flowers were all a greeny-grey colour – but then everything shows up greeny-grey through the night vision goggles, and I was prepared to bet that to the imprisoned monsters they’d be candy-pink, or something even more jolly. They’d hate that.
Maybe that was why the first guard to come round the corner looked so mean. We could tell he was a guard by the big bunch of keys he had jangling on a chain, hanging from a ring through his enormous nose. Quickly, I raised the penlight.
“Hide Seymour!” I shouted to Cherry, who was several paces ahead. Then I slid the switch forward.
And nothing happened.
Well, when I say nothing happened, I mean nothing happened with the torch.
Plenty happened with the monster.
It roared, shook its great shaggy head – and charged.
This was one speedy monster, and I had nowhere to hide. It pelted towards me like an express train, filling the narrow corridor with its enormous bulk, bellowing with gleeful anger. As it came it raised its arms, and sharp, dagger-like claws shot out from its gigantic paws – ready to tear me apart. Cherry ducked and rolled as it hurtled past her, but it was me it wanted – I was the one who’d threatened it – so it flicked her aside like an unwanted bogey and reached out its huge hairy mitts. Its claws swished through the air inches from my face as I leaped frantically backwards. For the second time in half an hour, I thought my time had come.
And for the second time, it was Cherry who saved me.
The way the monster had tossed her aside, she could have been knocked out – she should at least have been knocked breathless – but luckily for both of us, she landed on Seymour. She rolled, and drew her torch as she came up.
Jack Slater, Monster Investigator Page 2
