Charlie grabbed his friend. ‘Quick, hold on to me tight!’ He screwed up his face, reached out with one finger and stabbed at the picture.
BANGGG! KERRANNGGG!! PHWOOOOO- SSHHH!!!
Colours swirled and whirled past them as they tumbled and rolled through space. Was it space? Who knows. There was no sound, just rushing colours and everything spinning around them until –
BOMMMMFFFFFF!!!
They suddenly landed with a dull thud on Charlie’s bed.
They lay there for a few seconds, half stunned and half wondering if what had happened had really happened. They stared round the little bedroom, mentally checking everything, just to make sure it really was Charlie’s room. Wall with Spiderman poster? Check. Several pairs of underpants lying on the floor? Check. Torn curtain from a pretend sword fight gone wrong? Check. It was definitely Charlie’s bedroom.
Ben grinned at his friend. ‘Hey, Charlie, I’ll tell you what. We’ve got our homework to do still, and we’ve got a cracker of a story to write for Crumblebag!’
Charlie got to his feet. He had something important to do first. He went straight to his clothes cupboard and found an old pair of pyjamas. He slipped out of the Cosmic Pyjamas and put on the old ones. Then he took the new ones downstairs and told his mother he didn’t want them any more.
‘They’re a bit babyish,’ he said.
‘Oh, all right. I guess you’re just getting so grown up these days. I won’t be able to recognize you! I’ll send them to your little cousin, Rosie. I expect she’ll like them.’
12 and a bit What Happened Back at School
Mrs Rumble had read all the stories the children had written over the weekend. She was passing them back with her comments.
‘Lavinia, well done. I’m sorry your father broke his leg. Thomas, that was a great story. I liked it when you ate the cake. Ah, yes, Charlie and Ben. You’ve both written the same story. You were supposed to write stories of your own.’
‘But it happened to both of us, Mrs Rumble,’ Charlie explained.
‘No, Charlie, it didn’t happen at all. If you expect me to believe all that twaddle about monsters with heads that come off, not to mention unidentified flying ears whizzing through the air, then you must think I am very stupid indeed. Don’t think you can get round me by writing about my assembly on Dickens and child labour, either. You will both stay in at break-time and write proper true stories.’
Ben and Charlie were annoyed. Charlie tried to change his teacher’s mind. ‘But, Mrs Rumble, I can prove it really happened. Look.’
He reached into his pocket and brought out a small, furry creature with bright, beady eyes, a long tail, pretty pink ears and neat feet.
Mrs Rumble sighed. ‘Charlie, I am not afraid of mice. It won’t work, and pets aren’t allowed in class, as you well know. I will see you both at break-time.’
Charlie sighed. Life really was not fair at all.
Ben gave his friend a gentle poke. ‘I bet Mrs Rumble could have beaten Krankenstein any day,’ he whispered.
Later, at break-time, the two boys sat in class, listening to the other children playing outside. Charlie was writing out one hundred times I MUST NOT BRING MICE INTO SCHOOL. Ben was working on a ‘true’ story.
One day I went home from school. I had some tea. It was fish and chips. I watched some television. I went upstairs. I got into bed. I went to sleep. The End.
He showed it to Charlie and shrugged. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘It is true.’
‘They’re –’ SPLRRRGH! – ‘the best –’ PIFFFFFFFFFFFFFF! – ‘books ever!’ – Grumpfart (aged forty-two and three-quarters)
Krankenstein's Crazy House of Horror Page 7
