The 78-Storey Treehouse

by Andy Griffiths

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ says Terry. ‘Why would I want to steal your stinky old chips? I’m a movie star now and I can have all the chips I want!’

  ‘Yeah, well, maybe you stole them before you were a movie star!’ I say. ‘Did you ever think of that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t think of that,’ he says, ‘and I didn’t think of anything else, either … and I didn’t steal your stupid old chips!’

  ‘DID!’ I say.

  ‘DIDN’T!’ says Terry.

  ‘DID!’

  ‘DIDN’T!’

  ‘DID!’

  ‘DIDN’T!’

  ‘So you deny it?’ I say.

  ‘Absolutely!’ says Terry, folding his arms.

  ‘Then there’s only one way to settle this,’ I say.

  ‘A fight?’ says Mr Big Shot hopefully.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘A court case. We’ll let Judge Gavelhead decide.’

  ‘I love it!’ says Mr Big Shot. ‘Courtroom dramas are box-office gold! Let’s go!’

  We climb up to the courtroom. Mr Big Shot and his crew set up the cameras.

  ‘Lights, camera, action!’ he shouts.

  Judge Gavelhead bangs his head on the bench.

  ‘Order in the court!’ he yells. ‘Let the case of Andy versus Terry proceed.’

  ‘He stole my chips!’ I yell, pointing at Terry.

  ‘I object!’ says Terry. ‘He’s lying! He’s just jealous because I’m a movie star and he’s not.’

  Judge Gavelhead turns to me. ‘Chip-stealing is a serious crime,’ he says. ‘What evidence do you have to support this extraordinary accusation?’

  ‘Well, your honour,’ I say, ‘I have prepared a detailed diagram showing how the accused didst—on the night in question—with evil chip-stealing aforethought—use a pair of the most technologically advanced mousetrap-proof stilts ever invented to evade the high-security measures of my high-security potato chip storage facility and STEAL MY CHIPS! Behold, Exhibit A!’

  ‘Well,’ says Judge Gavelhead. ‘This looks like an open and shut case.’ He turns to Terry. ‘What do you have to say for yourself, chip thief?’

  ‘I didn’t do it!’ says Terry. ‘I don’t even own a pair of mousetrap-proof stilts, your honour.’

  ‘Not any more you don’t,’ I say, ‘because you ate them to get rid of the evidence!’

  ‘Did not!’ says Terry.

  ‘Did!’ I say.

  ‘Order in the court!’ says Judge Gavelhead. He bangs his head on the bench.

  He turns to me. ‘Do you wish to call any witnesses?’

  ‘Yes, I most certainly do,’ I say. ‘I’d like to call the very angry duck to the stand. She saw the whole thing.’

  The very angry duck waddles angrily to the witness box.

  I step as close to the very angry duck as I dare. ‘Quack once if the chip thief who stole my chips is in this courtroom,’ I say.

  The very angry duck looks around angrily and quacks.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. I point to Terry. ‘Quack again if I’m now pointing to that chip thief.’

  The very angry duck quacks.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘No further questions. I rest my case.’

  ‘That’s not proof!’ says Terry. ‘That duck will quack at anything!’

  The very angry duck quacks again.

  ‘See?’ says Terry.

  Judge Gavelhead bangs his head.

  ‘ORDER IN THE COURT!’

  ‘Quack!’

  The judge bangs his head. ‘Would the chip thief like to call a witness?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Terry. ‘I call on Mel Gibbon.’

  Mel Gibbon swings across the courtroom on a vine and drops down into the witness box.

  ‘Do you know me?’ says Terry.

  ‘Yes,’ says Mel, ‘you’re my best friend.’

  ‘Thank you,’ says Terry. ‘And in all the time that we’ve been best friends, have you ever known me to steal anybody’s chips?’

  ‘No, never,’ says Mel.

  ‘Thank you,’ says Terry. ‘I rest my case.’

  ‘Objection!’ I say. ‘Terry and Mel only met each other a few hours ago. And would you take the word of a monkey over that of a duck? Because that’s what Mel is—he’s a monkey!’

  ‘Objection, your honour!’ says Mel. ‘I’m not a monkey, I’m a gibbon!’

  ‘Same thing,’ I say.

  ‘Is not,’ says Mel.

  ‘Is so!’

  ‘Is not!’

  ‘Is so!’

  Judge Gavelhead bangs his head.

  ‘ORDER!’ he shouts.

  ‘GIBBON!’ yells Mel.

  ‘MONKEY!’ I yell back.

  ‘QUACK!’ says the very angry duck.

  ‘Court dismissed!’ says Judge Gavelhead. ‘I’ve got a headache.’

  He stands up and leaves the courtroom.

  ‘Phew!’ says Terry. ‘I’m glad we got that sorted out.’

  ‘But we didn’t,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, we did,’ he says. ‘It’s pretty obvious that I didn’t do it.’

  ‘But you did do it!’ I say.

  ‘I didn’t!’

  ‘DID!’

  ‘DIDN’T!’

  ‘DID!’

  ‘DIDN’T!’

  ‘There’s only one way to settle this,’ I say.

  ‘A fight?’ says Mr Big Shot hopefully.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But not just any ordinary fight—an epic interstellar space battle!’

  ‘Perfect!’ says Mr Big Shot. ‘Epic interstellar space battles are box-office gold! Lights, camera, action!’

  ‘Hang on,’ I say.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ says Terry. ‘You’re not chickening out are you?’

  ‘No, I’m hulking up,’ I say. ‘And you’d better do the same unless you want me to squash you like a bug.’

  ‘Good idea,’ says Terry. ‘Thanks, Andy.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ I say. ‘What are ex-best friends for?’

  We hulk up as fast as we can.

  ‘Let the epic interstellar space battle begin,’ I say.

  I grab two passing flying saucers and crash them together over Terry’s ears.

  He pulls the moon from its orbit and kicks it at me …

  HARD!

  I catch a meteor shower in my mouth and spit the meteors back at him.

  He grabs me around the neck and pushes my face into the sun. ‘Hot enough for you, Andy?’ he yells.

  I break free, grab him around the neck and push his face into the sun. ‘Hope you’re wearing lots of sunscreen!’ I say.

  I don’t think he is, though, because his head has caught on fire.

  ‘That’s it,’ he says. ‘Now you’ve really done it!’

  Terry takes the rings from around Saturn and frisbees them at me.

  I’m sliced into at least a dozen sections, which, even for a space fight, is going too far, so I have no option but to end it by …

  shoving him into a super-massive black hole!

  ‘Are you ready to admit you stole my chips now?’ I say. But I get no answer. ‘Terry?’ I say.

  Still nothing. ‘TERRY!’ I yell.

  But he still doesn’t reply.

  Uh-oh.

  I reach into the black hole and pull him out. The extreme gravitation has stretched and pulled his body so much that he looks like he’s made of spaghetti.

  That’s when I hear a familiar sound.

  It’s Jill! And her space cats!

  ‘Andy?’ she says. ‘What are you doing out here in space? And what happened to Terry—why does he look like a strand of spaghetti?’

  ‘We were having an epic interstellar space battle,’ I say, ‘and I pushed him into a black hole.’

  ‘That’s not very nice!’ says Jill.

  ‘But he broke into my high-security potato chip storage facility and stole my chips.’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ says Jill.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ I say. ‘He’s a dirty, stinking, rott
en, chip-stealing chip thief!’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ says Jill. ‘Terry did not steal your chips.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ I say.

  ‘Because it was me,’ says Jill, ‘but I didn’t steal them, I just borrowed them.’

  ‘But how did you evade the mousetraps, the laser beams, the 10-tonne weight and the very angry duck?’ I say.

  ‘With my flying cats, of course!’ says Jill.

  ‘And the safe?’ I say. ‘How did you unlock that?’

  ‘It wasn’t that hard,’ says Jill. ‘It was already open. You’re not mad at me, are you?’

  ‘No,’ I sigh. ‘I just wish you’d told me.’

  ‘I did!’ she says. ‘I wrote an IOU on a chip-shaped piece of cardboard and left it in the chip packet.’

  ‘I thought that was a chip and I ate it!’ I say.

  ‘Oh, good!’ says Jill. ‘Then I won’t have to pay you back.’

  ‘JILL!’ I yell.

  ‘Just joking, Andy,’ says Jill. ‘I know how important your chips are to you.’

  ‘I think we all know how important Andy’s chips are to him,’ says Terry. ‘Which is why I would never try to steal them.’

  ‘I guess I owe you an apology, Terry,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I accused you of stealing my chips, took you to court, crashed flying saucers over your head, spat meteors at you, set your head on fire and pushed you into a black hole.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ says Terry. ‘Let’s just forget about all that and be best friends again … forever!’

  ‘But what about Mel?’ I say. ‘I thought he was your best friend.’

  ‘Not in real life,’ says Terry. ‘That was just acting. I mean, he’s a funny guy and I really like him, but you will always be my best friend Andy—my best best friend.’

  ‘And you’ll always be mine!’ I say.

  ‘CUT!’ barks Mr Big Shot through his megaphone as he flies in on his space director’s chair. ‘That’s perfect! Brilliant! It’s the action-packed, twist-in-the-tale, feel-good ending the movie needed.’

  ‘You filmed all that?’ I say.

  ‘You bet,’ says Mr Big Shot. ‘I got the whole thing! The public are going to lap it up! You three are going to be BIG movie stars!’

  ‘Me, too?’ I say.

  ‘Yes!’ says Mr Big Shot. ‘Every movie needs a supervillain! You’ll be the one everybody loves to hate!’

  ‘What about me?’ says Jill. ‘And Silky? Will we be in it?’

  ‘Of course!’ says Mr Big Shot. ‘Intergalactic space-animal rescue service … hilarious!’

  ‘But it’s not meant to be funny,’ says Jill. ‘Space-animal rescue is a serious business.’

  But Mr Big Shot doesn’t hear Jill. He’s already on his way back to Earth.

  ‘See you on opening night!’ he shouts.

  CHAPTER 11

  BIG SHOT MOVIE STARS

  Hi, my name’s Andy. I used to write books but I’m too busy to do that any more because now I’m a famous big shot movie star.

  This is my friend Terry. He’s a famous big shot movie star, too.

  And this is our friend Jill and her cat Silky. They’re famous big shot movie stars as well.

  And so is Jill’s donkey, Mr Hee-Haw.

  And her cow, Pat.

  In fact, ALL of Jill’s animals are FAMOUS BIG SHOT MOVIE STARS!!!

  Well, when I say we are all famous big shot movie stars, I mean, we’re going to be … just as soon as our movie comes out.

  I guess if you’re like most movie fans, you’re probably wondering exactly when the movie is going to come out. Well, as a matter of fact, we’re having a star-studded, red-carpet movie premiere at the treehouse tomorrow night … AND YOU’RE INVITED!

  Life has changed quite a lot for us since we became movie stars-in-waiting.

  Terry and I now have Hollywood movie star-style pop-up trailers instead of bedrooms.

  And we’ve got custom-built hot-rod limousines to get around the tree … we don’t have to walk anywhere.

  We’ve even got our own Treehouse Walk of Fame.

  It’s not all great though. For instance, it’s kind of hard to see where we’re going because we have to wear shades all the time. (When you’re a movie star shades are pretty much compulsory.)

  I also kind of miss being able to catch up with Terry and Jill without having to go through agents, managers, personal assistants and publicists.

  Plus, we have to spend a lot of time each day trying to avoid the paparazzi.

  And, as if the life of movie stars-in-waiting wasn’t already busy enough, we have to prepare the treehouse for the movie premiere tomorrow night.

  We’re expecting a lot of people—and animals—so we’ve got to get our open-air movie theatre ready.

  We’ll need at least ten thousand more chairs …

  a long roll of red carpet …

  and we’ll have to pop at least ten million pieces of popcorn.

  But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get it all done in time.

  See you tomorrow night!

  CHAPTER 12

  COWHOUSE:

  THE MOOO-VIE

  Wow—no time at all seems to have passed since the end of the last chapter and yet it’s already tomorrow night right now. Welcome to our movie premiere!

  EVERYONE is coming.

  In fact, they should be here already, because the movie is due to start in ten minutes and the only ones here are Terry, Jill, me and you.

  But where is everybody else?

  ‘Terry, you did send out all the invitations, didn’t you?’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ says Terry. ‘I gave them all to Bill the Postman to post.’

  ‘And all my animals know about it,’ says Jill. ‘They’ve been really looking forward to it!’

  ‘So where are they?’ I say.

  Jill shrugs. ‘I don’t know,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, look, here comes someone now!’ says Terry, pointing.

  We see a group of animals, chattering and chirping, approaching from the edge of the forest.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘everybody just act cool. There’s probably going to be a riot when they recognise us!’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Terry. ‘Lucky we’ve got these little velvet ropes to protect us.’

  But instead of heading towards our tree, the animals walk right past our searchlights, our velvet ropes and red carpet and head deeper into the forest.

  ‘That’s weird,’ I say.

  ‘Yes,’ says Jill. ‘They were talking about a movie, too, although they weren’t saying “movie” they were saying “mooo-vie”.’

  I gasp.

  ‘What?’ says Terry.

  ‘It’s those spy cows I was trying to tell you about,’ I say. ‘I think they’ve stolen our movie—and our opening night as well!’

  ‘I already told you, Andy,’ says Jill. ‘I just don’t think cows would do that. They’re not interested in movies—unless the movies are about grass, of course.’

  ABOVE: An artist’s impression of a poster for the sort of movie Jill thinks cows would be interested in.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, Jill,’ I say. ‘Maybe ordinary cows are not interested in most movies—but these are no ordinary cows. These are mooo-vie-making spy cows. You believe me, don’t you, Terry?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ says Terry, ‘and I believe in a lot of pretty unbelievable stuff.’

  ‘Okay, fine,’ I say, ‘let’s just follow those animals and maybe you’ll believe it when you see it.’

  We set off into the forest.

  We can hear the sound of an excited crowd in the distance. More and more animals and people appear in front of us, around us and behind us.

  We come over a rise and see a vast open area packed with people, animals and cows … especially cows … all sitting in front of a super-giant mooo-vie screen.

  ‘Look at that,’ I say, ‘Cowhouse: The Mooo-vie! Now do you believe me?’

  ‘Shh!’ says Terry. �
�The mooo-vie’s about to start.’

  ‘Hey,’ says Terry. ‘Those cows look just like us.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Except they’re cows!’

  ‘Shh!’ says Jill.

  ‘Hey,’ says Terry, ‘that’s just like when my pants were on fire.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘That’s where they got the idea!’

  ‘Shh,’ says Jill.