Sitting up in their twin beds, Mr and Mrs Meek discussed this, way into the night. Of course, both were desperate not to go, but, being who they were, the argument was remarkably polite.
“But you need a jolly good holiday, Father,” began Mother with a smile. “You have been working so hard at the LIBRARY – you should go.”
“No, no, no, you have always said you wanted to travel and explore the world, Mother,” replied Father.
“Have I?”
“You said you wanted to go to the seaside.”
“For the day!”
“Well, this will be very much like a day out at the seaside!”
“In what way?” pressed Mrs Meek.
Well, that stumped Mr Meek rather. “There might be an ice-cream van?” he offered pitifully.
“AN ICE-CREAM VAN!” Mrs Meek was incredulous. “In the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle!”
There was a loud banging on the wall.
“KEEP IT DOWN IN THERE!” shouted Myrtle from her bedroom next door. “I can barely hear myself grunt!”
The grunt was so loud the whole house rumbled.
Needless to say, Mr and Mrs Meek both looked appalled.
Mother suddenly had a thought, and whispered to her husband, “Of course, one of us is going to have to stay behind and look after our darling daughter all on their own.”
“I’ll go!” he replied as quick as a flash.
“To the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle?”
“Yes. So that’s settled, then! Goodnight!”
With that, he switched off the light.
FLICK!
Mr Meek slept like a baby that night. He woke up every two hours, crying his eyes out.
At dawn the next morning, Mr Meek set off on his quest to find a FING. He had cast aside his bookish persona, and had now turned himself into an adventurer. Well, sort of. The man had put bicycle clips over the bottom of his trousers, in case he snagged them on some undergrowth.
Poor Mrs Meek was very tearful at the doorstep. Since the day they were married, the pair of librarian lovebirds had never spent a single night apart.
“Please, please be careful, Father,” implored Mrs Meek.
Mr Meek was trying to be brave, though it was not his strong suit. “Don’t you worry, Mother. I will be back with a FING before you know it. What’s the absolute worst that could happen?”
“You could get eaten!” called Myrtle from an upstairs window.
“Thank you for your contribution, my angel sent from heaven,” called Father. He smiled weakly at his wife. “I will do my absolute best not to.”
“PROMISE!” she implored.
“I promise.”
They kissed awkwardly. Their kisses were always awkward. Either their noses knocked, or chins bumped, or glasses crunched. Today their foreheads clunked together.
CLUNK!
“Ouch!”
“Argh!”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry.”
Mr Meek picked up his suitcase, took a deep breath and walked down the path.
“I miss you already!” called out Mrs Meek.
came the cry from upstairs.
Mr Meek blew a kiss back to his wife, which, fumbling, she caught.
shouted Myrtle.
Father picked up the pace, and with his suitcase in hand began walking to the bus stop. In his socks and sandals, shirt, tie, slacks and tweed blazer, he looked nothing like a jungle explorer. Having never left his local town before, he was woefully unprepared.
The only food he’d brought was a packed lunch that Mother had made him.
It consisted of:
1. A bread sandwich (Father didn’t like fillings as they were distracting)
2. A packet of flavourless crisps (no flavours, please, thank you kindly)
3. A plain yoghurt (just as he liked them)
As is often the way with packed lunches, Father had scoffed the lot within five minutes of setting off from home, sitting on the bus to the airport. Soon after, he became cataclysmically hungry, and resorted to eating the plastic box in which his lunch had been packed. He ended up rather liking the taste, as there was none.
In his suitcase, Mr Meek had packed an anorak in case of rain, and spare pairs of underpants and socks. He’d also brought some light reading, a small selection of his favourite books from home:
A History of Cauliflower
Boring Buildings of Britain
Ponds
A Closer Look at Gravel
Tissues Around the World
One Hundred and One Poems About Leaves
A Spotter’s Guide to Sandals
Church Pews Through the Ages
A Million Times Tables
Light Bulbs, Light Bulbs and More Light Bulbs
Plus he had taken out of the LIBRARY the book that had led him on this quest, THE MONSTERPEDIA. It was wriggling around in his suitcase. He just had to remember to return it within two weeks or there would be a hefty fine to pay.
Of course, Mr Meek had made some room for the most important items of all, the special FING-capturing equipment.
First, a rusty old hamster’s cage that he’d found up in the loft, into which to put the FING.
Second, a giant tin of the FING’S favourite food, custard-cream biscuits. These were to lay a trail to tempt the FING into the hamster’s cage as soon as he had spotted one.
Mr Meek’s plan really was that simple.
How could it possibly go
wrong?
Mr Meek’s journey to the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle was long. When I say long, I mean loooooooooooooong.
*
After a month (he really should have packed more underpants and socks as they were now only being changed weekly), Father looked a state. His glasses had , he had grown a long, straggly beard, his clothes were torn into rags and, horror upon horror, he had lost one of his sandals.*
Worst of all, THE MONSTERPEDIA book was now overdue, and there was already a substantial fine of to pay. However, however, however, none of that really mattered as Mr Meek had finally reached his destination.
The deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle.
HOME OF THE FING!
In case you are wondering where the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle is, and might be suspecting I have simply made it up,** please peruse the map over the page.
Now that he was in the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle, Mr Meek had to find a FING.
The problem was
he couldn’t spot one
anywhere.
So Mr Meek climbed up the tallest tree he could find. Holding on tight to THE MONSTERPEDIA, which was trying to squirm out of his hand, he spotted a number of creatures from the pages of the book.
There was:
The wong-wing bird. It is a one-winged (or uni-winged) bird, which is unsurprisingly flightless. It leaps confidently off branches of trees before plummeting to the ground.
A honkopotamus. This is a distant relation of the hippopotamus, but the honkopotamus is legless (not drunk – it has no legs). As a consequence, the honkopotamus moves around by honking. The force of the wind being pushed out of the back blowhole is so powerful it works like a jet engine. Despite its size and weight, the honkopotamus has been known to reach speeds of over a hundred miles an hour. Whoosh!
The mingo. A miniature mungo.
The mungo. A giant mingo.
The pludge. This is a venomous giant worm, half red, half white. A pludge is too large for the holes into which it burrows and ends up getting stuck. Hence one half gets sunburned and turns red, while the other stays underground and remains white.
SIZZLE!
The flattened humming bungbung. This hairless rodent hums tunelessly all day and night.
“Pom pom pom pom pom!”
The humming is so wretched it makes the ears of any listeners bleed. As a result, the bungbung often finds itself being sat on by bigger creatures desperate to make it stop.
S Q U I S H!
&n
bsp; A purplephant. This is a species of elephant that hangs upside down from branches by its trunk. It stays there for so long that it turns purple. If you are walking under one when it turns purple, beware: that means it is going to drop to the ground and flatten you in a second.
DOOF!
A lood. Not to be confused with a looood, a lood is a lime-green lizard so terrifying-looking that it is scared of itself. If it sees its own reflection in the water, it desperately swims away, sometimes for hundreds of miles.
A looood. Not to be confused with a lood. This is a hairless white ape, which is so embarrassed about being naked that it crosses its legs and hops around everywhere.
Also known as “the nude looood” or “the hopping looood” or “the nude hopping looood”. One was once spotted shoplifting dresses from a womenswear boutique, causing the old dear behind the counter to faint.
However, despite Mr Meek being able to see for miles around from the top of the tree, there was absolutely no sign of a FING anywhere. The wind blew across the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle, and his thoughts turned to his darling daughter. As a father, he couldn’t let Myrtle down. He had to find a FING, whatever it took. If not, there would be tears. Most likely his, not hers. He thought about home. While the sun was setting across the jungle, Mr Meek pictured Mrs Meek putting Myrtle to bed. Right about now, his wife would be reading their daughter a bedtime story before being clonked on the head with the book and fleeing from the girl’s bedroom, screaming.
“ARGH!”
A tear rolled down Father’s cheek. It was a beautiful scene.
“Myrtle,” he said, “I won’t let you down.”
Now lost in thought, he lost his footing. It was hard gripping on to a tree with just the one sandal. As a result, he slid down the trunk at speed, his bottom hitting each and every branch as he descended…
Suddenly Mr Meek remembered he had lost his hold on the book. “THE MONSTERPEDIA!” he exclaimed.
Right on cue, the mighty tome thwacked him on the head.
It knocked him out cold.
Father woke up as THE MONSTERPEDIA bonked him on the head.
Mr Meek grabbed hold of the book. Unsure of where to put it, he stuffed it down the back of his trousers. Needless to say, the book didn’t like that one bit, and tried to squirm out.
“STOP!” ordered Mr Meek, giving it a light slap. Anyone who was there might have thought here was a man who was slapping his own bottom. Fortunately for Mr Meek, he was all alone in the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle.
At once, the man began making a plan. If he was going to catch a FING, he would have to set a trap. So Mr Meek found a clearing in the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle not much bigger than a paddling pool. First, he opened his now rather battered suitcase, and took out the tin of custard creams. It was heavy as it contained one hundred biscuits. He set the tin down next to his feet. Then he took out the hamster’s cage and put it on the jungle floor. As quietly as he could, he opened the little door of the cage.
The plan was to lay a trail of custard creams, with the last one actually inside the cage. All the man would have to do was wait until a FING followed the trail of biscuits. Then, as soon as it was nibbling the final one inside the cage, Father would slam the door, and BINGO!* The FING would be trapped.
RUSTLE! RUSTLE! RUSTLE!…
A sound came from the bushes.
“Is anyone there?” called out Mr Meek.
There was no reply. Not that a wild animal, or indeed any animal, was likely to call back,
The silence that followed put the man’s mind at rest.
“Probably just another gust of wind,” he muttered to himself.
Of course, Mr Meek had exercised incredible restraint in not gobbling down all the custard creams himself. It had been a month since he’d set off from home with only a small packed lunch. At one point, he’d become so ravenous that he’d resorted to eating a pair of his own UNDERPANTS. Dirty ones at that. Needless to say, they didn’t taste good. Savoury rather than sweet.*
Father knew he couldn’t fail his daughter. There would be hell to pay if he didn’t return home with a FING. Goodness knows what hideous humiliation she would devise for him this time. Previously when Mr Meek had displeased his daughter she had…
…made Father sit on the naughty step outside in the snow until his bum went completely numb with cold…
…sent him to bed before he’d even got up…
…buried all his clothes in the garden so he had to go to work in the LIBRARY wearing only his vest and pants…
…buried Mother in the flowerbed…
…forced Father to eat cold cabbage for breakfast, lunch and dinner…
…told him to stand in a corner. On one leg. Balancing a plant pot on his head. For a year…
…set him to work scrubbing the house from top to bottom, armed only with his toothbrush…
…then made him clean his teeth with that toothbrush…
…made him sleep in the shed…
…and ordered him to drink from a puddle.
When Father turned back to open the biscuit tin, he was horrified to find the lid was already off and it was completely empty.
This was a DISASTER!
Someone or something had eaten all the custard creams!*
Who was the phantom custard-cream thief? There may have been no custard-cream biscuits left in the tin, but there was a suspicious trail of steaming droppings leading from it. Droppings that looked strangely custardy and creamy.*
The droppings led all the way from the clearing, through some very jungly parts of the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle to the mouth of a cave.
Mr Meek grimaced. “Oh no.”
He was afraid of the dark. Going down into the vaults of the LIBRARY was bad enough, but this was infinitely more terrifying. There was a long list of things that gave him THE WILLIES.
Keeping in mind his daughter’s fury if he didn’t return home with a FING, Mr Meek took a deep breath, and stepped inside the dark, damp cave.
His footsteps echoed in the blackness.
SHONT SHONT SHONT…
“HELLO!” he called out.
“HELLO!” a voice came back.
The man was spooked out of his skin. To hide his fear, Mr Meek put on his bravest, boomiest voice.
“Who’s there?” he demanded.
“WHO’S THERE?” was the defiant reply.
“I asked first.”
“I ASKED FIRST.”
“No, you didn’t. I did.”
“NO, YOU DIDN’T. I DID.”
“You are being ridiculous!” he shouted into the darkness.
“YOU ARE BEING RIDICULOUS,” came the reply.
“No, I am not.”
“NO, I AM NOT.”
“Yes, you are.”
“YES, YOU ARE.”
“Show yourself!”
“SHOW YOURSELF!”
“You go first!”
“YOU GO FIRST!”
“Stop repeating everything I say.”
“STOP REPEATING EVERYTHING I SAY.”
“Hang on…”
“HANG ON…”
“Am I talking to my own echo?”
There was silence for a moment, before Mr Meek’s voice bounced back. “YES.”
Now he was seriously spooked.
Father fumbled in what was left of his pocket for a box of matches. Trembling, he lit one.
STRIKE!
FIZZ!
With the flicker of light from the match, he searched out the darkest corners of the cave.
Something was moving.
Something small.
Something furry.
When the light illuminated whatever it was moving around in the shadows, it let out a low growl.
Like most people, Mr Meek thought of himself as someone who was good with animals, even though he’d once been bitten on the bottom by a horse. A pantomime horse. Thinking he could tame this creature, he tiptoed forward and
crouched down. Striking another match…
STRIKE!
WHIZZ!
…he had his first good look at it.
BINGO!
Or, rather, BONGO!
This thing was indeed a FING. It was exactly as THE MONSTERPEDIA had described. The creature was no bigger than a tennis ball. It was round and furry, and moved about by rolling.
Two little holes were visible, one on either side of a large eye, which swivelled round to look at Mr Meek. One hole must be its mouth, and the other its bottom. However, despite these two holes performing wildly different functions, they were completely indistinguishable from each other.
Inexplicably, Mr Meek began speaking to it in a baby voice. As if an animal were more likely to understand you if you spoke to it as if you still wore nappies.
“Hello, little thing, or should I say ‘FING’! Do you want to come home with me?” cooed Mr Meek.
came the reply.
Despite this not sounding anything like a yes, he reached out his hand to stroke the animal. This proved to be a mistake.
A big mistake.
Enormous.
Gargantuan.
Let’s just agree it was big.
SNAP!
“ARGH!” screamed Father.
This FING had bitten on to his index finger.
And it wasn’t letting go. The pain was eye-watering.
“YEOW!”
Mr Meek’s face had turned scarlet, and his hair was standing up on end.
“MINGY! MINGY! MOO!”*
The man wiggled and waggled and woggled his finger as hard as he could.
Fing Page 3
