Fing

by David Walliams

  “GET OFF ME!”

  The creature just sank its teeth in deeper. Its eye narrowed. It was as if it were going in for the kill.

  *

  Next, Mr Meek hobbled across the cave, and tried to whack the creature off him on the stone entrance.

  *

  WATER!” he exclaimed. “I bet it hates water!”

  As fast as he could, Mr Meek staggered towards a lake. Without thinking what might be in there (this was the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle, remember) he leaped in.

  To his surprise, Mr Meek could stand. Up to his armpits in water, he began giving the FING an ultimatum.

  “Right! That’s it! That’s really it! I need my finger back! It’s one of my favourites. I need it for all kinds of things: turning the pages of a book, scratching my bottom, picking my nose!* I am sorry, FING, but you give me no choice!”

  With that, the man took charge. Finally, he found the hero he’d always thought might just be lurking beneath his meek exterior. At last he was the most manliest man in the whole of mandom. YES!

  He lifted his finger high in the air to savour the moment, before plunging it deep under the water.

  SPLISH!

  Mr Meek held it under, sure that the FING would release its grip.

  Smiling to himself, he waited. And waited. And waited. And waited some more.

  Then the strangest thing happened.

  Bubbles began floating to the surface.

  The bubbles were huge, brown and foul-smelling. Eye-wateringly, nose-ticklingly, stomach-turningly stinky. In a word, *

  It was a very different stench from the creamy, custardy droppings. Mr Meek held his breath and peered down into the dark water. His feet weren’t touching the lake bed after all. They were touching something big and grey and alive.

  Still more lethal-smelling bubbles burst on the surface.

  It was only then that Mr Meek realised that he was, in fact, standing on an animal.

  Not just any animal.

  Oh no.

  Now, of course, the important thing to remember with honkopotamuses (or, rather, honkopotami for the plural*) is that a bubble is just the beginning. A bubble means there is a lot more to come. Mr Meek looked down to see a huge jet of air shooting out from between his feet.

  The creature powered through the water like a torpedo.

  Despite hitting a hundred miles an hour, the FING was still not letting go of Father’s finger.

  If you thought things couldn’t get any worse, then think again. In fright at all the commotion, a flock of wong-wing birds took off from a tree in which they’d been nesting.

  CLUCK! CLUCK! CLUCK!

  Having just one wing (each, not between them – that would be plain silly), they spun through the air, whacking the poor man across the face…

  “OW! OW! OW!”

  …before they nose-dived into the water.

  SPLISH! SPLASH! SPLOSH!

  This served to continue the chain reaction. The wong-wing birds plunging into the lake attracted the attention of another creature lurking in the depths.

  The two-headed .

  It also had its own entry in THE MONSTERPEDIA. The was not unlike a crocodile, but instead of having a head and a tail it had two heads and no tail.*

  Two huge, hungry mouths to feed meant DOUBLE TROUBLE.

  The main drawback of having two heads and no tail was that the creature was directionless. One head wanted to go one way, and the other, well, the other way. Still, Mr Meek looked like a tasty treat to this creature. So the thrashed around in pursuit, both sets of jaws snapping at the man as if he were dinner.

  What with the FING biting his finger, the honkopotamus blasting bottom bubbles from below, the wong-wing birds dive-bombing from above and of course the snapping at his heels, Mr Meek was beginning to think that this might be the end.

  ” he cried. “PLEASE CAN SOMEONE TAKE THE MONSTERPEDIA BOOK BACK TO THE LIBRARY? THERE IS A FEE TO PAY!”

  Shouting didn’t help one bit. In fact, it made things worse. Much worse. The shout woke up another animal. Not just any animal. Oh no.

  Mr Meek had woken up the

  deadliest animal in

  the world.

  No, the deadliest animal in the world was not Myrtle.

  But as Mr Meek was racing towards certain doom his thoughts did flash to his daughter. In his mind’s eye, he wanted to conjure up a pretty picture of her before he died, although, however hard he tried, he just couldn’t find an image of Myrtle doing anything remotely nice. Myrtle didn’t do nice. But she was very good at “nasty”. All kinds of images flooded into Mr Meek’s mind…

  Myrtle snapping the Christmas tree in half when she didn’t get enough presents.

  Myrtle stamping on the Snakes and Ladders board when she was losing the game.

  STOMP!

  Myrtle shoving her entire birthday cake into her gob in one go so no one else could have a piece.

  GURGLE!

  Myrtle punching a hole through the television set when her favourite CARTOON ended.

  THUMP!

  Myrtle cheating on school sports day by making her mother drive her round the racetrack.

  Myrtle deliberately flooding the entire house when asked to hurry up in the bath.

  Myrtle eating all her mother and father’s books when they encouraged her to read one.

  MUNCH!

  Myrtle holding her headmaster upside down and giving him a bogwash when she was given a detention for giving her teacher a bogwash.

  FLUSH!

  Myrtle setting up a stall outside the house to sell every single one of her parents’ possessions so she could buy herself a roller coaster.

  Myrtle wailing so much for a Mr Whippy that the ice-cream van actually toppled over on to its side.

  No. The deadliest animal in the world is not Myrtle.

  It is a helephant.

  This is, quite simply, a flying elephant.

  How does it fly?

  With its trunk, of course. I thought that would be obvious.

  If you had studied THE MONSTERPEDIA, you would know.

  The helephant’s trunk is unusually long. When the animal spins it round fast enough, it works exactly like a propeller.

  What could be more dangerous than a flying elephant?

  Nothing. If it crash-lands on you, you are jam.

  On hearing Father’s shout, the helephant woke up with a “harrumph” from the riverbank where it was slumbering. Helephants always wake up with a “harrumph”, because, however much sleep they have, it is never enough.*

  On being woken up, the animal wanted revenge. So, with a spin of its trunk, it took to the sky.

  BUZZ!

  How does a helephant steer?

  With its tail, of course.

  The tail works as a rudder.

  Come on, this couldn’t be more straight-forward.

  Mr Meek heard a loud buzzing from above. A shadow passed over him. He looked up and saw a huge, fat flying sausage soaring through the sky, blotting out the sun.

  “Oh…”

  But before Mr Meek could say “cripes” the helephant hooked him up by his trousers with one of its tusks, giving him a nasty wedgie.*

  “SHONTISISIMO!” cried Mr Meek as he was plucked from the back of the honkopotamus and whisked up into the air.

  THE MONSTERPEDIA wriggled around in the back of his trousers in an attempt to escape. Meanwhile, the FING simply bit harder on to his finger, closing its one eye in concentration.

  “BOOM DITTY BOOM DITTY BOOM BOOM!”

  The pain was indescribable, so I won’t even try, other than to call it indescribable.

  “LET ME GO!” screamed Mr Meek to the helephant.

  Then he looked below him. It was a long way down.

  “ACTUALLY, KEEP HOLDING ON TO ME, PLEASE! THANK YOU SO MUCH!”

  With its trunk whirring like a propeller, the helephant soared above the clouds. It was bitterly cold all the way up there where the sky meets outer s
pace. Mr Meek found himself covered in a light dusting of ice, like a lolly fresh out of the freezer. He looked down at his finger. To his unsurprise,* the FING was still very much attached to it. Its one eye was blinking due to the cold.

  Despite the pain, which as previously described was indescribable, it was at least the one part of Mr Meek’s body that was not freezing. The FING was a furry finger-warmer. The only problem was that you couldn’t take it off.

  Now hundreds of miles from where it lived, the helephant was ready to take revenge and drop its load. In an instant, Mr Meek’s trousers became unhooked from the tusk.

  “ARGH!” he screamed as he tumbled through the sky.

  cried the helephant.

  If Mr Meek didn’t act fast, he would be nothing more than a splattering of Bolognese sauce on the ground.

  If only he had a parachute!

  Mr Meek looked at the round furry thing still attached to his finger.

  DING!

  He had an idea. An idea so utterly preposterous that it might just work.

  According to THE MONSTERPEDIA, FINGS could vary dramatically in size. Sometimes they were as small as a marble, other times the size of a hot-air balloon.

  With this in mind, as Mr Meek was plummeting towards the ground…

  …he began blowing air into the other end of the FING as quickly as he could.

  PUFF!

  PUFF!

  PUFF!

  The FING’S eye flickered. Whatever was the man doing?

  Just like a Lilo, the creature began to inflate. Soon it was the size of a football, then a beach ball, and then Mr Meek used every last bit of puff he had.

  The FING was now a hundred times or more its original size. Not only was it as big as a hot-air balloon, it worked like one too. Now, instead of falling, Mr Meek was floating up, up and away.

  SWISH!

  “I AM FLYING!”

  he exclaimed.

  Now all Mr Meek had to do was steer a course home. As he saw the continents roll by hundreds of miles beneath him, he thought happily about all the money he was saving on airfares. Using his leg as a rudder, Mr Meek steered a course over Africa, across mainland Europe to the British Isles. Every now and again, he would blow more air into the FING’S end to stop it from deflating.

  Best of all, THE MONSTERPEDIA was still tucked safely down the back of his trousers, and even though there was an overdue fine to pay there could have been a much heftier one for a lost book.

  Mr Meek was mightily pleased with himself. If he could have, he would’ve given himself a pat on the back. He’d invented a brand-new mode of travel.

  Hot-air FING-ing.*

  In a matter of days, Mr Meek was floating over his town. Then his street. Then his house.

  A smug look spread across his face. What

  a super surprise he had for his darling daughter. Not only had he cheated death, but he had brought her the greatest present of all.

  Something of myth. Something of legend. Something from another world. Some FING.

  “I’ve done it!” hollered Father. “Little old me!”

  He reached up to the furry ball to embrace it. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! For never letting go! For letting me blow air into your wotsit!”

  Unfortunately, the man squeezed too hard on the FING. Its one eye widened in shock. Just like a balloon, the air spluttered out infinitely faster than you could put it in.

  Mr Meek had been heading for his garden, looking forward to a nice, gentle landing on the lawn. He was not going to make it. Now he was heading straight for the house.

  “NOOO!” he screamed.

  Father was going too fast.

  He crashed through the roof.

  He smashed through the first floor before landing in a dusty heap on the living-room carpet.

  Fortunately, THE MONSTERPEDIA, which was still down the back of his trousers, cushioned the fall. If not, he might very well have suffered from a broken bottom.*

  “Please remind me to take that back to the library,” said Mr Meek. “There is a fine to pay.”

  You took your time!” announced Myrtle, who was slumped on the sofa, watching CARTOONS.

  “Oh, my goodness me, are you all right, dearest?” yelled a worried Mrs Meek as she rushed into the room.

  “Yeah. I’m fine!” replied the girl.

  “No! Not you, my heavenly angel! I meant Father!” Just one look at him was enough to make Mother burst into a river of tears. “Boo! Hoo! Hoo! Poor, poor you!”

  It was true Mr Meek did not look his best. The man of the house had been gone for months. Now he was as skinny as a rake and his beard reached down to his belly button. Since he’d thundered through the roof and ceiling of the living room, he was plastered from head to toe with dust. The most striking thing of all was that, unbelievably, he still had a furry ball stuck to the end of his finger, even though it had now deflated back to its usual size.

  “Please don’t cry, Mother,” said Father as he wobbled to his feet, “for this is a happy day. Behold!” Slowly, he lifted his finger into the air. “Look what I have for our darling daughter!”

  Mrs Meek looked on in awe at this new heroic Mr Meek. Now she was crying tears of pride.

  “Yes!” continued Mr Meek.

  “Your father has successfully completed his deadly mission. All the way from the deepest, darkest, jungliest jungle, I bring you this! A FING!”

  Myrtle looked away from the television set for a moment and glanced at it, before uttering,

  “I already got one!”

  Needless to say, Mr Meek could not believe his ears. “What do you mean, ‘I already got one!’?”

  “A FING, stupid!” said Myrtle. “I already got a FING.” The girl pointed to a little cage in the corner of the room. “Look, dummy!”

  In a state of shock, Father paced over, and peered through the bars. There, nestling in some torn-up newspaper, was indeed a FING, blinking with its one little eye.

  “Where on earth did you get this from?” he spluttered.

  “Pet shop.”

  “Yeah! Are you deaf? I just said that!”

  Father looked over to Mother, who nodded her head.

  “I am so, so sorry, darling,” began Mother, her face still wet with tears, “but you’d been gone so long that with a heavy heart I’d all but given up hope of you ever returning.”

  “We thought you’d snuffed it,” added Myrtle.

  “CHARMING!” replied Father.

  “So I thought there was no harm in seeing if I could get a FING from somewhere. Especially as Myrtle began… How can I put this politely? She began kicking off.”

  “I gave Mum a bogwash,” chuckled Myrtle.

  “My hair needed washing anyway. And would you believe it?” continued Mother, wincing at the memory. “It turned out they had a FING for sale at the local pet shop! Oh, how we laughed!”

  “HA! HA! HA!” agreed the girl.

  Mr Meek took a deep breath. He wasn’t one to get angry, but he certainly felt peeved.*

  “I’ve travelled thousands of miles,” spluttered Father, “very nearly been eaten alive, and there was a FING in the local pet shop all along?”

  “I am so sorry, dear,” replied Mrs Meek. “I suppose we should have checked before you set off. The FING was actually on special offer.”

  “SPECIAL OFFER?”

  “Yes! Half price. So that was a boon.”

  Father looked as if he were about to burst into tears. He slumped down in what was left of his armchair.

  “Ouch!”

  Mr Meek still had THE MONSTERPEDIA stuffed down the back of his trousers. The book was now

  wriggling like crazy to

  escape from being right next to the bottom of a man who’d not had a bath for months. As soon as Father pulled the back of his trousers open, the book leaped out.

  DOOF!

  It landed on what was left of the coffee table.

  Its leather cover now had buttock imprints on it.
>
  Mr Meek looked down at his finger. Despite everything, the FING was still attached to it, and looking up at him with hate in its one eye. Then the strangest thing happened. The man began to laugh. “Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  It wasn’t a laugh you hear when something’s funny. It was a laugh that made you think he’d gone bananas.*

  “Now we have two FINGS! Two! Two! Two of the world’s worst pet. TWO! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  “Yeah,” said Myrtle. “I already got one. I don’t want another one.”

  “Don’t be impolite to your father, my perfect angel,” prompted Mother.

  “Shut your cake hole!” snapped the girl.

  Mrs Meek fell silent.

  “Take it,” pleaded Father as he held up his FINGY finger. “Please. I beg you!”

  “NO!” she barked. “FINGS are dead boring!”

  “Boring?”

  “Yeah. They don’t do nuffink. I thought it was gonna destroy the whole house, but instead it just rolls around like a fat, furry egg.”

  Mr Meek was defeated. “Then please, please can someone at least help me get this blasted FING off my finger? The pain is excruciating.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, of course, my darling,” replied Mother. “Myrtle, would you be a dear and help me pull the FING off your father’s finger, please?”

  “NO!” snapped the girl. “You do it, you lazy old moo!”

  The lady sighed before grabbing the FING with both hands. The creature’s eye swivelled round to give her a dirty look.

  “Heave!” ordered Mr Meek.

  Mrs Meek did her absolute best heaving, but the FING did not budge an inch.

  “Heave!”