by Jim Smith
A single candle floated above an old wooden counter at the back of the room. Hovering next to it was one of those plastic globe things you shake to make the snow inside start swishing around.
‘CAN’T. . . SEE . . . VERY . . . WELL . . .’
I said in my superhero voice and I darted my eyes around until I spotted a plug socket.
I plugged the plug on the end of my tail into it and the little TV screen on my belly flickered to life, lighting up the room.
‘Looks like Floaty’s found the perfect shop!’ said Jamjar, pointing at a wall filled with thousands of different-coloured nail varnishes.
I swizzled my eyes two billimetres to the right and counted three hundred and seventy nine different tubes of hand cream, all crammed into one cabinet.
A sign saying ‘SOAP’ in big red letters hung from the ceiling. Underneath, a pyramid of multicoloured soaps teetered up to the tips of my aerials.
Splorg wandered over to a ginormous metal chest with eight trillion tiny drawers and pulled one open.
‘Gloves! Millions and billions of gloves!’ he gasped.
The drawer was about a mile deeper than it looked from the outside and piled to the top with woolly brown gloves.
‘Looking for anything in particular?’ bubbled a tiny little voice from the direction of the counter and we all jumped a billimetre off the ground.
‘Put your hands up!’ shouted Twoface, whipping his ray gun out and pointing it at the snow globe.
‘If only I could!’ bubbled the tiny little voice and I Future-Ratboy-zoomed my eyes in on the snow globe. Inside, floating upside down, was what looked like a mouldy piece of old chewed-up bubblegum. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got any hands TO put up!’ it said.
Jamjar pulled the Triangulator out of her pocket and pointed it at the snow globe. ‘Hmmm . . . seems to be some kind of germ-based extra-terrestrial life form,’ she said, looking up at the little bubblegum man.
‘Please, call me Harry!’ chuckled the man, doing a loop the loop, and the snow inside his globe swirled around.
‘Nice to meet you, Harry!’ said Twoface, tucking his ray gun into his belt and holding his hand out for a shake. ‘Oops, sorry!’ he said, remembering what Harry had just said about not having any hands.
Splorg looked around to make sure there were no Nom Noms in the shop and pulled the cup off the end of his nose. ‘Hope you don’t mind me asking, but why did you open a HAND SHOP when you haven’t got any hands?’ he said.
‘Great question!’ said Harry. ‘I come from the planet Kwagglethump – heard of it?’
‘Doesn’t matter. The thing about Kwagglethump? There’s nothing on it!’
Not Bird floated over to a box of thimbles and slotted one on the end of his beak like a mini nose-protector.
‘You know what happens when there’s nothing on a planet?’ said Harry and we all shook our heads again. ‘There’s nothing to pick up! You know what happens when there’s nothing to pick up? You don’t need hands!’
Twoface picked a nail file up off a shelf. ‘Oh yeah . . . you DO need hands to pick stuff up, don’t you!’ he said and Jamjar rolled her eyes.
‘Long story short,’ said Harry, ‘I came to Shnozville on a day trip. I couldn’t believe it – so many things to pick up! Carrier bags, hamsters, muesli bars . . . the list is endless. Would you like me to go on?’
‘So you opened a shop selling stuff for hands?’ asked Splorg.
‘You’ve gotta look after your grabbers when there’s this many things to pick up,’ said Harry, all seriously.
‘And how’s business?’ asked Jamjar.
‘Couldn’t be better!’ said Harry, looking around his shop proudly. ‘Actukeely, it could be a BIT better. In fact, it couldn’t be worse. Nobody EVER comes down this street!’
‘THERE’S somebody!’ said Splorg, pointing at a familikeels-looking person walking past outside.
‘Hey, it’s Dr Smell!’ I said, waving to him, but he just carried on walking with his arms stretched out in front of him like a zombie, his nose twitching in the air.
‘Ahem . . .’ coughed the Floaty Note 6000, and Twoface clicked his fingers, remembering why we’d come in here in the first place.
‘Ah yes, we’d like a tube of hand cream, a bottle of nail varnish and a bar of soap please,’ he said.
‘I think I can manage that!’ beamed Harry.
‘That’ll be nine hundred billion pounds, please!’ said Harry, once we’d tested every tube of hand cream, bottle of nail varnish and bar of soap in the shop.
‘What a bargain!’ said Splorg and the Floaty Note 6000 beeped itself against Harry’s till. (The Floaty Note 6000 also pays for stuff, which is keel.)
Harry nodded at the cup in Splorg’s hand. ‘What’s the cup for?’ he said and Splorg held it up all proudly, like he was in an advert for a crumpled-up old cup.
‘Nom Nom? What in the name of Kwagglethump is a Nom Nom?’ said Harry.
‘Haven’t you seen them? There are millikeels out there! Horrible little hairy bitey rectangle things with curly noses,’ said Splorg, peering out the window.
Harry did a loop the loop inside his snow globe. ‘Oh, THOSE things! Yes, there was one in here earlier!’ he said. ‘Didn’t bother me, what with the built-in protection and all,’ he grinned, bumping himself against the inside of the globe.
‘IN HERE? THERE WAS A NOM NOM IN HERE?’ shrieked Splorg, dropping his cup, and it rolled underneath the counter.
Twoface whipped his ray gun out and I Future-Ratboy-darted my eyes around the shop. ‘Don’t worry Splorgy Baby, we’ve got this covered,’ I said.
A tiny little bottle of nail varnish remover teetered forwards on the edge of a shelf.
‘NOM NOM!’ growled a voice and the bottle fell, crashing to the floor next to Jamjar’s feet.
cried Jamjar, pointing all her fingers at a bright red Nom Nom.
‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird, zooming at it with his thimble beak-protector on.
The Nom Nom leapt off the shelf, dodged Not Bird and darted towards Splorg.
‘WAAAHHH!!!’ screamed Splorg, heading for the door.
‘Have a nice day!’ shouted Harry, as I pulled my plug out of the socket and followed the gang out on to the street.
‘My nose-protector! I haven’t got my nose-protector!’ shrieked Splorg, zigzagging down Tinderbox Alley. The Nom Nom was zooming after him, its rectangle-shaped body stretched into a triangle from how fast it was flying.
Twoface pointed his ray gun at the Nom Nom and pulled the trigger, but nothing splurted out.
‘Empty!’ he cried. Not that the walnut and pavement flavour chocolate milk was going to do anything anyway.
‘Faster, Splorg!’ shouted Jamjar, who was carrying Bunny’s bits in a ‘Harry’s Handy Hand Shop’ carrier bag. ‘The Nom Nom’s catching you up!’
‘Oh thanks a lot for that, Jamjar!’ shouted Splorg over his shoulder, not spotting the hover-poo that was crossing the road. ‘GAAAHHH!!!’ he screamed, tripping over it and forward-rolling into the gutter.
Not Bird overtook the Nom Nom and skidded to a stop just in front of Splorg’s nostrils. ‘H-H-HELP MEEE!!!’ wailed Splorg, scrabbling to his feet and stumbling down the road as Not Bird jabbed his beak-protector at the Nom Nom.
‘OPERATION DO SOMETHING INSTEAD OF JUST WATCHING!’ I shouted to myself in my superhero voice, and I grabbed hold of the Floaty Note 6000 and gave it a tug like a cowboy pulling on his horse’s reigns.
The Floaty Note 6000 reared up, then shot forwards, dragging me through the air. ‘YIPPEE-KEEL-KAYAY!’ I cried, flying past Jamjar and Twoface. ‘DON’T WORRY, SPLORGY BABY, FUTURE RATBOY’S HERE!’
You know how I’d just shouted, ‘DON’T WORRY, SPLORGY BABY, FUTURE RATBOY’S HERE!’? Well I was too late because he’d already been bitten.
screamed Splorg, grabbing the end of his nose as the Nom Nom buzzed off.
‘Splorg!’ cried Jamjar. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘What in
the unkeelness do you think?’ said Twoface, running up and peering at the two little bite marks above Splorg’s nostrils.
‘I think I’m going to faint,’ warbled Splorg, leaning against the window of the shop we were standing in front of, and he slid down the glass like a giant alien raindrop.
The Floaty Note 6000 floated over to Splorg and wafted air on to his face. ‘Thanks Floaty, that’s better,’ whimpered Splorg.
Jamjar breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at the sign above the shop. ‘X BURGER?’ she said and I Future-Ratboy-zoomed my eyes through the window.
‘HEY, DR SMELL’S IN THERE!’
I said.
Dr Smell was sitting at a table, tucking into a cheeseburger and chips. The cheeseburger had an ‘X’ stamped into the top of its bun and the chips were shaped like Xs.
Jamjar squidged her face against the glass. ‘What in the name of unkeelness is Dr Smell doing in there?’ she said. ‘He usually gets his lunch at Bunny Deli!’
She peered up at the sign above the shop again. ‘X BURGER. Hmmm, there’s only ONE person who’d call their shop THAT!’
‘Who?’ whispered Twoface, and Jamjar rolled her eyes.
‘Mr X, of course!’ she said.
‘Of course, Mr X!’ said Twoface. ‘It all makes perfect sense!’
I squidged my face up against the glass next to Jamjar’s and twizzled my eyes around, looking at the other people inside the restaurant.
‘No wonder Bunny Deli’s been so empty. Everyone’s in here!’ I said, spotting the man with the back-to-front hover-cap and the old lady in the hover-wheelchair, too.
The walls were covered in posters of Mr X, smiling like he owned the place, which I spose he did.
Splorg grabbed on to the Floaty Note 6000 and pulled himself up. ‘There’s something very fishy about this,’ he said, waggling his just-bitten nostrils. ‘Or should I say . . . something very X BURGERY!’
‘You’re right, Splorg,’ said Jamjar, pointing her Triangulator through the window and gasping. ‘Oh my unkeelness, Ratboy – it’s your bin!’
‘WHERE?’ I cried, peering through the window of X BURGER, looking for my bin.
‘THERE!’ said Jamjar, pointing to the back of the little restaurant, and I spotted a wheelie bin wearing a white shirt, a black jacket and a bow tie. It had two plastic tube-arms with washing up gloves stuck on the end of them.
‘That’s not my bin!’ I said. ‘Mine was green, and it didn’t look like some sort of robot waiter!’
‘That must be why I’ve been having so much trouble locating it,’ said Jamjar, tapping her plastic triangle. ‘Not only did Mr X’s lasers discombobulate the bin’s internal metrics, it seems he confused my Triangulator’s homing modules with some kind of cloaking device as well.’
said Twoface.
‘Mr X dressed Ratboy’s bin up in a suit to stop my Triangulator finding it!’ said Jamjar.
‘What I don’t get is why Mr X would want to open a BURGER SHOP,’ said Splorg and he licked his lips, his eyes fixed on Dr Smell’s X BURGER.
‘YE-AH!’ said Twoface. ‘Isn’t he sposed to be an evil mastermind or something?’
Not Bird fluttered over to Splorg and sat on his head. ‘Maybe he’s had enough of being a baddy and fancied running a little restaurant instead?’ said Splorg, and I rolled my eyes.
‘As IF Mr X has had enough of being a baddy!’ I said. ‘Baddies don’t EVER have enough of being bad! They just get older and grumpier and even more BADDIER!’
‘So what IS he up to then, Ratboy?’ said Twoface, and I scratched my full-stop nose-blob.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But I’m gonna get my bin back!’
‘GOOD AFTERNOON AND WELCOME TO X BURGER!’ bleeped my bin in a posh computery voice as we walked through the door. ‘MY NAME IS WHEELIE AND I’LL BE YOUR WAITER TODAY!’
Jamjar peered at a circuit board wired into the top of Wheelie’s lid. ‘Looks like Mr X fitted your bin with some kind of speech module,’ she said.
I walked up to the bin and held my arms out for a hug. ‘Wheelie!’ I beamed.
bleeped Wheelie, his lid flapping up and down. A disgusting smell, sort of how you’d imagine a bin’s breath to stink, wafted up my nostrils.
‘D-don’t you recognise me, Wheelie?’ I said, tiptoeing back from the stench. ‘We were hit by lightning together and zapped into the future, remember? I got turned into a superhero rat!’
I pointed to my full-stop nose blob and my superhero-ish black bin bag cape.
‘I WOULDN’T KNOW ABOUT THAT, SIR,’ said Wheelie, wiping down a table and pulling out a chair. ‘PLEASE, TAKE A SEAT!’
Dr Smell swallowed the last bite of his X BURGER and smiled at the bin. ‘Waiter, that was excellent. Another one, please!’ he said and the hover-menu fizzled a whole nother X BURGER to life in front of him.
‘Shouldn’t you be in Bunny Deli?’ said Jamjar to Dr Smell.
‘Ooh, hello Jamjar!’ said Dr Smell, pulling a little bottle of ‘Stonk for Men’ out of his inside jacket pocket and spraying it under his armpits. ‘I see you’ve found this place too – fantastic, isn’t it!’
‘Best burgers in town,’ spluttered the man with the hover-cap on. His mouth was full of X BURGER, and X CHIPS were sticking out of it like little arms trying to get free.
Jamjar pointed her Triangular at the hover-cap man’s mouth. ‘That’s funny,’ she said. ‘This food is made out of one hundred and twelve per cent cardboard!’
‘Mmm, cardboardy delishy-wishy-ness!’ cackled the old lady in the hover-wheelchair, stuffing her last X CHIP into her mouth. Her eyes were staring blankly in front of her, like she was watching TV.
‘ANYWAAAY . . .’ I said, trying to change the subject. ‘Shall we head off, Wheelie?’
‘HEAD OFF, SIR? I’M NOT SURE WHAT YOU MEAN,’ bleeped my bin, smellily.
I pointed to the door. ‘Well, it’s all very keel being in the future and everything, but I’m gonna HAVE to go home at some point. My mum and dad’ll be wondering where I am!’
Wheelie stared at me, or at least pointed his lid in my direction. ‘I HAVEN’T THE FAINTEST IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT, SIR,’ he said in his computery voice.
‘You’re my magic bin!’ I said, getting a bit annoyed. ‘I need you to zap me back to the past!’
‘PERHAPS A NICE CUP OF X-TEA WOULD CALM YOU DOWN, SIR?’ said Wheelie. ‘X-TRA LARGE, I THINK!’
‘I don’t want a cup of X-TEA, I want to go HOME!’ I cried, grabbing Wheelie by the handle, and he yelped.
he bleeped, zooming off in the direction of a metal door at the back of the shop.
The metal door at the back of X BURGER whooshed upwards and Wheelie zoomed through it, into a tiny silver room.
I peered across the restaurant into the room and spotted TV screens all over the walls, surrounded by billions of different-shaped buttons.
‘Right, that’s it – no more Mr Nice Ratboy!’ I said, stomping towards Wheelie. ‘You’re coming with me whether you like it or not!’
Wheelie twizzled round on his wheels and opened his lid wide. A deep rumbling noise echoed out of his insides, and his arms raised into the air, like someone had tied balloons to his washing-up gloves.
‘RELEASE THE INSECTS!’ he boomed and a swarm of multicoloured Nom Noms floated out of him like an evil stinking rainbow.
‘N-N-N-N-NOM-NOMS!!!’ screamed Splorg, diving towards the front door. ‘They’re coming out of Ratboy’s bin!’
‘RUN FOR IT!’ cried Twoface, pointing at a metal shutter, which had started to judder downwards from the ceiling.
‘But what about my bin?’ I cried.
‘Forget your smelly bin, Ratboy!’ shouted Jamjar, grabbing my arm and dragging me across the floor.
‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird, pecking at the NOM NOMS with his thimble-covered beak.
Splorg stared over his shoulder at Dr Smell’s X BURGER, then dived through the front door, Twoface forward-rolling after him.
The metal door had half whooshed down and I could see Wheelie frantically pressing all the buttons to lock himself in.
‘Stay here with us, Ratface!’ cackled the old lady, sinking her teeth into her X BURGER, and Dr Smell nodded.
‘Yes – join us, Ratboy!’ he grinned. He reached his arms out towards me like a zombie and I twizzled round.
‘OPERATION GET THE KEELNESS OUT OF HERE!’ I cried, grabbing hold of Not Bird in one hand and the Floaty Note 6000 in the other, and I forward-rolled through the front door, out on to the street.
‘This way!’ shouted Twoface. He ran to the end of Tinderbox Alley and jumped on to a wall, his nose-protectors falling off his noses as he tumbled over it.
