Charlie Morphs Into a Mammoth

by Sam Copeland

  But Charlie had no choice. He pushed his way through and crawled out into a large grassy slope dotted with trees.

  At the bottom of the slope was a huge pond, fringed by tall reeds.

  And surrounding the pond, staring at Charlie, were half a dozen huge and very menacing reptiles.

  Charlie was in the crocodile enclosure.

  They turned as one and stared at the newcomer who had suddenly appeared in their territory.

  Then three of the crocodiles started lumbering towards him.

  Charlie had never, ever been so terrified in his life.

  The crocodiles lashed their tails eagerly.

  They knew exactly what to do with a small boy trapped in their enclosure.

  And it wasn’t play table tennis with him.

  It was dinner time and their jaws were drooling at the sudden meal that had presented itself to them.

  Charlie knew he was finished if he did nothing and just waited for help – he had to get out. He saw only one hope, one sliver of a chance. Without a second’s thought, he started running towards the crocodiles.

  The beasts’ jaws were wide open in shock at the sight of their dinner hurtling towards them.

  Charlie ran as fast as he could and, at the last moment, he jumped over the snapping teeth on to the nearest crocodile’s head.

  He bounced off, straight on to another croc’s head.

  He trampolined off that one too, hop-scotching straight on to a third.

  Then, with a great leap off the last crocodile’s head, jaws chomping wildly underneath him, Charlie scrambled up the wall of the enclosure, grabbed on to the edge and pulled himself over, to the gasps of the crowd gathered outside and furious hisses from the crocodiles below.

  I hate to interrupt the story but I have sorry news to announce – I am afraid I’ve had to sack the illustrator of this book, Sarah Horne.

  I’m sure you will agree that Sarah Horne’s pictures have been adequate, but I’m sorry to report she has been getting a little too big for her boots. Since our association began, I have paid her the wages we agreed: two pounds fifty per day and all the cold rice she can eat. I even occasionally treated her to a banana, if I found one too bruised and blackened for my taste. This was not in her contract – I did it out of the simple generosity that comes naturally to me.

  But this was not good enough for Sarah Horne.

  She has complained endlessly, and repeatedly claimed she ‘feels constantly weak with hunger’.

  Intolerable.

  The final straw came when I discovered she had been inserting hidden messages into the illustrations of this book. If you look carefully at page 31, you will see what I mean. Deeply rude and immature.

  Understandably, I have reached the end of my tether and have sacked her with immediate effect.

  I’m sure you all agree that drawing pictures doesn’t take any particular skill, so I have decided that from this point on, I shall do them myself.

  Here are some examples of pictures of the main characters from this book, drawn by me. While the most eagle-eyed of you might spot some tiny differences from the previous illustrations, to most readers the changes will be unnoticeable, and certainly won’t affect your enjoyment of the book at all.

  By the time Charlie made it back to the coach, some of the chaos had died down.

  ‘Here he is!’ Miss Fyre called into the coach when she caught sight of Charlie tramping across the car park.

  ‘Where on earth have you been?’ Miss Fyre snapped. ‘You’re lucky we didn’t leave you here! We were due to set off ages ago.’

  I apologize for interrupting this story once again.

  According to the publisher of this book, my pictures ‘lack any artistic merit’ and are ‘frankly more than a little disturbing’.

  If you recall, this is exactly what they said about the famous artist Van Gogh.

  The ‘publisher’ continued by insisting I apologize publicly to the ‘illustrator’ Sarah Horne and give the job back to her – together with a pay rise – or they will not publish this book.

  So:

  Dear Sarah,

  I’m soooooo sorry I was rude about your pictures. You are sooooooo super-talented. Honestly.

  I hope you enjoy your pay-rise to three pounds fifty a day.

  Yours,

  Sam Copeland

  The Writer (the one with the actual talent)

  P.S. Don’t think you’ll be getting any more free bananas.

  Anyway. Back to the story.

  By the time Charlie made it back to the coach, some of the chaos had died down.

  ‘Here he is!’ Miss Fyre called into the coach when she caught sight of Charlie tramping across the car park.

  ‘Where on earth have you been?’ Miss Fyre snapped. ‘You’re lucky we didn’t leave you here! We were due to set off ages ago.’

  Charlie grimaced. In no way did he think he was lucky.

  Mr Wind was sitting on the front passenger seat, wrapped in a silver foil blanket. Miss Fyre was massaging his temples to help him with the shock.

  Charlie walked down the now-moving coach and saw Dylan. He was staring out the window, pale-faced and trembling ever so slightly, but when he caught sight of Charlie, he glared at him.

  ‘I know it was you!’ Dylan whispered, in a voice dripping with fury.

  ‘What?’ said Charlie innocently.

  ‘Oh, don’t even try to pretend! YOU were the crocodile! It was YOU who tried to eat me.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Fine! Play it that way. But don’t think you’ve got the better of me, McGuffin. I’ve already started a plan to destroy you and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’ll regret the day we ever crossed paths.’

  ‘Dylan, I already regret the day we crossed paths,’ sighed Charlie.

  ‘Very funny. Well, you won’t be laughing for long.’

  ‘I’m sure I – hang on. What’s that you’re wearing?’

  ‘It’s a skirt, McGuffin, OK? My trousers got ripped, as you know full well, and there were no spare trousers. So I’m wearing a skirt. And mark my words, this skirt isn’t going to improve relations between us. On the contrary. I’m going to ruin you because of this skirt. Destroy you. I’m every nightmare you’ve ever had. I’m your worst dream come true. I’m everything you’ve ever been afraid of.’

  ‘Dylan, have you been watching horror movies again? Seriously, you should stop.’

  ‘Get out of my sight.’

  Charlie left Dylan stewing in his skirt, and saw Mohsen waving to him from the back seat. As he bounced down the coach, all he could hear was excitable chatter about the escaped crocodile.

  Charlie flumped down in between Wogan and Mohsen, who listened in wide-eyed silence as Charlie told them of his escape from the crocodile compound.

  ‘Holy rollers, that is AWESOME,’ said Mohsen.

  ‘That really is awesome, Charlie. That is nearly as awesome as when Mohsen got the whistle stuck up his nose.’

  ‘That actually really wasn’t that awesome,’ replied Mohsen. ‘My left nostril whistled for days and I had to go to hospital to get it removed. In fact, that was one of your worst ideas, Wogan. Charlie nearly getting eaten by crocodiles is way more awes–’

  Flora, who was sitting in front of them and had been listening the whole time, suddenly swung around.

  ‘No! What Charlie did was NOT awesome! It was dangerous and stupid.’ She fixed her eyes on Charlie. ‘You let your anger get the better of you. You could have been eaten by crocodiles, just because you wanted to give Dylan a scare. That’s … just … so … NOT AWESOME! In fact, it’s the LEAST AWESOME thing I have ever seen anybody do!’

  ‘Steady on, Flora,’ said Wogan bravely. ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘I WILL say that. And Charlie – tell me! Were you really just giving Dylan a scare, or did you end up trying to eat him? Because that’s what it looked like.’

  Charlie looked at his
feet, shame-faced. Flora was right. It had been a silly risk. And he had nearly eaten Dylan. And why had he done it?

  Flora was right again; he was angry.

  Angry and scared.

  Angry and scared about the silences between his mum and dad that seemed to stretch on forever, the words in between like ice, cold and brittle.

  ***

  By the time the coach arrived back at the school, there was already a crowd of journalists waiting.fn1 They swarmed around the new school chicken coop, chickens clucking contentedly in the background, cameras slung round their necks.fn2 As the children all piled off the bus, the journalists started shouting and snapping photos.

  Centre of attention was, of course, Mr Wind, still wrapped in his silver blanket like an earthquake victim, who waved bravely as he disembarked the coach, slowly. Very slowly.

  ‘Can you give us a comment, Mr Wind?’ one journalist shouted.

  ‘Are you a hero, Mr Wind?’

  ‘Did you fight the crocodile single-handedly, Mr Wind?’

  ‘Mr Wind, what exactly is your relationship with –’

  ‘That’s quite enough, ladies and gentlemen!’ shouted Miss Fyre, using her sternest teacher voice.

  The journalists fell silent like naughty schoolchildren.

  ‘I shall now read you a brief statement on behalf of Mr Wind!’ Miss Fyre continued, raising a hastily scrawled note. ‘“While on a field trip to the local zoo, one of our pupils was approached by an escaped crocodile. I immediately recognized the risk that the crocodile was going to attack him or, worse, might have gone on to attack somebody important, such as Miss Fyre. I then merely acted as any extremely brave member of the public would do. Without a single thought for my own safety, I jumped on the crocodile and repeatedly hit it with a broom. Through my strength and cunning, I was able to single-handedly defeat the deadly crocodile in mortal combat. Others might consider my actions to be heroic and wish to start a campaign for me to receive some sort of an award for outstanding bravery in the face of terrible danger. But that is not for me to say. I do not consider myself a hero. Thank you.”’

  Miss Fyre carefully folded the statement away.

  ‘Now, Mr Wind might not consider himself a hero, but I do. However, I must ask you to respect his privacy. Any requests for interviews or features or full-page photographs of Mr Wind and myself should be sent to my personal email address.’

  As Miss Fyre began handing out business cards to the journalists, Charlie and his friends began walking quietly home. They had hardly started, though, when Lola suddenly appeared next to them, with Daisy trailing a few metres behind.

  ‘Hi, guys!’ Lola said brightly.

  ‘Hi,’ the friends replied sullenly.

  ‘So, Wogan,’ Lola said. ‘Daisy was wondering if you’d go to the school dance with her?’

  ‘Errr … yes,’ replied Wogan, in shock, a nervous smile edging on to his face. ‘OK then.’

  ‘Great!’ Lola scampered back to join Daisy.

  ‘Did that just happen?’ asked Wogan.

  ‘It sure did, my friend,’ said Mohsen, clapping Wogan on the back.

  ‘Wow,’ said Wogan. ‘Wow.’

  Flora let out a big huff. ‘I mean, who even cares about who you go to the silly dance with?’

  For some reason, Charlie found that he did care, and he didn’t reply.

  Flora and Charlie were lost in their own silences until suddenly Flora stopped.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ she said. ‘Look at that.’

  She pointed at a sign pinned to a tree:

  ‘So? What’s your point, Flor?’ asked Wogan. ‘I mean, it’s very sad and all that, but …’

  ‘Just follow me,’ said Flora.

  She ran to a nearby lamp-post and pointed again.

  ‘Strange, isn’t it?’ Flora said.

  ‘It’s just some missing pets,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Maybe you’re right. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,’ Flora replied, and smiled at Charlie.

  Charlie smiled back. He might not understand Flora, but he was very glad they were back to being friends again.

  Charlie’s good mood didn’t last long though. The minute he walked through the front door he knew something wasn’t right. Even though everybody was home, the air was thick with silence.

  He could tell he’d walked straight into another argument between his mum and dad.

  ‘We are just going round and round in circles!’ Charlie heard his mum shout. ‘It’s pointless!’

  ‘Well if it’s so pointless –’ Charlie’s dad shouted, before Charlie slammed the front door and the shouting stopped immediately.

  His dad, red in the face, stormed out of the kitchen, ruffled Charlie’s hair as he went past and gave him an apologetic smile.

  Charlie went into the kitchen and his mum was sat at the table, wiping her eyes with a tea towel. When she saw Charlie, she quickly jumped up and went to the sink, and began washing some dishes.

  ‘Hello, love,’ she said, with forced brightness. ‘How was your day?’

  Words spilled out of Charlie as he gabbled the story, hoping the remarkable events of the day would put a smile back on his mum’s face.

  ‘And then,’ Charlie finished, ‘there was an escaped crocodile and it nearly ate Dylan and it was right on top of him but then Mr Wind came along with a broom and hit it until the crocodile had to get off Dylan and I – I mean it – had to run away.’

  When he reached the end of the story, his mum gave him a curious look.

  ‘What an extraordinary story, Charlie. Is that all there is to it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Is there something else you want to tell me? You can tell me anything, you know. You won’t be in trouble.’

  Charlie was annoyed. She must suspect him of having something to do with the escaped crocodile.

  ‘What do you think I did? Let a crocodile loose? You always think I’m up to something bad!’ Charlie was surprised at the force of his anger. ‘And maybe there’s something you’re not telling me! Like why you and Dad are shouting all the time! It’s horrible!’

  Charlie’s mum looked at him for a long moment without saying anything. Charlie saw she had tears in her eyes and that did nothing to make him feel any better.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, finally. ‘Go and call your brother and your dad in, will you?’

  Charlie swallowed, his mouth dry and his heart fluttering, but he did as he was told.

  SmoothMove and Charlie’s dad came in and sat at the table. Charlie didn’t want to sit down. Although he had started it, he suddenly found he really didn’t want this conversation to happen.

  ‘I think it’s time to tell them,’ said Charlie’s mum.

  His dad nodded, and tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  ‘Tell us what?’ asked SmoothMove in a small voice.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry, boys,’ Charlie’s mum said, as tears started trickling down her face.

  And then Charlie’s whole world fell apart.

  ***

  ‘Oh, Charlie, I’m so, so sorry,’ said Flora.

  ‘Funny, that’s exactly what my mum said,’ Charlie replied, not smiling.

  Charlie had called an emergency meeting at Mohsen’s house with Wogan, Mohsen and Flora. The bombshell his parents had dropped was still swirling round his mind.

  ‘Your mum and I have been having difficulties for some time,’ his dad had said. ‘And it’s not fair on you guys, being around us when we’re arguing all the time.’

  Charlie had felt his knees go weak. He sat down. He’d known what was coming next.

  ‘So,’ his mum had said. ‘We’ve decided it’s best if your father and I separate. Just for a trial period.’

  Charlie’s stomach had felt like he’d just gone over the top of a roller coaster. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wanted to unhear it.

  His parents had talked for much longer after that –
about how it wasn’t anyone’s fault, about how they loved Charlie and SmoothMove just as much as always – but the words had all jumbled in Charlie’s mind. Then SmoothMove started shouting, and his mum and dad started crying, and Charlie had just sat there feeling tiny.

  And he still felt tiny now, even surrounded by his friends.

  ‘Yeah, that’s just rubbish,’ said Wogan.

  ‘Well, you know we’re here for you, Charlie,’ said Mohsen.

  ‘Thanks, guys,’ said Charlie, glumly.

  ‘But loads of parents get separated,’ continued Mohsen. ‘Like there’s maybe four kids in our class whose parents have split up. Lola’s aren’t together.’

  ‘Yeah, and Lucy K and Lucy M – both have parents that have separated. It happens all the time,’ Wogan chipped in.

  ‘I know,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s just that this bad stuff always happens to me. First my brother got ill, then we nearly lost the house, and now this. It’s not fair. I just want to have to worry about normal stuff, like the big spelling test tomorrow and the school dance.’

  ‘You’re right, Charlie. It is totally unfair,’ said Flora. ‘And it’s fine for you to feel worried. The best thing you can do is just to try and accept that rubbish stuff happens and sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s just really diff–’

  ‘Hang on. WAIT A MINUTE. There’s a big spelling test tomorrow?!’ Wogan looked pale. ‘As in tomorrow tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mohsen. ‘The really important spelling test that we’re in huge trouble if we fail. Remember?’

  ‘Oh no!’ Wogan wailed. ‘I totally forgot! I haven’t learned them! I’m in SO MUCH trouble. This is the WORST thing that has EVER happened to ANYBODY.’

  ‘Wogan,’ said Flora, with dangerous calm. ‘Charlie has just told us that his parents are separating.’