by Sam Copeland
He started eating it.
The first bite sent Charlie into a frenzy of absolute terror as Dylan’s vast mouth widened above him like a wet, pink cave, towering teeth glistening, tongue curling like a pale, beached whale.
Charlie crawled as fast as he could, desperately trying to get to the bottom of the apple, where the underside would afford him some safety.
The mouth chomped on the apple a second time, the teeth coming even closer, the sound of the crunching bite deafening. Charlie had faced murderous cats and nearly been munched by hungry crocodiles but he had never experienced anything like the terror he felt at the sight of Dylan’s slavering mouth.
The second bite had missed him – but only just.
And as Dylan came in for a third, Charlie realized there was nothing he could do. The mouth was coming his way. His fate was sealed.
This was how Charlie McGuffin was going to meet his end – eaten by Dylan van der Gruyne.
If Charlie could have screamed, he would have done.fn4
Then the mouth closed around him and everything went black.
As Dylan’s gnashing teeth closed, there was only one way for Charlie to go: further into Dylan’s mouth. Dropping off the apple, he landed on Dylan’s tongue.
It was like riding a fleshy wave – the tongue was rippling and thrashing, throwing Charlie all over the place. Saliva gushed around him in a sticky rushing tide. Chunks of apple battered and buffeted Charlie as he clung on for dear life but finally a big lump smacked him squarely in his worm-face, knocking him clean off the tongue in a swirling spiral of saliva.
Blind terror clutched at Charlie as he was pulled – no, swallowed – down Dylan’s throat. He desperately tried to swim back up but it was impossible; he was caught in a great surging current of saliva and apple bits, while the muscly tube of fleshfn1 surrounding him was squeezing and contracting, creating unstoppable waves. Down he was squeezed, down he was pulled, and down he was washed in a dark, rolling tide.
And Charlie knew where he was heading. He had paid enough attention in science lessons to know that at the end of this journey was the stomach.
And the stomach was full of acid.
And that was how he was going to die – dissolved into nothing in Dylan’s stomach.
Unless …
No.
He couldn’t.
Could he?
Maybe … if … if he changed back into a boy right now, Charlie might just survive.
But Dylan definitely wouldn’t.
If Charlie changed while he was still inside Dylan … Well, the less said about that the better, but rest assured Dylan would most definitely have a very, VERY sticky end.
And with a sinking feeling, Charlie realized he could never, ever do that, not even to his mortal enemy. He had no choice but to accept his acidy fate.
Charlie’s eyes had become accustomed enough to the dark to see he was approaching a fleshy valve, flapping open and closed.
It was the entrance to the stomach.
Charlie stopped struggling and allowed himself to be dragged down to his doom. The great valve snapped open and Charlie landed with a tiny plop in the soup of acidy stomach juices and semi-digested food.
He waited for the burning, agonizing death.
But it didn’t come. Instead …
‘Morning!’ came a cheery voice.
‘Morning!’ came another, equally cheery, voice.
‘Hello! New down here, are you?’ came yet another cheery voice.
Voices? That I can understand? That can only mean one thing, Charlie thought. There must be more worms in here!
‘Hello!’ Charlie called back. ‘So worms can survive in stomach acid, can they?’
‘Oh yes!’ called back another worm. ‘It’s lovely! Like a warm bath!’
Charlie had to agree – it was exactly like swimming in a warm bath. Not at all what he’d expected. Slowly, Charlie began to be able to make out the pale wriggling shapes of other worms. Lots of other worms.
‘So how many of you are down here?’ Charlie asked.
‘Well, including you, ninety-seven thousand, four hundred and twenty-six,’ replied a worm.
‘No,’ replied another worm. ‘You’re still counting Delbert 237. He died.’
‘Oh! You’re quite right. Poor old Delbert 237. So that means you’re number ninety-seven thousand, four hundred and twenty-five.’
Charlie couldn’t quite believe how many worms there were in Dylan’s stomach.fn2
‘What’s your name?’ a worm called out.
‘Charlie,’ replied Charlie.
‘Oh, that makes you Charlie 1921!’
‘There are 1,920 other worms down here called Charlie?’ asked Charlie in amazement.
Before any worms could answer though, the walls of Dylan’s stomach suddenly contracted, creating huge waves in the juices. All the worms whooped and cheered, and Charlie had to admit that it did remind him of swimming in the local pool when the wave machine was turned on. Only the excited yells of the worms gave it more of a party feel.
‘Come on, Charlie! Swim with us!’
Charlie started swimming in the waves, and realized he was rather enjoying himself.
But deep down, he knew he couldn’t stay.
He had to somehow get back to his friends.
‘Does anybody know how to get out of here?’
‘Get out?!’ exclaimed one worm. ‘Why would you want to do that? Stay!’
‘That’s right!’ called another worm. ‘Stay!’
‘Stay!’ all the worms started shouting. ‘Stay and play!’
Playing didn’t sound half bad to Charlie. Maybe it would be OK to stay just a bit longer …
No, Charlie thought, trying to snap himself out of it. I can’t forget who I am!
‘I can’t! I have to go!’
‘Oh what a party-pooper!’
‘Yes! What a spoilsport!’
‘Maybe we shouldn’t tell you the way out!’
‘No, don’t tell him! Stay down here and play with us! Come play with us, Charlie … forever!’
‘And ever!’
‘And ever!’
Charlie was beginning to realize that the worms were going to be no help. He was going to have to find his own way out.
Charlie thought back to the plastic model of the human body that he’d been given for his birthday a couple of years ago. The way out of the stomach was the intestine! That long, twisting tunnel was his escape route. He just had to find the opening.
It has to be down, thought Charlie, so he began swimming down, through the bubbling sludge.
‘Don’t go!’ shouted the worms. ‘Stay!’
‘We’ll have such fun! Stay with us, Charlie!’
‘Stay!’
‘Staaaay … Plaaay …’
But their voices soon faded, drowned out by the gurgling of stomach juices as Charlie swam away from the creepy worms as fast he could, searching for the opening to Dylan’s intestine.
As he swam, Charlie noticed a gentle current pulling him down, like you get in a bath when you pull out the plug. He swam down the spiralling current, praying that it was his way out.
There it is! Charlie thought, excitedly. A tunnel!
Sure enough, there it was: the opening which led to the intestine.
Charlie swam through, a tiny bud of hope blossoming inside him.
But even though he was hopeful, Charlie knew he had a way to go. He didn’t know exactly how long intestines were, but he knew they were very long.fn3
And at the other end of the intestine was … well, Charlie didn’t want to think about that yet.
On Charlie swam. The intestines squeezed, just like the oesophagus and stomach had done, helping to push him along. He met the odd worm, desperately trying to swim back towards the stomach. They weren’t having much luck though, swimming against the current.
‘What are you doing?’ the worms called out to Charlie, as he swam past. ‘You’ll die if you go tha
t way! Come back!’
But Charlie had no intention of going back to the stomach. He had to escape. He had to get out and see his friends again.
And as he swam down the intestine, Charlie realized something. It was definitely his friends he most wanted to see again – not his mum and dad. Because he was angry with his parents. Furious. Furious for ruining his life. Why did they have to separate? How could they do this to him?
On Charlie swam, propelled by his fury. He wanted to get out of here and scream at his mum and dad.
Scream at them – and then hug them. And let the tears come.
There were small brown lumps in the liquid Charlie was swimming through now, and the lumps were getting bigger.
Charlie had been doing his best to ignore them but, deep down, he knew what they were.
It was time to face up to the truth.
The brown lumps were poo.
The exit he was travelling towards was Dylan’s bum.
And Dylan’s bum was Charlie’s only chance of survival.
But he had to do it – he had to swim on. He had no choice. Charlie wanted to live.
So he beat on, worming along the current, borne forward ceaselessly into the poo.
The poo was becoming more frequent now, huge boulders of it, and the current had stopped, so Charlie had to start wriggling.
Just when he thought he could take no more, Charlie saw an opening – a light at the end of the tunnel.
But then, from far behind, way back along the intestine, came a distant rumbling sound. It grew louder and louder, until suddenly a blast of foul air swept over Charlie, rocketing him forward in a rasping, noxious cloud, straight out of the opening and face-first into a soft cloth barrier.
I’ve made it! Charlie thought. I’ve reached Dylan’s underpants! I’m saved!
And Charlie felt such a surge of relief and happiness that two things happened at once.
From Charlie’s perspective, he felt a flash of tingling electricity, flew through the air and by the time he landed on the floor of the boys’ changing room, he was back to plain old Charlie again.
From Dylan’s perspective, he was in the boys’ changing room, minding his own business, when he did a tiny little fart and Charlie McGuffin exploded out of his bum.
Charlie lay on the floor, panting, glad to be alive.
Dylan stood on the other side of the room, the back of his pants and trousers ripped clean off – again.
‘What did you …? How did you …? Where did you …?’ he burbled.
‘Don’t ask, Dylan,’ Charlie said, standing up and brushing himself down. ‘It’s best neither of us mentions this ever again. To anyone. Agreed?’
‘I … But …’ stammered Dylan, clutching his bum. ‘I … Agreed. My mum’s only just mended these trousers! You’ll pay for them, McGuffin!’
Charlie suddenly noticed that Dylan was standing next to his locker.
And his locker was wide open.
And inside the locker was a furry costume.
A furry bear costume.
Oh my goodness! Charlie thought. It is Dylan that’s pretending to be animals!
Dylan slammed the locker shut and walked to the door, but Charlie blocked his way.
‘I know what you’re up to, Dylan,’ Charlie said.
‘Oh DO you?’ asked Dylan, the cruel smirk returning to his face despite him trying to hold his trousers together and hide his bum.
‘Yeah. I do. You’ve been dressing up in that bear costume in your locker and kidnapping animals all over town. You’re trying to make people think it’s me.’
Dylan sniffed. ‘Very clever, McGuffin. You’re not nearly as stupid as you look.’
‘Yeah, whatever. So, I’ve just got one question for you.’
‘What’s that?’
‘What have you done with the Great Catsby?’
‘The Great What-sby?’
‘My cat!’
‘I haven’t got your stupid cat!’
‘Oh, come on! Don’t try and deny it. I want my cat back!’
‘I have no idea what has happened to your flea-ridden cat. And McGuffin?’
‘What?’
‘You absolutely STINK.’
Before Charlie could say another word, a few Year 3 boys bustled into the changing room. Dylan took the opportunity to squeeze past him and strutted off, holding his nose, leaving Charlie stood in the changing room, his head a jumble of thoughts.
It was one day until the school dance, two days until his father was going to move out and Charlie had a LOT of explaining to do to his friends.
‘OK,’ said Wogan. ‘Let’s go through this one more time. You turned into a tiny worm and you jumped on to Dylan? And then you saw him open his locker?’
‘That’s right,’ said Charlie, licking his dry lips.
‘Exactly how small were you?’ asked Mohsen. ‘You must have been absolutely tiny for us not to be able to see you.’
‘Yeah, I was really teeny-tiny,’ said Charlie.
‘So how did you jump on to Dylan? Because worms really can’t jump very far. At all. Especially not teeny-tiny ones.’
‘I … erm … Well, I … erm …’
‘He’s erming, Wogan,’ said Mohsen, eyeing Charlie. ‘Some seriously suspicious erming there.’
‘I told you what happened,’ said Charlie, crossing his arms. ‘If you don’t want to believe me …’
‘We want to believe you,’ said Wogan. ‘I just think your story has more holes than my favourite underpants.’
Mohsen shuddered. ‘Ugh, yes, those pants do have a lot of holes. You should really think about throwing them away.’
‘Fine! Don’t believe me!’ growled Charlie.
‘We do, Charlie! We do! Anyway,’ said Flora, desperately changing the subject, ‘isn’t it great you can finally control what animal you change into!’
‘I guess so … I mean, I think I’ve cracked it, although –’
‘Because, you know, you wanted to change into something tiny, and then – hey presto! – you turned into a mysterious, invisible jumping worm,’ added Mohsen.
‘Yes,’ said Charlie, glaring at Mohsen.
‘Are you sure you’re telling us everything?’ Flora said, looking concerned. ‘You know you don’t have to keep secrets from us. It’s better to share –’
‘I can’t,’ said Charlie in a small voice.
‘You can!’
‘I can’t,’ Charlie said with an air of finality.
‘Oh come on! It can’t be as bad as being dropped in a bath of Wogan’s wee!’ said Mohsen.
‘It’s worse. It’s actually the worst thing possible.’
‘Worst thing possible?’ said Wogan. ‘No way. It’s not like Dylan accidentally ate you and farted you out! Now that would be the worst thing possible.’
Charlie made a strangled noise of shock.
gasped Wogan, mouth flapping, fish-like. ‘That’s what happened, isn’t it?’
Charlie looked at the floor, his face bright red. He didn’t reply. He wanted the ground to swallow him.
‘That is actually, the most amazing thing I have ever heard. You’re the first person ever to go inside a human body! Wow!’ Wogan slapped Charlie on the back. ‘Charlie McGuffin, you are the most awesome person in the world!’
Charlie let out a shy smile. Suddenly he didn’t want the ground to swallow him. Suddenly he felt quite proud and lucky to have such good friends. He felt tears of happiness prickling in his eyes.
‘So Dylan had a bear costume in his locker?’ said Mohsen quickly. ‘He’s always up to no good!’
Charlie nodded. ‘Yup.’
‘Now we have proof it’s definitely him pretending to be animals. He is trying to set you up, to make it look like you’re eating them. But why is he keeping them in the basement and what is he going to do at the school dance?’ asked Flora, her brow furrowed.
Charlie’s heart ached at the thought of the Great Catsby, trapped in the basement, so close
to him.
‘Why don’t we just tell the teachers?’ he asked.
Flora shook her head. ‘Dylan would just deny he put the animals down there and we’d get the blame.’
‘Get the blame for what?’ asked Daisy suddenly from behind the four friends.
‘ARGH!’ yelped Flora in surprise, spinning to face Daisy and Lola. ‘How do you two keep doing that? You’re so silent!’
Charlie quickly explained what he’d discovered to Daisy and Lola.
‘So we have one day to get the key off Dylan and the animals out of the basement before he carries out his plan!’ Flora added.
‘OK!’ said Daisy. ‘That’s all great and super-interesting and everything, but I was actually just here to ask if Wogan would go to the dance with me?’
Flora buried her face in her hands and groaned.
‘I’m confused now,’ said Wogan. ‘I thought you’d already asked me and –’
‘YES OR NO?’ snapped Daisy.
‘Yes,’ nodded Wogan, his look of terror badly disguised behind a smile.
‘Great!’ said Daisy. ‘Do you and Moh want to practise dance moves in the playground?’
‘We can’t,’ said Wogan glumly. ‘We have to find a way into the basement!’
‘It’s OK, you go!’ said Charlie, a smile on his face. ‘Flora and I will get our thinking caps on and try to work out how to get the key from Dylan.’
Mohsen and Wogan walked out, chattering to Lola and Daisy, leaving Charlie and Flora alone.
A moment of weighty silence stretched out between them.
‘So … Flor … I was wondering –’ Charlie began, before Flora interrupted him.
‘Charlie, would you go to the dance with me?’
Charlie tried playing it cool but he couldn’t help his beaming smile. ‘I was just about to ask you – yes! Yes, I would. Definitely.’
‘Great!’ Flora returned Charlie’s smile with a grin just as big.
‘Great!’ replied Charlie, still smiling from ear to ear.
Charlie’s smile lasted through doublemaths and geography, all the way until the end of the school day, right up until he bumped into Dylan on the way home.
They squared up to each other.
‘Looking forward to the dance tomorrow, McGuffin?’
