by Jim Smith
‘Dazzy’s right, Stu,’ cooed Sharonella. ‘Stand up for yourself, man!’
Stuart peered up at Gordon, then round at the team. ‘Erm . . .’ he said, trying to think of his skill.
‘Have a think about it,’ I said, standing up and slotting the pen back behind my ear.
‘Wait a minute Bazzy,’ said Shaz. ‘You haven’t written down YOUR number one skill yet!’
‘I’m the one whose mum came up with the brilliant and amazekeel idea!’ I smiled, getting ready to tell them what it was.
‘So let me get this straight,’ said Bunky. ‘You want us to sneak into Mogden School’s staff room and rescue the Crying Freakoids?’
‘Yep,’ I said.
Stuart blew off. ‘B-but how?’ he stuttered.
‘By adding all our number one skills together into one great big super-human person!’ I smiled.
‘O-kaaay,’ said Nancy, pushing her glasses up her nose. ‘And you say your mum came up with this idea?’
‘She thought up the team-building bit,’ I said. ‘Everything else was mine!’
‘But what about Queenie?’ said Sharonella, pointing at the gates of Mogden School. ‘That miserable old dinner dame lives through there, remember?’
‘And Mr Walbyoff too,’ said Bunky.
Stuart glanced up at the gates. ‘How are we gonna get through them?’ he said. ‘They’re chained shut!’
‘Nancy, how high do you reckon those things are?’ I said as we all stood there staring at the gates.
Nancy whipped out her tape measure and held it up against the gates. ‘Too high for us to get over,’ she said.
‘Oh well this is just brillikeels,’ said Bunky. ‘Come on Barry, you’re the one who dragged us out here first thing on a Saturday morning - what are we gonna do now?’
‘Yeah Loser,’ said Darren. ‘I could be lying naked in bed drinking Fronkle.’
‘What?’ said Dazza. ‘You don’t drink Fronkle in bed?’
Just then a horrible little bollard waddled into the corner of my eye.
‘Duck!’ I cried.
‘Where?’ said Stuart.
‘Get down!’ I whisper-shouted, and we all ducked. ‘It’s Queenie - I just spotted her patrolling the playground.’
Sharonella shook her head. ‘Doesn’t that dame ever give up?’
‘Hey, that gives me an idea,’ said Nancy, and I Pain-au-Choc’ed my head round to face her. ‘Queenie MUST have to leave the school sometimes - to get down the shops and stuff.’
‘So?’ said Gordon, his lanky legs bent in two.
‘So there must be another way in,’ said Nancy. ‘A separate gate just for Queenie and Mr Walbyoff to use.’
I clicked my fingers and pointed at Nancy. ‘Verkenwerken, I think you might’ve cracked it!’
We waddle-ducked out of view of the front gates then straightened up. ‘Follow me,’ I cried over my shoulder, starting to circle the school, looking for a different way in.
‘It’s no use, we’ll never find it,’ panted Stuart ten billiseconds later. We’d only run about a metre, but he was already comperleeterly out of breath.
He leaned against a wooden fence to catch his breath. ‘Hey, maybe my number one skill is finding fences to lean against?’ he grinned.
‘Do be quiet, Shmendrix,’ snapped Gordon, shoving Stuart out of the way and leaning against the fence instead. ‘Waaahhh!’ he cried, as it creaked open behind him to reveal a hidden alleyway.
‘That wasn’t a fence,’ gasped Bunky, darting down it. ‘It was a secret gate!’
The alleyway opened out onto the back playing field of Mogden School. Just across it you could see Queenie and Mr Walbyoff ’s bungalow, which was the shape of a shoebox only a hundred times bigger.
‘Keep low,’ I said, starting to duck-run across the field like I’d just got out of a helicopter and didn’t want my head getting chopped off by the blades.
We came to a stop behind a wall next to the main foyer of the school. A tall pine tree towered above us, and a cone dropped out of it, doinking Darren on the head.
‘Ouch!’ he whisper-screamed, as a familikeels-looking squirrel leapt from a branch onto the ground.
‘Hey little squizzle,’ nattered Sharonella. ‘Come over here and give your Auntie Shaz a cuddle!’
The squirrel’s nose twitched. ‘Here, squizzie-squizzle,’ said Shazza, carrying on nattering, and the furry little rodent inched away until it was in front of the automatic doors of the foyer.
‘They’re turned on!’ I gasped, as the glass doors slid open. ‘Quick, let’s get inside before anyone spots us.’
I dived towards the foyer, forward-rolling like Future Ratboy, and immedi-hid behind a big stand-up cork board with paintings of trees stapled all over the front of it.
Everything went quiet. ‘Bit weird being here at the weekend innit,’ nattered Sharonella, and I shushed her.
‘What’s that noise?’ I whispered, hearing a tiny little banging sound. I popped my head round the cork board and spotted Mr Walbyoff ’s doll’s-house-sized model of Mogden Town.
There, huddled behind it, was the top of Mr Walbyoff ’s head.
Mr Walbyoff was sitting on a fold-up stool, holding the tiniest hammer I’d ever seen, which he was banging against a miniature house’s roof.
‘Aw, isn’t he sweet,’ whispered Shaz. ‘Working on his little model - makes you wanna cry, dunnit.’
I thought of Barry Junior and the other Crying Freakoids weeping in their drawer and I took a deep breath so I wouldn’t start sobbing too.
‘This is no time for tears, Shaz,’ I said. ‘We need to get past Walbyoff and up the stairs to the staff room.’
The automatic doors swooshed open and an evil bollard stepped through.
‘There you are Dennis,’ growled Queenie, and Mr Walbyoff looked up. ‘Shoulda guessed you’d be tinkering with your stupid little doll’s house.’
‘It’s not a doll’s house,’ said the caretaker. ‘It’s a scale model of Mogden Town.’
‘It’s a waste of blooming time, that’s what it is,’ snapped Queenie. ‘Anyway, you want a cuppa?’
Mr Walbyoff nodded. ‘Yes please love,’ he said, standing up all stiffly. ‘Think I’ll pop to the toilet for a wizzle first though.’
‘It’s your life,’ said Queenie, waddling off towards the canteen like she owned the place.
‘Quick, this is our chance!’ I whisper-shouted, and we all darted towards the stairs.
The door to the staff room creaked open.
‘So this is where Miss Spivak disappears off to at break times,’ said Bunky, as we wandered in.
Squishy square seats were lined up all round the edge, apart from one whole wall which’d been turned into a sort of mini kitchen with a fridge, sink and microwave oven.
‘Ooh, this is so naughty,’ said Sharonella, retying her dressing gown and glancing around. ‘I love it!’
A thirsty-looking spider plant sat on top of a beige filing cabinet in the corner of the room. I headed towards it. ‘Drawers,’ I said, starting to pull the top one open. ‘Look in all the drawers.’
‘Nothing in this one,’ called Gordon, rifling through a little wooden cabinet filled to the brim with mini staplers.
‘Zilchoid,’ said Darren, poking his nose into a metal tray overflowing with rubber bands and paperclips and chewed-up biro lids.
‘Barry Junior?’ I called, listening out for his cry. I pulled the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet open but all it had inside were a couple of boring old scratched-up sellotape dispensers without any sellotape in them. ‘Where ARE you?’
‘They’ve GOT to be in here somewhere,’ said Bunky. ‘Maybe there’s a secret compartment?’
I clicked my fingers and pointed at him. ‘Good thinking, Bunky,’ I said. ‘Nancy, you keep guard. Shazza, Dazza, start looking behind all the chairs - maybe there’s a hidden door in one of the walls or something.’
Stuart and Gordon walked up to me. ‘What shall we
do?’ they asked.
‘Check the cupboards,’ I said. ‘Leave no stone unturned.’
‘I don’t think there’ll be any stones Barry,’ said Stuart.
‘Shut up Shmendrix,’ said Gordon, heading towards the kitchen.
The second hand of the clock on the staff room wall tick-tocked round in a circle ten times.
‘Argh, this is useless!’ I cried. ‘We’ve been looking for AGES.’
‘Still nothing,’ said Stuart, who’d found half a packet of Thumb Sweets under the sink and was chewing on one now, the nail bit sticking out of his mouth like he was finishing eating a whole person.
‘Maybe it’s time we face the facts,’ said Nancy from the doorway. ‘Those Crying Freakoids have probably been dead for hours anyway.’
I dropped to my knees and stretched my hands out towards the strip-lights screwed into the ceiling tiles above. ‘NOOO!!!’ I cried.
Shaz put her hand on my shoulder. ‘I know, Bazzy,’ she whimpered. ‘It breaks my heart to think of poor old Mini Shaz crying for her Mumma.’
‘We’ll never forget those little fellas,’ said Bunky, and Darren nodded, a Fronkle tear dribbling out of his eye and down his cheek, into his mouth.
Gordon’s bottom lip started to quiver and Stuart peered up at his boss, his eyeballs glistening.
‘Come over here you big softies,’ called Sharonella, and Smugly and Shmendrix ran over, and we all had a mahoosive granny hug.
‘At least we have each other, eh?’ warbled Gordon. Nancy coughed and we all looked up.
‘Erm, I hate to break up the group hug,’ she said, ‘but shouldn’t we be thinking about getting the keelness out of here before Queenie finds us?’
We tiptoed down the stairs, peering through the bannister.
‘Where’s Mr Walbyoff ?’ whispered Stuart.
I zoomed in on the old caretaker’s fold-up stool and spotted a full cup of tea steaming on the table in front of it.
‘Maybe he’s still in the toilet,’ said Shazza.
‘Let’s just get the keelness out of here while we still can,’ I said.
‘Good idea, Coach,’ said Bunky, giving me an upside-down-reverse salute, and we carried on to the bottom of the stairs and millimetred past Mr Walbyoff ’s model of Mogden Town.
Nancy stopped and pointed to a tiny little bin. ‘Hey, I measured that!’ she smiled.
‘Congrats,’ said Gordon. ‘You must be very proud.’
I looked at the bin, which was sitting just outside a miniature version of the school tuck shop.
I bent over and peered into the tiny old toilet block, recognising the serving hatch on the front.
And that’s when I spotted it.
‘What is it, Bazzy?’ gasped Shazza, catching me as I stumbled backwards, falling into her arms.
I pointed at the little model of the tuck shop. ‘H-how did I never spot it before?’
I scrabbled to my feet and we all peered through the little hatch in the front of the miniature sweetie store.
‘What’s he talking about now?’ said Darren.
I pointed at a tiny door on the back wall of the doll’s-house-sized tuck shop with a minuscule sign above it. The sign read: ‘Dinner Ladies Only’.
‘A secret staff room just for dinner dames?’ said Sharonella, as a silhouette of an old caretaker appeared in the window of the door leading off towards the gents toilets.
‘It’s Mr Walbyoff - he’s back!’ whispered Bunky.
‘Quick, to the tuck shop!’ I said, as we zoomed through the automatic doors.
We sneaked up to the tuck shop and pushed on the side door. It groaned open and we stepped inside.
‘Look at all those Thumb Sweets!’ drooled Shazza, and I bonked her on the head.
‘Concentrate, Shaz,’ I said, pointing at the secret door on the back wall.
‘It’s boiling in here!’ whispered Stuart as we crept through it, peering around.
The dinner dame room was half the size of the staff room but the chairs were twice as big. They all had high backs with doilies draped over the tops of them and the carpet was as thick as the grass in Mogden Park.
‘Teapots . . .’ gasped Shazza, pointing at a row of them, all wrapped up warm in woollen cosies. ‘Millions and billions of teapots.’
In the corner of the room a wooden-sided TV was playing an old black and white movie. On top of it, three brightly coloured toys were lined up like tiny prisoners.
‘Hey, that’s Jocelyn Twiggs’s Not Bird!’ whisper-cried Darren, pointing at a cuddly little brown bird, and I rewound my brain to the time Queenie snatched it off him for carving ‘Twiggs’ into the big tree in the corner of the playground.
‘And there’s Tracy Pilchard’s Jamjar figure,’ said Sharonella, pointing at a plastic figure of a girl with five arms.
A strange noise, sort of like a bollard snoring, floated through the hot, thick air over from the other side of the room, and we all jumped.
‘W-what in the name of . . .’ whispered Bunky, not finishing his sentence, and I peered into the darkest corner of the room.
‘Qu-Qu-Qu-Qu-Queenie!’ I whisper-stutter-screamed.
There, squidged into a granny seat, sat the evilest dinner dame in Mogden Town, her feet up on a poufe and a familikeels-looking shoebox in her lap.
‘Shhh,’ shushed Stuart. ‘She’s asleep. Hey, maybe that’s my number one skill - noticing that dinner dames are asleep!’
‘Oh yeah, very useful,’ whisper-snapped Gordon, and he bonked Stuart on the head.
‘Barry Junior?’ I called in my quietest voice, and I heard a tiny cry.
‘His batteries are low,’ said Bunky. ‘We don’t have long.’
‘Mini Shaz?’ whispered Sharonella. ‘Can you hear me, baby? It’s Mumma - I’m here to rescue you!’
Mini Shaz whined quietly in Queenie’s lap, and the dinner dame shifted in her seat.
I looked round at my friends and got ready to do my best Coach Barry voice. ‘Prepare yourselves, team,’ I said. ‘We’re going in.’
Have you ever reached your arms out to grab a shoebox-full of Crying Freakoids from the lap of a sleeping bollard?
It’s not as easy as it sounds - especially when your nose is as long as mine.
‘Watch out Barry, you’re brushing her hooter with your shnozzle,’ whispered Shazza.
‘Don’t breathe out,’ said Nancy. ‘The air from your nostrils’ll wake her up.’
‘Try not to wobble the shoebox too much,’ said Darren. ‘You don’t wanna make all the Crying Freakoids cry at once.’
‘Can you all stop telling me what to do,’ I hissed through my teeth. ‘This is hard enough as it is!’
I peered down into the shoebox, which was rising up and down with Queenie’s breath. ‘You okay, little fellas?’ I whispered.
It was hard to tell - for all I knew, half of them were goners already.
Queenie’s wrinkly old paw looked like it had a pret-ty tight grip on the box. ‘My hands are shaking,’ I whispered over my shoulder. ‘I dunno if I can do it.’
Darren clicked his fingers. ‘I’ve got it!’ he said, whipping a straw out of his pocket.
‘Got what - a straw?’ said Stuart.
‘Well yeah,’ said Darren, and I zoomed in on it - it was the one Dolly had plonked into his Fronkle yesterday. ‘But I’ve also got an idea!’ He stuck the straw into his mouth. ‘Remember what my number one skill was?’ he asked.
‘Slurping Fronkle?’ I whispered.
‘Not just Fronkle,’ said Darren, shoving me out of the way and dangling his straw over the shoe box. ‘Watch this!’
He sucked through the straw and the Crying Freakoids started to wobble.
Barry Junior floated a millimetre off the bottom of the box, then shot up and suckered himself to the end of Darren’s straw.
‘He’s got one!’ cried Bunky.
‘Hey, how come Barry’s goes first?’ whispered Gordon, as Darren twizzled slowly round and stopped sucking
, my Crying Freakoid plunking into my held-out hand.
‘You wanna come up here and do this, Smugly?’ snapped Darrenofski, and Queenie breathed out, her lips fluttering like curtains in the smelly breeze.
Next Darren suckered Bunky Two, passing him to Bunky One.
‘You alright, boy?’ said Bunky, cupping him in his hands, and I heard a tiny little electronic squeak, then the sound of my best friend holding in a sob. ‘He’s still alive!’
‘Shazza,’ garbled Darren through his straw, and he dropped Mini Shaz into her palm.
Queenie’s belly rumbled and the shoebox tipped to one side, the rest of the Crying Freakoids rolling to that end.
Darren sucked his Freakoid out of the box, slipping it into his pocket. ‘Hurry up Darrenofski,’ said Gordon, and Darrenofski suckered Stuey No Legs out, just to teach the Smugmeister a lesson.
‘Okay, I deserved that,’ said Gordon, and Darren was just about to suck Lil Gordy up with his straw when Queenie opened her eyes.
‘Dennis, is that you?’ warbled Queenie, scrabbling around for her glasses. She knocked them off the little round table next to her chair and they landed in the long grass of the carpet.
‘Let’s get out of here!’ whispered Shazza.
