The Day I Found a Wormhole at the Bottom of the Garden

by Tom McLaughlin

  Table of Contents

  1 p.m.

  2 p.m.

  3 p.m.

  4 p.m.

  5 p.m.

  6 p.m.

  7 p.m.

  8 p.m.

  9 p.m.

  10 p.m.

  Get Your Facts Straight!

  Make Your Own Ye Olde Quill

  Follow the Right Road

  About the Author

  Copyright

  For the coffee farmers of the world,

  without whom I wouldn’t have been

  able to finish this book.

  1 p.m.

  Can you remember the best day of your life? Perhaps it was when you bought a tube of Fruit Pastilles and discovered that the entire packet was made up of green ones. Maybe it was the day it snowed and your school was one of the ones that closed. Or maybe it was the day your school was closed and you bought a packet of Fruit Pastilles to celebrate and discovered that they were all green.

  Billy can remember his best day. It was the occasion of his ninth birthday; the day that he got a metal detector from his nan. It combined his two favourite things in the world: gadgets and digging massive great holes. It was like having his very own giant lucky-dip box to play with. Who knew what treasure he might find! Would it be an ancient chest of gold coins hidden by a bearded pirate? Or a bejewelled sword that once belonged to an old forgotten king? Or even a cursed bejewelled sword that once belonged to a cursed king? Things in the olden days always had curses.

  Since his birthday, Billy had explored nearly every inch of the garden – making his parents’ lawn holier than a piece of Swiss cheese – and, so far, he’d found several ring pulls from cans of fizzy pop and a coin dating back to the mid 90s! But now, Billy needed a new place to explore; uncharted territory … a land full of possibilities. As he lay on his bed, enjoying a post-lunch power-nap, he was suddenly struck by an idea.

  “THAT’S IT!”

  Billy yelled out with excitement.

  As if on cue, Shakespeare jumped on the bed and licked Billy’s eyelids. Shakespeare was Billy’s French bulldog; he had a very small brain and very big ears and was often mistaken for an angry rabbit.

  “No, down boy, please … yuk! Stop licking my eyes … it’s gross! Oh, your breath!” Billy cried out. “Some dogs fetch their owner’s slippers, you know.” Billy sat up in bed, wiped the slime from his eyeballs and contemplated his plan.

  There was one place that he hadn’t explored, somewhere no one ever went … the bottom of the garden. It was just past the deadly blackberry bush and its many spikes of doom, over the old compost heap, through the weird-smelling boggy bit and next to the abandoned shed. Mum and Dad called it the “icky place” and Billy had been frightened of it for as long as he could remember; it was dark, damp and scary-looking, like some sort of boggy nightmare. But now he was older and able to put his fears aside all in the name of history and digging stuff up. Today was going to be the perfect day for it, Billy thought checking his watch, because today…

  The doorbell rang out.

  “Nan’s here.” Billy smiled. “Perfect timing!”

  “Bill–y!” his mum shouted.

  Billy hopped off the bed, gave Shakespeare a wink and bounded down the stairs. Billy lived in a small, uninteresting house in Clapham that had a neat front garden and a rather holey back garden. It was down a short cul-de-sac – the sort of place where people twitched their curtains when a new car appeared in the street and where there were lots of signs that said:

  above tiny patches of grass, as if an entire gang of kids could somehow use it to play the world’s smallest game of football. Billy landed at the bottom of the stairs and gave his nan a hug. She was here to babysit.

  “Hello, lad,” Nan said and started to shuffle into the living room.

  “Right,” Mum said and turned to Billy. “You know what to do. It’s the usual routine. Not too much TV, don’t eat lots of sweets and no, I repeat, no dancing on the tables again!”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll look after her,” Billy said. Sometimes it felt like he was the babysitter, not the other way round.

  “I am capable of looking after my grandson, you know!” Nan said gruffly to Mum. “The table-dancing was a one-off.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Skittle-gate.” Mum glared at them both. “Not again.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Billy said calmly. Mum had no idea of the dastardly plans that were being hatched inside his brain.

  “Look, I made you some rock buns, lad. I know they’re your favourite,” Nan said, reaching into her handbag – not into a cake box, or a napkin, but into her actual handbag – and taking out a cake that must have been sloshing around with her keys and dirty change. She handed it to Billy and beamed at him.

  When he was five, Billy had made the mistake of saying he liked them, which Nan had taken to heart, and now claimed they were his favourite. Billy always tried to eat them, but the darn things were so hard that he’d never got past the outer crust. It was like giving a hamster a coconut and telling him to tuck in. Billy assumed that Nan had misread the recipe and used real rocks to make them, rather than, say, flour and eggs and actual edible stuff.

  A few years ago, someone had tried to pinch Nan’s handbag – an awful thing to do to an old lady. But Nan being Nan, and thinking on her feet, reached into her bag during the kerfuffle, grabbed the first thing that came to hand – a rock cake – and cracked it over the attacker’s head. It knocked him clean out and Nan became a hero; she even appeared in the local paper with a picture of her holding a rock cake like it was a hand grenade. Since then, she never left home without a cake, or the recipe for that matter.

  “Thanks, Nan.” Billy smiled and pretended to take a bite. “Yummy. So very firm and not like these modern cakes that melt in your mouth.” He grinned. Mum gave Billy a knowing look.

  “Right, son,” Mum said, “we’re off shopping. Your birthday isn’t too far away and we have lots of other things to get done, so we’ll be gone for a few hours. But remember, any mischief and Nan will call us and we’ll be back here straight away!”

  Billy nodded, knowing that this was basically a lie. Yes, there was a phone in the house, but Nan had no idea how to use it. Billy had seen her pointing it at the TV not so long ago to try and get the snooker on BBC Two.

  “Of course, Mum.”

  “Don’t forget your homework, it’s history, isn’t it? You have to write about meeting a historical figure. I know creative writing isn’t your bag, but please try and make an effort. So, as soon as we’re gone, crack on with it. Me and your dad … where is he? Steve!” Mum yelled. “Anyway, we’ll be back as quick as we can … STEVE!”

  “Coming…” Dad sighed. The prospect of missing the football to go shopping was not an appealing one for him.

  “Are you ready? Do you have everything?” Mum asked.

  “Yes, keys and … well, that’s it, right?” Dad said.

  “Let’s go!” Mum said with the steely look of a general about to send her troops into war.

  The door slammed, an engine revved and the two were gone, off for an afternoon of wandering around the shopping centre and trying not to fall out with each other. Billy smiled and clapped his hands. Now it was time for the real plan. Time to send Nan to sleep for a few hours while he got on with some proper exploring.

  “This way, Nan. What about a nice cup of tea?” Billy said. “Nice and milky with five sugars?” He smiled. “Let me get your special cushion. Look what I recorded for you on the digi box…”

  “Is it my show?” Nan said gleefully, settling into a chair. “Did y
ou record them on the tape player?”

  “Yep, fifteen hours of Antiques Roadshow. The first episode is live from Windsor Castle,” Billy said putting a cushion behind her. He loved the understanding they had. Nan would fall asleep pretty much as soon as she arrived and Billy would be left to his own devices – mainly digging up the back garden. He hit play and – three … two … one – she was out for the count. There was something about the sight and sound of well-to-do gentlemen in bow ties pointing at old clocks that overwhelmed her. Perhaps it reminded her of simpler times, but whatever the reason, the result was the same. She was asleep, and she would stay asleep as long as the TV was on.

  Let the fun begin.

  2 p.m.

  Billy rushed upstairs and opened his wardrobe. “I need a hat … explorers always wear some kind of headgear.” He looked at his vast collection of firemen’s hats, trilbies and top hats. “Hmm … these might be a little over the top,” he murmured. Then he spotted his good, sturdy baseball cap and grabbed it. “Perfect,” he said, pulling the cap down over his curly hair.

  Billy opened the next door along, took a deep breath and beamed with delight as he looked at his metal detector glinting in the sun. He could almost hear the choir singing as he pulled it out and held it aloft like it was a medieval sword. “Hello, Bess,” he said sweetly. Billy didn’t know if it was the done thing or not to name one’s own metal detector, but he didn’t care. “Billy and Bess on another metal-detecting adventure,” sounded good to him. Now all he needed was his trusty steed.

  “Shakespeare!” Billy yelled. There was a sound of footsteps scrabbling up the stairs, a door being opened and a woof of disappointment.

  “Wrong room, Shakespeare!” Billy shouted.

  “YOU’RE IN THE BATHROOM! I’M IN MY BEDROOM!”

  Shakespeare, for all his large ears, seemed to have a terrible sense of hearing. Finally, he ran into the right room and bounded up to Billy, his tail wagging eagerly.

  “Right, lad, here’s the plan, we’re going to the bottom of the garden, further than any human has gone for many a moon. There we will detect like never before. Are we going to be put off by a few stinky weeds and creepy-crawlies? No! Today is the day. Today we will return from the land beyond the compost heap with untold treasure. Are you ready?” Billy asked.

  Shakespeare stared at Billy with his tongue hanging out and did a small bottom-squeak.

  “My feelings exactly, but we’ve got to be brave. Go where others fear to tread… Now, where did I put my big wellies?”

  Five minutes later, Billy, Bess and Shakespeare were ready. Billy fired up Bess and waved her around the living room next to Nan. Every time it went near her false teeth, the metal detector whistled. The test achieved two things: checking Bess was working and making sure Nan was asleep. It was a thumbs-up for both. It was on.

  Billy grabbed an apple for a mid-hike snack and plodded through the living room towards the patio doors. He looked like an astronaut walking on the moon; his wellies rippled and warbled with every step. They were Dad’s old ones, but with five pairs of socks, they just about fitted Billy. The wellies were perfect for keeping out scuttley, bitey creatures that might be lurking at the bottom of the garden.

  Billy opened the back door and searched around the patio for any equipment that he might need for his treasure hunt. He found a small trowel and fork, some rope and a pair of thick gardening gloves. Billy stuffed them into his backpack and headed down the path, passing the neat flowers and grass. It must have been his imagination, but as he approached the end of the garden, the sun disappeared and the wind began to swirl around. Shakespeare started whimpering. Billy stopped, took a breath and headed for the place beyond the blackberry bush. Between the thorns and half-eaten fruit, he could just make out what used to be a path.

  “Right, lad, time to use the rope!” Billy said to Shakespeare. He pulled it out of his backpack, made a loop and threw the rope over the bush, tying it back so that he could get past the spikes of doom. “Phase one complete,” Billy said triumphantly. Was it time to munch the apple? He was a bit peckish, but he had only been exploring for twenty seconds. Maybe save it for later.

  Billy and Shakespeare slowly crept around the old compost heap until they reached the boggy bit that smelt really bad. Beneath the tall grasses, Billy could see the old shed. This was where he would start looking. He carefully stepped over the boggy patch and used the trowel to hack the tallest of the grass away. Shakespeare sat on a large rock near the shed, looking most put out that he was roughing it in a smelly wilderness. Once he had cleared the area, Billy put his headphones on, fired up Bess and waved her close to the ground.

  “Here we go! There’s buried treasure near by. I can feel it! The first question isn’t will I find anything, but when and what? The second is, what will I spend all that money on?” What to spend the money on was what kept Billy going – it was the thing that made him carry on looking in the wind and rain, when he could have been inside drinking tea and eating warm buttered toast. Some can go a lifetime looking and never find anything more than a few pence, but Billy knew that one day soon he would hit the jackpot.

  “I think I’ve finalized my top five things that I want to buy when I become a millionaire,” Billy said to Shakespeare, who yawned and let out another bottom-squeaker. “Number one: someone to do all my homework for me. Although, depending on how rich I get, maybe I could just buy the school and turn it into a sweet shop or something. Number two: a vintage top hat, a really tall and shiny one that actually fits. None of the grown-up ones fit my head and I want a proper kids’ one made. Number three: a robot butler. Number four would be a time machine. I know they don’t actually exist, but I’m sure if I paid someone enough, they’d invent one for me. What do you think, boy?” Billy said, looking over at Shakespeare, who was almost asleep by now. Billy sighed. “Maybe number five should be I’ll buy a cat—”

  WEEEeeerrrrEEEEEEEIIIIIIIiiiii!

  The metal detector whirred into life. He looked down and, without taking his eyes off the patch of soggy grass, he slowly put Bess down. He reached into his backpack, grabbed his gloves and the trowel and began to dig very carefully. Metal-detecting was a precise business – whatever was down there might be delicate. Billy scooped away the earth, until there was a tinkling sound as the metal of the trowel hit something hard. He used his hands for the next bit, picking away at the soil until he felt something jagged under his glove. He grinned as he pulled the object from the ground.

  “Can it be?!” Billy beamed with delight. “I think it is, yes!” he yelled, taking a closer look. “It’s a ring pull from a 1994 can of Fanta, I’d recognize that design anywhere! My collection is almost complete.” Billy had decided that even if he didn’t find a stack of gold, there was no way his historical ring-pull collection wasn’t going to fetch a small fortune at auction.

  “This is the best day ever—”

  Rrrrreeeeeeewweeeewwwiiiiii

  The end of Billy’s sentence was overtaken by the sound of the metal detector coming to life again. He turned and looked at Bess. Something was wrong. Metal detectors don’t start working on their own when they’re not moving, either they’re on top of metal, or they’re not. There was another loud squeak from a bottom.

  “Sorry,” Billy said to the dog. “I’m just a little nervous.” He put the ring pull in his pocket and looked at the ground beneath Bess. He grabbed the trowel, but just as he was about to dig, the earth moved. Something was under there. Maybe it was a mole. Billy wafted Bess over the mound of grass and, sure enough, she started squealing and wailing. If it was a mole, then it was made of metal. As he continued to wave Bess around, the earth moved again, like whatever was underneath was trying to escape. Billy bent down and touched the soil with his hand. The ground felt warm. He sat back in shock. This end of the garden was permanently in the shade. The ground shouldn’t be warm.

  At that very second, the air was filled with a piercing sound. It wasn’t Bess, it was Shakespeare,
wincing and howling the same way he did just before a thunderstorm. Billy felt a shiver ripple up and down his spine.

  “What’s going on? This is no ring pull and that’s for sure,” Billy said under his breath and leant forward. A small hole in the ground was opening in front of him. Billy glimpsed a beautiful golden crown for a second before it disappeared again. He reached into the soil, grabbed hold of the crown and pulled with all his might, but it was like someone was pulling back from the other side.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Billy yelled. “If there’s a magic crown to be found, I’m not going to lose it in a game of tug-of-war!” He pulled with all his heart and all his arms until it felt like they might come out of their sockets.

  “ONE … TWO … THREE!”

  Billy cried out and, on three, he flew backwards as a huge flash of orange light filled every inch of the bottom of the garden. It was blindingly bright, but only for a few seconds and then it disappeared. Billy lay in the boggy patch, covered in garden slime. He blinked a few times before sitting up, trying to adjust his eyes. It took a few seconds to find it, but there was his prize: a beautiful golden crown.

  The diamonds twinkled and sparkled. Billy gasped. His treasure was sitting on the top of someone’s head. Thick combed-back greying hair, scowling eyes, a flared nose and a furious mouth were slowly rising out of the hole in the ground. Whoever she was, she did not look amused.

  3 p.m.

  “AAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

  Billy took a deep breath.