by Tom Fletcher
There was some more writing way up high. Far too high to be Lucy’s height. Carefully and quietly she stood up in the wardrobe to get a better look. As she got closer, she read the words MOM—AGE 32, and a little farther up was Dad—Age 34.
Lucy had a sudden, unexpected feeling. Her whole body felt warm and safe, like she was being hugged. Just seeing the words MOM and Dad written in her parents’ handwriting brought back those feelings that only families can give to each other. She felt comforted for a moment, snug in the wardrobe, as though somehow the grown-up-less world outside didn’t exist. Like her family was back together again, the three of them, right there in the wardrobe.
Her happy moment was interrupted by the chiming of the clock tower echoing across Whiffington, announcing the hour.
It must be getting late, thought Lucy as she counted the chimes.
Three in the morning already? she thought. That went fast!
And that’s when she heard it.
Not a creak but a yawn. It was Ella.
Lucy peered out of the crack in the wardrobe door and saw Ella stretching sleepily before rubbing her tired eyes. Obviously our scary Creaker story wasn’t scary enough to keep Ella awake all night, she thought.
Then Lucy heard something else.
Another yawn.
This time it was Norman.
That useless boy! Lucy thought, watching him snuggle comfortably in her bed and start snoozing on her pillow.
But Lucy had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. She peeped out of her hiding place in the wardrobe again and saw the most astonishing thing.
A faint cloud of golden dust was wafting across her room, settling over the eyes of Ella and Norman as it floated by.
Lucy’s heart stopped. Ella and Norman weren’t falling asleep. They were being sent to sleep! She watched the dust settle into the corners of their eyes as they drifted deeper into hypnotic slumber.
Then Lucy realized that Ella’s and Norman’s sleepy eyes weren’t the only eyes she could see.
They were there.
Four pairs of beady black eyeballs were lurking in the shadows beneath her bed, staring out.
Lucy froze inside the wardrobe. But the eyes weren’t looking at Lucy. They hadn’t seen her yet. They were looking at Ella, wrapped up in the jacket, and at all the deliciously rotten bits of trash scattered temptingly around Lucy’s room.
“They be a-good and dozyin’ now,” croaked a voice from the darkness. “Dozy Dust always be workin’ a treat!”
“Them kidderlings not be wakin’ up for a long time this night,” grunted another. “Stupid girl brung a weedy little boy with her. Ergh, look! It’s the tidy kidderling from across the walk. He won’t be doin’ ’er ne-help.” They all laughed.
This is good, thought Lucy. The Creakers thought that Ella, curled up in the fluorescent jacket, was her. Just as she and Norman had planned.
“Come on. Let’s be gettin’ the stinkerin’ coat,” hissed another.
With that, Lucy saw movement in the shadows. Her tummy was full of fluttery wobbles, her mouth dropped open in shock, goose bumps pimpled down both arms, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the four Creakers crept out of the blackness and she caught sight of them for the very first time.
Their skin was dark green and shimmered with a sticky wetness, like the repulsive flesh of a slug. They had veiny ears that looked like rotten cabbage leaves and long, pointy claws that seemed to click across the floor like spiders’ legs as they crept. Each of them dragged a rotten tail behind, which looked like a moldy brown banana skin.
One by one, they stood up, revealing their full rottenness. Their heads were just high enough to poke over the side of Lucy’s bed.
Lucy squinted in the dimness. From her hiding spot inside the cupboard she could see them clearly…
One of them was freckled with boils and pus-filled spots along its gangly arms.
Another’s sticky skin had dry flaky patches peeling off, reminding Lucy of the time she’d gotten sunburned on vacation.
The chubbiest one had matted, waxy hair poking out of its oversized ears and a belly like a small round cannonball.
The last one to emerge from the dark had a layer of spikes on its back like uncut fingernails poking out in every direction.
This one was their leader. Lucy could tell by the way the rest creaked out of his way as he crept along the wooden floorboards and into her room.
The sight of them made Lucy gag. They were the most hideous things she’d ever seen. But their disgustingness was only just beginning.
“Oooh, looky this!” the flabby round one said, holding up a rotten slice of pizza with fluffy green mold oozing from the crust. Norman had salvaged it from the garbage truck earlier, thinking it would be great Creaker bait. He was right! thought Lucy, making a face as the Creaker gave it a greedy sniff.
“Puts it down, Guff. We’s ’ere for one thing this night,” hissed the leader.
Guff? What an awful name, Lucy thought.
Guff let out an awful gassy “burp” from his little fat bottom, and Lucy realized how he had gotten his name.
“But, Grunt, looks at alls the treasures. The room be covered nice ’n’ rotten!” said Guff, looking at the trail laid out across the floor.
Grunt? That’s an even worse name than Guff! thought Lucy, but Grunt—the one with the prickly nails on his back and a rotten scowl on his face—seemed to suit his name too.
“Guff’s right. We gotter take this stinkerin’ stuff, Grunt. It be too good to—”
“Waste!” blurted out the one with horrid boils, interrupting the one with flaky skin.
“Don’t speaks when I’m speaksin’, Sniff, you rotten twizzle!”
“Sorry, Scratch. Sorry. I forgets every time,” Sniff said with a nervous chuckle.
“Scratch! Sniff! Be quiet,” huffed Grunt.
Grunt, Guff, Scratch, and Sniff. Lucy repeated their names to herself in her head. They were repulsive names for repulsive creatures.
“Fine. If you wants the garbage, we better be creakin’ swift and quicky,” Grunt said, and with those words the four Creakers began doing the grossest, most peculiar thing. They stretched out their sticky, wet arms and legs and began rolling around the room. As they rolled over the oozing pizza slices, the empty cereal boxes, the old sandwich crusts, the single dirty shoe, the leftovers from dinner, and every disgusting bit of trash, Lucy saw it all start sticking to their slimy skin. When they finally stopped rolling and stood up, the floor was clean—and the Creakers were covered from sticky head to flaky toe.
It was the strangest thing Lucy had ever witnessed. Four odd little creatures coated in litter and garbage!
Grunt, Guff, Scratch, and Sniff looked at each other and saw how completely covered they were in the mess. Then, one by one, they started laughing.
Now, Creakers don’t laugh like you and I do. They come from a backward world where right is wrong, where good is bad, and where laughter sounds more like the wailing of a newborn baby. They howled for nearly five minutes, reveling in the splendid rottenness of their find, and just as Lucy started to wonder if their laughter might wake up Ella and Norman, Sniff reached his oily black claw into a pouch tied around his neck and pulled out a pinch more of their golden dust.
“Justs to be safes…,” Sniff said, and he blew the Dozy Dust into the air, where it floated like crumbly magic into the corners of Ella’s and Norman’s sleepy eyes once again.
“No chances of ’em stoppin’ us this time,” Sniff added, before snorting like a pig.
Lucy’s heart raced. The Creakers didn’t know she was hiding in the wardrobe—but if they did, they would surely use their magic sleeping dust on her too.
Then she had an idea. In fact, the idea was dangling right over her head. Her bathing suit was on a hanger—and looped a
round the top of it were her swimming goggles. She quickly reached up and stretched them over her head, protecting her eyes from any stray crumbs of Dozy Dust.
“Now let’s get ’er rotten jacket and be takin’ it back to the Woleb,” hissed Grunt, creaking toward Ella.
The three other Creakers followed behind him, moving as a shadowy pack into the center of the room, a dark glob of sliminess creeping up on Ella, who was slumped in a slumberous heap. They stretched out their claws, reaching for the grubby jacket, heading right toward the spot on the floor marked with a C.
Right where Lucy wanted them…
Lucy looked up at the heavy laundry basket dangling from the ceiling, then back down at the four Creakers.
One…more…step, Lucy thought, and I’ve…
GOT YOU!
She released the Creaker trap. The skipping rope unraveled around the hangers and swished out of the wardrobe so fast she could barely see it whiz across the room. In a great crash and clatter, the washing basket came crashing down from above, trapping the Creakers under it and sending the garbage they’d collected flying off in all directions.
“No!” growled Grunt.
“Ouch!” burbled Guff.
“Geroff me!” shrieked Scratch.
“We be trapped!” squealed Sniff.
The Creakers cried out in panic, and Lucy leapt out of the wardrobe, heart ringing like an alarm clock in her chest.
“It’s the kidderling!” Grunt croaked. “She were sneakerin’ in the wardrobe!”
“What a trickster!” said Guff.
“Yes, a naughty little—”
“Rotter!” Sniff cried, interrupting Scratch, who boshed him on the head. “Sorry!”
Grunt quickly took charge, plunging his black claw into the pouch around Sniff’s neck and pulling out a pinch of their golden dust. He puffed it straight at Lucy, and all the Creakers watched eagerly as it swished through the air, straight toward her face, as though the dust itself had a mind of its own and was reaching out with golden, crumbly fingers. But instead of finding her eyes, the Dozy Dust hit the tinted lenses of her swim-ming goggles and fell uselessly to the floor.
Sniff gasped in horror and fainted in shock. No kidderling—sorry—child had ever fended off a Dozy Dust attack before.
“You crafty little sprog!” Grunt spat.
“Did you sees that? The kidder gots freaky Dust Stoppers!” Guff mumbled in a panic.
Scratch kicked Sniff in the belly. “Sniff! Sniff, it’s me, Scratch! Wake—”
“Up!” Sniff said, coming around.
“She be a crafty little kidderling, this ’un,” Grunt growled, glaring at Lucy.
Suddenly he began clawing at the floor through the woven bars of the upside-down basket, which was barely big enough to hold all four of them. The other Creakers copied him, digging their claws into the wooden floor and scratching away. Slowly the whole laundry basket began to move across the floor toward the bed. It wasn’t heavy enough to stop them, and with Norman knocked out with Dozy Dust, there was no one to weigh it down.
Lucy gulped hard, swallowing her fear, and sprinted across the room. She jumped up on top of the laundry basket, pushing it back down again, trapping the Creakers underneath.
“Let us out! Let us out!” the Creakers croaked.
“No, I will not let you out!” Lucy said with a nervous wobble in her voice as she crouched above these monsters. It was terrifying, not being able to see what the Creakers were up to under her feet, but she didn’t dare get down in case they made a run for it. As she peeped over the edge, the Creakers were hidden in shadow. Just their long, creepy claws could be seen as they scratched at the floor.
Lucy wished she could turn on the light, but the switch was on the other side of the bedroom. If only she had…
NORMAN’S FLASHLIGHT!
She could see it lying on the bed next to him—but could she reach it?
“What’s the kidderling doin’?” Guff muttered nervously from below.
“Can’t see the rotter!” groaned Grunt.
“She be stretchin’ out for somethin’,” croaked Scratch.
“She’s got a…ARGHHHHH! The bright! The bright!” Sniff cried in pain as Lucy flicked on the flashlight and shined it down through the bars of the basket, trying to see these Creakers up close.
“Turns the bright off, you horrid little kidderling! It be too hot!” Grunt cried, cowering away from the flashlight.
Lucy suddenly caught a whiff of something horrid. It smelled like burning hair, all smoky and dry. She realized that the Creakers didn’t just dislike the flashlight. It was hurting them. Burning them.
“Oh…I’m so sorry!” Lucy said, switching off the flashlight right away. These creatures were awfully disgusting, but she didn’t want to hurt them. No creature deserved that. Plus, the smell of their burning flesh was horrendous!
“Yes, that’s a nice kidderling,” gasped Guff, dabbing at his smoldering skin. “Now, just be liftin’ up this trapper, and we be on our ways. Leavin’ you and your friends alone, yes,” he added, peering up at Lucy with his black eyeballs.
“Ella! Norman!” Lucy said, suddenly remembering her friends. Gently she prodded Ella, who was lying next to the basket. “Ella, it’s me, Lucy. Can you hear me?”
But Ella didn’t open her eyes. She was snoring happily in a blissful snooze.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be tryin’ to wake up a dozer,” said Sniff helpfully. “Nots good to wake someone who’s had the dust. Makes ’em all messy in the noggin.”
“ ‘Messy in the noggin’? ‘Had the dust’?” Lucy asked, confused.
“Yes, kidderlings go right out with a bit of Dozy Dust, leavin’ it all nice and easy-peasy for us to creak about—Ow!” groaned Sniff as Grunt elbowed him in his round belly.
“Quiet, bog-brain! You be tellin’ the human too much,” Grunt snapped.
“No! Don’t stop!” said Lucy. “That’s why I’ve trapped you. I want answers, and you’re not going anywhere until I get them!”
The Creakers went silent, and Lucy sensed them all looking at each other inside the basket beneath her feet.
“We not be tellin’ the kidderling a thing,” she heard Grunt hiss firmly to the others. More loudly, he added, “We be waitin’ for more Creakers to come free us.”
“Then you be in a whole heap of the troubles,” whispered Scratch threateningly, with a sly smile in his voice.
“What other Creakers?” said Guff curiously, rubbing his cannonball tummy. “I didn’t know anyone else be comin’ ’ere tonight.”
“Shut your mud-hole, you mush-minded moron!” Grunt barked.
“Oh, right, sorry! Yeah, them others…,” Guff quickly said, trying to play along, but Lucy knew now that no one else was coming.
Suddenly she had an idea. There was a way she could look at the Creakers—her bedroom mirror! She quickly whipped around to face the wall where her full-length mirror was hanging, positioned perfectly to reflect those wicked creatures underneath.
“There you are.” She smiled and put her hands on her hips.
“Ellooo!” waved Sniff chirpily, before being elbowed in the nose by Scratch.
“Now, I want you to tell me exactly what you’ve done with the grown-ups,” Lucy said.
“No,” huffed Grunt firmly, staring back out at her in the mirror.
“I want to know why you took them,” Lucy calmly explained.
“Nots a chance.”
“I want to know why you creak around our bedrooms at night.”
“Can’t tell the kidder our secrets!”
“And I want you to tell me how I can get the grown-ups back,” said Lucy.
“Wah! Wah! Wah!” wailed Grunt, which Lucy remembered was the Creaker way of laughing. “Get the grown-ups back! Wah, wah! That be impossible, you silly kidd
er.”
Lucy’s stomach twisted at the word impossible.
“I’m not silly. Nothing’s impossible,” she said. “Impossible isn’t real. It’s just in your mind! If you tell me where the grown-ups are, I’ll march down into the Woleb and get them myself, and things can all go back to the way they were before.”
“Oh, I’m ’fraid you can’t be doin’ that,” said Guff, sounding a little more serious than he had so far. “You see, kidderling, your grown-ups aren’t quite the same as you remember ’em.”
The Creakers started giggling, which sounded more like the way you gargle when you brush your teeth.
“What…what do you mean?” Lucy said, starting to get a little panicked. “What have you done to them?”
“We?” said Scratch. “Not we! Not us little Creakers, not Grunt, Guff, Scratch, and Sniff. We’s be good little Creakers. We’s not hurtin’ your—”
“Grown-ups,” jumped in Sniff.
“Then who?” asked Lucy, her mind racing to work out this riddle.
“It be the Woleb,” said Grunt darkly. “The Woleb doin’ what the Woleb does.”
“What does the Woleb do?” asked Lucy.
The Creakers looked at each other with wicked smiles.
“The Woleb be changin’ ’em,” said Grunt.
“The Woleb be twistin’ ’em,” said Guff.
“The Woleb be keepin’ ’em…,” added Scratch.
“Forever,” whispered Sniff.
…Hang on! Isn’t thirteen an unlucky number? It feels a little bit reckless to be writing a book about creepy creatures that live under your bed and then just whack in an unlucky chapter number like it’s no big deal. What if you read this chapter and then a Creaker snatched you? I’d feel so guilty! Shall we skip straight to Chapter Fourteen? I think it’s probably wise. You never can be too careful where Creakers are concerned.
Lucy couldn’t hold it together any longer. She’d been staying strong ever since the day it all began. She’d already lost her dad. Now hearing these creatures say that she might never get her mom back too was just too much.