The Creakers

by Tom Fletcher

  Lucy was caught in the middle. Right between grown-ups and Creakers.

  And, just like that, the whole ceiling suddenly came right off.

  All the roof shingles, the bricks, her glow-in-the-dark stars: everything went swirling into the shimmering, spinning jaws of the mighty military drill.

  Lucy felt sunlight fall on her face, and for a moment she understood what it must feel like to be a Creaker. That heart-stopping dread of your world about to be turned to dust. Although it wasn’t the sunlight itself that would be turning Lucy to dust—it was the screeching drill, getting closer and closer every second.

  Lucy looked around. The sight before her was so mind-bogglingly weird. Her bedroom had four walls—and NO ceiling. There was just a great big hole overhead, filled only by the approaching Creaker-killing machine and the whirring of helicopter blades.

  The drill suddenly dropped lower, eating up the walls of Lucy’s room too. The windows smashed. The curtains got sucked into the grinding teeth, and a tornado of bricks turned to rubble as they tumbled down into the yard below.

  Lucy was now standing in her bedroom with no ceiling above her and no walls around her. It was just her and her bed, completely open to the outside world.

  “LUCYPOPS!” a voice called out over the screaming of the drilling machine, and Lucy caught a glimpse of her father and mother at the end of her street, waving at her desperately. It wasn’t just them being held back by the military. Norman was there with his dad. Ella stood with her mama. The whole of Whiffington had gathered in a great crowd. Even the Wakey-Wakey, Whiffington cameras were rolling, ready to capture the destruction of the Woleb.

  It was at that moment, standing beneath a hundred helicopters with a giant drill a few inches away from her head, being watched by the entire population of Whiffington Town, that Lucy realized something.

  Something very weird.

  She wasn’t scared.

  Of course, it was terrifying to have a whopping great drill rip off your roof and dangle a few inches from your head, about to be dropped at any moment right on the spot you’re standing in—but somehow Lucy had come to realize that what she was about to do was bigger than being scared. More important than feeling frightened.

  She was standing up for what she believed in. Putting the lives of others before her own. Lucy had been prepared to risk everything to save the grown-ups from the Creakers—and now she was risking it all to save the Creakers from the grown-ups.

  “STOP!” she shouted.

  But the machine kept drilling. Getting lower and lower.

  “STOP DRILLING!!!” she called.

  the machine replied.

  Lucy realized that screaming was no good. She had to be seen. She stood up on her bed, making herself as tall and as big as she possibly could. She raised her open palms toward the drill, and this time she demanded that it obey her.

  “THAT’S ENOUGH!” she ordered.

  With a great

  and a PSHHHHHH! the whopping great drilling machine came to a sudden halt.

  Lucy stared up at the sharp metal face of the drill. Its pointy tip was barely an inch from her open hand.

  “Raise the drill!” echoed an angry voice through a megaphone from one of the helicopters above.

  The choppers’ engines roared as they lifted the drill out of the Dungston family’s home.

  “Well, what is it, Sergeant?” the voice echoed down from above again, and Lucy recognized it now. It was Mayor Noying—Ella’s dad. He was hanging out of the side of one of the great helicopters, peering down with a stern frown across his forehead.

  “It’s…it’s the girl, sir!” the nervous sergeant replied.

  “A girl?”

  “No! THE girl. The one who rescued us all from the Woleb.”

  “It’s me, Lucy!” Lucy shouted back up at the WAF choppers through the megaphone she’d confiscated. “Lucy Dungston, and this is my home!”

  “Well, for goodness’ sake, Lucy, get out of the way! We’ve got to get rid of those disgusting vermin down there,” the mayor demanded.

  But Lucy didn’t get out of the way. She sat down on her bed and folded her arms.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “If you want to kill those poor little creatures, you’ll have to chomp me up with your drill too.”

  There was silence. (Well, apart from the sound of all the helicopters, obviously.)

  Then a rope suddenly dropped down through Lucy’s open ceiling. Lucy looked up to see the mayor whizz down the rope from the chopper, his chunky golden chain and pointy hat flapping in the breeze.

  “Now, listen here, little girl,” he boomed into his megaphone seconds before he landed, his shiny boots clomping on her bedroom floor.

  “No. YOU listen,” Lucy said into her own megaphone, standing up on her bed so that she was just as tall as the very cross mayor. “I’m not moving from this spot. This is my room. My home. And you’ve got no right to come flying over here with your big chompy machine and slice off my ceiling.”

  “But—but—” the mayor stuttered. He’d never been spoken to like this by any child other than Ella before, but that was usually about lumps in her mashed avocado or staying up late.

  “No buts,” Lucy continued. “This isn’t just my home. This is their home too.” She pointed down to the shadows beneath her bed.

  “But those things snatched us all away! They nearly turned us all into messy, silly children!” the mayor spluttered.

  “Yes. And that was wrong of them. But you are as much to blame as they are.”

  “What?!”

  “You heard me!” Lucy’s voice blasted out loud and clear for all of Whiffington to hear. “You, me, and every single person here in Whiffington. We’re just like those creatures. They have homes. They have families. And they’re sick and tired of watching us dump all our trash when they can turn it back into something useful. Our garbage can give a Creaker child a bed. It can build a family a home. It can even power a whole city! If only we could work together instead of trying to snatch or destroy each other. We might look different, and we might not see the world the same way, but that doesn’t mean we can’t all live on it and under it together. Peacefully. Happily!”

  Lucy looked out from her crumbling bedroom to the crowd gathered at the end of her street. They were listening to every word she said—and she saw lots of them nodding.

  “But—but this is madness. You can’t listen to her! She’s just a child,” the mayor pleaded to Whiffington.

  “That’s right. I am a child. Just a kid. The kid who saw you running NAKED through Creakerland.”

  The mayor looked out to see Ella and Mrs. Noying standing in the crowd. Ella put her heart-shaped sunglasses on and acted like she didn’t know him.

  “The kid who brought you all back to your families,” Lucy continued. “The kid who knows that if we drill this hole, we’ll destroy the Creakers forever.”

  The mayor said nothing. He was dumbstruck by Lucy’s words. Lucy was seeing the world far more clearly than any grown-up had for a very long time.

  The mayor bowed his head in shame.

  “Lucy, I’ve been a fool,” he sighed, removing his tricorn hat and placing it on Lucy’s head. “You have reminded us all that sometimes children can see the truth that grown-ups have forgotten how to see.”

  He lifted the megaphone to his mouth. “Call off the whopping great drill!” he ordered with a wave of his hand, and the helicopters instantly flew the machine away.

  “We’ve been complete fools, haven’t we?” the mayor said to Lucy.

  “No, you’ve just been grown-ups.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any idea what we should do next?” asked the mayor sheepishly. He’d never had to ask anyone what he should do before—especially not a kid.

  Lucy looked around at the mess she
was standing in. There were no walls, no ceiling, no wardrobes. Just Lucy, the mayor, and her bed.

  Lucy smiled.

  “What is it?” the mayor asked.

  “I think I have an idea.”

  “OK, only one more house,” Lucy said to her dad as she wound down the window of his stinky garbage truck.

  They pulled up outside Ella’s house.

  “Good evening, Mayor Noying,” Mr. Dungston said, jumping out of the truck with a chirpy tip of his flat cap.

  The mayor came out of his front door, struggling with three heavy bags of trash, while Mrs. Noying and Ella watched from the doorway, giggling quietly.

  “Evening, Mr. Dungston. Good evening, Lucy,” he said.

  “Lovely pajamas!” Lucy said, trying not to burst out laughing at the mayor’s neatly ironed pink silk pj’s.

  “Thank you. Ella got them for me,” he mumbled. “Are we all set for tonight?”

  “Yes, I think everything’s ready,” Lucy replied from the passenger seat of the smelly truck.

  “Good. We shall see you at sunset, then, young Lucy. Fingers crossed your plan works!” the mayor said.

  Mr. Dungston threw the mayor’s trash bags into the back of the truck and jumped into the driver’s seat.

  “See you there!” Lucy called out to Ella, and waved.

  They whizzed around Whiffington as the evening sun dropped low in the sky.

  “Lucy,” Mr. Dungston said. “No matter what happens tonight, I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Lucy said. “I just hope it works.”

  “Me too, Lucypops. Me too.”

  They stopped off at their home, which was halfway through being repaired from the damage caused by the whopping great drill. Mrs. Dungston stepped out of the front door, edged her way around the scaffolding, and hopped into the truck with them. She was wearing her bathrobe and pj’s and looked ready for bed.

  “Oh, it feels so good to have you home,” she said, throwing her arms around Mr. Dungston’s neck and giving him a big kiss.

  “Not as good as it feels to be home!” he replied with a huge grin on his face.

  “Ready for the big night, Lucypops?” Mrs. Dungston asked.

  “I am. I just hope they are!” Lucy said with a hint of nervousness in her voice.

  They drove through the streets to a place Mr. Dung-ston knew like the back of his grubby hand. The sign swinging outside the entrance read WHIFFINGTON DUMP.

  But tonight it looked rather different.

  It was no longer Whiffington Dump. It was Camp Whiffington.

  As they pulled in through the gates, they were greeted by two familiar faces.

  “Hi, Mr. Quirk! Hey, Norman!” Lucy said as she jumped down from the truck. “Is everything going as planned?”

  “Indeed it is, Lucy! The campsite is up and running,” replied Mr. Quirk.

  “No flashlights, right?”

  Norman lifted up a huge bag full of confiscated flashlights, and Lucy smiled.

  “Everything’s under control, Lucy. Scout’s honor,” Norman said with a salute. “That reminds me—this is for you.”

  He pulled a green-and-yellow scarf and a little neckerchief slide out of his pocket. He placed the scarf around Lucy’s neck, fastened it with the slide, and straightened it.

  “Welcome to Whiffington Scout Troop,” he told her, smiling.

  “Aha! Do we have a new member?” Norman’s dad called, popping his Scout leader hat on his head excitedly.

  Lucy looked into Norman’s hopeful eyes, then around at the wonderful work he and his father had put into Camp Whiffington.

  “Actually, it’s two new members!” Lucy said, noticing that Ella had just arrived. “Hey, Ella!”

  “Hi, Lucy. Good evening, Norman,” Ella said politely, being a cute little angel now that her mama and papa were back.

  “Ella, I’ve just signed you up for the Whiffington Scout Troop with me.”

  “You did WHAT?!” Ella whispered in horror.

  “That’s right. You’re a Scout now.”

  “I certainly am not.”

  “You are if you don’t want your mama to find out that you went skipping through Whiffington in her wedding dress,” Lucy whispered.

  “Well, this is fantastic news!” Mr. Quirk cried. “New recruits are most welcome. We don’t get many, do we, Norman? In such unusual circumstances, I’m delighted to present you both with your first Scout badges.” And with that, he whipped out two circular woven patches and handed one to Lucy and one to Ella.

  “The starting-a-new-adventure badge,” he said.

  Lucy slicked her hair to one side, looked at the small patch in her hand, and felt her cheeks turn a little red. She couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from turning up with pride. She glanced over at Ella, who was wearing the exact same expression but quickly put her sunglasses on to hide it. They both suddenly knew why Norman took his badges so seriously.

  Norman proudly pointed to the same badge sewn on his jumper and gave them both a thumbs-up.

  “And may I ask how you both came to hear about the Whiffington Scout Troop?” asked Mr. Quirk.

  Ella pointed her finger at Norman accusingly. Lucy nodded in agreement.

  “Then, if I’m not mistaken, there is one more badge to be awarded tonight,” Mr. Quirk said. “For getting one or more people to join our troop, for bringing people together, Norman…”

  Norman got down on one knee and looked more like he was being knighted by the queen than being handed a Scout badge by his dad.

  “…I award you the friendship badge,” said Mr. Quirk, handing over the little patch.

  Lucy and Ella applauded as Norman stared at the badge. He let out a big sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” Lucy asked.

  “It’s just…I’ve just wanted this badge for so long,” Norman muttered, rubbing his thumb over it.

  “And now you have it, Norm!” Ella said, nudging him.

  “Yeah, I know. But I’ve just realized it wasn’t the badge I wanted,” Norman said, his cheeks flushing red. “It was the friends that came with it.”

  Lucy put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Ella mumbled.

  “Lucypops, it’s nearly time,” Mr. Dungston called.

  There was a huge crowd starting to gather in Camp Whiffington. Families were pitching tents and laying blankets on the ground. The smell of hot chocolate boiling over campfires hung in the air as the grown-ups shared stories of their time in the Woleb—while the children kept their own adventures secret.

  “Nearly sunset,” Lucy heard them whisper.

  “I wonder if they’ll show up,” said another.

  The crowd parted, allowing Mr. Dungston’s smelly vehicle to pull up, with Lucy, Norman, and Ella walking beside it. Mr. Dungston jumped out to join Lucy, and her heart pounded in her chest as something wonderful came into view in front of her.

  On the spot where there was once a great big pile of stinking, rotting waste now sat something mar-velous. Something genius. Something only a child could think of. A whopping great BED!

  It had four thick tree trunks for posts, and as Lucy and her dad got closer, a swarm of Whiffington Air Force helicopters lowered a monumental mattress the size of a football field, plus a humongous pillow stuffed with hundreds of normal-sized pillows, down into place on top of the bed.

  It was the most incredible thing Lucy had ever seen.

  Although it was a bed fit for a giant to sleep in, no one would be lying in it. It wasn’t made for sleeping in. It was the deep, dark, shadowy patch beneath the giant bed that really mattered.

  As Mr. Dungston and Lucy walked up to the enormous bed, the crowd cheered and whooped.

  “There she is!”

 
“That’s Lucy!”

  Lucy nervously unloaded the last few sacks of garbage and tossed them onto the pile of stinking trash bags, old furniture, and other bits and pieces at the bottom of the bed. She took a step back and admired the mountain of Whiffington’s filthy, rotten garbage—the town’s peace offering to the Creakers.

  Then Lucy, her mom, and her dad found a spot in the crowd, a little distance away from the enormous bed. Mr. Dungston rolled out three sleeping bags, then reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

  “Want to try to beat your record, Lucypops?” he said, waving a bag of jelly beans in the air with a smile.

  “Impossible!” her mom chuckled.

  Lucy and Mr. Dungston gave each other a look, and both said at exactly the same time, “Impossible isn’t real!”

  And the three of them burst out laughing.

  The sun slowly set over Whiffington. Everyone stared longingly into the darkness beneath the enormous bed, looking, hoping, for any sign of movement.

  As the night drew on with not the slightest creak, flasks of hot chocolate ran dry, and the sound of tired yawns grew more frequent as the campfires calmed to glowing embers.

  “I don’t think they’re coming,” Lucy heard someone whisper.

  “It hasn’t worked!” said someone else.

  “Should we all go home?”

  “What do we do now?”

  “We wait!” Lucy said. “Give them time!”

  But time ticked on, and still there was not even the slightest sign of a Creaker. Lucy stared as hard as she could into the blackness beneath the oversized bed, willing herself to see some sort of movement. But all she saw was the piles and piles of dirty trash, sitting there, stinking out the night.

  Was this all just a silly, childish idea? Building a giant bed, collecting the town’s garbage in the evening and leaving it out for the Creakers to take?

  Please, Grunt, Lucy thought.