by Sam Copeland
His hair disappearing.
His body stretching, lengthening. Charlie’s tongue growing. His skin turning green and brown, scales appearing.
The door opened. Footsteps.
He’d changed, and he knew immediately what he’d changed into. His tongue flickered out of his mouth and he could taste the air; he could taste the smell of Ms Fyre in the office.
Ms Fyre stood stock-still in the centre of her office and sniffed.
She sniffed again. Then she began to sniff around the office, getting closer, closer, closer to the orchids.
She took one final sniff, and saw the orchid pots overflowing with wee.
She gasped, her hand fluttering round her mouth. ‘I don’t believe it!’
She started prowling around the office, her beady eyes scanning, until they landed on the bald monkey sitting on her bookshelf.
She gave a cry of dismay and pulled the monkey down.
‘Geoffrey! What have they done to you? How could they be –’
Ms Fyre stopped in her tracks.
‘Wait a moment,’ she said to herself. ‘The door was locked. That means whoever did this is still here … And there is only one place they can be …’
She strode over to her desk, squatted down …
And screamed.
‘SNAKE!!!!!’
Ms Fyre fell backwards on to her bum and screamed again.
‘THERE’S A SNAKE IN MY OFFICE!’
She leaped up and ran out, slamming the door behind her and locking it again.
The situation was grim.
Charlie was a snake. He was STILL locked in Ms Fyre’s office. And in no time at all he would be caught red-handed.fn1
Charlie knew he only had a matter of moments before Ms Fyre returned with help. He had to think fast.
He had no time to dwell on the extraordinary feeling of being a snake. No time to appreciate his new long, lithe muscular body. His brain was being overloaded with a barrage of new information. Every time his forked tongue flickered out of his mouth he could taste the smell of Ms Fyre’s sweat lingering in the room, and he could feel through his stomach the receding footsteps of the head teacher sprinting down the corridor.
He slithered around the carpeted floor of the office, trying to find a suitable escape hole. Nothing. He arched his head up and spied something that made his snake heart burst with hope: an air vent high up in the corner of the room.
He zigzagged across the room, and began stretching his long body to try to reach the vent. As much as he could stretch, though, he couldn’t quite get there.
Well, then, I’ll just have to go the long way around, Charlie thought.
He slithered over to the bookcase and zipped up the shelves all the way to the top. He could feel the vibrations of more footsteps, lots of them, pounding down the corridor towards the office.
The teachers were coming, and at top speed.
From the top of the bookcase he was able to slide over to the curtain rail and then along it. From there he might just be able to reach the air vent.
He heard the sound of a key in the door and loud voices outside clamouring to get in.
Charlie stretched his long body across the corner of the room, and his head was just able to reach the air vent. His tongue flickered involuntarily – he could taste dust and spiders and stale air. He started sliding into the blackness.
He felt Ms Fyre’s door crash open and footsteps tumble in to the office just as the end of his tail disappeared into the vent.
‘Find it!’
‘Where is it?’
‘Are you absolutely sure it was a snake, Ms Fyre?’
The voices echoed behind Charlie as he slid through the dark shaft that linked the office to – well, Charlie actually had no idea where he was going. All he knew and cared about was that he was free from the office. And didn’t need a wee.
He also knew that he really did NOT want to change back while he was still in the shaft. That would be beyond awful. The consequences of suddenly expanding into a full-size Charlie in a space that certainly couldn’t fit a full-size Charlie would be very messy indeed.
So he slithered as fast as he could down the tiny passage, until he came to the next vent. He could smell it was a toilet even before he poked his head through the grille. He slid straight through the gap into a brightly lit, and fortunately empty, toilet. He slithered straight down the wall into an empty cubicle, and tried to take stock of his situation.
If he could just wait it out, he would change back to Charlie and everything would be OK. He couldn’t wait to tell the others: Flora was right. She was absolutely right about everything – him changing was related to stress. She should definitely be a scientist, Charlie thought. And he couldn’t wait to tell Flora about his latest adventure, changing into a snake and escaping from the rampaging teachers. She might, Charlie hoped, think that he had been rather brave.
But first he had to change back. And as long as nobody came into the toilet, Charlie thought, he’d be fine.
Charlie really shouldn’t have thought that last thought.
Because, obviously, approximately one nanosecond after he thought it, the toilet door opened and to Charlie’s horror a bunch of girls stampeded in, chattering and giggling. He was in the girls’ toilet! If he had a hand or a forehead, he would have slapped the latter with the former.fn1 He tried to groan, and immediately discovered that when a snake attempts to groan it comes out as a long hiss.
Now, if you want to silence a group of loud, chattering girls in a school toilet, pretty much the quickest way to do it is to:
1. Be a snake, and
2. Hiss loudly from one of the toilet cubicles.
And that’s exactly what happened – the girls immediately froze in stunned silence. Then, in unison, they all turned their heads to the cubicle from which the hiss had come.
Slowly, ever so slowly, all holding their breath, the girls edged their way to the cubicle door. The bravest, a girl called Molly (who would one day become the first person to climb Mount Everest while carrying a miniature llama strapped to her back – do NOT ask why), stepped towards the door. With just the briefest moment of hesitation she placed one hand on the door, and pushed it open.
And there, coiled on the floor of the toilet, was to their utter horror a spectacular twometre-long reticulated python. Or Charlie the Snake as we know him.
The silence broke with the sound of four girls screaming at the very top of their voices, which, as everybody knows, is the loudest sound on the planet.
The vibration of the scream hit Charlie like a high-speed brick wall, if brick walls could travel at high speed (and we should all be glad they can’t). It sent him into a frenzied panic, and he began twisting and writhing, which made the girls scream even louder. And through the cloud of panic he realized there was only one way out.
Charlie took a deep breath and slid over the edge of the toilet bowl and down into the water. Yes – down into the wee-wee water. And he started swimming as fast as he could down the toilet and through the U-bend and then into the pipes. As he swam he decided that he would probably leave this part of the story out when telling Mohsen, Wogan and Flora about his time as a snake. I mean, there’s no need for them to know all the details, he thought as he swam past a small poo.
Charlie was quickly running out of breath. But ahead of him was a pipe that headed upwards, and ‘up’ hopefully meant ‘air’. His lungs bursting, he swam hard, darting upwards like an arrow towards a glimmering crescent of light.
He burst out of the water and hit something soft.
Something pink.
Something fleshy.
Now, meanwhile, Charlie’s arch-nemesis Dylan had been minding his own business.
Minding his own business sitting on a toilet.
And then the last thing Dylan ever dreamed would happen DID happen.
A two-metre-long reticulated python sprang out of the toilet that Dylan was sitting on and hit him right on the bum.
‘Ye
eeoooow!’
Dylan leaped off the toilet as if it was electrified. He clung to the top of the cubicle door, his pants round his ankles, his legs flapping and flailing. But as soon as he turned his head and saw what had burst out of the toilet, he knew. He just knew it had to be Charlie.
Charlie, meanwhile, couldn’t believe his awful luck. Of all the bums to bump head-first into, it had to be Dylan’s. He slithered out of the toilet, glistening wet and gasping, then underneath the flailing figure of Dylan and the cubicle door into the bathroom. Dylan jumped down, pulled his pants up and dived out of the door after Charlie. He sprang out into the bathroom and, while keeping his eyes on Charlie, knelt down and carefully opened his school bag as wide as he could.
And then he began to creep closer to Charlie, arms spread-eagled.
Charlie realized what Dylan was trying to do a split second too late. He tried darting past him, but Dylan dived on the floor and grabbed him. Charlie was strong and able to use all the muscles in his long body, but Dylan was lying on top of him and he couldn’t get away. Dylan grabbed him by the neck and Charlie couldn’t escape. His head was being forced into the dark of Dylan’s school bag, and Charlie thought he would puke at the smell of squashed banana and smelly socks. As much as he struggled, Dylan was managing to push him into the bag centimetre by centimetre.
The familiar rush of electricity through his body couldn’t have come at a better time. Charlie felt it, the fire, along the whole length of his body, but a fire trapped, contained but roaring. He could feel his limbs growing back, his hair springing out, hands, nails and all his human bits and pieces returning.
He felt Dylan get knocked backwards on to the floor.
And then, with a crash, Mr Wind burst through the bathroom door.
What Mr Wind saw when he charged into the lavatories was:
1. Dylan, panting, lying on his back on the floor.
2. Another boy, as yet unidentified, but who we know to be Charlie, also lying on the floor in a soaking wet uniform with his head stuck inside a school bag.
‘WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!’ Mr Wind shouted. ‘TAKE THAT BAG OFF YOUR HEAD IMMEDIATELY, BOY.’
Charlie sheepishly took the bag off his head. He blinked in the light. The smell of the toilet was a relief after the stench of Dylan’s bag.
‘Now can someone explain exactly what is going on here? Why are you soaking wet, McGuffin? And why on earth did you have a bag on your head?’ He glared at Dylan, clearly suspicious. Dylan’s track record as a bully was well known. ‘Is this your doing, boy?’
‘No, Mr Wind, sir.’ Dylan did his best to look innocent, but he wasn’t very convincing and just looked constipated.
‘Well?’ Mr Wind eyed Charlie beadily. ‘Attacked, were you? Bog-washing was it, McGuffin?’
I could get him in SO much trouble, Charlie thought. All I have to do is tell …
Dylan looked at Charlie with a mixture of defiance and resignation. But both were surprised at the words that actually did fall out of Charlie’s mouth.
‘No, sir. Dylan had nothing to do with it. It was an accident.’
Charlie wasn’t entirely sure why he said that, but he felt good saying it. Like it was the right thing to do.
Dylan’s eyes were saucers.
Mr Wind narrow-eyed Charlie.
‘An accident? What sort of accident?’ Mr Wind asked in a voice dripping with suspicion.
‘I fell, sir. Into the toilet. And Dylan helped me out, sir.’
‘You fell? Into the toilet?’ Mr Wind said in disbelief.
‘Yes, sir,’ both boys said in unison.
‘But … How do you fall into a toilet?’
‘Tripped, sir,’ Charlie replied without hesitation.
‘Tripped,’ Mr Wind said, shaking his head, clearly not believing a word of it. ‘Well, how did you get the bag on your head then?’
Charlie and Dylan looked at each other. Charlie didn’t have a clue what to say. How was he going to explain this away?
‘He was helping me, sir. To see if my bag smelled funny,’ Dylan blurted out.
‘So he trips and falls into the toilet and then the first thing you do is ask him to check your bag to see if it smells funny?’ Mr Wind repeated, still clearly not believing a word of what they were saying.
‘Yes, sir.’ Charlie and Dylan both nodded their heads vigorously.
‘And it did smell funny, sir. Bananas and sweaty socks,’ Charlie added.
Mr Wind shook his head.
‘What utter balderdash. A huge pile of piffle and bunkum …’
Charlie and Dylan looked at each other mystified.
‘Balderwhat, sir?’ Charlie asked.
‘Your story. Pure hogwash. Ludicrous. Well, what do I care? I’ve got far more important things to be dealing with, what with snakes on the loose.’
‘Snakes, sir?’ said Charlie innocently. ‘On the loose? In school? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure! Poor Ms Fyre has had the fright of her life. And somebody around here has to protect her. Well, just dry yourself off then, boy. I don’t suppose either of you have seen a snake in here, have you?’ Mr Wind eyed them suspiciously.
‘No, sir,’ they both said quick as a flash.
‘Hmm. Well, get out of here then.’ Mr Wind pointed to the door. ‘Snakes are dangerous creatures. A snake hunt is only for adults. Brave adults.’
Both Dylan and Charlie couldn’t help but smile as they shut the toilet door behind them. They were silent for a few moments as they walked along the corridor.
‘Why didn’t you …?’ Dylan left the question hanging.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Charlie.
‘Well – thanks,’ Dylan said gruffly. ‘And anyway,’ he continued, ‘when you reappeared, yeah? Where did your clothes come from?’
‘What?’ asked Charlie.
‘Well, OK, it’s one thing you turning from a human into an animal and back again because you are some sort of genetic freak. There’s some scientific logic there. I understand that. But your clothes disappearing and then reappearing? How does that happen? Is that magic? I really hope there is some sort of reasonable and satisfactory explanation for this so we aren’t left with some great big giant obvious plot hole at the end of our epic battle of wits,’ Dylan said.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Charlie replied. ‘I am absolutely certain that there is a clear and logical reason why my clothes disappear and reappear as if by magic.’fn2
‘And,’ Charlie continued. ‘There definitely won’t be some great big giant obvious plot hole at the end of our epic battle of wits.’fn3
‘So are you nervous about the play?’ Charlie asked, wary of a friendly conversation with Dylan.
‘Not at all,’ said Dylan. ‘I know my lines. And I know my “Happy Carrot” song. And I can’t wait to see you turn into an animal in front of the whole school and sent to a freak show.’
Charlie grimaced. Each time he trusted
Dylan, Dylan threw it back in his face.
‘You don’t have to be nasty, you know. You could try being nice.’
‘Oh, nice is so boring! Who wants to be nice? I’m the one who injects life and excitement into this world! You need me. Have you ever seen a movie without a baddie? No. Exactly. I’m necessary. You need me to be like this.’
‘You should really talk to the school counsellor, Dylan. I’m not even joking.’
‘We’re not so different, you and I, Charlie.’
‘We actually are. We couldn’t be more different.’
‘No! We are two sides of the same coin. I’m yin, you’re yang. I’m win and you’re …’
‘Wang?’ Charlie replied uncertainly.
‘Wang?! No! You’re lose! Win and lose! And lose is what you will do at the school play. Well, Mr McGuffin, I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure knowing you. But it hasn’t.’
And with that Dylan walked off, laughing to himself.
‘Absolute, utter, stark-raving, head-banging weirdo
,’ Charlie said to the empty corridor.
‘I knew it! I knew it! This is brilliant! This is the best news EVER!’
It would be fair to say that Flora was quite pleased when she found out her theory about Charlie changing had been proved correct.
‘Well, that’s all very well, but it doesn’t exactly help me,’ replied Charlie, glum-faced.
‘Of course it helps you! Of course it does!’ Flora gripped Charlie’s arms, a manic look in her eyes. ‘Doesn’t it, Mohsen?’
‘Yes!’ Mohsen answered, a look of mild terror in his eyes.
‘Doesn’t it, Wogan?’ she asked.
‘Yes!’ Wogan answered, a look of confusion in his eyes.
‘It’s obvious, Charlie! Now we know what’s causing you to change, we can work out a way of preventing it! Oh, this is just the breakthrough we needed.’
Flora thumped her palm in triumph.
That’s all well and good, Charlie thought, but what’s actually going to stop me changing?
Charlie thought for a little longer, and decided his last thought was actually a pretty good one and should probably be spoken aloud.
‘That’s all well and good, but what’s actually going to stop me changing?’
‘That’s a very sensible and well-thought-out question,’ said Flora. ‘And I have a plan.’ She waggled her eyebrows up and down.
‘Does this plan involve putting me in a large amount of danger by any chance? You know, maybe sending me flying down a hill at a million miles an hour? Or shaving the head teacher’s most prized possession? Or firing me into space?’
‘No. It does not. And if you don’t want to hear it, I shan’t tell you,’ said Flora, crossing her arms.
‘I do!’ protested Charlie. ‘I was only joking. Please. Tell me, Flora. What’s your plan?’
‘OK, well, the plan is simple. Next time you feel it happening, breathe.’
‘Breathe?’ asked Charlie.
‘Yes,’ replied Flora. ‘Breathe.’
‘Breathe. Brilliant.’
When Charlie said ‘brilliant’ it really didn’t sound like he meant ‘brilliant’. It sounded more like ‘That is the single worst plan I have heard since Wogan decided not to pack any spare underwear when we went camping to save space in his rucksack for his pet goldfish. And the goldfish bowl.’