by Paul Cooper
‘Good!’ answered Sweetie. ‘In that case, I’d like you all to lift your honey pots and drink a toast – to the success of Sweetie Foods!’
‘To the success of Sweetie Foods!’ chorused the bears around the table. There was the sound of slurping honey.
‘And what about the production of the New Formula honey?’ said Sweetie. ‘Rupert – speak to me.’
Rupert answered: ‘The first batch of New Formula honey will be bottled and on its way to our distribution centres by two o’clock, Mr Sweetie.’
There was a moment’s ominous silence, then Sweetie growled, ‘I said be ready by 1.58, didn’t I, Rupert? That’s two whole minutes you’re wasting. Two minutes of MY time and, as we all know, time is money. What a bear-faced cheek! You’re a disgrace to Sweetie Foods and you’re a disgrace to the business world!’
‘But, Mr Sweetie –’
‘No excuses,’ snapped Sweetie, pointing a claw. ‘Rupert, you’re fired!’
The next moment, Rupert slid out of his chair and on to the carpet. He was fast asleep!
Underneath the table, Pete was frantically piecing together all of the evidence – one of the bears had said that the entire population of Bear Island was sleeping. And then Rupert had drunk from his honey pot and he had fallen asleep. These two facts must be connected. Had Sweetie Foods somehow sent all of the island’s bears to sleep? And if so, why?
Pete glanced at Brian, and saw to his horror that the medic had fallen asleep, too. Of course! Brian had gone and tasted the honey from the second vat! It had put him to sleep! This was terrible. It became even more terrible when Brian began to snore. Pete reached for the medic’s snout in panic, but then he paused as he heard the bears around the table chuckle. They all thought that the snoring was coming from Rupert!
Pete sat back and tried to relax.
And that’s when Rupert began to snore, too.
For a couple of seconds, the bears around the table continued their meeting. And then Mr Sweetie demanded, ‘What’s going on? Rupert can’t snore in stereo!’
The next instant, several furry faces appeared beneath the table.
‘There are two pigs here!’ exclaimed one.
Mr Sweetie’s face joined the others glaring at the pigs. ‘Don’t waste my time telling me things I already know!’ he growled. ‘Time is money!’
‘Yes, Mr Sweetie,’ said the bears.
Huge, furry paws pulled Pete out from under the table and set him in front of Mr Sweetie. It felt as if the bear’s tiny eyes were drilling into him.
‘I want to know what you and your little chum are doing in my boardroom?’ said the bear. ‘Speak.’
‘We’re here to put a stop to your little plan, Sweetie,’ said Pete, adding, ‘whatever it might be.’
A volcano of rage was building up inside Sweetie. ‘Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? I am the richest bear on Bear Island. And do you know why?’
Pete shrugged. ‘Er, you were incredibly lucky?’
‘Because I have always known what I want!’ roared Sweetie. ‘And what I want is money! Nothing in the world can beat cold, hard cash … dosh … readies … lots and lots of lovely honk to spend.’ He brought his furry muzzle close to Pete. ‘And do you know what I HATE?’
‘Erm … karaoke?’ guessed Pete. ‘Cream crackers? You might have to give me a clue …’
‘What I hate is anything that stops me from making more money,’ growled Mr Sweetie. ‘Like you and your little friend here, snooping around my honey factory.’
‘OK, but how exactly do you intend to make money from honey that puts people to sleep?’ challenged Pete. ‘Tell me that, Sweetie.’
‘The honey we’re going to sell isn’t like the strong stuff we gave Rupert or the bears on the island,’ Sweetie growled. ‘It contains just enough of the New Formula to let animals relax and unwind from their stressful lives. It will make them feel calmer, more peaceful. If they have a spoonful before bed, it will help them drift off to sleep.’
Pete pointed at the honey pot in front of Sweetie. ‘So has your honey got any of the New Formula in it?’
‘Don’t be silly!’ scoffed Sweetie. ‘We haven’t done any studies to see if it’s safe! That would have cost far too much!’ He glanced at his expensive wristwatch and then turned to one of the bears around the table. ‘We’ve wasted enough time on these pigs. Take them to the Research and Development department. Doctor Oswald can deal with them.’
It seemed to Pete that every bear around the table gave a little shudder at the mention of the name Doctor Oswald.
Still lying asleep on the floor, Brian let out a low moan as if he was having a nightmare.
‘I know how you feel, Bri,’ said Pete, as the security bears dragged him away.
CHAPTER 7:
Piggylocks and the Three Bears
Once Curly had wiped his boots clean on the grass, he and Tammy continued along the trail through the woods, stepping more carefully now.
Finally the stretch of woodland ended and the pigs emerged into a different part of the city. There were houses here, as well as blocks of flats and one or two shops. But there were still no signs of life.
‘What now?’ asked Curly.
Tammy pointed to the little house directly across the road. ‘That front door is part-way open. Maybe the cub is in there?’
When they reached the porch steps, the pigs slowly pushed the front door fully open. ‘Hello?’ called Curly. ‘Anyone home?’
There was no answer.
Tammy wandered into the kitchen. ‘Someone’s been here recently,’ she said. ‘The stove’s still warm.’
On the table sat three bowls of porridge. Curly shook his head in disbelief. ‘Isn’t this weird?’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s just like that fairy tale. You know the one – Piggylocks comes into a house and finds three bowls of porridge?’
Tammy stared blankly. ‘How is that the same? There’s two of us, and I haven’t got blonde hair.’ She picked up one of the bowls.
‘What are you doing, Tammy?’
‘I’m examining the evidence,’ she said, grabbing a spoon. ‘Plus … I’m a bit peckish.’
She shovelled a spoonful of porridge into her mouth.
‘OWEE!’ she cried, spitting it out. ‘Too hot!’
She grabbed the second bowl. Moments later she was spitting that spoonful out, too. ‘Ooh, yuck! This one’s too cold!’ she complained. ‘The cook here’s rubbish!’
Tammy moved on to the third bowl.
‘Can’t you see how this is just a bit like that old fairy tale?’ asked Curly. ‘I’ll bet that third bowl tastes just right?’
Tammy chewed silently.
She chewed some more.
Then she cried, ‘JUST RIGHT? Are you joking? It’s the right temperature, but it tastes like wallpaper paste!’
She took another spoonful, then another.
‘Erm, why are you still eating it, if it’s so disgusting?’ asked Curly.
‘I’m a growing pig!’ Tammy’s spoon hovered in mid-air. ‘But you’re quite right.’ She marched to the kitchen cupboard. ‘I can make it a bit less disgusting, at least.’
She pulled out a jar from the cupboard and began spooning honey into the bowl.
‘That should help,’ she said. She was about to tuck in again, when Curly looked to the window in alarm.
A sound had broken the silence outside. It was the motorbikes again – the Gruesome Grizzlies were back and they were coming this way!
The roar of the engines grew louder and louder, and then it stopped suddenly.
‘They’re parking outside the house!’ cried Curly. ‘Don’t tell me they live here!’
‘At the moment they can live in every house in the city!’ said Tammy. ‘They probably just decided to raid this one to make their food. We’d better get out of here!’
They ran out into the hallway. It was too late to leave through the front door now, but there were two other doorways at the end of the hall. Tam
my dashed towards the far one, but fear froze Curly on the spot. He could hear heavy footsteps approaching outside. Any second now the door would open. He didn’t even have time to make it to the door at the end of the hall! His mind in a whirl, Curly pulled open the nearer of the two doors.
Uh-OH.
It was just a hallway closet. But with no time to do anything else, he dashed into it, just as the front door opened and the footsteps clumped down the hallway towards the kitchen.
Pete was in a brightly lit laboratory.
A small koala bear in a white lab coat and round spectacles was studying him carefully. ‘Welcome to the Research and Development department of Sweetie Foods,’ said Dr Oswald. ‘This is where we develop and test all of the company’s honey-related products.’
Pete looked around for good escape routes.
‘There is no point in trying to escape,’ commented Dr Oswald matter-of-factly. He nodded towards the enormous grizzly that had carried Brian here, still fast asleep. ‘Say hello to Bruno. He used to be a cage fighter before he worked for Mr Sweetie. Bruno might get cross if you try to run away. Am I correct, Bruno?’
The huge bear nodded and rolled his gigantic neck as if getting ready for action. ‘I like fightin’,’ he said.
‘Quite so,’ said Dr Oswald. He poured some steaming liquid into two cups and offered one to Pete. ‘Would you care for a hot chocolate, Mr Porker?’
Noticing the suspicious look in Pete’s eyes, the koala added, ‘I am drinking a cup myself so you needn’t worry about any … nasty surprises.’
Seeing the koala drink, Pete did the same. ‘I’ve got a question for you,’ he said to the koala. ‘What are you doing here on Bear Island, Oswald? You’re not a bear, you’re a koala. They’re not proper bears, are they?’
This annoyed Oswald, though his voice remained calm. ‘I’ll tell you exactly what koalas are,’ he seethed. ‘They are world experts at sleeping. The average koala sleeps for eighteen hours a day.’ The koala took his spectacles off and Pete saw how red and bleary his eyes were. ‘I, on the other hand, am not the average koala. I am a poor sleeper. To be precise, I have not slept a wink in over four years. However, I have not been idle in that time. I have dedicated myself to the scientific study of sleep.’
Suddenly Pete understood. ‘I get it! You developed something you can add to the honey that makes animals sleep! And you gave it to almost everyone on Bear Island?’
The koala nodded. ‘Mr Sweetie wanted no interruptions as we put his business plan for the New Formula into action.’ Oswald clapped his paws together to signal that the discussion was at an end. ‘And now it is time for you to join your friend in a little nap.’
Pete looked down at his empty cup. His eyelids were feeling very heavy all of a sudden. ‘You put something in my drink too, didn’t you?’ he snarled, fighting back a yawn. ‘But you had the same drink as me!’
Dr Oswald smiled coldly. ‘As I explained, nothing puts me to sleep, Mr Porker. You, on the other hand, have the good fortune to take part in a fascinating experiment. The honey in your drink did not contain the usual New Formula honey. Instead it has an experimental formula I’ve been working on – I like to call it the Nightmare Formula. Not only will it send you into a deep sleep, it will also give you the worst nightmares you have ever experienced.’ The koala adjusted his spectacles. ‘I would say Sweet Dreams, but I fear that would not be fitting.’
‘Hurr, hurr,’ chuckled Bruno from the back of the room.
‘You rotten little marsupial!’ Pete made a leap for the scientist, but the room was already spinning around him. He crashed to the floor and watched it spin some more until it whisked him off to sleep.
CHAPTER 8:
Sweet Dreams
Unaware of everything around him, Brian Trotter slept. And as he slept, he dreamed a terrible dream:
He was in a place he knew well. It was the set of his favourite television quiz Ultimate Brainbox Challenge. For years Brian had wanted to be a contestant on this quiz, and now here he was! He felt a thrill of excitement.
The quiz-master was at her podium with a stack of questions.
‘Your time begins now,’ she said. ‘What is the capital of Pig Island?’
Everyone knew that Porkchopolis was the capital of Pig Island!
But when Brian opened his snout, he heard different words coming from his mouth: ‘Is it … cheese?’
‘No … In the field of inter-species rescue, what do the letters P, I, P stand for?’
Brian’s mind was screaming, ‘Pigs in Planes!’ but his mouth said, ‘Seven.’
The quiz-master frowned. ‘Incorrect. What is TWO plus TWO?’
‘Yes?’
With each wrong answer, Brian could hear the studio audience gasp.
‘Your next question … Who –’
A beeping noise indicated the end of the round.
‘I’ve started so I’ll finish,’ said the quiz-master. ‘Who are you?’
Brian froze. His brain felt as if it had been whizzed up in a blender.
‘I’m going to have to hurry you,’ said the quiz-master.
Brian looked around for help. That’s when he caught a glimpse of himself on a TV monitor. He was wearing a leather jacket and his mirror shades were pushed up on to his quiff hair-do.
In Brian’s worst nightmare, he looked as cool as Pete, but he knew nothing about anything!
* * *
Meanwhile, Pete Porker slept. And as he slept, he too fell into a dark, dark dream:
Bright lights were shining into his eyes, and he had to squint. He reached into his pocket for his mirror shades, but they weren’t there. Nerves stirred in his tummy like evil butterflies – Pete never felt fully at ease without his shades.
The angle of the lights changed, and he recognized where he was – the set of the most boring snoozefest ever on TV, Ultimate Brainbox Challenge. Worse still, he was a contestant on it!
From her podium, the quiz-master said, ‘Start the timer now,’ then she fired the first question at him:
‘What’s the fifteenth largest town on Crab Island?’
‘Is that in terms of physical size or population?’ Pete fired back.
‘Erm, I’m not sure,’ said the quiz-master.
‘For size it’s Pincerton, for population it’s Arthropod Garden City.’
‘Correct,’ said the quiz-master. ‘What’s 6,957 divided by 9.35?’
‘Simple,’ said Pete. ‘744.064 …’
‘Yes!’ said the quizmaster, unable to hide her surprise.
‘I haven’t finished yet,’ smiled Pete. ‘… 171.’
On and on it went. The questions became harder and harder, but for each one Pete seemed to produce a correct answer from nowhere. The studio audience was ooh-ing and ahh-ing; they knew they might be witnessing the show’s highest score ever.
‘And now the final question in this round,’ said the quiz-master. ‘Just who do you think you are?’
Pete felt himself smiling. ‘I am, of course, a mix of genetic and environmental factors,’ he began. ‘My exact DNA sequence is …’
He paused as he caught a glimpse of himself on a TV monitor screen. Something was wrong with his hair: instead of the usual glorious, much-sprayed quiff, it appeared to be arranged in some sort of … could it be … a side-parting?
But that wasn’t even the worst thing. He was wearing a CARDIGAN.
Worse than that, it was a beige cardigan.
Worse still, a beige polyester cardigan with patches on the elbows and a crumpled tissue poking out of one sleeve!
It was a thing of horror, the uncoolest item ever, but Pete knew he’d seen it before somewhere. He’d seen it on Brian! Brian Trotter had a cardie just like this.
That’s who Pete looked like, like BRIAN TROTTER, from the line of colour-coded pens in his top pocket to the sensible sandals and grey socks on his trotters.
Pete felt a scream building in his chest. He was just like Brian!
CHAPTER 9:
Biker Bears from Ma’s
Curly pressed his snout against the crack in the closet door. From this angle he could glimpse part of the kitchen across the hallway. One tall skinny bear had his back to the door. Curly could read BORN TO BE WILD on his biker jacket.
He was looking down at the table. ‘Someone’s been eating my porridge,’ he murmured at last.
A heavyset grizzly sat at the kitchen table. Her eyes were tiny in her huge shaggy face. She snorted, ‘You always say that, Papa John.’ Then she glanced at the bowl in front of her. ‘Hold on … Someone’s been eating MY porridge.’ She slammed a sledgehammer fist on to the table. ‘Nobody eats Big Momma’s porridge and gets away with it!’
‘What about yours, Babe?’ asked the tall bear.
Curly wasn’t able to catch the mumbled reply, but moments later Big Momma cried, ‘What’s that? Someone’s been eating YOUR porridge, too?’
A terrible thought struck Curly. Maybe the bear called ‘Babe’ was the little bear cub he and Tammy had been looking for? Listening to the wet snuffling noise as all three bears gobbled down their porridge anyway, Curly eased the closet door open. Maybe if he took just a step closer he’d have a better view into the kitchen. He took one step, then another. He could see the two bears who had been speaking, but not the third. Then an immense shape moved into view – the one called Babe was a gigantic bear, more like a small mountain covered in fur. On top of his head he still wore the Viking helmet.
‘Are you feeling OK, Babe?’ asked Papa John. ‘You don’t look too well.’
Suddenly Big Momma lifted her nose into the air. ‘I can smell something weird,’ she announced. She sniffed again and, still unseen in the hallway, Curly remembered a lesson from school – bears have got a fantastic senses of smell.
‘You’re right,’ agreed Papa John. ‘What is that smell? Sweaty socks? Manure?’