PUFFIN BOOKS
THE WEREPUPPY AND
THE WEREPUPPY ON HOLIDAY
Jacqueline Wilson writes for children of all ages. The Suitcase Kid won the Children’s Book Award, Double Act won the Smarties Prize, The Illustrated Mum won the Guardian Children’s Book of the Year Award, Lizzie Zipmouth won the Gold Smarties Prize and Girls in Tears was named Children’s Book of the Year at the 2003 British Book Awards.
Jacqueline lives near London in a house full of over 10,000 books.
Books by Jacqueline Wilson
MARK SPARK IN THE DARK
TAKE A GOOD LOOK
VIDEO ROSE
THE WEREPUPPY
THE WEREPUPPY ON HOLIDAY
THE WEREPUPPY AND
THE WEREPUPPY
ON HOLIDAY
JACQUELINE WILSON
PUFFIN
For Peter and Tumble
and
for Kerry-Anne Kirton and Amy Hammel
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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The Werepuppy first published by Blackie & Son Ltd 1991
The Werepuppy first published in Puffin Books 1993
The Werepuppy on Holiday first published by Blackie 1994
The Werepuppy on Holiday first published in Puffin Books 1995
First published in one volume 2005
7
The Werepuppy text copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 1991, 2005
The Werepuppy illustrations copyright © Janet Robertson, 1991, 2005
The Werepuppy on Holiday text copyright © Jacqueline Wilson, 1994, 2005
The Werepuppy on Holiday illustrations copyright © Janet Robertson, 1994, 2005
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-14-192662-9
Contents
The Werepuppy
The Werepuppy on Holiday
THE WEREPUPPY
1…
Micky lay on his tummy on the carpet, carefully colouring in his picture. His hand ached after doing all the sky but he didn’t go over the lines even once. He took a darker blue felt-tip and started on the lake. He’d drawn himself standing on the green grass by the lake-side. He stared hard at the picture, wishing there was some way of stepping right inside it. He wanted to be walking through the buttercups beside the blue water. He didn’t want to be here in his own living-room. Not with his elder sisters, Meryl and Mandy and Mona. Certainly not with his younger sister Marigold. And especially not when Mum and Dad were going out for the evening.
‘Now, are you going to be all right?’ said Mum.
‘Of course we are,’ said Meryl. She smiled. Mandy and Mona and Marigold smiled too. Micky didn’t feel a bit like smiling.
‘You’re in charge, Meryl. No television until you older girls have done your homework. And make sure Micky and Marigold are in bed before nine o’clock.’
‘Right, Mum,’ said Meryl.
‘Mandy and Mona, you’re to do what Meryl says too,’ said Mum.
‘Cheek!’said Mandy.
‘We don’t want her bossing us about,’ said Mona.
‘Now don’t start quarrelling,’ said Mum. ‘Meryl, you will be sensible, won’t you? Don’t answer the door to anyone. And if there’s anything at all the matter we’re only down the road at Aunty Kathleen’s. You’ve got the phone number, haven’t you? Just give us a call.’
‘Don’t you dare make any other phone calls, though,’ said Dad. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to pay that last phone bill. You girls are terrible, rabbit rabbit rabbit to all your friends.’
‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ said Meryl.
Mum looked worried all the same.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t leave them,’ she said. ‘I wish I’d asked Granny Boot to babysit now.’
‘I’m fourteen, Mum! I can babysit,’ said Meryl.
‘And we’re not flipping babies,’ said Mona. ‘Well, us three big ones aren’t babies.’
‘I’m not a baby either,’ Micky mumbled, making little curly waves on his lake.
‘I am,’ said Marigold, just to be difficult. ‘Yes, I’m a lickle baby.’ She put on a sickening lisp and crouched down small. ‘Want a bicky, Mum-Mum. Give me nice chocky bicky and I’ll be a good baby.’
‘No more chocolate biscuits! Do you hear that, Meryl, they’re not to have anything else to eat, right?’
‘Want bicky!’ Marigold wailed, sticking out her bottom lip in a baby pout.
‘Stop that silly nonsense. You be a good girl,’ said Mum, giving her a kiss.
She turned to Micky, looking at his drawing.
‘That’s lovely, darling,’ said Mum. ‘What are all the humpy things?’
‘Mountains,’ said Micky.
‘Oh yes,’ said Mum. ‘And what’s the bit you’re doing now? It’s a river, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s a lake.’
‘Oh, a lake, eh?’ said Mum. ‘And the green part is a field.’
‘It’s a meadow and the dark green bit is a wood.’
‘There aren’t any people,’ said Mum.
‘Yes there are,’ said Micky, and he pointed to the tiny figure standing by the lake.
‘Oh yes. But just one. Won’t he get lonely?’
‘Not a bit,’ said Micky. This was a drawing of a magic land and he was the only person that lived there and he didn’t even have one sister, let alone four, and it was bliss.
‘Come on, Kathleen will be wondering where we’ve got to,’ said Dad impatiently.
‘Look at Micky’s super drawing,’ said Mum.
‘Mmm,’ said Dad. He didn’t think much of drawing. Sometimes he didn’t seem to think much of Micky either.
‘Bye then, Micky,’ said Mum, bending down to give him a kiss.
‘Me want my bicky,’ said Marigold, still making out she was a baby. She hopped about in a bunny crouch and just happened to barge straight into Micky, jogging his colouring arm. The blue lake lapped right over the little pinman Micky.
‘Look what you did!’ said Micky, and he pushed her back.
Marigold pushed again.
Harder. Micky had to give up. Marigold was a year younger than him but she was already just as big, and a lot stronger. If they had a fight, Micky knew who would win.
‘Nowthen,’ said Mum anxiously. ‘Oh, Marigold, that wasn’t very nice, was it? Poor Micky’s been doing that drawing for hours and now you’ve made him scribble on it.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ said Marigold, blinking her big blue eyes. ‘I’m ever so sorry, Micky.’
‘Let the boy fight his own battles,’ said Dad. ‘Come on.’
He put his arm round Mum and hurried her away, down the hall and out of the front door.
‘Freedom!’ said Meryl, making straight for the telephone.
‘I thought they’d never go,’ said Mandy, turning on the television. She put her feet up on the sofa, her grubby trainers on the good brocade.
‘Let’s have some music,’ said Mona, switching on the transistor although the television was already blaring.
‘Watch out,’ said Micky. ‘They might come back. Mum might have forgotten something. You know what she’s like.’
He was simply trying to stop them getting into trouble but they all groaned.
‘We know what you’re like, Mr Goody-goody,’ said Mona, turning the music up even louder.
‘My brother Micky makes me sicky,’ said Marigold. ‘Has his super-duper picture got a lickle scribble on it? Won’t it get lonely? I know, I’ll give it some friend scribbles to keep it company.’ She snatched a felt-tip and scribbled all over the drawing, ruining it.
‘Stop being a pain, Marigold,’ said Meryl, swiping at her little sister, but then her friend started talking on the phone and Meryl got involved in a very long conversation about some dumb boy on the bus going home from school.
Marigold really was a pain, thought Micky. She nagged at him like toothache all day long and often half the night. He couldn’t ever seem to stop her. How do you stop toothache? He thought of the dentist’s drill. He thought wistfully about drilling Marigold. It helped a little. He tried not to look at his spoilt picture. He knew what would happen if he did.
‘Micky’s going to cry!’ Marigold yelled triumphantly.
‘No I’m not,’ said Micky gruffly.
‘Yes you are, your lip’s gone all quivery. I can always tell. Cry-baby, cry-baby.’
‘I’m not crying,’ said Micky furiously, wiping his eyes.
‘Cheer up, little chum,’ said Mandy, and she reached out and pulled Micky onto the sofa with her. ‘Come and watch telly, eh?’
Micky leant against Mandy, sniffling. He didn’t have a tissue. She didn’t have a tissue either, but she wiped his face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Mandy never cared about her clothes. She always wore scruffy old shirts and jeans and she had such short spiky sticking-up-all-over-the-place hair that lots of people thought she was a boy.
Micky liked Mandy most of all his sisters. Sometimes she seemed much more of a boy than he was. There was a chat show that he liked on the television but when Mandy said, ‘Boring!’ and switched channels, Micky said ‘Boring!’ too. Mandy switched and switched, sighing impatiently.
‘There’s a whole load ofjunk on. Let’s watch my football video,’ she said.
‘I don’t want to watch that stupid old rubbish,’ Mona moaned. ‘We’ll have my Kylie video.’
‘No, my Care Bears!’ Marigold demanded. Her voice sounded odd. She had something in her mouth. Shreds of chocolate stuck to her rosy lips.
‘You pig, you’ve had that chocolate biscuit after all,’ said Mona. ‘Well, I’m having one, too.’
‘You can’t, because I had the last one, ha ha,’ said Marigold.
‘That’s not fair,’ Mona wailed.
‘Pipe down you lot,’ Meryl shouted. She dug in her pocket for her purse and threw it to Mandy. ‘Here, nip down to the shop and get us all some coke and crisps, eh?’
‘Great!’
Mandy nipped. She came back with five cans of coke, five packets of crisps, and a new rented video as well.
‘Here, I’m not paying for that too, that’s not fair,’ said Meryl.
‘Oh go on, I’ve been dying to see it for ages, and it’s nearly always out,’ said Mandy. ‘It’s Savage Snarl – you know, that werewolf film.’
‘Wow!’ said Mona. ‘They’ve all seen it in my class and they say it’s fantastic. You see all these people getting ripped to bits by the werewolves.’
‘Oh good,’ saidMarigold. ‘Is there lots of blood?’
‘She shouldn’t see it,’ Meryl called. ‘It’ll be too scary.’
‘I like scary,’ said Marigold. ‘It’s Micky who’ll get nightmares.’
‘No I won’t,’ said Micky, though he knew Marigold was right.
‘Micky’s not to watch,’ said Meryl, but she was ringing another friend now, and she was soon so busy talking she didn’t care who was watching.
Savage Snarl was the most terrifying film they had ever seen. Even Mandy started biting her nails when the werewolf bared its teeth and pounced. Mona shrieked every time he started ripping. Marigold laughed, but her voice was too high, and she kept pulling faces. Micky held on tight to Mandy. Most of the time he hid his face in her bony shoulder. He shut his eyes and put his hands over his ears, but he could still somehow see those long pointed teeth glistening with fresh blood, hear that terrible eerie howl.
When the film ended at long last they were all silent for several seconds.
‘Wow!’ said Mona shakily.
‘Good, eh?’ said Mandy.
‘I liked the ripping bits best,’ said Marigold.
Micky said nothing at all.
‘Come on, it’s ever so late,’ said Meryl, putting down the phone at last. ‘You littlies get up to bed straight away. And you, Mona. Mum and Dad will be back soon. I’ll just make one more quick phone call and then I’ll be up to say good-night.’
Meryl really wasn’t too long this time and she tucked Micky under the covers and gave him a good-night kiss just like Mum. Only she wasn’t really Mum, so she couldn’t stop Micky being so scared.
He huddled up beneath his duvet but it started to feel as if a huge hairy werewolf was lying on top of him. There were more werewolves crouching at every corner of his little bedroom, and another was snarling right underneath his bed. An entire savage pack of werewolves were waiting in his dreams. All night long they howled and slavered and chewed at his pyjamas.
2…
Micky was very glad when it was time to get up. His bedroom didn’t seem anywhere near as frightening in the sunlight. He sat up and examined his duvet. He peered in all four corners of his room. He hung over the edge of his bed and looked underneath it. No werewolves. Not even a tuft of fur or a fang.
He got up to go to the bathroom, having a happy little hum to himself. He was silly to get in such a state. It was only a daft old video, it wasn’t real It was time he grew up a bit.
He opened his bedroom door-and die werewolf pounced. It howled, it growled, it tore at Micky with its hairy hooves, it slavered all over him. Micky screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. And then the werewolf was batted off the top of him and he was suddenly, wonderfully in Mum’s arms.
‘What on earth’s the matter now?’ said Mum. ‘What are you playing at, Marigold? And what are you doing with that furry hearth-rug? You put it back in the living-room this minute.’
Micky understood everything. But it was too late. He was crying like a baby and he couldn’t stop.
‘There now, Micky. Don’t cry, pet. Come on, I know Marigold’s an old tease but it was only a silly game,’ said Mum, but she still held him tight, and she rocked him gently as if he really was a baby all over again.
‘What’s going on?’ Dad demanded, coming out of the bathroom with a white shaving soap beard on his chin. One patch was tinged pink. ‘What was all that silly screaming about? I thought it was someone getting murdered. I very nearly cut my throat shaving.’
‘It’s OK, dear. It was just Micky and Marigold,’ said
Mum. ‘I haven’t quite got to the bottom of it yet. Why were you so frightened, Micky, mm?’
‘I thought she was a werewolf,’ Micky wept.
‘A what?’ said Mum.
‘Dear goodness,’ said Dad in disgust. ‘What’s the matter with you, Micky? The only boy, yet he’s the biggest girl of them all.’
He stalked back to the bathroom. Micky tried hard to stop crying and made ugly gulping noises. Mum patted him but he wriggled away this time, feeling ashamed.
‘Don’t take any notice of Dad. He’s just feeling tetchy because he ate and drank too much last night,’ Mum whispered. ‘Now. What’s all this about a werewolf, eh?’
Marigold was stumping back upstairs minus the rug. Mona was peering out of their bedroom door, frowning at Micky. Meryl and Mandy were standing on the landing looking at him anxiously.
Micky knew he couldn’t possibly tell Mum about the werewolf film. It would get them all into trouble. So he just sniffed and gulped some more and shook his head.
‘I don’t know. I think maybe I was having a dream about werewolves,’ he mumbled.
Marigold and Mona and Mandy and Meryl sighed with relief. Mum still looked suspicious.
‘Yes, but what on earth made you dream about such a silly thing? Have you been reading some junky comic about werewolves, Micky?’
‘No, Mum,’ said Micky truthfully.
‘Have you been watching some horror video about werewolves, is that it?’
Marigold and Mona and Mandy and Meryl held their breath.
‘No, Mum,’ said Micky, not quite truthfully. But it wasn’t really a lie, because he hadn’t been watching. He’d had his eyes tight shut nearly all the time.
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it,’ said Mum. ‘Now listen, Micky. There are no such things as werewolves. They’re just silly made-up creatures.’
‘Mmm,’ said Micky worriedly. ‘But, Mum. I haven’t seen a werewolf video but there are werewolf videos and in them you see real werewolves. They run about and bite and rip. They really do. Well, I’m sure they do, only of course I haven’t ever seen them.’
Werepuppy and the Werepuppy on Holiday Page 1