Hamish and the Neverpeople

by Danny Wallace

  CODENAME: Alan Shhhhhh-keep-your-voice-down-epherd.

  SPECIAL SKILLS: The Quiver, the Leggit, the See-you-later!

  SECRET FACT: Alan believes it is safer not to have secrets. But he keeps that to himself.

  ‘Why didn’t you go in?’

  ‘I didn’t want to try the door in case I trapped my finger,’ said Alan.

  ‘No,’ said Alice, shaking her head. ‘No, you’re not—’

  ‘I’m Alan,’ said the boy. ‘I won’t shake your hand because that is actually the number-one way in which germs are passed from one person to another and I don’t actually know if you’re the sort of person who washes their hands after they’ve been to the toilet.’

  ‘Of course I’m the sort of person who washes their hands after they’ve been to the toilet!’ said Alice, but then she had to squint as she tried to remember if that was definitely true.

  ‘I cant believe my otherhalf is such a dweeb!’ she said.

  ‘I can,’ said Holly, and Alice scowled at her.

  ‘I really think we should be in a more brightly-lit area,’ said Alan.

  ‘We will be, Alan,’ said Hamish. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  The four of them started to walk to the main road.

  ‘So we’ll get the bus back to Arcadian Lane,’ said Hamish. ‘Once we’re in our world, I’ll call Mum and say we’ve been delayed, and then we’ll get the coach to Starkley.’

  ‘Back to your world?’ said Alan, worried. ‘I’m not sure I should go all the way back to your world. I shouldn’t even have come to the city. But Holly said it was important. She said we had to come to find out what had happened to her mum and that she needed moral support.’

  Hamish looked at Holly. She must want just the same answers he did. They were definitely different, but they also had their similarities. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but she didn’t want it. She constantly wore a look of grim determination that Hamish wished he had too.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Alan, ‘we tracked down Alex and she said if we were here then it might not be long before you turned up, and if you did we had to stick together to protect each other and I’ve always said there’s safety in numbers, and—’

  But Hamish wasn’t listening any more. Because at the end of the road he had spotted something unusual.

  ‘What’s that?’ he said.

  The whole street was lit by a spinning blue light.

  They could hear the crackle of a radio.

  ‘The police!’ said Holly, pointing at a huge white van surrounded by a dozen or so police officers with their backs to them.

  ‘Look!’ whispered Alice, shocked.

  On a lamp post was a poster.

  There were pictures of all four of them!

  ‘Mum must have called the police,’ said Hamish, his tummy turning and swirling. He was in trouble. And he hated the idea of his mum worrying. He’d really let her down. This whole thing had been stupid. But he’d just got carried away, and it was important, and it was for Dad, and maybe she’d understand.

  ‘I’d better go and talk to them,’ he said, his stomach sinking.

  ‘Good idea!’ said Alan.

  ‘NO!’ said Alice and Holly at once.

  ‘Think about it, H,’ said Alice. ‘Your mum’s in a different world! It doesn’t make sense for the police to be looking for us here.’

  ‘Unbelievably, Alice is right!’ said Holly. ‘How do the Otherearth police even know you’re here?’

  And, as the blue light kept swirling round, Hamish looked a little harder . . .

  And a little harder . . .

  It was dark now, but he could see one policeman, in particular, who was blowing on a polystyrene cup of tea, trying to cool it down. The steam was rising into the air.

  ‘You know,’ said Hamish, uncertainly, ‘that policeman sort of looks like . . .’

  And now that policeman caught sight of him.

  He turned, slowly, staring straight back at Hamish, who suddenly was filled with nothing but fear, and dread, and TERROR as he saw the policeman’s face properly for the first time and realised . . .

  That wasn’t steam rising from the tea.

  That was steam coming from the policeman!

  Oh, no! Oh dear, no!

  ‘Why does that policeman have tusks?’ asked Alan.

  ‘Run!’ said Holly, as the ‘policeman’ threw down his cup of tea and ROARED to alert his friends. ‘RUN!’

  Ruuuuun!

  ‘RUUUUUUUUUUUN!’ screamed Alice, as the gang rounded a corner. ‘Ruuuuun!’

  There was really no need to keep shouting it. Everyone was running.

  ‘RUUUUUUUUN!’ she shouted again.

  ‘But remember to look where you’re going!’ said Alan, keenly, making sure to keep his knees up and his back straight, as back pain is the number-one cause of work-related absence in Britain. ‘And are we really sure that running is the best course of action? Only statistics prove that—’

  ‘SHUT UP AND RUN, ALAN!’ shouted everybody else, all at once.

  The SCREEALS and of their pursuers grew with every second.

  Hamish was struggling to make sense of it all.

  That policeman had looked just like . . . a Terrible!

  Those ghastly, gluttonous, gelatinous beasts that tried to take over Starkley!

  But these ones looked different somehow. They looked angrier.

  ‘Round this corner!’ yelled Alice. ‘Look!’

  A rickety old sign pointed towards Dog Walk.

  ‘Dog Walk was on the Unorthodox Line! I remember Leo mentioning it! We can catch a train back to Arcadian Lane and get home through The Gap!’

  The foot tunnel was straight ahead. It ran directly under the river, which meant they could use it to escape the Isle of Dogs. The tunnel was very long and barely lit.

  ‘I don’t understand what’s happening!’ said Alan, struggling to keep his helmet on. ‘And we should really stop running now because we didn’t warm up properly!’

  ‘The Terribles!’ shouted Hamish, looking behind him in case the beasts were upon them. ‘They’re back – and this time they’re in disguise!’

  Let me ask you this: when was the last time you saw a policeman?

  Tuesday?

  Really?

  Gosh, you’ve got a good memory.

  And do you remember what the policeman looked like?

  Well, of course you do. He was wearing a policeman’s uniform, wasn’t he?

  Yes. I can picture him now. Standing there, with a policeman’s hat on, looking all policeman-like.

  But think back . . .

  Do you remember what he actually looked like?

  Like, what kind of face did he have? Or was it a she?

  Was it a friendly face? A grumpy one?

  I bet you don’t remember. Not really. Because all you actually looked at was the uniform, wasn’t it? After all, that’s all you needed to look at to know it was a policeman or woman.

  But here’s the awful truth: most of the time we’re too comfortable. We look but we don’t see.

  And that’s exactly what the Terribles are banking on.

  They know we’re too lazy to look at everyone we pass. And they know we won’t bother looking too closely at them if we think we’ve already seen them.

  That’s why they wear the uniforms: so that when we see them, we don’t really look at them.

  That guy? Oh, he’s just a policeman.

  Her? She’s a soldier. Or a surgeon.

  Him? He’s a postman.

  Her? She’s a Cub Scout leader. Or a pilot. Or a builder.

  That chap over by the bins? Don’t worry about him. He’s a nurse. Or he works in McDonald’s. Or he’s a baker. Or maybe he’s just a weird old clown standing at your window.

  Actually, that last one’s absolutely terrifying – please forget I said that.

  You see, the Terribles know that if there’s a coat to be worn, they should wear it. And if there’s a hat to be do
nned, they should don it.

  If they dress like us, we’ll think they are us. What else could they be?

  Just some workmen in orange hard hats with little lights on, after dark. Just a postman, whistling badly as he pushes a trolley around – even though it’s night!

  So yes: the Terribles were back. They walk among us.

  And I’ll ask you again. When was the last time you saw a policeman?

  Because what if the last time you saw a policeman you’d looked a little closer . . .

  and you’d seen those globulous, spiked, greasy hands . . .

  those wet black eyes . . .

  those teeth . . .

  those scales . . .

  What if what you really saw . . . was a Terrible?

  ‘They’re coming!’ yelled Hamish, as the gang made it out of the foot tunnel. Dog Walk was down the hill, some distance away, but at least now they could see it. The streets were dirty here too. There was rubbish on the ground and an abandoned shopping trolley from Fathercare had been pushed up against a tree.

  Hamish checked behind them. The Terribles had made it into the tunnel. They had paused for a second before they did, he was sure of it. But there wasn’t time to think about why they stopped because now they were bounding at speed behind them. He could make out vast trails of saliva and spit being flung from their horrible mouths, coating the walls of the tunnel.

  He realised they weren’t going to make it. The Terribles were faster than they’d ever been. How could they get away?

  ‘Quick! The shopping trolley!’ shouted Holly, pulling it from the tree and climbing inside.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ said Alan, backing away. ‘Do you know how dangerous those are? There aren’t even any brakes!’

  ‘What do you think is more dangerous?’ said Alice, hopping in. ‘A shopping trolley or a vast army of slobulous monsters?’

  Alan did the maths in his head and came to the same conclusion as Alice. She pulled him on board by the seat of his pants.

  ‘Push, Hamish!’ shouted Holly. ‘Push!’

  And Hamish pushed. He pushed hard, then jumped on the back.

  The shopping trolley began to pick up speed as it trundled down the hill . . . and soon the trundle was a zoom . . .

  ‘We’re getting faster!’ shouted Hamish, now clinging on for dear life. ‘But how do we stop it?’

  Just then, one of the wheels clipped a stone, and the shopping trolley began to spin round and round and round . . .

  ‘I didn’t think about stopping!’ shouted Holly, panicking, and feeling rather sick. ‘There’s no steering wheel either!’

  Hamish’s mum had been worried that this exact thing might happen! Mums worry about some pretty specific stuff, don’t they?

  As the trolley spun wildly round, they saw Dog Walk Station . . . then the Terribles . . . then Dog Walk . . . then the Terribles . . . then Dog Walk!

  ‘We’re going to crash!’ shouted Alan. ‘I knew this would happ—’

  CRASH!

  They smashed through the old wooden doors of the Ghost Station. Inside, the tiled floor was flat and smooth and the trolley showed no signs of slowing. They shot across the lobby of Dog Walk and into the tunnels marked TO THE TRAINS. It was like they were on a rollercoaster! The trolley slammed against the handrail, which sparked as it guided them round and down the walkway, down further and further, deeper and deeper . . .

  The wind rose . . . a hot blast of air hitting their faces, meaning a train had just arrived!

  SMAK-ASH! The Terribles crashed through the broken doors of Dog Walk, slippering and skattering their nails on the tiles.

  ‘We need to get on that train!’ shouted Alice, as the trolley continued to grind and spark against the handrail and whizzed further and further down into the depths of the station. ‘How close are the Terribles?’

  But she needn’t have asked: the shadows behind them were looming larger as they reached the end of the foot tunnel and . . .

  BANG!

  The trolley hit the bottom of the train and flung the four kids straight through the open doors of the carriage.

  They sat there, dazed, for a second.

  ‘This is why people should wear helmets!’ yelled Alan, delighted to be at last proved right. ‘I told you, Holly!’

  Holly frowned. ‘Right, I’m sorry, Alan,’ she said, whipping out her RevengePad, ‘but you’re going in the book.’

  ‘Shhhh!’ said Hamish. ‘Listen!’

  The Terribles were very close now. They were clattering down the walkway in hot pursuit. Just because the kids were on a train didn’t mean they were safe.

  Hamish could not just hear the beasts, but smell them now too. That familiar, acrid smell that stung his eyes and went straight to his stomach.

  ‘How do we close the doors?’ cried Alice.

  ‘They’re automatic!’ said Hamish, willing them to shut, as the tunnel in front of them filled with shadows. ‘They’re—’

  BEEP BEEP BEEEEEP sang the doors, as the first of the Terribles made it round the corner and flipped the shopping trolley out of the way. It flew through the air and skittered down the platform . . . just as the doors closed.

  For a second, there was silence.

  The four kids cowered inside the train carriage.

  They backed away, as more and more Terribles filled the station. One of them – wearing a sergeant’s outfit – slapped a greasy, wet hand on to the train window. Some pressed their faces up against the glass and tried to use bony fingers to slice round the edges with a low GRRRRRRROOOWL. The clatter of their toenails on the tiles filled the air. Steam rose from their bodies.

  ‘Holly,’ stuttered Hamish. ‘Give me your RevengePad and pen!’

  ‘I don’t think they’ll feel very threatened by that,’ she said, but handed it over.

  Hamish quickly drew something on the Pad, and then held it up to the window.

  It was a sunflower. Hamish knew from his previous encounter with these things that if there was one thing they feared, it was sunflowers. That was why Starkley was covered in them these days – to make sure the Terribles never came back.

  The giant Terrible in the sergeant’s uniform stared at it through the glass, fogging it up with his breath.

  It jolted its head back immediately when it spotted the sunflower.

  But not because it was scared.

  Because it was laughing!

  BUH-HUUUUU-HUUUUUUUUURRRRRR!

  It was then that Hamish realised something awful. These weren’t like the Terribles he’d seen before. Those Terribles had lived on good country air and clean country water, from the fields and forests around Starkley.

  But these . . . these were City Terribles.

  They were Terribles who’d spent months in the dark and soot beneath London, biding their time.

  Their backs were blackened by the diesel juice that coated the underground tunnels they’d stalk and stride through. Their tempers were blackened too, from constantly electrifying themselves on the rails of the old lines.

  Their lungs had filled with the concrete dust from building works that made them wheeze and rasp as they ran, so that they sounded like they were permanently GRRRRROWLING.

  Those eyes that you could see were bloodshot and yellowed.

  Those fingers were cracked and splintery.

  If a Country Terrible was like a huge, stupid dog, a City Terrible was like a panther.

  Low. Muscular. Intimidating. Quick to anger. Thinking Terrible thoughts and doing Terrible things. These were the most terrible Terribles yet.

  And then – finally! – the train began to rev and REV and REV and, as the Terribles started to crack the glass of the weakening windows, it SHOT OFF towards Arcadian Lane with a POW!

  OMG

  These were some pretty shocked kids.

  I mean shocked shocked.

  Super crazy shocked.

  Shocked squared!

  Well, wouldn’t you be shocked? Chased around and grabbed at by
awful, monstrous beasts?

  If you’d seen the four of them as they got off the train at Arcadian Lane, or as they found their way back to Victoria Station here on Earth, or as they clambered on to the coach marked STARKLEY, you would have noticed them for sure.

  Their eyes were massive, for a start. It was like they couldn’t blink any more. They were just staring.

  Alan tried to open a can of Coke, but he was shaking so much it just exploded and all the drink flew out.

  That had happened three times so far. He was soaked.

  Now, as the coach found the motorway, Holly broke the silence.

  ‘Well, thanks for the tip, Hamish,’ she said. ‘Next time I’m in mortal danger, remind me to take a moment to quickly draw a flower.’

  Hamish blushed. He had really thought the sunflower would work.

  ‘It’s strange how our worlds are so similar but so different,’ continued Holly, looking out of the window at the shops and people and places.

  Alan tried to open another drink and it just exploded all over him again. Gently, Alice reached over and opened the next one for him. They shared a small smile.

  There was a newspaper on the floor.

  ‘The Sun,’ said Holly. ‘I suppose that must be your version of one of our papers.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ said Hamish. ‘Which one?’

  ‘The Daughter,’ said Holly. ‘Hey – look . . .’

  The headline read: NOW THE CHIEF OF POLICE GOES WEIRD over a picture of Chief Superintendent Valerie Snump trying to kiss and cuddle a small rubber chicken.

  To one side was a picture of Buckingham Palace.

  ‘What’s your Queen like?’ asked Holly, pointing to the picture.

  ‘Oh, she’s very polite. Quite quiet. Keeps herself to herself. Usually just makes a speech once a year at Christmas. Just to let us know what she’s been up to and ask how we’re doing.’

  ‘Just one speech! Wow. You’re lucky.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Alice. ‘How many does your King make?’

  Holly and Alan rolled their eyes.

  ‘He’s always on about something,’ said Alan, and it was true. King Les the Second was an extraordinarily chatty King, who didn’t seem to mind what you chatted about, so long as it was him that could do most of the chatting.