While she smeared this stuff on my hair that smelled like ammonia and made my eyes sting real bad, we talked. I told her about Mildew making me eat sprouts and saying they made your hair curl. Of course I didn’t tell her the truth about Mildew trying to poison me. That’d freak out someone as good and sweet as Princess. We made a list of silly lies parents tell kids when they want to warn them about something.
‘If you say That Word, you could turn into a frog,’ I said.
‘If the wind changes when you make a face like that, your face will stay that way forever!’
‘My Aunt Mildew says that, too!’
‘And the whole Father Christmas thing!’
‘And the Tooth Fairy!’ I shouted. ‘I used to buy teeth off other kids and tell Mum they were mine because she gave me more than I bought them for. She didn’t click ’til I’d lost 69 teeth. She took me to the dentist to find out if I was a shark or something. Olds are so dumb!’
Then she got all professional. ‘Now. You have to sit under the drier for ages. Yell if it’s too hot.’
I nodded and smiled. The drier was a whole chair with a wide tube thing going up to a bag on top of your head. The air inside the bag got majorly hot, but I didn’t yell. I didn’t want to disturb her. She was busy doing her own hair.
When I came out of the hairdresser’s with a cooked head from which hung greenish-coloured dreads with burnt red-and-orange tips, I couldn’t find Bloat. I couldn’t find the sign either. I finally found both of them, wrapped around a surprised shopper’s legs outside the butcher’s.
‘Er, would you mind releasing me?’ said this black guy with an American accent. ‘If this is your idea of getting my attention, I do not think it’s gonna work.’
I bent down to the guy’s zillion-dollar trainers and untangled Bloat and the heavy frame.
‘That is a-mazing hair,’ said the guy.
‘Thanks.’
‘You and your dog look as though you’re made for each other.’
I wasn’t too pleased with that. ‘You shouldn’t be so nosey, you know that?’
‘Hey, I’m real sorry. I’m Brad Miller, TV producer. We’re doing a couple of commercials in the shopping centre.’
I thought very quickly. If this guy was in the TV business, and I told him about Mildew the murderer and her accomplice, and the bones and the tin trunk of torture gear, he could film it all and we’d have a major news story.
‘Hey, I—’
‘Well, see yer round,’ he called and bounced off in those so-cool trainers.
I wanted to run after him, but my shoes weren’t up to it. I’d never catch him up. And Bloat decided just then to make a break for it, full-tilt into the butcher’s walk-in fridge.
I was on the other end of the lead. He jerked me so fast I’m sure I got whiplash. The sort-of-dreads flopped to and fro.
Mildew had a fit about my hair. She didn’t seem worried that it meant I didn’t need to eat the sprouts anymore because I now had curly (sort of) hair. No. She kept screeching ‘What’ll I say to your mother? The minute I take my eye off you, you get into trouble. And I promised your poor mother. I promised her!’
What had she promised Mum? That I wouldn’t get my hair done? Weird.
8
I looked forward to the Battle of the Brussels Sprouts that Wednesday night. It was an opportunity to try out my Brussels sprout escapology techniques. And to prove to Mildew that I was immune to cyanide. That’d get her really worried.
‘Dinner!’
At last! I skipped downstairs with my green, red and orange dreads swinging. Mildew brought in a dish of ooey-gluey macaroni cheese. It looked like maggot stew. I could tell from right down my end of the table that there wasn’t enough cheese in it. I was super-starving, too. She passed me the fridge-cold plastic container of sprouts. Her eyes drilled into me.
‘Your mother told me you were a difficult eater,’ she said. ‘And I told her that I’d send you back with glowing skin and shiny hair, all because of a diet rich in greens. And I shall, young man.’
‘Don’t want glowing skin,’ I said, spooning macaroni maggots into my mouth. ‘Although it could be good for seeing in the dark. I could hire myself out as a street lamp.’
‘Eat up.’ She stared at me. ‘Your hair’s ruined. Nothing I can do about that. It looks burnt. You might have to stay here until new hair grows in.’ She said this very mildly. But I knew it was a hint of a major plan she was hatching.
‘No way. It’s not burnt.’ Then I remembered that the drier had smelt a bit like the smell you get when you burn wool. ‘Anyway, burnt hair’s in. It’s cool.’
We stopped talking. I patted my hair carefully. If it really was burnt, it’d hurt. It didn’t hurt.
‘Put those sprouts on your plate and eat them.’
I eyed the three sprouts. None of them looked keen. I chose Slimy. He didn’t look as though he could take being stabbed, so I spooned him carefully onto my plate, far away from the lake of yellow, watery goo I’d damned with macaroni pieces. Mildew sighed, then bent her head as though she couldn’t bear to watch me. I grabbed Slimy and dropped him on the floor. Errrff.
‘Bye, Slimy. Nice knowing you.’
I found the hole with my foot—just. But then I couldn’t find Slimy. He’d gone roll-about. I couldn’t look down, that would make Mildew suspicious. I had to stretch my legs out and feel for him with my toes. I nearly slid off the chair. Where was Slimy? I wish I’d trained him to come when I called. Ah-ha! Got him. Ugh. The feel of Slimy between my toes was gruesome. I rolled him in the instep of my foot towards the hole.
‘Sit up straight!’
Mildew’s squawk made me jump. My foot jarred up and down and, plish, Slimy was a gross smear on the floorboards. Flattened. Kaput.
I ate some more macaroni. It had grilled tomatoes on top. Wasn’t bad, really. Then I rubbed around and around with my foot, trying to clean up the mess. It only made it worse. Under my chair was this circle of gross, green, dead Slimy. What could I do? If Mildew found the mess she’d see the hole. She’d know I’d been under the house and seen the bones and the torture trunk!
I was worried. At the end of the meal I collected the plates and walked into the kitchen, hoping Mildew wouldn’t notice the footprint trail of the one-legged green slime monster. I talked to her flat-out so she wouldn’t.
When, thank goodness, she locked herself in the loo for her secret smoke, I grabbed the tea towel and cleaned the footprints up. I was rushing into the dining room to do the major clean-up under the table when she returned.
‘So you ate one sprout today. Very good, Monster. We’ll make a healthy boy of you by the time you go home, eh?’ I hid the tea towel behind my back. ‘You don’t need to do the dishes tonight.’ She smiled again.
I raced outside and buried the tea towel in the garden. While I sprinkled soil over it, I was planning my survival.
I’d have to clean up the slime circle in the middle of the night, when she was asleep. It was the only time I’d be safe. That is, if murderers sleep.
I washed my foot, went to bed and set my phone’s alarm for midnight.
‘Monster! Have you seen the tea towel?’ Mildew yelled up the stairs.
‘No.’ I yelled back down the stairs. ‘Maybe you put it in the wash. It was looking a bit green, I thought.’
Rinnnnng!!!!
I crushed the alarm under my pillow and jumped out of bed. I was about to find out what happened in Mildew’s Manor at midnight.
I put on my black sweatshirt and painted my face black with the fattest felt pen I’d brought with me. Damn! I’d forgotten to get something to clean the sprout mess up with. I didn’t want to go into the kitchen and find a dishcloth or a tea towel. Two going missing would look suspicious. I found my oldest pair of undies which would do very nicely as a cleaning cloth. I crept out onto the landing and peered down the stairs. It was like looking into a black hole.
I felt my way down with one hand on the wall. When I got
down I could see a faint flicker of light coming from the sitting room! And I heard voices, whispering.
Now wimpy people would have run back to bed, but not me. If Mildew was plotting with her accomplice how to get rid of me, I had to listen in.
I crouched outside the sitting room. The door was open a bit. After a while I remembered my face was black with felt pen and no one would be able to see me. I looked around the door. She was sitting on the couch with Purple Nose! The room was lit by two candles and one tiny lamp. They were looking at a thick book with heavy pages. The lamp was right beside the book. The rest of the room was pitch dark.
The book had to be a spell book of long-ago witches and wizards. They’d realized I was immune to cyanide. Now they were looking for something else!
I heard Aunt whisper, ‘He wasn’t the world’s best husband, you know.’
They were talking about her dead husband! She was explaining why she’d murdered him! If she’d killed him just because he wasn’t the world’s best, no wonder she was planning to zap me. I’d never be the world’s best boy.
I tiptoed into the dining room and wiped my old undies around under my chair. I tiptoed to the bottom of the stairs. Just before I started up them, I couldn’t resist a little trick. I did two spooky tu-whit tu-whoo owl calls, very low, very sinister, then I fled upstairs and jumped into bed. I heard Mildew and Purple Nose walking around downstairs. I hope I frightened them out of their wits.
Then I heard the creaking stairs—Mildew was coming to get me!
9
She didn’t come in for some reason. I must have passed out or else I just fell asleep. The next morning, Thursday, there I was, lying in bed, with my eyes tight shut so I could concentrate and improve my plan. The hole in the floor was a good idea. I just had to make sure I could get the sprout to the hole.
If I had a plastic tube—
Suddenly my eardrums were burst by a terrible scream right by my ear, and a crash of breaking crockery. I didn’t know what it was all about, but it sounded very near to my ear hole. Then I heard a familiar voice:
‘Monster!’
I opened my eyes. Mildew was standing, trembling, by my bed. A cup of tea was smashed all over the floor. Maybe she was trying to give me a heart attack.
‘Hi, Aunt,’ I said, normal as.
‘What have you done to your face?’ she screamed.
My face? Then I remembered the black felt pen. Hmm. It was all over the sheets and pillowcase, too. Quite a mess.
‘Your mother warned me you were nothing but trouble! Get in the bath immediately!’
One good effect of her scream was that it had jolted my brain into hyper-drive and I suddenly knew where I could get a Brussels sprout guidance tube from. No problem. It just meant a trip to the shopping centre. Anyone brave enough to outwit murderous Mildew could cope with Bloat at the shops. No sweat. But if I was going to see Princess, I’d better clean myself up a bit.
I looked in the bathroom mirror. Black face, greenish, frizzy braid-things with burnt red tips. I didn’t think it was the look Princess would go for. I had a serious bath. I used every smelly in Mildew’s cupboard, put on my last clean sweatshirt, and then, squeaky-clean and tidy, I called Bloat.
‘Walkies!’
Bloat looked up, trailing a long, white dribble. I think he’d fallen in love with me.
‘Hi, Princess.’
My skin was doing that slidey thing, slithering down into my shoes. I’d stuffed my hair under my cap because I didn’t want Princess to see her burnt-hair creation.
‘Hi, Monster.’
I was going to ask her if I could borrow the hair-drier tube, but the phone rang and she went behind a screen to answer it. So I slipped my Swiss Army knife out and cut the bendy tube that went from the drier to the bag. The head bag flopped to the ground.
I yelled ‘Bye!’ and rushed out. Bloat was just about to take off after a Doberman. I wrestled him onto his back. My cap fell off. I was tickling his tummy and watching the fleas jump, when an American accent said, ‘Hi, again. You and your dog are the only really out-there high style around here.’
I looked up through burnt hair and saw the TV producer, Brad Someone. This time he had around him a crew of cameramen, sound people, people with clipboards, and people ordering others around.
‘Shooting the commercial today?’
He looked at me real hard, then said, ‘Hey, I might be able to use you two. Doing the other commercial. I think you’d be great with that wild hair. What d’yer say?’
I was just about to say, ‘Awesome, yeah, I’ve got a bit of down time. Could maybe fit it in’, when the door of the hairdressing salon was thrown open and out strode a very angry Princess with the hat thing from the drier in one hand.
‘Monster!’
‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. I—’ I tried to look ripped apart by misery.
I needn’t have bothered. She didn’t hear a thing I said. Nor did Brad. They were staring at each other in this strange way, as though their eyes were magnetized. Spooky as. Then I felt this drum roll. I didn’t actually hear it, but it was there, in the air somehow. And something in the atmosphere went Ka-boom!!! It was like the whole Earth had missed a heartbeat, and then did a big one to catch up.
Princess and Brad had fallen instantly in love.
I sneaked away with my tube.
When I entered the dining room ready for Thursday night’s Battle of the Brussels Sprouts, I was wearing my fleece with a high neck. I had the hair-drier tube stuffed down the fleece and through my jeans, down my trouser leg. It was hard to walk. The tube had to reach the floor. I limped a bit, and I couldn’t turn my neck.
‘Monster! What have you done?’ Mildew sounded quite worried. ‘I have to get you back to your mother in one piece. I take my responsibilities seriously.’
So that meant she was still trying to poison me. That way I’d be in one piece. Not the grisly pick-axe for me.
I found it hard to bend myself into the chair.
Liver and chips. And the cold container of two Brussels sprouts. I looked in and selected Oozy. I put him on my plate carefully. As Brussels sprouts go, he didn’t look a very good example.
‘Good boy,’ said Mildew.
I covered the liver in tomato sauce so I couldn’t taste it much. When Mildew turned her head to look in to the kitchen to check if she’d turned the oven off, I whizzed Oozy into the top of the tube. He didn’t move! He was stuck. I had to jiggle up and down on my seat.
‘Go to the toilet if you need to, Monster.’
Oozy did a free fall to my waist and got stuck there in the bend of the tube. I half stood up and pretended I was looking for a tissue in my back pocket. It worked. Oozy fell to my knee. I positioned the tube carefully over the hole in the floor and finished the liver.
‘I’ve finished, Aunt.’ ‘And you ate a sprout! Good lad. Only one left. You may leave the table.’
I stood up, positioning myself over the hole. I stamped my foot and Oozy slid to an unmarked grave in the cemetery under the house. I’d done it! A plan that worked! The Master Trickster rules again. I limped to the toilet and took out the tube.
I waited until I thought the coast was clear, then made a dash for the stairs. Too late. Mildew was lurking in the hall.
‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Let me see! What were you doing in the toilet with that…thing? Your mother would be horrified.’
For some reason Mildew looked really freaked out. I waggled the tube at her, then tried to run. She grabbed my hair.
Yank! Suddenly I was free and Mildew was standing there, screaming, with something horrible in her hand. I felt the top of my head because my scalp felt sore. There was a round bit that was just smooth skin. I had a large bald place on the top of my head!
I looked at Mildew. She looked at me. We both looked, horrified, at the clump of dreads in her fist.
10
Next day, Friday, Brad phoned about t
he commercial. They were going to shoot it on Saturday. The idea was that I sat down to a huge plate of veggies and ate them, while Bloat sat at my feet, looking on enviously. There was going to be some voice-over like, ‘Don’t look dreadful. Eat five vegetables a day and get that healthy glow.’
Brad thought I should have the same colour hair as Bloat, kind of a dusty black. He said it’d be a visual joke, whatever that meant. One thing it did mean was that I had to go to Princess for a hair dye. And that meant she’d see my bald patch.
‘Nah. Maybe I won’t do it. The commercial, eh?’ I said to Brad.
‘It’s $2000 you’re turning down, man.’
‘What!’
I’d face up to Princess. In my life there were too few opportunities to become a millionaire. So being a two-thousandaire wasn’t something I could turn down.
But I was worried. I wasn’t sure Brad would like my half-bald look. And I didn’t think that much of Princess’s hairdressing talents anymore.
After another burn-out under the mended drier, I raced to afternoon tea at Sylvie’s. She didn’t like my hair much either, but she gave me a pavlova for a ‘midnight feast’. I went back to Mildew’s with the new black hair—black except for the red ends scorched even more than before.
Mildew got all angus about me wasting my money at the hairdresser’s. She reckoned she’d never heard of boys spending their spare time at the hairdresser’s. She reckoned there must be something wrong with me.
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Sure is. A touch of cyanide poisoning.’ I bent over and raced to the toilet. Mildew looked worried.
She made a decent lunch for a change: a super market pizza. Yummy! After that I looked along the book-shelves for that thick spell book she was sharing with Purple Nose. Most of the books were Mills and Boon romances with pictures of a man and a woman kissing on the cover. Yuck. What would Mildew want those for? I guess she’d confiscated them years ago, when she was a teacher. Ah! There it was: a black leather spine. The book was very heavy, with a padded cover. I pulled it out carefully. On the front, bitten into the leather, was the word Photographs.
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