Charlie Turns Into a T-Rex

by Sam Copeland

  ‘Ah,’ said Wogan. ‘Yes. I see.’

  ‘Do you often do gardening dressed as a unicorn?’ Flora asked.

  ‘I … Yes. I do.’

  ‘And remind me again. Does Daisy like unicorns?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Wogan in a tiny voice just above a whisper.

  ‘Hmm,’ hmmed Flora.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ said Mohsen, nudging Charlie. ‘That’s a totally new type of hmm. It sounded to me like a furious hmm.’

  ‘Not now, Mohsen,’ said Wogan, anxiously looking at Flora.

  ‘And tell me,’ continued Flora, ‘does a sparkly unicorn horn count as dressing in dark clothes?’

  ‘I guess not … Should I take it off then?’

  ‘Yes! You should! We are trying to be inconspicuous!’

  ‘Oh, Wogan,’ said Mohsen, shaking his head sadly. ‘This Daisy is really turning your head. You need to keep your eye on the game.’

  But Wogan, with a determined look on his face, folded his arms and kept the unicorn horn on his head.

  ‘It is! Has anybody got any water? I’m pretty thirsty after that bike ride.’

  Flora handed him her bottle of emergency water. Wogan drained the bottle completely in three gulps and gasped with satisfaction.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ said Charlie, as the four friends began slowly walking towards the side entrance of Van der Gruyne Industries, ‘at least he’s here now. So, what’s the plan, then?’

  They all turned to Flora.

  ‘Why are you all looking at me? I’ve told you my plan. We come here, Charlie turns into an animal, helps us to break in, we steal back the gold, then leave.’

  ‘You … er … haven’t got any more detail than that?’ Charlie asked cautiously. ‘It’s totally fine if you don’t!’ he added quickly, catching Flora’s steely gaze.

  ‘No,’ Flora said, ‘I don’t.’

  ‘You haven’t planned beyond this moment?’ asked Mohsen.

  ‘Nope,’ said Flora.

  ‘So you have no idea what’s going to happen and you are hoping it will just come to you as we go along?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s quite stressful getting to this point and having no idea what you’re going to do next?’

  ‘No!’ replied Flora. ‘It’s actually quite liberating.’

  ‘Well, I hope it all works out in the end,’ said Mohsen uncertainly.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Flora. ‘So do I.’

  ‘OK,’ said Charlie. ‘Well, let’s look what we have in front of us, and then we can hopefully work out what on earth we are going to do.’

  What was in front of them was the towering bulk of Van der Gruyne Industries, a vast grey faceless building with a thousand blank windows staring out. Behind it, ink-black licks of clouds scudded across a darkening steely sky. There was a huge metal fence – so tall that if Wogan stood on Mohsen’s shoulders, he would just about be able to reach the top. No good for climbing over, though, as it was topped with extra-sharp barbed wire. As it was a Saturday, the office was shut, but security guards were patrolling the grounds. Two of them had dogs. Huge German shepherds. Dylan had been true to his word – there did appear to be more guards on duty.

  ‘Well,’ said Mohsen after their brief examination of the building, ‘after close consideration, it looks like we’re stuffed. No way are we getting in there. And even if we somehow did, there’s no way of getting out. In short, I vote we call it a day and go home.’

  ‘Mohsen!’ shouted Wogan. ‘Don’t be such a negative nelly!’

  Mohsen bristled. ‘Do NOT call me a negative nelly!’

  ‘Well, you are!’

  ‘I’m just being practical. And, guys, what we’re about to do – it’s stealing. It’s against the law. We could set a bad example to other children.’

  ‘Look,’ said Wogan. ‘Think of Robin Hood. When he was stealing from the prince of Nottingham –’

  ‘Sheriff,’ corrected Flora.

  ‘Yes, when Robin Hood was stealing from the prince of Sheriff, he didn’t care about setting a bad example to children! He just stole from the rich and gave to the poor. AND he did it wearing tights.’

  Flora nodded in agreement. ‘Exactly, Wogan. I couldn’t have put it better myself. What we are doing is morally correct.fn1 Dylan’s dad stole the gold off Charlie’s dad. It belongs to Charlie’s family. We are just getting back what is rightfully theirs.’

  ‘OK,’ replied Mohsen in a small voice. ‘I don’t have to wear tights, do I?’

  Wogan put an arm round Mohsen’s shoulder. ‘No, my friend. You don’t. And it’s OK to be scared, you know. I’m scared too.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Charlie.

  ‘So, we’re ALL scared then?’ said Mohsen hopefully.

  They all turned to Flora.

  ‘Oh. Erm, yes. Absolutely. Scared. Definitely.’fn2

  ‘Hmm,’ said Mohsen suspiciously.

  ‘Oh! You hmmed!’ said Wogan.

  Mohsen beamed proudly. ‘So I did!’

  ‘OK, Charlie,’ said Flora. ‘This is it.’

  Flora held one hand flat out, palm up. One by one, they all high-fived her. A nervous tension shivered through them as they looked into each other’s eyes.

  ‘It’s time,’ she continued. ‘Charlie, we need you to change into something useful now. Maybe something scary, like a lion. You could jump over the gate and scare all the guards and dogs away. Maybe try to think fierce when you change? You never know – it might work …’

  Charlie gulped. ‘OK, here goes nothing!’

  Charlie closed his eyes and opened his mind. Opened it to all his fears and stresses and worries. In flooded images of moving house … the sound of Aunt Brenda’s wooden leg rapping on the floorboards … the feeling of being alone, without friends … memories of a hospital ward with his brother attached to a drip – everything in his life that could go wrong.

  It didn’t take long for the change to start. As the electricity shot through every nerve of his body, in his mind Charlie pictured lions and tigers and panthers.

  He could feel himself changing.

  Shrinking.

  Shrinking?

  Well, that’s not a good sign …

  He felt his body being squeezed and crushed. He could feel wings growing, a beak forming, feathers sprouting.

  He could feel his feet turning into small clumpy claws.

  OK, thought Charlie, I really don’t think I’m a lion.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Charlie!’ shouted Wogan. ‘You’re a pigeon!’

  A pigeon! thought Charlie. Not again …

  Mohsen groaned. ‘What use is a ratty old pigeon? Change back, Charlie!’

  Excuse me! thought Charlie. How dare you call me ratty –

  ‘’Allo!’

  The unexpected voice from behind Charlie startled him.

  It was a voice he knew. A French accent he’d heard before.

  And it was the very last voice on earth he wanted to hear right now.

  ‘Sacré bleu, my pretty little princess! You ’ave finally returned to me!’

  Charlie swung round. There, bobbing in front of him, was a pigeon that he recognized very well.

  ‘It is I, Jean-Claude, and –’

  ‘I know who you are,’ replied Charlie. ‘And can I just say, I am not a princess!’

  ‘Prince, princess, who cares with a love like ours? We are modern pigeons. We shall fly off as one. I, Jean-Claude the pigeon, and you, Farley McStuffin!’

  ‘My name’s not Farley McStuffin! It’s Charlie McGuffin.’

  ‘Zat is what I said! I, Jean-Claude the pigeon, and you, Gnarly EggMuffin!’

  ‘I give up.’

  Wogan was staring at the chattering pigeons with growing disbelief.

  ‘Hang on, is Charlie talking to that pigeon? Charlie!’ Wogan began to speak very loudly and very slowly. ‘Charlie. Are. You. Talking. To. That. Pigeon?’

  Jean-Claude sidled up uncomfortably close to Ch
arlie.

  ‘’Ow long I have been waiting for you,’ he cooed, ‘knowing our star-crossed paths were destined once again to – Ah! What is this? I spy with my petit eye some delicious-looking crumbs of pizza crust! I must depart! I bid you adieu, my gorgeous little cauliflower!’

  And with that Jean-Claude flapped off a metre or so and began pecking at the ground. Charlie was just gathering his thoughts when Jean-Claude flapped right back next to him.

  ‘Alas! A false alarm,’ Jean-Claude cooed. ‘It was not pizza crust. It was little stones. Some tiny pebbles, perhaps. The pebbles were … not so delicious. No matter. We have not a moment to lose! Let us fly aw–’

  A sudden flap of wings announced the arrival of another pigeon.

  ‘Zut alors! Can it be true? It is true! You are back! It is I, Antoine the pigeon! Did I ’ear someone mention ze crust of pizza? I do not even like ze crust of pizza, and yet I find it … irresistible. Like you, Snarly McFluffin.’

  ‘MY NAME IS CHARLIE MCMUFFIN – I MEAN MCGUFFIN!’ cooed Charlie as loudly as he could.

  ‘He’s definitely talking to them,’ said Wogan. ‘What’s he saying?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I don’t speak pigeon,’ said Mohsen.

  Wogan thumped his palm in frustration. ‘Gah! Neither do I!’

  Charlie was also becoming increasingly frustrated. He had to change back to Charlie and try to change into a more useful animal, but with the wittering pigeons around him there was no way he could relax enough.

  And then an idea struck Charlie like a bolt of very clever lightning.

  ‘Jean-Claude, Antoine? You know how you are my favourite pigeons in the whole world?’

  Jean-Claude bobbed his head, as if giving a little bow. ‘Mais oui! But of course! This is music to my tiny ears.’

  ‘Mais non!’ cooed Antoine. ‘That is not music to my tiny ears! You can only have one most special pigeon. You must choose, Harley Bumchuffin –’

  ‘Charlie McGuffin.’

  ‘Yes, that is what I said. You must decide between I, Antoine, the most handsome pigeon in this general area, and Jean-Claude, who is nothing but a pebble-pecking – Oh! A moment! Is this a delicious morsel I spy on the ground? Could it be …? Yes! I think it is some tasty seed or perhaps corn of ze pop!’

  Antoine pecked something off the ground and chewed it. Jean-Claude flapped over and started pecking at the ground next to Antoine and also began chewing.

  ‘Ah! Non. It is not corn of ze pop,’ Antoine cooed, spitting out what he had been chewing. ‘It was a little piece of dog poo. An easy mistake to make.’

  Jean-Claude spat out what he had in his beak, and looked at Antoine with what Charlie could only describe as a pigeon-glare.

  ‘Foolish pigeon!’ Jean-Claude cooed angrily. ‘This is why you are not to be trusted with the crumbs in this general area. I am the emperor of crumbs and –’

  Charlie flapped his wings in exasperation. ‘Guys! Guys. Please. Let’s focus, OK? You want to make me happy, right?’

  Both pigeons bobbed their heads, nodding in agreement.

  ‘Oui!’

  ‘Bien sûr!’

  ‘Right. Then here’s how you can help …’

  Meanwhile, Flora, Mohsen and Wogan were wondering what on earth was going on.

  ‘Why isn’t Charlie changing back?’ asked Mohsen.

  ‘I’m not sure, but he certainly seems to be chatting to those other pigeons an awful lot,’ replied Flora.

  ‘You don’t think he’s forgotten who he is, do you?’ asked Wogan.

  ‘I’m sure he hasn’t,’ said Flora. She didn’t sound very sure.

  ‘Well, do you think we should remind him?’ asked Wogan. ‘CHARLIE! YOU ARE NOT A PIGEON! DON’T FORGET YOU –’

  Before Wogan could finish his sentence, with a great flap of wings Charlie, Jean-Claude and Antoine took off.

  Antoine flew away from the building and out of sight, but Jean-Claude and Charlie soared straight over the heads of Flora, Wogan and Mohsen, who were watching them open-mouthed. They flew over the fence of Van der Gruyne Industries and, like plump grey arrows, went straight for the security guards.

  The guards didn’t know what hit them.

  They had been told by Mr Van Der Gruyne to keep an eye out for a group of children trying to sneak in. What they hadn’t been told to keep an eye out for was a pair of angry-looking pigeons. So, instead of checking the sky for airborne menaces, they were eating egg sandwiches, texting their boyfriends and girlfriends, picking their noses – anything but looking out for vicious feathery beasts.

  Charlie and Jean-Claude dive-bombed the guards, pulling off their hats and pecking at their ears and noses. They grabbed their hair with their claws, pulling and tugging at it. The guards started running in circles, shouting and screaming and waving their arms. A couple of them were even crawling on the ground as they tried to escape.

  The dogs were barking excitedly at the pigeons, trying to jump up and catch them in their snapping jaws, but Charlie and Jean-Claude were too agile, swooping out of the way at the last second, which was driving the dogs into an even greater frenzy.

  Once the guards and dogs were all in complete chaos, Charlie and Jean-Claude climbed higher, circling above their heads. Then Charlie gave a signal – a single loud coo – and both pigeons released enormous sloppy pigeon poos all over the security guards.

  The guards were now running in frantic terrified circles, half of them with poo dripping down their heads, faces and shoulders.

  ‘Success! We have ze cowards on the run!’ cried Jean-Claude. ‘Ah, ze sweet taste of victory – Oh! What is this? A dropped egg sandwich! I believe it must be sandwich-pecking time!’

  Jean-Claude flew down and began a tug of war with the guard’s half-eaten sandwich. Charlie landed next to him as the guards, given a brief respite, began to recover themselves, wiping themselves down and picking up their hats.

  ‘Jean-Claude!’ cooed Charlie urgently. ‘We need to keep attacking the guards, or … or …’

  And suddenly Charlie found that he couldn’t quite remember exactly why it was so important to attack the guards.

  Ah, well, he thought. Can’t have been that important. Not when there are so many delicious crumbs in the general area.

  And Charlie started pecking at the sandwich crumbs. Delicious.

  The guards saw that the pigeons, who a moment ago had been attacking them, were now happily snacking on their sandwich remains. With murderous looks on their faces, and with the guard dogs snapping and baying and pulling on their leashes, they approached the pigeons menacingly, clearly intent on revenge.

  Flora, who was watching keenly, saw the danger before anybody else.

  ‘Charlie! Wake up! You are not a pigeon! Forget the crumbs!’

  The security guards were nearly upon the pigeons. They were fiddling with their dogs’ collars, about to release them.

  ‘Oh, Charlie!’ Flora cried at the top of her voice. ‘Watch out! The guards are coming! Please, Charlie! You’re a HUMAN!’

  ‘’Ere,’ said one of the guards to another. ‘Did that kid just call one of these pigeons “Charlie”?’

  Charlie heard the voice and cocked his head.

  That voice … it was Flora! And, in a sudden rush, the sound kick-started Charlie’s memory.

  The guards released the dogs, and they came hurtling forward, jaws snapping and drooling. Charlie flapped away just in time, the clamping teeth brushing the edge of his tail feathers.

  Once they realized Charlie had escaped, the dogs turned sharply and bolted towards Jean-Claude.

  ‘Jean-Claude! Move! Quickly!’ Charlie cooed in desperation.

  Jean-Claude looked up from the egg sandwich to see the two German shepherds closing in on him.

  ‘Ooh la la!’ He flapped into the air at the last second, leaving the dogs snapping at the air below them.

  ‘Alas, I must leave this beautiful sandwich!’ Jean-Claude cooed.

  The dogs barked and jumped below
them, saliva drooling from their gnashing mouths.

  ‘I fear these dogs are too fierce for us, my petit pretty pigeon! And I am without any more poo to drop on the guards! We must beat a hasty retreat!’

  With a heavy heart Charlie realized Jean-Claude was right. His plan had failed almost before it had begun.

  But then a sudden coo from Jean-Claude changed everything.

  ‘Reinforcements! Look! Behind you!’

  Charlie circled round and almost couldn’t believe his beady pigeon eyes. A flock of pigeons, dozens and dozens of them, were arrowing towards Charlie and Jean-Claude. And at the front of the grey cloud was Antoine!

  ‘I bring some ’elp, Barley Yakpuffin!’ Antoine cooed. ‘Zey come to ’elp me win your heart!’

  Jean-Claude, Antoine and the huge flock of pigeons, as if with one mind, soared high into the air and then dropped all at the same instant, dive-bombing the guards, pecking and clawing at their faces. To the faint sounds of cheering from his friends Charlie flew at the guards and joined in.

  Antoine cooed once more, and the great flock of pigeons soared into the air, circled, and then again, at exactly the same moment, poo-bombed the guards.

  The guards did not know what hit them.

  A sea of pigeon poo dropped on to their heads, drenching them, soaking their hair, dripping down their faces and into their eyes and mouths. And that was enough for the guards.

  Closely followed by the wildly barking dogs, they started running for cover, but the pigeons wouldn’t let them. A whirlwind of biting and scratching and flapping birds pecked and harried and herded the guards – like terrified poo-covered sheep – out of the gate and down the road.

  Flora, Wogan and Mohsen whooped as they watched the security guards run off into the distance, desperately trying to escape the assault from the pigeon air force. The sounds of barking echoed in the distance long after the guards had disappeared from sight, leaving the gate wide open and undefended.

  A moment later, a single pigeon flapped back and joined the friends, and, a few seconds after that, Charlie had changed from Charlie the pigeon back to Charlie the boy.