Horror!
Page 3
Bertie stood outside the gate of number twenty-two wondering what to do. At last Darren appeared.
“What are you waiting for?” he said. “I thought we were in a hurry!”
“Never mind that,” said Bertie. “There’s a dog at this house.”
“Oh no, NOT A DOG!” cried Darren, pretending to tremble. “Did the nasty doggy bark at you?”
Bertie scowled. “It’s a monster,” he said. “I was lucky to get out alive.”
Darren shrugged. “Well, as long as you delivered the paper.”
“How could I?” said Bertie. “He wouldn’t let me near the door.”
Darren was frowning at him. “Where’s your bag?” he asked.
“What?”
“The bag – with all the newspapers,” said Darren.
Bertie turned round. ARGH! In his panic he must have left the bag in the driveway!
“You didn’t leave it?” groaned Darren.
“It’s not my fault!” said Bertie. “He was after me!”
“But we’ve still got the other houses to do,” said Darren. “You’ll have to go back.”
“Are you MAD?” cried Bertie. “Go in there?”
“It’s only a dog!” said Darren. “Don’t be such a baby!”
Bertie dragged Darren to the gate and pointed down the drive. Brutus was tearing a newspaper to shreds with his teeth.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Bertie.
“Yikes,” gasped Darren. “He’s ENORMOUS!”
“I know,” said Bertie. “But like you say, he’s only a dog, so why don’t you get the bag?”
“No way!” said Darren. “You’re the one who left it.”
They stared through the gate.
Now what? thought Bertie. Without the bag they didn’t have enough papers to finish the round. The shop would get complaints and Neil would hear about it. Worst of all, they wouldn’t get paid. There was only one thing for it – someone had to face Brutus.
Bertie’s hands were damp with sweat. He grasped the gate. This was it, he was probably going to die. Tomorrow morning his parents would read about it in the newspaper – though not if it wasn’t delivered.
“Take a stick,” suggested Darren.
“To fight him off?” said Bertie.
“No dumbo, for him to fetch,” said Darren. “When he runs after it you can grab the bag.”
Bertie nodded. It was worth a try. Whiffer could never resist a stick so Brutus was probably the same. Bertie found a stick in someone’s front garden. Actually it was more like a twig, but it was the best he could do.
Opening the gate, he tiptoed inside. The gate swung slowly back into place.
CLANG!
Bertie groaned. There went any chance of sneaking in quietly.
“Hurry up!” hissed Darren.
Bertie crept down the drive. “Don’t panic, keep calm,” he said to himself. His dad said that dogs could smell fear.
“Hi! Me again,” croaked Bertie. Brutus rose to his feet. He seemed to have grown even bigger since last time.
“Look – STICK!” cried Bertie, holding out the twig. “You like sticks, eh?”
Brutus’s tail thumped against the wall. Bertie took a step closer, breathing hard. This was near enough. He drew back his arm and threw the stick, which landed on the lawn.
“FETCH BOY! FETCH!” cried Bertie.
Brutus turned his head, considering whether it was worth the effort.
It was now or never. Bertie darted forward and grabbed the bag of papers. Brutus snarled. Suddenly he sprang forward, seizing one of the bag straps.
Help! thought Bertie, trying to pull the bag away.
Brutus pulled back.
“LET GO!” grunted Bertie.
“GRRR! GRRR!”
Suddenly there was a loud ripping sound as the strap came away. Bertie fell back on the drive with the bag on top of him. Newspapers flew everywhere. He felt hot smelly breath on his face and got a close-up of Brutus’s teeth.
This is it, thought Bertie. I’m dead…
“BRUTUS! COME HERE!”
Bertie opened his eyes and sat up. A man had come out of the house. Brutus bounded over to him, wagging his tail.
“It’s okay, he won’t hurt you!” said the man. “He’s just a big softie.”
You could have fooled me, thought Bertie.
The man looked around. Bits of newspaper littered his garden. One page was caught in a rose bush.
“You’re not the usual paper boy, are you?” he said.
“Oh no. This is my first day,” grunted Bertie, getting to his feet.
“So I see,” said the man. “Looks like you need a bit more practice.”
About an hour later, Neil called round to pay them their money.
“Everything go okay?” he asked. “You get rid of all the papers?”
“Oh yes,” said Bertie. They’d certainly got rid of them all, though not always through a letterbox. To get back in time for Danny’s Deadly Dinosaurs they’d had to finish in a hurry.
“We ran into a bit of trouble,” said Bertie. “At number twenty-two.”
Neil laughed. “Ah right, you met Brutus then?”
“You know him?” said Darren.
“I should do, he’s chased me often enough,” said Neil, grinning at them. “Why do you think I gave you Hazel Road?”
Bertie couldn’t believe it. Neil had known about Brutus from the start and he hadn’t even warned them. No wonder he wanted to get rid of half his paper round!
“Anyway, no harm done,” said Neil, handing them fifty pence each. “So same time next week then?”
Bertie and Darren looked at each other.
“No thanks,” said Bertie.
Neil’s grin vanished. “But what about our deal – a pound a week?” he said.
“That’s okay, you keep it,” said Bertie. “Oh, and say hi to Brutus for me.”
Bertie closed the front door. Next time he wanted a job he’d look for something safer – lion taming for instance.
Collect all the
Dirty Bertie books!
Worms!
Fleas!
Pants!
Burp!
Yuck!
Crackers!
Bogeys!
Mud!
Germs!
Loo!
Fetch!
Fangs!
Kiss!
Ouch!
Snow!
Pong!
Pirate!
Scream!
Toothy!
Dinosaur!
Zombie!
Smash!
Rats!
Jackpot!
Aliens!
My Joke Book
My Book of Stuff
Dirty Bertie Sticker and Activity Book
Dirty Bertie Pant-tastic Sticker and Activity Book
Copyright
STRIPES PUBLISHING
An imprint of Little Tiger Press
1 The Coda Centre, 189 Munster Road,
London SW6 6AW
First published as an ebook by Stripes Publishing in 2015
Characters created by David Roberts
Text copyright © Alan MacDonald, 2014
Illustrations copyright © David Roberts, 2014
Images courtesy of www.shutterstock.com
eISBN: 978-1-84715-620-4
The right of Alan MacDonald and David Roberts to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any forms, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is availablefrom the British Library.
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