Burp!

by Alan MacDonald

  “Hello,” replied Bella.

  “Have a super time, pumpkin!” said Bella’s mum, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

  Mum shut the door.

  “Well then, why don’t you show Bella where she’s sleeping, Suzy?”

  Bella handed Suzy her suitcase and clumped upstairs after her.

  They found Bertie on his bed reading a comic.

  “Get out,” said Suzy.

  “You get out,” said Bertie. “This is my room.”

  “Not tonight. Mum says we’ve got to sleep in here, remember?”

  Bella scowled. She hated little brothers. If she had a little brother she would give him to a charity shop.

  “I’m not sleeping in his bed,” she pointed. “It smells.”

  “You’re the one that smells,” replied Bertie.

  “You do.”

  “No, you do.”

  “No, you do.”

  “Ignore him,” said Suzy. “Let’s play princesses. You can be Princess Bella.”

  “Princess Smella, you mean,” sniggered Bertie.

  Bella yanked Bertie off the bed. She twisted his arm.

  “OW!” cried Bertie. He gave her a shove. Bella stumbled and fell on to the Z bed. Twang! It collapsed.

  “Waaaahhhh!” she howled.

  Mum came running upstairs. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “Bertie hit me,” whined Bella.

  “Bertie!” said Mum, crossly.

  “I didn’t!” said Bertie. “She practically broke my arm!”

  “It was him that started it,” said Suzy. “He’s spoiling our game.”

  “Bertie, go to your room!” ordered Mum.

  “This is my room,” said Bertie.

  “I mean go to Suzy’s room and stay there till supper.”

  Bertie stormed out. It wasn’t fair. He’d get those sneaky girls for this.

  “Supper time!” called Mum.

  Bertie bounded downstairs. He was starving. He’d been in Suzy’s room for hours and there was nothing to play with. Not even a pirate cutlass or water pistol. In the kitchen he could smell pizza and chips.

  “Yum,” said Bertie, helping himself to a large slice of pizza.

  “Manners, Bertie!” said Mum.

  “Yes, Bertie,” said Suzy. “We always serve guests first.”

  Bertie reluctantly put the pizza back and pushed the plate under Bella’s nose. Bella pulled a face. “I don’t like pizza.”

  “Oh dear, never mind, have some salad,” said Mum.

  “I don’t like salad,” grumbled Bella.

  “Then just eat the chips,” sighed Mum, piling some on Bella’s plate.

  “I don’t like these chips. They’re not like my mum’s,” complained Bella.

  “Great, all the more for me!” said Bertie, reaching over to grab Bella’s plate.

  “Bertie!” snapped Dad.

  Bella grabbed her plate and held on. Bertie pulled. Bella pulled back. The chips catapulted into the air and landed on the floor.

  Bertie bent down. He picked up a chip, wiped it on his shirt and ate it.

  “BERTIE!” yelled Mum.

  “What did I do now?” asked Bertie with his mouth full.

  “Get down from the table and go to your room!” ordered Mum.

  Bella looked at Suzy. They both smiled.

  CHAPTER 3

  After supper the girls sat down to watch TV. Bertie burst in and threw himself into an armchair. “Where’s the remote? Alien Arthur is on!” he said.

  “We’re watching the other side,” said Suzy. “It’s Make Me a Pop Princess.”

  “What?” gasped Bertie. “But I always watch Alien Arthur on Saturdays.”

  “Let’s take a vote,” said Suzy. “Who wants Bertie’s programme?”

  Bertie put up his hand.

  “Who wants to watch Pop Princess?” Suzy and Bella both raised their hands.

  “Two votes to one, you lose,” sneered Bella.

  Bertie slumped in his chair, miserably. This was turning out to be the worst Saturday ever. And it was all the fault of Suzy and her bossy friend. He couldn’t even go up to his room to work on his stink bomb because Mum said he had to keep out. Well, he wasn’t going to be beaten that easily. There was no way he was sleeping in Suzy’s bedroom tonight. Her walls were covered in posters of ponies and drippy pop stars. It was enough to give anyone nightmares! Nightmares – that wasn’t such a bad idea. Bertie slipped out of the room. A cunning plan had started to form in his head.

  Thump, thump, thump! Bertie was banging on the bathroom door.

  Bella opened up. “What?”

  “I need the toilet. You’ve been in there hours!” complained Bertie.

  Bella came out of the bathroom and barged past him.

  “Goodnight, Bella!” said Bertie sweetly.

  “Huh,” she grunted.

  “I hope you can sleep,” said Bertie.

  Bella stopped. She turned round. “Why shouldn’t I sleep?”

  “You mean Suzy didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” said Bella.

  Bertie lowered his voice.

  “That my room’s haunted.”

  “Ha ha, very funny,” said Bella.

  “Why do you think I’ve been begging to sleep in Suzy’s room?” said Bertie.

  “You didn’t beg, your mum made you.”

  Bertie shook his head. He glanced around. “It’s the noises,” he whispered. “They keep me awake.”

  “Noises?” said Bella.

  “The bumps and thumps. The moans and groans,” said Bertie.

  “Oh,” said Bella, turning rather pale.

  “Still, some people don’t hear them. It’s only if you’re scared of ghosts. You’re not, are you?”

  “Me?” said Bella. “Course not.”

  “That’s OK then. Sweet dreams!”

  Bertie closed his door and smiled to himself. That ought to do it, he thought.

  Eleven o’clock. Bella was tossing and turning in her bed. She couldn’t sleep. Her mattress was too lumpy. The room was too dark. Worst of all, she kept imagining she heard strange noises. Of course Bertie had been making it up. Suzy said he was. There was no such thing as ghosts.

  CREAK, CREAK, CREAK!

  What was that? Bella held her breath.

  THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!

  It sounded like footsteps on the landing. Bella gripped the covers tightly.

  “Suzy?” she hissed. “Suzy. Are you awake?”

  There was no answer from the Z bed. RATTLE, RATTLE! went the door handle.

  “EEEEEEEEEHHH!” went the door as it swung open by itself.

  “Help!” whimpered Bella, diving under the covers. “Who’s there?”

  She peeped out. There it was! A ghost stumbling through the dark towards her.

  “Woooooooh!” it moaned. “Woooooooh!”

  “Suzy,” croaked Bella. “Suzy, wake up!”

  “Wooooooooh,” moaned the ghost.

  Closer and closer it came. Bella could see its bare white feet.

  “You must leave this place!” it moaned. “Leave this … OUCH!”

  A pillow had thwacked the ghost on the back of the head. Suzy yanked off the ghost’s white sheet, revealing its blue pyjamas.

  “BERTIE!” snarled Suzy.

  “Um, hello,” said Bertie.

  “Get out,” said Suzy. “Get out and don’t come back.”

  “Or what?” said Bertie.

  WHUMP! A pillow whacked Bertie in the face. THUMP! Another clouted him on the ear. Bertie fled from the room under a hail of blows.

  “And next time I’m telling Mum!” Suzy called after him.

  Bertie shut the door behind him. Trust his rotten sister to wake up and spoil everything. He would have to try plan B.

  Midnight. The house was as quiet as the grave. Suzy was asleep. Bossy Bella was asleep. Bertie was not asleep. He was creeping along the landing with something in his han
d. He opened his bedroom door and stole inside. Now where to hide? His eyes fell on the windowsill above Bella’s bed. Perfect! Bella was talking in her sleep. “Get off. It’s my go,” she mumbled.

  Bertie peeped out from behind the curtains. He brought out a big plastic spider on a string. Slowly he began to lower the spider towards his victim. Lower and lower it dangled, spinning round on its string. Bertie leaned out a little further to get a better view. The spider brushed Bella’s hair. Bella’s eyes snapped open. They bulged with fear. A giant black tarantula was inches from her face. Its red eyes were staring at her. It waggled its eight hairy legs.

  “ARGGHHHHHHHH!” screamed Bella.

  Bertie was so startled he slipped off the windowsill and landed on top of Bella, who kicked and screamed.

  “ARGH! GEROFFME! HEEEELP!”

  The noise woke up Suzy.

  “Muuuuuuum! Bertie’s in our room!”

  CLICK! The bedroom light came on. Mum stood in the doorway wrapped in her dressing gown.

  “Bertie!” she seethed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “There was a huge black spider!” wailed Bella. “It was in my hair!”

  Mum bent down. She picked the plastic spider off the floor and dangled it under Bertie’s nose.

  “Yours, I think,” she said.

  “Oh, um, thanks. I was looking for that,” said Bertie.

  Mum glared at him. “Go to your room. And if I catch you out of bed one more time there’ll be no sweets for a month.”

  Bertie trooped back to his room. He closed the door behind him and got into bed. Operation Ghost had failed. So had Operation Spider. He thought he better not try Operation Ants in the Pants. It looked like he’d be sleeping in Suzy’s bed tonight after all.

  CHAPTER 4

  Meanwhile, in Bertie’s bedroom, Bella was still awake. She wished Suzy’s mum hadn’t mentioned sweets. Thinking of sweets always made her hungry. She’d practically had nothing at all for supper.

  At home she always kept a stash of sweets handy in case she got hungry at bedtime. Maybe Suzy’s horrible little brother had some hidden somewhere?

  Bella looked under the bed. Nothing there. She looked under the pillow. Nothing. She opened the bedside cupboard. On the shelf was a small plastic pot. Eagerly, Bella took it out and read the words scrawled on the side.

  Ahaa! Sweeties! thought Bella.

  She prised off the lid and peered inside.

  A foul, putrid smell hit her like a force-ten gale. The pong of mouldy cabbage and rotten eggs filled the room. Bella clapped a hand to her mouth. She was going to be sick. She couldn’t breathe.

  “AHHHH! UGGGHHHHH!” she cried, dropping the stink bomb.

  Suzy woke up.

  “Bella! What are you … EURGH! What’s that dreadful stink?” she gasped.

  “I’m dying!” choked Bella. “I’m suffocating! Let me out!”

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  Someone was hammering on Bertie’s door.

  Suzy and Bella burst in. “I need my bedroom back!” panted Suzy.

  “What?” asked Bertie.

  “It’s horrible! It stinks! You’ve got to let us sleep in here!” begged Suzy.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The smell – from that thing! It’s choking us.”

  It dawned on Bertie – the stink bomb. He’d forgotten all about it.

  “So you want me to give you back your bedroom?” he said slowly.

  “Yes, yes. Please, Bertie! We can’t sleep in there!” said Suzy.

  “Hmmm,” said Bertie. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “We’ll do anything!” pleaded Bella.

  Bertie raised his eyebrows. “Anything?”

  Five minutes later Bertie was settled back in his own bed. True the room was a little whiffy, but he didn’t really mind. Once you got used to it, the smell wasn’t so bad – he couldn’t see why the girls were making such a fuss. In any case all that mattered was he was back in his own room. And tomorrow Suzy and Bella had promised to play whatever he wanted. Bertie had already thought of a good game – it was called Pass the Stink Bomb.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Dog training classes?” Bertie stared at his mum in horror.

  “Yes. No arguments, please, Bertie,” said Mum.

  “But why do I have to go?”

  “Because someone has to take Whiffer. He can’t go on his own.”

  “Why can’t you take him?” asked Bertie.

  “I’m far too busy.”

  “What about Dad then?”

  “Oh no,” said Dad hastily. “I’m really busy. Anyway he’s your dog.”

  “But he doesn’t need training!” protested Bertie.

  Mum snorted. “Bertie! He barks every time the doorbell goes.”

  “And he’s always climbing on the sofa,” grumbled Dad.

  “He licks food off your plate,” said Mum. “And last week he did a poo on Mrs Nicely’s lawn.”

  “He’s a dog,” said Bertie. “That’s what dogs do!”

  “Well it’s high time he learned to behave,” said Mum firmly. “And I’m told this dog trainer can work wonders.”

  Bertie sighed. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to take Whiffer to training classes. He got quite enough classes at school.

  “Anyway, he is trained,” he argued. “I’ve been training him for ages.”

  “Bertie, he does what he likes,” said Mum.

  “Not always,” said Bertie. “Sometimes he listens to me.”

  Mum gave him one of her looks. Whiffer was dozing on his cushion in the corner. Bertie turned to him and pointed.

  “Stay, Whiffer,” he ordered. “STAY!”

  Whiffer opened one eye lazily then went on dozing.

  “See?” said Bertie. “Like I said – he does what I say.”

  Mum folded her arms. “Very funny. You are taking him to classes and that is the end of it.”

  The following Friday evening Dad drove Bertie and Whiffer to the leisure centre.

  In the big hall dogs of all shapes and sizes waited with their owners. Whiffer pulled at his lead and whined. He wanted to make friends.

  The trainer was called Miss Bowser. She had wiry hair and a face like a bad-tempered bulldog. Bertie could see why animals would obey her.

  Miss Bowser clapped her hands and told everyone to line up for inspection.

  “Mmm,” she said, patting a red setter. “Good, good. Splendid.”

  When she came to Whiffer she stopped and clicked her tongue.

  “And what have we here?”

  “My dog,” said Bertie.

  “I can see it’s a dog. I mean what is his name?”

  “He’s called Whiffer.”

  “Whiffer?” she barked. “That’s an odd name for a dog.”

  “Well he can be pretty smelly, especially when you’re watching TV,” explained Bertie. “Sometimes he does one and the pong’s so bad you can smell it upstairs.”

  “Good gracious!” said Miss Bowser, drawing back a little.

  “I don’t think he can help it,” said Bertie.

  “He will LEARN to help it,” Miss Bowser replied, grimly. “In my classes dogs do what they are told.” She eyed Whiffer and raised a stern finger.

  “SIT!” she ordered.

  Whiffer sat. Bertie was amazed. He’d never done that for anyone before.

  CHAPTER 2

  The class began. Miss Bowser handed out dog biscuits.

  “Treats must be earned,” she told her class. “A naughty dog does not get a treat. Let’s begin with a simple command. Teaching your dog to come when called.”

  Bertie groaned. He’d tried a million times to get Whiffer to come. The only time he came was when his dog bowl was full.

  “Step away from your dog and turn to face them,” instructed Miss Bowser.

  Bertie walked away from Whiffer. When he turned round, Whiffer was right behind him, wagging his tail. He could smell dog biscuits.

&
nbsp; “No, Whiffer. You stay over there,” said Bertie. “You come when I say ‘Come’, OK?”

  Whiffer licked his hand and tried to nose in Bertie’s pockets. Bertie dragged him back to his place by the collar.

  “Now call your dog by name,” said Miss Bowser. “When he comes give him a treat. And remember, heaps and heaps of praise.”

  “Whiffer! Come, boy!” called Bertie.

  Whiffer looked the other way.

  “Come, boy. Come! COME!” yelled Bertie.

  Whiffer was the only dog in the hall who hadn’t moved. The other owners cooed and fussed over their dogs, who were wolfing down their biscuits. Miss Bowser strode over to Bertie.

  “Where is your treat?” she boomed.

  “Um, in my pocket.”

  “No, no, you have to let him see it! Give it to me!”

  Miss Bowser held out her hand with the dog biscuit. Whiffer barked and flew at her – a whirlwind of fur and legs and tongue.

  Miss Bowser found herself pinned to the floor, with Whiffer on top of her, crunching his biscuit happily.

  “How did it go?” asked Mum when Bertie got home later that evening.

  “It was terrible,” groaned Bertie, slumping into a chair. “It’s worse than school.”

  Whiffer padded over to his cushion and flopped down wearily.

  “Never mind,” said Mum. “It’s only the first lesson. I’m sure it will get better.”

  “You haven’t met Miss Bowser,” said Bertie darkly. “She shouts all the time – even when she’s standing right next to you. I bet she used to be in the army. I bet she got tired of shouting at soldiers all day and decided she’d get a job shouting at dogs and their owners.”

  “As long as Whiffer does what he’s told I don’t mind,” said Mum.