Dead Hairy

by Debbie Thomas

  23 - Grabbing

  Dirk stumbled through the door. His drink was in one hand, his gun in the other. He pointed the drink at the prisoners and the gun at his lips.

  ‘Other way round, Dirkie,’ hissed Melliflua behind him.

  ‘Don’ call me tha’!’ he roared, waving the gun at her.

  Klench brought up the very large rear. He waddled through the door towards the yeti cage. ‘Time for treat, my darlinks,’ he sang, brandishing the three silver packets at the orangs. He tore the packets and peeled them like chocolate wrappers. Except that, instead of chocolate, each packet contained something long, plastic and pointy.

  ‘No!’ screamed Coriander.

  ‘No!’ yelled Perdita.

  ‘No!’ wailed Matt.

  ‘No!’ bellowed Grandma.

  ‘No!’ shouted Abbie, Mum, Dad and Ollie. They lunged, leapt and lumbagoed at Klench.

  ‘No,’ whispered Wendy, who was still lying on the floor near the door. She wasn’t sure why the sight of a syringe had upset everyone so much. But she was keen to support her new friends.

  There was a tussle and a scuffle, a whip of tough rope and a whiff of rough soap. And the next thing Abbie knew, she was part of a many-limbed monster, writhing and flailing, with a rope tightening round her middle. And Coriander’s. And Perdita’s. And Matt’s. And Grandma’s, Mum’s, Dad’s and Ollie’s.

  Quick as a ball off a bat, Klench had seized the rope that was lying on the bottom of the cage – the one that had bound the orangs – and lassoed his attackers. He would have tied up Constable Wibberly too if she’d been nearer. Now, very nimbly for a man who was taller round than up, he was circling them with the rope and pulling it tighter. Arms were pinned to sides and breaths were short. Grandma panted and ranted at Abbie’s back.

  ‘Keep still, Mother,’ gasped Dad. ‘The more you heave the less we breathe.’

  Klench dragged the loose end of the rope to the Hairy Hoot stand. He wound it twice round the pillar then tied it in a ferocious knot. ‘Ziss I should haff done before. But your sister,’ he spat at Coriander, ‘said do not bozzer.’ He glared at Melliflua. ‘Ass Mummy vould say, blood runss sicker zan vorter.’

  ‘But not visky,’ said Dirk, laughing so loudly you’d think it was funny. ‘Well done, ol’ frui’. ’ He raised his glass then drained it.

  ‘Now,’ said Klench. ‘Ze potions pleass.’

  Dirk threw his empty glass in the air. It smashed on the floor next to Constable Wibberly, who shrieked and sat up. Dirk gave the gun to Melliflua. Then he took out three little brown bottles from his pocket. He paraded them above his head like trophies. Abbie read the labels. ‘Einstein’. ‘Helen’. ‘Samson’. Oh no. Oh no no no. She tried to loosen her arms. Her hands flapped uselessly under the rope.

  Dirk swayed over to Constable Wibberly and waved the bottles in her face. ‘Know wha’ these are, Lawlady?’ She shook her head, whimpering. ‘Our forshune. Our swee’ smell o’ success.’ From the way she jerked her head back, his smell was anything but sweet.

  Over by the cage Klench raised his eyebrows. Even they were overweight. ‘Pleass Mr Dirk. Ve must be professional.’

  Dirk swaggered towards him. ‘Coming you grea’ pastry.’ Klench scowled and snatched the bottles from him.

  The more Abbie squirmed the more the rope cut into her. She looked at the constable, still free on the floor. Their only hope. But as Wendy sat there, rubbing her buttons and sniffling, Abbie felt as much hope as a fly feels on a frog’s tongue.

  Klench tried to bend over to put the bottles onto the floor. But his stomach got in the way. ‘You do ziss,’ he snapped at Melliflua. She flowed towards him. He gave her the bottles and three syringes. She gave him the gun. Then she knelt and put the bottles and syringes onto the floor. With shaking hands she unscrewed the lid of the bottle labelled ‘Einstein’.

  Come on, Abbie urged herself. Think! She twisted her head to the right. Perdita’s teeth were carving into her chin. She met Abbie’s eyes and shook her head desperately.

  Do something! Abbie watched Melliflua fill a syringe with the Einstein potion then lay it on the ground. Vinnie rushed to the front of the cage and stuck his arm through. But he couldn’t reach the syringe. He shook the bars. Winnie waved her arms and whined. Minnie widdled in circles.

  Think! Abbie twisted her head to the left. Coriander’s eyes were closed. She was humming, a low sweet tune full of melon skin and bouncing branches. The apes calmed down. Vinnie sank against the bars. Minnie settled into Winnie’s arms.

  Use your head! Abbie looked wildly round the room. And gasped. Or someone else’s. Someone who was winking and blinking, glaring and grimacing.

  It was a chance in a million. And they’d need the police lady’s help. Abbie tried to catch her eye. But it was full of buttons.

  Melliflua was filling the last syringe with the Samson potion. She laid it on the ground next to the bottles of Einstein and Helen juice. Then she stood up. ‘Here monkey-monkeys.’ She made kissy noises. They watched her, calm and still.

  ‘Stop humming,’ hissed Abbie. ‘They need to fight.’ Coriander went quiet. Minnie sprang out of Winnie’s arms. She began to scamper round, jabbering. Winnie chased after her while Vinnie ran round the cage in crazy loops.

  Klench pointed to Dirk and Melliflua. ‘Ze monkeys vill not come. You vill hold zem down.’

  ‘You muzz be joking,’ said Dirk.

  ‘Not on your Nelly!’ said Melliflua.

  Klench tutted. ‘Sir, I do not joke. And Madam, I haff no Nelly.’ He pointed the gun at them. ‘Inside!’

  Melliflua fumbled in her pocket for the key. With a terrified glance at Dirk, she undid the padlock. Klench shoved them inside the cage with the gun and locked the door.

  The orangs shambled over. Vinnie tried to punch Dirk. But with drunken power Dirk wrapped the gnarled fists in his own and squeezed. Gentle Vinnie, who had no idea of his own strength, yelped and collapsed on the floor.

  Winnie, who knew only how to love, bless her, hugged Melliflua, who shrieked in disgust and thrust the gentle arms away. Winnie landed next to Vinnie in a heap of sweet uselessness.

  Only Minnie put up a fight, gold and gushing, over grey trousers and honey dress. It wasn’t much.

  But it was enough.

  Melliflua shrieked. Dirk roared …

  … and Wendy Wibberly looked up. Her eyes met Abbie’s.

  ‘Over there,’ mouthed Abbie, jerking her head towards Fernando. He winked at the constable. Wendy clapped a hand over her mouth. She stared at Abbie with eyes that were bigger than her buttons.

  ‘Friend,’ Abbie mouthed to her. ‘Ball.’ Understanding crept across Wendy’s face. Silently she got up and tiptoed towards the shrunken head.

  Melliflua and Dirk were too busy wiping their clothes to notice. And Klench, who’d realised that little legs bend more easily than big stomachs, was approaching the floor with a straight back. He clamped the gun between his teeth, bent his knees and scooped up a syringe in each hand. Then he stood up. ‘Here.’ He passed a syringe through the bars to Dirk. ‘You vill giff ze big monkey Einstein juice. He gave the other syringe to Melliflua. ‘You vill giff ze middle monkey Helen juice.’ He took the gun from his mouth and pointed it at them.

  The three apes were huddling near the back. Dirk grabbed Vinnie and pulled him forward. Melliflua grabbed Winnie. Wendy grabbed Fernando.

  Dirk lifted his syringe. Melliflua lifted hers. Wendy lifted Fernando.

  Dirk aimed. Melliflua aimed. Wendy aimed.

  Everyone screamed.

  ***

  Sergeant Bolt froze at the front door of the museum. He’d parked the police van by the open gate so that he and the lads could sneak after Chester across the moonlit field.

  ‘Whassat noise?’ Bolt’s eyes rose up the strange tower. What on earth were those two lines, one each side of the building? They looked all sort of … twiggy. And those big things at the bottom were tied in sort of … bows. Trick of the moonlight. />
  Ludge banged into his back. ‘It was a scream, Sarge.’ He rubbed his nose – or rather the spot with nostrils in the middle of his face.

  ‘I know that!’ Sergeant Bolt shone his torch up the spiral staircase. Chester was trembling on the sixth step. Bolt pressed his walkie talkie. ‘Sergeant Bolt to Constable Tring. Do you read me? Over.’

  ‘Clear as a bell, Sarge,’ came Tring’s voice. ‘Over.’

  ‘Just heard piercing noise from upper regions. Ludge and I are proceeding in ascendant direction to investigate.’ Bolt smiled. That sounded so much better than ‘we’re going upstairs’. ‘What are your precise coordinates? Over.’ He smiled again. Better than ‘where are you?’ any day.

  ‘I’m about four steps behind you, Sarge,’ said Tring. ‘All due respect, but we don’t really need walkie talkies. Over.’

  There was a huffy pause. Then Sergeant Bolt barked into his machine, ‘If I want your advice, Tring, I’ll ask for it. Now get the building surrounded. Will advise you of future developments. Over and out.’

  ***

  Constable Tring turned his walkie talkie off. ‘Silly wally,’ he muttered to the officer behind him. ‘Why didn’t he just say we’ll talk later?’ He gazed up at the tower and wondered what sort of hairbrush you need to plait thatch.

  24 - Jabbing

  What had sounded to the policemen like a scream was actually seven. Rising together, in a rainbow of raucousness, were:

  from Vinnie and Winnie as the syringes approached their arms,

  from Wendy as she hurled Fernando towards the cage,

  from Fernando as he flew there,

  from Abbie as Fernando hit Dirk then Melliflua,

  from Klench as the syringes whirled round in their hands,

  from Dirk and Melliflua as the needles sank into their arms and

  from everyone else.

  ‘Tottering tanzanite, I’ve been jabbed!’ bawled Dirk, lurching sideways.

  ‘Help me!’ shrieked Melliflua, clutching her arm.

  ‘Olé!’ whooped Fernando.

  Dirk and Melliflua staggered round the cage. Melliflua clasped her head. Dirk grasped his throat. Melliflua moaned. Dirk groaned. It was a marvellous show. You’d think they’d been rehearsing. Then, with a last dramatic sigh they crumpled to the floor and lay still.

  Klench’s jaw dropped. ‘Vell vell,’ he gasped, scooping his voice out of his neck. ‘It vould seem our guinea pigss for ze potions vill be human after all.’ A smile oozed across his face. ‘Most interestink.’

  Something moaned at his feet. He looked down.

  Fernando was rolling from side to side. ‘My head. Ees pain.’

  Klench’s teeny eyes widened to tiny. ‘Also most interestink. A talkink head.’ His smile hardened. ‘Ziss place iss full of vunderss. And now zey vill all be mine.’

  Fernando tried to headbutt his foot. ‘I espeet on your mama’s castanets!’ he shrieked. Klench kicked him. The head rolled towards the roped prisoners and came to rest at Abbie’s feet, groaning.

  Klench turned to Wendy. She was leaning against Fernando’s stand, pale as a parsnip. ‘Vun moof,’ warned Klench, pointing the gun at her, ‘and you die. Iss clear?’

  ‘Can I nod?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes.’

  She nodded.

  Vinnie, Winnie and Minnie were cowering in the corner. They got up to investigate their new cage-mates. Dirk lay on his back. His eyes were closed and his mouth open. Melliflua curled on her side, hugging her knees. Vinnie poked her. She groaned and rolled over. Minnie scampered out of her mother’s arms and onto Melliflua. She weed for joy on her new honey-coloured jungle gym.

  Winnie couldn’t help it. In her relief at escaping the syringe, she came towards the bars to hug Klench.

  ‘Come darlink,’ he cooed. Seizing her arm, he boinged down to the floor and up like a fat spring. And before anyone could say, ‘Get-out-of-the-way-Winnie-because-that-vile-volleyball-of-a-villain-has-grabbed-the-last-syringe-and-is-about-to-inject-you-in-the-arm-with-Samson-juice’ – he had.

  Winnie yelped. She stumbled round the cage and sank to the floor. She lay on her back, wriggling her arms and legs like a huge hairy fly. Then she went still.

  Everyone gasped. Everyone bit their lips, tongues or buttons. And everyone stared at the cage.

  ***

  ‘Hang on.’ Sergeant Bolt stopped on the first landing. ‘What have we here?’ He looked at the wonky sign over the door. ‘Hairstory. What the devil’s that?’ Chester wriggled impatiently above him on the staircase.

  ‘I think that mat job wants us to go upstairs Sarge,’ said Ludge.

  Sergeant Bolt tutted. ‘First rule of crime-busting, Constable: check every room. Anyone could be in there, waiting to attack us from behind. Not a pleasant prospect.’

  Too right, thought Ludge, eyeing his boss’s behind and pitying any attacker.

  Sergeant Bolt took a deep, joyful breath. Ten years of giving talks to school kids and directions to tourists – it was all worth it for this moment. He was Starsky, he was Hutch. He was The Bill. He was the whole goddamn Los Angeles Police Department. He giggled. Then turning sideways, he said, ‘Brace yourself, Ludge.’ He hurtled towards the door, shoulder first.

  Ludge winced as the Sergeant bounced backwards, straight into his stomach.

  ‘Don’t just stand there,’ barked Bolt. ‘Give us a hand.’

  ‘Sure, Sarge.’ As the sergeant threw himself once more at the door, Ludge stepped forward and turned the handle. Bolt flew right through and smacked into the stomach of Henry the Eighth. The king raised his left arm above his pancake hat. ‘Look out, Sarge!’ Ludge yelled. The axe whirled dangerously round Bolt’s head.

  ‘Off with herrrr …’ began Henry. The axe dropped to his side.

  ‘Outrageous!’ bellowed Bolt to the king. ‘You’re under arrest. For assaulting a police officer and wearing a pancake in a public place.’

  Ludge sighed in the doorway. ‘Sarge. It’s a model.’

  Bolt frowned. The king frowned back. Bolt bared his teeth. The king frowned back. Bolt blew into the royal ear. The king frowned back. ‘By golly you’re right,’ said Bolt. ‘What is this place?’ He looked round the room. ‘And who’s that!’ On the far side of the paddling pool, Helen was smiling at him. He smoothed his hair down and smiled back.

  ‘Sarge,’ sighed Ludge, ‘that’s a model too.’

  ‘Supermodel, more like. Look at that hair.’

  The walkie talkie burped. ‘Constable Tring to Sergeant Bolt. Can you hear me Sir? Over?’

  ‘Clear as a musical chimer, Tring, clear as a musical chimer. Over.’

  ‘Just wondering if you’ve found anything, Sir. Over.’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, Tring, in a manner. We’re carrying out extensive investigations.’ He winked at Helen. ‘Will keep you informed of the situation, Tring. Over and out.’

  Chester had run out of patience. He shot across the floor and onto Bolt’s upper lip, where he twitched and tickled till the sergeant sneezed.

  ‘All right, I’m coming,’ grumbled Bolt. He came towards the door, stopping at the statue of Robin Hood. ‘As soon as I’ve had a go with that bow and arrow.’ He’d always thought of himself as a kind of Robin Hood on the beat, helping old ladies across roads and giving parking tickets to rich housewives.

  ***

  Standing outside the museum Tring looked up. ‘What’s the old fool up to in there?’ he mumbled. The lads were getting bored with playing I spy. All they could see were Bs – Bald Bushes, Bush Bunches, Bush Buns. If something didn’t happen soon he’d … he’d … ooh, he’d pull the ribbons on those thatched plaits.

  25 - Brainy, bumpy and burly

  Up in Rare Hair, something was happening. And something else. Two small things. An eyebrow was twitching and an eyelid was fluttering.

  But what an eyebrow. And what a lid. They were changing before everyone’s eyes. Dirk’s brows were blossoming like brambles. Melliflua’s lids were sagging
like soggy teabags.

  Dirk’s head rolled to one side. Dandelion puff popped out of his ear. A fluffy white moustache squeezed across his upper lip. His hard grey hair was collapsing into cobwebs.

  ‘Einstein,’ breathed Matt.

  You could have heard a beetle burp. Even Vinnie and Minnie, who were crouched in anguish over the sleeping Winnie, looked up.

  Melliflua groaned onto her back. Her honey hair was going grey. Warts were bursting from her face. Her skin was blotching like a pavement in the rain.

  ‘Helen?’ whispered Perdita. ‘But she’s supposed to be –’

  ‘Gorgeous,’ sighed Dirk. He sat up and stretched his arms. ‘The best sleep I’ve had in light years.’ Then his head lolled forward. ‘Aah, my brain!’

  ‘It iss honour to meet you, Mr Albert Einstein,’ said Klench, with as much awe in his voice as a foul football of a fiend can have.

  Dirk looked up and frowned. The lines on his forehead wriggled like worms at a disco. ‘The name’s Dirkstein … I mean Eindirk.’ A vagueness had crept into his gravel-grey voice. ‘I mean – jiggling geometry, my head!’ He clasped it in his hands.

  It was Klench’s turn to frown. He wheeled round to Matt. ‘What haff you done? You simpleton of science! You pooper of potions!’ This man is not a heap off hairy brain but a hair-brained heap off hair.’

  ‘I – I …’ said Matt unhelpfully.

  ‘Let’s try him out,’ said Dad. He twisted round as far as he could inside the rope. ‘What’s twenty-eight times sixty-sev– ?’

  ‘One thousand eight hundred and seventy-six,’ inter-rupted Dirkstein, or whoever he was.

  ‘Four hundred and fifty-nine squared?’ suggested Mum.

  ‘Two hundred and ten thousand, six hundred and eighty-one,’ yawned Eindirk, or whatever.

  Ollie thought of the hardest sum he could. ‘Six plus six.’

  Dirkstein beamed. ‘Well, young man. That would be twelve the right way up, and eighteen if you turn the sixes upside down to make nines. It’s all relative, you see.’

  ‘All right Mr Smartiefart,’ barked Grandma, straining against the rope. ‘What’s another word for annoy? Eight letters, begins with i. That was me last crossword clue before I was so rudely dragged away.’