Demon Dentist

by David Walliams

  With that, Alfie scurried out of the living room and into the relative safety of the kitchen.

  Alfie placed the blackened tin kettle on to the little camping stove in the centre of the room, and lit the gas. The gas from the mains had been disconnected years ago. Bills in red ink had replaced bills in black ink until one day there were no more bills at all. And no more gas. With Dad unable to work for so long, they just didn’t have enough money to pay for everything.

  As Alfie waited for the water to boil, he reached into his pocket, to check that the tooth Raj had so generously donated to his daring plan was still there. With a sigh of relief, he felt that indeed it was. Now all he had to do was wait for nightfall.

  And of course, try and stay awake…

  The gas in the tiny stove spluttered to its end just as the kettle whistled. The water had boiled but now they were completely out of fuel. This was the last cup of tea they were going to have for quite a while.

  Alfie re-entered the living room with two cups of tea but no biscuits, because yesterday afternoon their social worker had eaten them all.

  “Thank you, son,” said Dad.

  All seemed well, until…

  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

  There was somebody at the door. Alfie’s heart skipped a beat. The knocks were loud and insistent. Was it Mr Grey the headmaster, come to tell Dad his son had been expelled? Was it PC Plank, come to arrest him after the mayhem he had caused in town today? Or Mr Snood the Drama teacher, still hoping to carry on the impro?

  “Sounds like Winnie…” said Dad.

  No! thought Alfie. I can’t let her in, she’ll tell him everything!

  “I’ll ask her to come back later,” he said.

  “No, son,” said Dad firmly. “Let her in. She’s so thoughtful, she’s probably just stopping by to see how you are feeling after your trip to the dentist’s…”

  “Let her in!” said Dad again.

  Alfie rushed to the door. He had to try and stop her, stall her, anything. Through the mottled glass, her multicoloured clothing made her look like a gigantic trifle. Alfie took a deep breath, and turned the handle.

  “Ah! Hello, Alfred. We meet again!”

  “I’m sorry, Winnie, this isn’t a good time…” he whispered.

  “It’s OK, I won’t stay long,” she said. “Just a very quick chat to Mr Griffit and I’ll be on my way.”

  With that she bustled past Alfie. In her job as a social worker, Winnie was well-practised in people not wanting her around.

  Busybody.

  Meddler.

  Pest.

  Stirrer.

  Do-gooder.

  Nuisance.

  Troublemaker.

  Botherer.

  Bossy-boots.

  Biscuit thief.

  Winnie had been called them all, and worse. Much worse. As a result, she had developed a very thick skin, and was well-used to people slamming the door in her face. At quite a pace she scuttled along the corridor; Alfie could do nothing more than follow in her wake.

  “Please, please, please don’t tell my dad about what happened today…” His whisper was becoming louder now. It was almost like a shouted whisper, if such a thing were possible, but Winnie seemed determined to ignore his plea.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Griffit!” she exclaimed theatrically as she entered the living room. Dad’s face grimaced a little. Even he found her a tiny bit annoying, her voice a few notches too loud…

  Dad squinted as he tried to take in what the social worker was wearing today. This time Winnie had outdone herself. Her collective clothes, bangles and make-up were sporting more shades of colour than would be found in even the widest set of colouring pencils.

  “Ah! Tea! Thanking you kindly!” She picked up Alfie’s cup, had a loud slurp…

  …followed by an even louder sigh, then dropped down on to the sofa with all her weight. Winnie hit it with such force that a huge cloud of dust burst from the cushions into the air.

  “Have a seat, Winnie…” ventured Alfie’s father, a little too late.

  “Dad, please, don’t listen to her. I can explain…” said the boy, panicking in the doorway.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this!” pronounced Winnie.

  “Alfie has told me virtually nothing about his trip to the dentist,” Dad said. “Perhaps, Winnie, you can tell me what happened.”

  “Dad, please believe me,” pleaded the boy. “I was going to tell you…”

  “Oh, Mr Griffit, it’s quite a story. Quite a story…” said the lady.

  Alfie was sure Winnie was about to drop him headfirst into an enormous vat labelled ‘trouble’.

  “Let me get comfortable,” she said, plumping up the cushions behind her and stretching out her legs. “This is going to take some time…”

  23

  Jet-Powered Bottom

  “Before I begin,” continued Winnie, lounging on the sofa like Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile, “I would like one of your delicious biscuits?”

  Since Dad’s illness had confined him to a wheelchair, Alfie had become responsible for all the food shopping. He knew that the bungalow was a certified biscuit-free zone.

  “You ate the last one yesterday,” said Alfie. “Remember?”

  “Cake?” she trilled, with a hopeful and teasing lilt in her voice. “A nice slice of cake?” Winnie looked like the kind of woman who, when offered a piece of cake, would leave the slice and take the rest…

  “No,” replied the boy. He didn’t need to check. They never had cake. Not even on birthdays.

  “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…” mused the lady. “Chocolate?”

  “We don’t have any,” replied Alfie.

  “Nothing chocolatey in the house?” persisted Winnie.

  “No.”

  “Nothing chocolate covered or chocolate flavoured?”

  “No.”

  “Chocolate chipped coated swirled layered sprayed encrusted sprinkled blended melted or dipped…?”

  Alfie took a breath before replying. Winnie was being so annoying it was hard not to shout. “There is nothing in any way chocolatey in the house…”

  There was a long pause.

  “Infused?” With that, Winnie was back in the game.

  “No!”

  “Nothing infused with chocolate…?”

  “No!!”

  “Nothing with even a hint or a whiff or a trace or a suggestion of chocolate…?”

  “NO!!!”

  “Something that’s not meant to have chocolate in but might have chocolate in by accident…?”

  Both Dad and Alfie looked flummoxed by this.

  “Like what?” asked Dad, who had been watching this contest as if it were a tennis match.

  “Yes, what?!” implored the boy.

  The lady looked deep in thought for a moment. “Well, that could really be anything that is labelled chocolate-free?”

  “No!!!” barked the boy. “We don’t have anything chocolatey, chocolate flavoured, chocolate infused, or chocolate chocolated*!”

  * * *

  *Made-up word ALERT

  * * *

  “All right!” huffed Winnie. “I only asked…”

  With that she slurped her tea…

  …and sighed again.

  Alfie perched on the edge of the armchair, next to Dad, and folded his arms. Now he was ready to accept his fate. As he leaned back a little the packet of all-coffee Revels that Raj had given him fell out of his trouser pocket and on to the floor. In a heartbeat, Winnie’s eyes were on them, like a killer whale that’s just seen an overweight seal plop off an iceberg and into the sea.

  “Well then, young Alfred, what on earth could that be?” she teased. She knew perfectly well it was a bag of chocolate-coated confectionery.

  “Nothing,” Alfie replied quickly.

  “It’s not nothing, son,” chimed in Dad, unhelpfully. “It looks to me like a packet of chocolates…”

  Winnie stared at the boy.

  “Oh, the
se, yes, sorry. When you said chocolate covered, coated or infused I didn’t think that included Revels.”

  There was a hush, before Winnie whispered, “I think you know full well that Revels are a chocolate-coated confectionery.”

  “Offer the nice lady one…” prompted Dad.

  Alfie needed those sweets. If he ate one every half an hour, those chocolate-covered coffee creams would keep him from falling asleep. Without those much-needed shots of caffeine, what chance would Alfie have of catching whoever was responsible for leaving the unspeakable horrors under children’s pillows?

  Reluctantly he picked up the packet, and sloped over to Winnie.

  “Thank you, young man. Well, we got there in the end! Now, which flavour Revel shall I have… Mmm… I like them all apart from the coffee ones…”

  “No one likes the coffee ones…” agreed Dad.

  Good luck, thought Alfie. If Raj had sorted them properly like he said, every single one was coffee.

  “I can’t have coffee anyway,” continued Winnie, “it goes right through me…”

  Dad and son shared a look that said simply, ‘too much information’. Neither wanted to imagine what this lady looked like glued to the toilet.

  Greedily, Winnie ripped open the bag and helped herself. She picked out the first Revel and popped it in her mouth. She chewed for a moment, before her face contorted as the sour taste of coffee slipped down her throat.

  “No! It’s coffee…” she moaned. “The first one too! What rotten luck!”

  Now it was Alfie’s turn to smirk. He had to bury his head in his shirt to hide his ever-widening smile.

  “Let me have a different one to take the taste away…” she said.

  So Winnie helped herself to another Revel. Again her face soured.

  “Coffee again! No! I need a different one!”

  Had Raj managed to sort the Revels correctly? Or had he left the odd rogue raisin Revel in? Alfie was praying he hadn’t.

  Winnie selected another. “Ah, this one must be toffee! My favourite of all the Revels…”

  Carefully she began inspecting the tiny chocolate.

  “Or orange cream…? No, no, no, this is definitely toffee. The good Lord is finally smiling upon me!”

  After rolling it, sniffing it, and even licking it, she finally put the Revel in her mouth. It melted on her tongue and as soon as the chocolate coating had dissolved, Winnie’s face once again contorted in complete and utter revulsion. It was as if a deadly poisonous jellyfish had swum straight into her mouth.

  she whined.

  Then she took another, and another and another. Each one gobbled in hope to take the taste of the last one away. Each one just making it worse! Soon the whole packet had been well and truly demolished. And Winnie had a belly full of coffee. She sat there on the sofa, with chocolate around her mouth and an expression of pure misery on her face.

  “Every single blasted one was coffee!” she protested.

  “Oh dear…” uttered Alfie, trying his hardest not to burst out laughing. “How could that have happened?”

  Dad looked very surprised. “What are the chances of that?!” he asked. “It must be a million to one!”

  His son tried to look as innocent as possible, which somehow made him look extremely guilty.

  But now was the calm before the storm. Then, out of the silence came a sound. A long, low rumbling sound. It was like a storm was breaking in some far-off mythical land. Dad and Alfie looked at each other, and then turned their gazes to Winnie. The poor lady looked down to her round tummy. It was rumbling and grumbling and expanding at an alarming rate. It was as if it were a balloon that was so full of air it was about to pop.

  “Well,” mused Alfie, looking more than a little smug, “I suppose your story will have to wait for another day…”

  “Yes! Yes! I have to go!” exclaimed Winnie. “Now! Right now!” With that, Winnie went to stand up. As she straightened, her bottom burped. Loudly and violently. “In fact, now is too late.” There was another bottom burp, even louder and violenter* than the first. “Oh, dear, excuse me!”

  * * *

  *Made-up word ALERT

  * * *

  The lady was deeply embarrassed to have lost control of her bottom so completely. She squatted down a little as she scuttled out of the room sideways like a crab. Winnie was desperately hoping to contain the wind, but with each step out of the room her bum let rip a thunderous blast of air.

  Alfie found this so hilarious he had tears in his eyes now. Dad, who was not meant to find this funny as he was an adult, had his hand over his mouth to stop himself from sniggering too. As they heard the door slam behind her, the pair finally erupted with laughter, hooting and honking like sea lions. Dad laughed so much that he slid out of his wheelchair and plopped on to the floor. They rolled around for a while on the carpet cuddling and laughing.

  Eventually Alfie shuffled over on his knees to the window to watch Winnie zoom off. The moped seemed to be going a hundred times faster than usual. Perhaps her bottom, with the coffee-scented gas whooshing out of it, was functioning like a powerful jet engine?

  With the social worker gone, Alfie was out of trouble. For now. But the boy was about to step into a world more dangerous than he could ever imagine…

  24

  The Darkest Hour

  The plan was under way…

  It was still early, but Alfie was in his pyjamas and ready for bed. He placed Raj’s tooth under his pillow. Tonight he didn’t need any prompting from Dad that it was his bedtime. As soon as darkness fell, Alfie went straight to his room. No one knew what time this someone or something would strike and snatch the tooth. It just had to be dark. And it was dark already. Real, winter dark.

  There was now one big problem with Alfie’s plan though. How on earth was he going to stay awake all night? Winnie had scoffed every last coffee Revel. There were plenty of other methods for staying awake, but none of them seemed foolproof:

  • Put matchsticks between your eyelids to keep them open.

  • Drink gallons of water and then don’t go for a pee before bed.

  • Slap yourself hard in the face every minute.

  • Leave the window wide open. It will become so cold you will shiver and icicles will grow from your nose.

  • Picture your least favourite teacher, and then try and think of ten things you like about them. It’s impossible!

  • Give yourself the mother of all Chinese burns. The pain will keep you awake.

  • Get out of bed every five minutes and do a rhythmic gymnastics routine. Ball or ribbon will do.

  • Lie in bed in an awfully uncomfortable position, such as this…

  Alfie climbed into bed, and blew out the flame on the candle he was holding. As he lay there, he realised he didn’t need any of those tricks to stop him from falling asleep. He had never felt so wide awake in his entire life. At first the night seemed still and quiet. But soon every little sound, even the tiniest creak or rustle, filled his mind with fear…

  IT COULD BE THEM.

  IT COULD BE THEM.

  IT COULD BE THEM.

  Shadows began to dance on the walls. Were these nothing more than the silhouettes of trees illuminated by the headlights of passing cars? Or perhaps they were something more sinister?

  It could be them.

  IT COULD BE THEM.

  IT COULD BE THEM.

  IT.

  COULD.

  BE.

  THEM.

  Alfie kept sliding his hand under the pillow to check the tooth was still there. It was.

  Who or what was going to come into his room? And how would they try and snatch the tooth? Lying there in the dark, his imagination started to run wild. Soon it was hard for Alfie to distinguish between what was real and what was in his mind. Was he lying in bed awake? Or was he actually asleep and simply dreaming he was awake?

  Hours passed. Or was it minutes? It was impossible to tell. Now outside Alfie’s window there wasn�
��t a sound. Not a bird singing. Not a plane in the sky. Not even a distant car. This truly was the darkest hour.

  He slid his hand under his pillow once more. The tooth was still exactly where he had left it.

  Just then Alfie heard something rustling in the bushes outside. It could be a bird or a squirrel or even a rat. But no, the sound was too loud; this was something bigger.

  There was silence for a moment.

  Then as quick as lightning a shadow loomed outside the window, blocking out the yellow glow from the streetlamps entirely. It was horrifying. Suddenly facing the terror alone seemed like a catastrophic mistake. Alfie was frightened. Dead frightened.

  Next he heard the window slide open. Then the worn and bedraggled curtains were drawn aside, as the figure climbed into his room. Alfie wanted to cry out, but his mouth was dry with fear and he couldn’t make a sound. Soon the shape was plodding slowly towards him. Alfie’s plan was to pretend to be sleeping, let the tooth be stolen, and sneak a look at the perpetrator as they left. However, this plan was unravelling, and fast. Alfie was in such a panic now there was no way he could keep still. His whole body was trembling in terror.

  It was fight or flight.

  With the figure closing in on him, there was nowhere to run. To fight was the only option. Alfie leaped out of bed. He charged towards the figure, making wild circles in the air with his fists as he cried…

  “AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”

  25

  Under the Pillow

  shouted the figure, before adding, “Please, please, please don’t hurt me!”

  It was the unmistakeable voice of Raj.

  Alfie lit the candle by his bed with a match, and brought it closer to the shadowy shape. It was the unmistakeable face of Raj.