Patty stood in front of Tom, blocking the headteacher’s route to the boy. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the show’s over.’ She twirled her walking stick so that it ending up pointing at Mrs Aziram. ‘You need to back up, lady.’
Mrs Aziram pulled open her mac, revealing a burgundy oversized sweater. ‘He needs to accept his punishment.’ She pulled out a metre-long ruler from underneath the folds. ‘A dozen thwacks across the backside! One for every act in the show that he tried to upstage!’
The version of Tom projected onto the wall announced that the next performance was the story of Goldilocks by Year One. He said that he hoped that they got it ‘just right.’ Maybe she’s got a point, thought Tom. Not my best line.
Patty moved towards the head teacher. ‘You need to put that stick down, love. You’re getting nowhere near my grandson.’
Mrs Aziram grinned, a jarring contrast to her lifeless eyes. Her spare hand reached again into the folds of the mac and pulled out a rounders bat. ‘Which stick?’ she asked. She then took her metre stick and slammed the end against the floor. It emitted a loud boom that echoed round the hall. There was a splintered crater in the polished wood where she’d struck. ‘Teacher knows best. Move, Grandma.’ She lunged forward, wielding the somehow fearsome and formidable ruler.
As the two mature ladies clashed their sticks in battle, Tom heard a cry from Ben behind him. ‘What the-?’
Tom turned to see Ben’s legs swamped by two giant balls of brown fur. It was only when he looked up at the screen did Tom know what they were. In the video there was a solitary Year One pupil on the stage, dressed in a bear suit. Then to Tom’s amazement, the little boy reached out and seemed to grab the edge of the screen. Then he swung forward and came out of the video and into the hall.
He was Baby Bear. Mummy Bear and Daddy Bear were trying to wrestle Ben to the ground. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ he yelled, a hand on each of the furry heads. ‘They’re only kids!’
Baby Bear landed on Ben’s head and the policeman toppled over.
The six year olds sat on top of him – one of them tugging his beard hair – then looked at Tom as they offered a childish bear roar.
Only now they had mouths filled with sharp bears’ teeth. And hands sporting long bears’ claws.
Daddy Bear dug his yellowy hooked fingers into Ben’s shoulder. ‘Aarrgh! What’s that? Get them off me!’
Tom was torn between helping his stricken new friend or his stick-wielding grandmother currently duelling with his crazed ex-head teacher.
Grandma Patty hooked the handle of her walking stick around Mrs Aziram’s ankle and flipped her over. The head teacher hit the deck with a thud. The rounders bat left her hand and flew into a window, smashing it. Grandma’s okay, thought Tom.
He dived at one of the furry assailants on Ben’s back. His momentum carried them both beyond Ben’s legs; they rolled on the floor a few times like injured footballers tied to each other. The pink bow between the bear’s ears indicated that this was Mummy, but you couldn’t tell from the child’s face whether it was a boy or a girl. The longer this went on the more animalistic it became. And the stronger the bear grew. ‘I don’t think I can hold it!’ shouted Tom.
Ben managed to stand and pushed a bear into the projector trolley. The impact spun the trolley round, which adjusted the angle of the picture on the wall. Instantly the three bears turned to the now blank screen and howled; the image of the empty stage could be barely seen against the brickwork on one of the hall’s internal walls. The bear’s grip on Tom loosened as the paw seemed to fade slightly.
It took this for Tom to remember that these tiny terrors weren’t actually real. As he backed into the wall, he thought about his story. Chilis? Lava? We haven’t got that. He looked around him. How can I make fire?
Then he turned his face along the wall. Mounted at head height, just next to him, was a water-dispensing fire extinguisher. Tom grabbed it and headed for the projector.
He played around with the nozzle as he moved across the hall. When he got to the projector he fired a jet of water onto the projector. Sure, he could have just unplugged it if he wanted it turned off, but this way…
Sparks flew from the machine and it made a crackling and sizzling noise. Then, through the ventilating holes along the side, flames could be seen. He squirted it again. A few seconds later there was a loud pop and the image stopped projecting. Flames licked through a gap in the plastic casing.
The kiddie bears howled, flickered like badly tuned images, then disappeared completely. Ben stood and dusted himself down. Pink dust.
Grandma cheered Tom’s ingenuity, her back turned on her crouching opponent. Mrs Aziram swung her metre rule and caught Patty on the shoulder, sending her flying across the hall. The glazed, milky eyes of the head teacher glared at Tom. ‘What are you doing? Do you want to burn down the school? I always knew you were a vile, little boy!’ She dropped the ruler and marched over to Tom. ‘Give me that!’ She snatched the extinguisher from him and pointed it at the burning projector. Then she hesitated.
‘Water extinguisher on an electric fire,’ said Tom. ‘Not a good idea, Miss. I learnt that at this school, at least.’
‘Wicked child,’ she muttered and then swung around, the extinguisher raised.
She caught Tom with the circular bottom edge, at speed, flush on his temple. Instantly his knees buckled and he went down in a heap.
‘Tom!’ shouted Grandma Patty. She ran over as fast as her hip would allow. Ben wrestled the extinguisher from Aziram and grabbed a handful of her sweater with his spare hand, keeping her at arm’s reach.
Patty reached her grandson. He was out cold.
GREENSPHERE QUEST by TOM HOLLIDAY
PART SIX
George woke up in a dark stone dungeon. It was extremely lonely and the only company was a little light from outside through the window. George was really scared as he hated being alone. He threw his head back and yelled: “HEEEEEEEEEEELP”.
Helena found herself tied tightly to a metal black pole. One huge streak of lightning was constantly attacking it and the metal was almost melted. Beneath her, lava was rising in the pit below. Kildark looked at Helena and grinned. “Ah, you’re awake, just in time to hear that soon you will be drowning in a pit of lava! BWHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Helena looked up and said, “N…n…no.”
“Yes, and guess what? The lightning has drained all your magic!” he mocked. “You are NOTHING, white witch. I am EVERYTHING.”
Meddo woke in an oven. He tried to get up so he ripped the ropes that bound him. He quickly realised though that it wasn’t rope but bacon, and it sizzled against his skin. He was sweating heavily with the heat. His shoes were beginning to catch on fire. He quickly kicked them off and his socks burnt instantly. He reached for the oven door. He was inches away from being free from a tight space that was going to burn him alive. He almost reached it before the flames licked his shoulders. Face it he thought, I’m not going to make it.
Before he was burnt alive he said to himself: at least I tried…
Then the heat in the oven disappeared and he was back covered in water near George and Helena. George was curled up in a shivering ball and Helena was staring down in worry. “Come on,” he said. Meddo grabbed his two friends and set off for a door labelled backstage; they had to get out of there before Mariza could lob another water balloon.
When Meddo got backstage he thought about what had happened, realising the water in that balloon must have contained some sort of chemical that put them in their worst nightmare. In order to reverse the effect I need to dry them off, he thought. Meddo found a towel backstage wrapped on a hook; he unravelled it and wiped the water off his two friends. George woke with a bit of shock. He realised he was in no danger at all, sat on the wooden floor, Helena and Meddo standing beside him.
“George, we need to fight now,” Helena said. “Come on!” George ran back onto the stage where Mariza twisted right round. “Mmm, back fo
r round three, eh?” She cackled in her squeal. “Bring on the bats!” She lifted up her sceptre and let out an awful scream. This caused a colony of bats to fly out, firing poisonous venom everywhere. It took more than a lot of skill from the group to dodge. “Yeesh, how many has she got?” Meddo complained as he hid behind one of the stage curtains. There was a rope hanging from it that was used to close and open them. He pulled hard so that it came free and fell in a coil by his feet. He tied the end in a loop and then stood out onto the stage. “Take this!” he yelled as he threw the lasso at the bat caller. He landed it over her head and shoulders; he pulled tight. She yelled and fell to the ground and her sceptre broke in half on the hard wooden stage. All the bats stopped in the air then headed for the windows. They were covered with curtains and the bats started chewing their way through them. A beam of light hit Mariza as the bats made holes. She screamed when the light hit her.
George and Helena saw this and dived for the windows, pulling at the heavy drapes. As they came away the bats smashed the glass and flew off. The light came pouring in, and covered Mariza. Twisting and screaming, Mariza burnt away within seconds, leaving a smoking pile of ash.
George let out a gasp, then asked in shock: “So Mariza was a VAMPIRE?”
“Kildark has one of his monsters as a vampire; that was her,” Helena explained.
“Oh, okay,” George said quietly. “But perhaps we should think about catching up with Kildark?”
The three of them burst out of the back stage doors and ran straight onto a long, dusty lane. There was a building in the distance: Kildark’s lair. When they reached what looked like a dome made from slightly coloured glass, Kildark was standing in the entrance. He swivelled round and raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. The trio raised their weapons of choice. Helena’s was a potion sack, George carried a long metal staff, and Meddo, who was always full of surprises, fetched a pair of blue boxing gloves that he had found backstage.
Helena stepped forward and shouted out: “Listen well, Kildark!” Then she gestured to the others, and all three of them yelled: “IT’S TIME TO END THIS!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
PATTY CLOSED TOM’S NOTEBOOK HAVING READ THE NEXT FEW PAGES. ‘There’s nothing in there that tells us how to wake him up. He just comes to in the story when he’s dried with a towel.’ She stared at the purple bump on the side of her grandson’s head. ‘Maybe we should go to a hospital.’
Ben finished tying Aziram to a chair using skipping ropes. ‘I don’t know about that. I’m not sure what’ll happen to him if we take him outside of the boundaries of the story.’ He nodded to the head teacher. ‘It looks to me like it’s already moving on.’
Mrs Aziram was crying. Her eyes were no longer lifeless, but instead were red and sorrowful. Wet lines of tears marked her cheeks. ‘I can’t remember a thing! I didn’t know what I was doing! The last thing I remember was thinking about going to my sister’s on the bus!’
‘Put a sock in it,’ said Patty. She knelt by Tom, holding a damp cloth to his bruised face.
She’d never, in all her sixty years, ever actually seen anyone knocked out cold. She’d assumed that she’d be able to shake him awake, but Tom wasn’t for opening his eyes. His breathing was even, if a little slight and quiet; occasionally she had to check it was still there.
‘If he doesn’t wake in five minutes we’re taking him to a hospital.’
Ben stood, Mrs Aziram’s metre ruler in his hand. It was no longer an awesome weapon that could crack floors – it was a flimsy piece of wood. Still, he held it in two hands as if he was about to launch an attack with it. ‘I should check the rest of the building, and the car park. But judging by the fact Miss Trunchbull here has gone back to normal, I think we’re on our own.’
‘If his car is not there, come back and tell me. We’ll get Tom out of here.’
Miss Aziram rocked in her chair. ‘What about me?’
Patty huffed. ‘Looks like you’re here until term starts in September.’
*
Tom assumed that it had to be a dream.
He was lying in his bed at home, his Minecraft duvet pulled up to his chin. It felt a little strange as it was tucked in along the sides. Snug as a bug in a rug, he smirked.
He glanced around at the familiar fixtures: shelves filled with books and posed toy figures that he was beginning to admit he was getting too old for; his desk covered in notebook and a lava lamp; posters with tatty edges and scuff marks on the wall where he’d parked Dodge. He could see that his wheelchair wasn’t in the room. That’s because I can walk now, he thought.
He sent a command from his brain to his legs for them to wiggle, but nothing seemed to be happening. At this point, his dad came in, all red-faced and flustered. ‘No, Tom! You mustn’t try to move! You’ve had a traumatic time!’ He came and sat by the bed and laid a palm on the duvet where Tom’s midriff was. ‘You need to rest.’
‘I feel fine, honestly. Is Grandma Patty okay?’
His father’s eyes seemed to darken. ‘Don’t you mention that woman’s name in this house! She has got a lot to answer for. She’s not welcome here.’
‘But Dad, I was just getting to know her really-’
‘You’re not to see her again, and that’s final.’ He applied more pressure with his hand on Tom’s body. ‘You’re staying here. Forever.’
‘Dad, don’t push so hard.’ Tom went to move his arms but found that they too seemed unresponsive. In fact, the only movement he appeared to have was from the neck up. He twisted his head to see his mother in the doorway. She was sobbing into her hands.
‘Mum? What’s the matter?’
‘She knows it’s for the best, really,’ replied Dad. He was untucking the duvet from the sides of the mattress.
‘What’s for the best? What are you talking about, Dad?’ He was beginning to feel alarmed. He looked at his father’s hands grabbing the edges of the duvet. Did they look bigger than usual?
Dad grinned, but his teeth weren’t right; they looked a little pointed. ‘I’m talking about this!’ he said. With a flourish he whipped away the duvet.
On the bed, Tom’s body was encased, from shoulders to toes, in white, tight cotton wool. His arms and legs were arranged evenly so that they were separate from the rest of him, no one body part touching another. Cotton wool was packed into every gap.
It’s only soft, Tom thought, and tried again to move. However, he couldn’t twitch the merest muscle. It was like he was fixed in a mould.
His father’s eyes were darker, and his teeth were sharper. And as he lay both palms on Tom’s body, his hands grew uncommonly big. ‘You’re going to be staying here where you’re safe, for a very long time, Master Tommy. Oh ho ho!’
A forked, lizard tongue flicked out between his father’s teeth.
Tom screamed.
*
Ben had checked the corridors and classrooms of the school. There was nothing untoward or out of place; it was clearly just a school that had been tidied up for the summer and a few weeks away from firing back into life. He left the metre rule in one of the classrooms.
As he walked along the corridor to the school’s entrance hall, he could see the alarm system in the corners, blinking with a red dot. He assumed that Aziram must have disabled it, unless it was a silent alarm that just alerted the police. If that was the case he might have a car park full of colleagues in front of him when he opened the door. He didn’t know whether or not that would be a good or a bad thing. That was when he remembered that the car park was actually around the back of the school. Still, he thought he might as well leave by the front and walk around, just so he could check the grounds as well. He stepped out into the sunshine.
It seemed brighter than earlier; a little more normal. Ben thought that it could be because the position of the story had changed and that the school wasn’t central to it at this time. He also thought that if they didn’t get moving soon, that brightness might turn grey and lifeless, and they’d fall off the
story. He checked his phone. He’d had no signal earlier, but now he had one bar. He glanced down at the rip in his shirt where the blade had gone in. He tried to call Dan.
He couldn’t get through; all he got was a permanent engaged tone. He supposed that was possible with Dan if he was playing one of his games and was on a call with another player. Ben opted for sending a text.
I want to tell him that I love him, Ben thought.
Only, when he looked at the phone screen, all he could see was a series of zeros, in sets of three. 000, 000, 000 all over the screen. Every function he tried to access, just came up with the same numerical sequence. Brilliant. He shoved the phone in his pocket and walked up the drive around the side of the building.
Kildare’s car had gone, and Ben’s was the only vehicle in the car park. He could tell though from a distance that something was up. Not just the fiery new paint job that his car had suddenly acquired, but there was something wrong with the windscreen. A couple of steps closer revealed what it was. It had been smashed in. Jagged fragments of glass lined the window frame but the rest was open and exposed. He noticed the pallet full of bricks next to the building had been disturbed. There was at least one missing.
That’s just petty, he thought, but then he smiled. It said something about their enemy, that he thought it would be, what, appropriate, to smash the window? That wasn’t the work of an evil mastermind; it was just downright childish. It made Ben think that this man – or whatever he was – wasn’t really as dangerous as he thought.
Wait a minute, a voice in Ben’s head said. He did stab you in the gut with a dagger. By rights you should be dead.
But I’m not. And I think that has frustrated him. So he’s got all pathetic and smashed my window.
I think we’re winning.
Chuckling to himself, Ben headed to the fire door that opened up into the school hall.
*
Tom was still stuck in his bedroom, his father holding him down, his mother crying in the doorway. However, there was now someone else. His grandmother was outside the bedroom window. However, she wasn’t standing on the lawn – which you could do at their bungalow home when stood outside his bedroom – she was floating in air. The view behind her wasn’t the normal view either; he could make out the tops of buildings behind her. Where had his bedroom been transported to?
Leave the Last Page Page 12