by Oisin McGann
O’Brien Press Memo
From: The Management
To: All Members of Staff
Subject: The Forbidden Files
You’re probably wondering why you arrived this morning to find the police searching your desks.
There is no easy way of saying this, so we’ll get straight to the point: last night, the safe containing the Forbidden Files was broken into. The Files have been STOLEN.
The stories in these Files were kept locked up and hidden away for good reason. These stories are too FRIGHTENING, too DISTURBING or just too downright DISGUSTING to be read by children.
The police will want to speak to all of you — please give them your full cooperation. We have to find The Forbidden Files; they must NEVER see the light of day.
For the lads in the M&M studio, back in the day.
Thanks for all the laughs.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
1 Going Under The Wall
2 The Hunt For Molars
3 Dead On Their Feet
4 Total Loss Of Control
5 The Disgustinger
6 The Kitchen Of Death
7 Dying To Go
About the Auther
Copyright
1
Going Under The Wall
They called it ‘The Fart Factory’, it smelled so bad. The Kanker & Byle Chemical Company was a towering heap of buildings and pipes and walkways, just piled on top of each other. Then somebody had stuck some chimneys on the top, like candles on the world’s ugliest birthday cake. Gluey smoke rose out of the chimneys, but then fell over the sides and poured to the ground, too oily and lazy to float up into the sky.
And it was a spooky place too. Apart from the delivery trucks that only showed up late at night, nobody was ever seen going in, or coming out. Nobody knew anybody who had ever been inside. Some people said the place was haunted, that it was run by ghosts and ghouls.
Or maybe robots.
There was only one piece of grass in the area, and it lay right next to the factory wall. Like most things near the factory, the grass was brown, and slightly greasy, but it was still better than the tarmac of the road for playing football. And you were less likely to get hit by a car. So this was where Gaz Flynn and the other members of the Root Street Gang played soccer.
It started out like a normal Saturday – Gaz, Joey, Damo and Hayley had gone out to the brown to play football. Gaz and Damo were always the captains of their teams, because Joey (Gaz’s baby brother) was only seven, and couldn’t kick a ball to save his life, and Hayley was, well … a girl.
It stopped being a normal Saturday when Joey took careful aim at the goal painted onto the wall of the factory and kicked the ball as hard as he could, sending it soaring into the air and over the factory wall.
‘You maggot!’ Gaz snapped at his little brother, grabbing him by his mop of thick, black hair. ‘That’s the third time you’ve done that.’
‘It was an accident!’ Joey snapped back, pulling himself free.
‘It’s always an accident with you, you little twerp,’ Gaz shouted at him, his brown face going a strange purple colour. ‘This is the last time. You’re going in there and getting that ball!’
The others gaped at him in shock.
‘You can’t send him in there, man,’ Damo gasped, in his best American accent. ‘Not into the factory. That’s way too cruel.’
Damo always tried to act like he was some US rap star (even though he was from Root Street like the rest of them) but he’d never even been to America. He wore his baseball cap crooked all the time and made strange shapes with his hands while he talked. He also wished he had African blood in him, like Gaz and Joey, but he was as white as vanilla ice cream and had red hair.
‘I’ve had enough of him,’ Gaz declared. ‘That’s the third ball he’s lost in there.’
He turned to his brother.
‘That’s it. If you ever want to play with us again, you’re going in to get that ball.’
Joey looked as if he was going to cry, but Gaz folded his arms and put on his grimmest expression. They were very alike, Gaz and Joey. With their brown freckled skin, their black hair and the same stubborn look on their faces, you could tell they were brothers. But Gaz was bigger, and he had an earring, and lines shaved into the sides of his head that made him look even meaner than he was. And he was feeling pretty mean right then. Joey looked out from under his ropey fringe of hair at Hayley, who was normally nicer to him than the two older boys. He gave her his best baby-eyes look, but she just shrugged.
‘It’ll be okay. I can tell,’ she tried to reassure him. ‘I know you’ll find that ball, no problem.’
Hayley thought that she was a bit psychic. Nobody else did.
‘It’s only a factory,’ she added, one hand nervously twisting her curly, sand-coloured locks.
But it wasn’t just any factory. It was Kanker & Byle.
There had once been guard dogs in the yard behind that wall – rottweilers and german shepherds, the meanest you’d ever seen. The only thing was, a dog has a sense of smell that’s a thousand times better than a human’s. There was a hole under the mossy, grey concrete wall around the back of the factory, where the guard dogs – in a desperate bid to escape the stink – had dug their way out and run howling down the street, never to be seen again.
This was where Joey would have to go in. The Root Street Gang made their way round to the back wall, where they found the hole, hidden by a half-dead clump of thistles.
‘Right, in you go,’ Gaz told him. ‘And don’t mess about. Your mission is to just grab the ball and come back. I’m timing you. And don’t make any noise. And if anybody catches you, don’t tell them about us. Nobody likes a squealer. Now, go on.’
Joey looked around wide-eyed at the other two, still hoping that one of them would stick up for him. But Gaz was the leader of the gang, and nobody argued with him when his lips went all thin like that. He could get really worked up when things didn’t go his way. Joey got down on his knees, trying to push the stalks of the thistles aside, but the prickly plants still snagged on his clothes as he crawled down into the hole. The wall was a metre thick, and he had to pull himself along on his elbows to get up to the other side. Gaz’s eyes followed his little brother’s feet as they disappeared, and then they all knelt down to watch Joey go through.
‘You’ll be right as rain!’ Hayley whispered, just before she lost sight of him.
They all sat back on the ground, eyes fixed on the hole, and waited for Joey to return. And they waited. And they waited. And they kept waiting.
Suddenly, the sound of a scream made them jump to their feet. It was Joey – there was no mistaking his voice. He screamed like he was seeing something that was scaring him out of his mind. Then he shrieked again, as if he was fighting for his life. Then he gave another, weaker scream; a horrible, final, despairing cry that was cut off abruptly, leaving an eerie silence. Gaz, Hayley and Damo stood, clutching one another and trembling.
‘He could be having us on,’ Gaz said. ‘He’s just messing us about.’
‘That sounded real to me,’ Hayley whimpered, close to tears. ‘And his aura is in pain, I can feel it!’
‘I don’t know about his aura, but he’s good at screaming,’ Gaz told her. ‘He’s always screaming.’
‘Yeah, but, like normally you’re the one making him scream, man,’ Damo said softly, pointing at Gaz with both hands like a gangsta rapper. ‘He was all on his own in there. And that didn’t sound like he was trying to get you in trouble with your momma. That sounded like … like …’ He didn’t want to say what they were all thinking.
Gaz gazed down at the hole in the ground, anger boiling u
p inside him. Trust Joey to get in trouble. If he went home without his little brother, their mother would have a fit. And Gaz was bound to get the blame. He let out a yell and kicked the wall a few times until he was able to calm down a bit.
‘Right,’ he said, breathing deeply as he stared down at the hole. ‘S’ppose we’d better go and get him then.’
2
The Hunt For Molars
The smell was thicker on the other side of the wall. Gaz was always the first one in the gang to take risks – he was more afraid of being seen as a chicken than getting hurt. He led the way under the wall, squeezing through the small hole, dragging himself under and finally pulling himself out the other side, carefully brushing the dirt from his beloved trainers.
The air had a chemical feel to it; it felt damp against his face, and he could feel the stink soaking into his skin and his clothes. Damo crawled out behind him, nodding his head like he was listening to music, as he did whenever he was nervous. Then Hayley appeared, chewing on her fingernails as she looked around. The pink blotches on her cheeks always got bigger when she was scared. Now they were covering most of her face. They all stood and stared.
There were wooden crates and stacks of barrels and plastic containers on pallets, lines and lines of them stretching out before them.
‘How are we going to find the little guy in here?’ Damo groaned softly, his hands waving in front of him. ‘This is freaking me out. I think we should get out of here, and call in the cops.’
‘They’d never believe us. They know what we’re like,’ Gaz replied. ‘We’re going to have to find him ourselves. We’re going to get him out of here, and then I’m going to give him a right kick up the bum for scaring us. Now, come on.’
They walked past the stacks of containers until they came to the wall of a building. The sound of an engine made them duck behind a pile of metal barrels, and a forklift drove past. It had driven out of a large door off to one side. Gaz waved at the others to follow him, and they crept inside the building.
There were more pallets inside, with thousands of small bottles and packages stacked up and bound with plastic sheeting.
‘Hey guys!’ Damo whispered. ‘Check it out! There’s pirates here!’
He was pointing at a label that had a skull-and-crossbones on it. Hayley thumped his arm.
‘That’s the sign for poison, you tur nip!’ she sneered. ‘Don’t you know anything?’
‘They’ve all got that label,’ Gaz said. ‘Everything in here’s poisonous. I wonder what it is?’
‘Oh, all sorts of useful things,’ a voice said from behind them.
They all spun round, and then froze. Standing right there, right in front of them, was a tall, spindly man with a sticking-out belly, large, bony hands and feet, and a face that looked like it had never seen a good night’s sleep. Dressed in a white coat, he was smiling, showing teeth that barely clung to his gums.
‘It’s alright, there’s no need to be afraid,’ he reassured them. ‘I just work here, I’m nobody. My name’s Cornelius. Welcome to the factory! Are you here to inquire about our poisons?’
‘We’re looking for–’ Gaz began.
‘We have whatever you need!’ Cornelius cut him off. ‘And this year our range is bigger and more exciting than ever! Our customers come from all over the world, and from every walk of life. From secret agents to evil queens; from wicked witches to sinister sorcerors …’
‘We’re trying to–’ Gaz tried to interrupt.
‘… from alien invaders to desperate babysitters; from pygmies to politicians, gangsters to grandmothers, mad scientists to– eh?’
He stopped short when Gaz poked him in the belly.
‘We’re looking for my little brother,’ Gaz said, folding his arms and sticking his chin out to hide his nervousness. ‘He came in here a few minutes ago, and then we heard him screaming. Now he’s gone missing. If you know where he is, you’d better tell us, right?’
The man lifted one hand to tap a long fingernail against his teeth. The teeth r attled with each tap.
‘Screaming, you say? Hmmmm. Missing?’, he muttered, looking more and more worried as he tapped. ‘Hmmmmmm. Not good. Not good at all.’
He threw a fearful glance towards the dark shadows of the warehouse. Then he bent down and spoke to the children in a careful whisper.
‘It sounds as if your young friend has fallen into the hands of our Head Of Security, Molars. An ogre of a man; over-large and ever-so-slightly monstrous. I’m sure he wouldn’t hurt your young friend, but his appearance alone can be a cause for alarm. It’s the extra eye, you understand, and the nose covered in warts. And the teeth sticking out of his chin … I sometimes feel like screaming when I look at him – and I’ve known him for years.’
‘What … what do we do?’ Hayley asked, her teeth gnawing away at the last of her thumbnail. ‘How do we get Joey back?’
‘You’ll need to bribe Molars,’ the man told them. ‘He’s a terror for kidnapping people, but he’s got a real sweet tooth. Now, let me see here …’
He fumbled around inside his coat, searching for something.
‘Ah! Here we are!’
Pulling a bag from his pocket, he held it out to the children.
‘I was keeping these sweets for my break, but you can have them. I’m trying to cut down anyway. Just give him these, and I’m sure he’ll let your friend go.’
Cornelius leaned in closer.
‘And if you want to take one or two for yourselves … well, who’s going to know? Just make sure you leave plenty for him. There you are now. He’ll be on the top floor, in the security office. Run along now, I won’t tell a soul that I’ve seen you. Good luck!’
Gaz looked at the bag Cornelius had given him with some suspicion. But the man pushed him gently towards the stairs at the back of the warehouse.
‘Hurry!’ he urged them. ‘Before somebody comes! You can bribe Molars, but you don’t want to run into the boss, or those cooks! Then you’d be in real trouble. Hurry, now!’
Clutching the bag, Gaz nodded to the other two, and they took off at a run, being careful to keep behind the piles of boxes until they reached the stairs. At the top of the steps, there was a door, standing ajar. Gazing up at the door, the remaining three members of the Root Street Gang hesitated, frightened of what lay beyond it.
‘For Joey,’ Gaz said softly.
‘For Joey,’ the other two repeated, nodding.
Creeping up the stairs, they pushed through the door, and into the dimly-lit corridor beyond. There came the sound of machinery, and the insect-like buzz of a hundred voices. The only other door in the corridor was at the end – and it led out into a room full of people. And something about those voices did not sound right.
3
Dead On Their Feet
The three children tiptoed to the end of the corridor and peered round the door. They were looking down on a factory floor; what looked like a packing plant. Bottles of all shapes and sizes travelled through the plant on conveyor belts, and were being packed up in boxes, which were then carried by more conveyors out through wide hatches at the far end of the huge room. It would all have been fairly normal, if not for the zombies.
‘Holy Moses–’ Damo blurted out, before Hayley clapped a hand over his mouth.
They had to be zombies, the living dead – there was no way they were still alive, with their flesh all rotting like that, bits of bone sticking out, and expressions on their faces like they’d drunk too much seawater. They walked with arms stretched out in front of them, and they talked constantly. Mostly, they just repeated words like ‘Food’, or ‘Meat’, or even just ‘Grarrr’. They all wore overalls, and each zombie had a name badge.
There were dozens of them, all in different stages of rotting. They were working along the conveyor belts, packing pills, capsules and liquids into the bottles. The decomposing workers at the ends of the belts shovelled the bottles into boxes. They all looked as if they were in a bad mood, a
nd most of them had hungry expressions on their faces.
There was a different smell in this part of the factory; a stale, vinegary odour, as if all the zombies had been pickled. The Root Street Gang looked down on them in horror.
‘How do we get past the dead dudes?’ Damo whined. ‘There’s no way!’
‘Ssh!’ Gaz hushed him. ‘Look, there’s a door over there. That must be the way through. If we can get down the stairs, we can sneak along under that conveyor belt there and get out that way.’
The other two looked to where he was pointing, and then stared at him as if he was mad. But it appeared to be the only way, and neither of them wanted to leave Joey trapped in this horrible place. There was nothing for it but to take the chance.
Gaz put a hand on each of their shoulders and gave them a grim nod, like he had seen the commanders do in war films. Then he waited until all of the zombies were looking away and darted down the metal steps and across to the conveyor belt by the wall. Once she was sure he’d made it, Hayley followed, almost tripping near the bottom of the steps. Her pink-blotched cheeks glowing like a traffic light, she ran across and slid in behind Gaz. Damo skidded in beside them a moment later.
‘Right,’ Gaz panted. ‘I think … eh, let’s go, then.’
The conveyor belt rattled over their heads as they crawled quickly along the floor. A zombie lurched past them and something suddenly dropped onto the floor and bounced under the belt – right beside Hayley. It was a half-rotten ear. She jammed her mouth into Gaz’s back to muffle her scream, and grabbed hold of his leg so tightly he nearly let out a yelp. It was a good thing she had hardly any fingernails. The zombie grunted and bent down, fumbling around in the shadows under the belt. Hayley’s grip on Gaz’s calf muscle tightened and he winced at the pain. The zombie’s clawing hand came closer to her knees. She shuffled back as far as she could go, but they were right up against the wall. The hand was inches from her.