by Jim Smith
‘Pink Lemonade – my favourite!’ I gurgled, as fizzy pink raindrops pitter-pattered down my throat.
‘How about a snack?’ said Splorg, and he whistled. ‘Here boy!’ he called, and I spotted a hot dog galloping towards me. It stopped at my feet and barked.
‘I can’t eat him, he’s way too cute!’ I said.
‘It’s just a hot dog, Ratfingers!’ said Twoface, picking it up and slotting it into his mouth. ‘Mmm, good doggy!’ he smiled, and a muffled woof echoed inside his tummy.
I ignored Twoface and did a whistle. Another hot dog ran over and I lifted it up to my mouth and bit it in half. It really was delicious, even though I felt a bit guilty.
‘And now for my favourite part!’ boomed Mayor Goodhair, pointing at the giant presents. ‘The Grand Unwrapping!’
‘Who buys all these statues for him?’ I spluttered.
‘Nobody,’ said Bunny. ‘Mayor Goodhair’s so rich he buys his own presents!’
Mayor Goodhair clicked his fingers and Norman, his pet pair of hover-scissors, floated up to the bright red ribbon that was tied around the yellow sheet covering the statue.
‘Ooh a ribbon,’ squeaked Norman, swishing his blades open. ‘I just can’t resist!’
He swished his blades shut, snipping the ribbon in half, and the sheet flopped to the floor revealing a concrete Mayor Goodhair standing on top of a pillar.
‘Another statue of me – just what I’ve always wanted!’ beamed the mayor, and the crowd cheered.
Norman flew down towards one of the mayor’s trouser pockets and slid himself into it. ‘Hover-scissors get extremely tired after snipping a ribbon,’ explained Jamjar. ‘He’ll need a nice nap now.’
‘O-K . . .’ I said, thinking how ridikeelous the future could be sometimes.
Mayor Goodhair turned to the floating pink parcel. ‘And who bought me this great big one?’ he asked.
‘I thought you said he bought his own pressies?’ I whispered to Bunny.
‘Must be from a secret admirer!’ she giggled.
A humungazoid label was hanging off the pink parcel. ‘Somebody flip that tag round so I can read it, would you?’ smiled Mayor Goodhair.
Not Bird flew up to the label and turned it over with his beak. ‘Happy bday!’ said the mayor, reading out what was written on it. Underneath the writing was a big black ‘X’ for a kiss.
‘Ahh, that’s nice!’ smiled Splorg, as the mayor began to frown.
‘Hmmm, there’s something about that handwriting that rings a bell . . .’ he mumbled, as the ground shook beneath me and the crowd started to scream.
I turned round to see a giant metal scorpion appear from between two skyscrapers. I peered into the cockpit and gasped.
‘It’s Mr X!’
Mr X grimaced down at the crowd, his teeth jaggedy like a dinosaur’s. ‘How nice of you all to turn out like this for Mayor Goodhair’s birthday!’ he boomed.
Bill Aardvark narrowed his eyes on the hover-screen above our heads. ‘Something tells me Mr X didn’t really mean that,’ he said, and Cecelia rolled her eyes.
Mayor Goodhair peered up at the label hanging off the floating pink parcel and snapped his fingers. ‘That “X” isn’t a kiss, it’s Mr X’s signature!’ he cried.
‘Got it in one, Mr Mayor!’ cackled Mr X. ‘Happy birthday, old pal!’
Jamjar pulled her Triangulator out of her pocket. She pointed it at the ginormous floating parcel and pressed a button.
‘According to my Triangulator, the parameters of that cuboid’s diametrics are disproportionate to its bio-quadrant.’
‘Ooh, you are a clever clogs!’ said Bunny, giving Jamjar a cuddle. ‘Now, what did that all mean?’
‘I don’t think that birthday present is going to be a very nice surprise,’ muttered Jamjar as it thudded to the ground, making the whole square shake.
‘Happy-birth-keels-to-Mayor-Good-hair!’ sang Mr X as Norman peeked out of the mayor’s trouser pocket.
He swivelled his sleepy eyes up at the yellow ribbon that was wrapped around the parcel and started to fly through the air towards it. ‘Ooh a ribbon, my favourite!’ he squeaked.
‘No Norman, don’t do it – it’s a trap!’ cried Jamjar as Norman swished his blades open and snipped the ribbon in half. It fluttered to the ground and the wrapping paper started to fall away.
‘Gulp, the whole thing’s unwrapping itself !’ said Splorg, turning round and speed-walking back the way we’d come.
I looked up at the giant pink pressie. A humungazoid muddy hand was reaching out from inside the wrapping paper.
‘A LITTLE BIRD TELLS ME IT MIGHT BE A GOOD IDEA IF WE MADE OURSELVES SCARCE,’ bleeped Wheelie, starting to roll himself backwards.
screeched Not Bird, turning round in mid-air.
‘This way!’ cried Jamjar, leading us towards a passageway between two buildings. A hot dog was following us, and I bent down and picked it up, popping it into my mouth.
Which was the last thing I did before the whole day went completely wrong.
The sound of an enormous foot stomping on the ground echoed around the square.
‘CAN’T . . . EVEN . . . LOOK . . .’ trembled Splorg, as Bunny twizzled her head round and stared up.
You know when you’re watching an old black-and-white horror movie on TV and the monster appears and everyone’s face turns white, and their eyes open wide and they scream? That’s what Bunny was doing right now.
‘M-M-M-M-MONSTER!!!’ she wailed, waggling all ten of her arms in the air.
I swivelled on the spot and tilted my head upwards. There, next to Mayor Goodhair’s brand spanking new statue, stood the most ginormousest, made-out-of-muddest, three-eyed-est monster I’d ever seen.
The monster blinked his three eyes and peered down at the square. He towered over the sock tree he was standing next to and on his tummy was a big plastic see-through window.
Behind the window, inside the monster’s stomach, were a few rows of shelves. Next to them, sticking out from his muddy skin, was a line of buttons and a slot for giant coins to go into. Underneath the window was a big hatch.
‘Say hello, Gozo!’ boomed Mr X.
‘HELLOOO GOZO!’ roared Gozo, stomping his foot on a manhole cover with a picture of Mayor Goodhair’s face carved into it.
‘Hey, watch my new manhole cover,’ cried the mayor. ‘I only just replaced them all last month!’
I Future-Ratboy-zoomed my eyes in on Gozo and frowned. ‘Erm, does that gigantic monster’s tummy looks at all familikeels to any of you lot?’ I whispered, as quietly as possible so it wouldn’t hear me.
‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird, and Twoface shook his head.
‘Never seen anything like it in my life,’ he said.
Jamjar slipped the Triangulator out of her pocket and pointed it in the direction of Gozo’s belly-window. ‘Interestikeels . . .’ she muttered. ‘These readings indicate a four billion percent possibility of a favourable subjunctive!’
‘What’s that mean, in normal speak?’ said Splorg.
‘Seems Mr X has been busy converting our pal The Wise Old Vending Machine into, well . . . THAT!’
‘Ah-ha, I knew his tummy looked familikeels!’ said Twoface, and Not Bird nodded.
‘You monster!’ I cried, and I wasn’t talking to Gozo. I’d turned to face Mr X, who was still inside his giant metal scorpion, grinning like an evil baddy. ‘What have you done with The Wise Old Vending Machine?!’
‘Oh, I just made a few alterations!’ smiled Mr X, opening the hatch on his scorpion, jumping out and landing in Gozo’s palm. ‘Show ’em what you can do, Gozo!’
Mr X winked at Gozo, and the gigantic muddy beast swivelled its head, looking around. ‘MMM, BUILDING!’ it boomed, stomping over to Shnozville Library, which was sitting in the corner of the square minding its own business.
‘Hey, keep that thing away from my lovely library!’ cried Jamjar as Gozo grabbed the building by its roof and tore the whole thing out of t
he ground in one go.
‘Relax Jamjar,’ said Twoface. ‘Ever heard of an eBook? This is the future, you know!’
Gozo lifted the library up to his wide-open mouth and slotted it in like a giant cake. ‘YUM YUM!’ he smiled, rubbing his window belly.
‘And now for the fun part!’ cackled Mr X, pointing at the shelves behind the see-through plastic.
A cardboard box was slowly being lowered on to the bottom shelf by a robotic arm. The box had a photo of Shnozville Library on the front of it, with the words ‘SHNOZVILLE LIBRARY’ written at the top.
‘Waaahhh! The library’s INSIDE the vending machine!’ screamed Jamjar.
‘It looks like a toy dolls’ house, Bill!’ chuckled Cecelia Twizzlefrump.
Splorg scratched his head. ‘How in the keelness did that happen?’ he said.
Mr X sniggered to himself and jumped out of the monster’s hand, on to the little stage. ‘Oh, Gozo here’s got quite a few tricks up his sleeve. Isn’t that right, Gozo?’ he asked.
The giant muddy monster belched.
‘Poowee, that burp stinks of library!’ cried someone from the crowd.
‘Wise Old Vending Machine!’ I cried, trying to see if our pal The Wise Old Vending Machine was still inside Gozo somewhere.
‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird.
‘It’s no good, Ratboy,’ sighed Jamjar, pointing her Triangulator at the muddy monster. ‘Mr X has eradicated his core fundamentals . . .’
‘EH?’ bleeped Wheelie.
‘Whatever’s left of The Wise Old Vending Machine inside that horrible beast has been completely evilised!’ said Jamjar.
Gozo licked his lips. ‘SUMFIN HEALFY NOW!’ he roared, stomping over to the sock tree he’d first appeared behind.
‘Oh no, not a sock tree!’ cried Splorg, as Gozo yanked it out of the ground and chomped it down in one.
The sock tree appeared inside the monster’s belly, shrink-wrapped like a sprig of broccoli down the supermarket. A sticker on the plastic said ‘SOCK TREE’ on it in multicoloured letters.
After that, Gozo ate a hover-postbox, then a bench that an old granny with a really warty nose had been sitting on until three seconds before, then a lamppost.
‘Anything else you fancy, Gozo?’ said Mr X.
The monster patted his tummy and looked down at the brand new concrete statue of Mayor Goodhair. ‘CONCRETEY!’ he grinned.
‘NOT MY BRAND NEW STATUE!’ cried Mayor Goodhair, as Gozo’s brown muddy hand reached down and grabbed the statue. ‘B-but I only unveiled that one just now!
Gozo blinked his three eyes and popped the statue into his mouth.
‘W-what is this madness?’ stuttered the mayor, as the statue was lowered on to a shelf next to the lamppost, packaged up like some kind of giant concrete action figure.
Mr X smiled to himself. ‘Think of old Gozo here as a sort of gigantic vending machine,’ he said, peering proudly through the window at all the stuff inside.
Mayor Goodhair looked up at the coin slot on Gozo’s chest. ‘You want money?’ he shouted, pulling a fat leather wallet out of his pocket. ‘I could buy my statue back from you!’
‘Please! Put your wallet away, Mayor Goodhair!’ sneered Mr X. ‘Your measly coins aren’t nearly big enough for Gozo’s slot!’
Gozo rubbed his plastic see-through belly and it rumbled. ‘ME STILL HUNGRY!’ he roared, looking around for what he was going to eat next.
YOU WON’T LIKE GOZO WHEN HE’S HUNGRY ‘Uh-oh!’ sniggered Mr X. ‘I probably shouldn’t have programmed Gozo to get so grumpy when he’s peckish,’ he said. ‘But . . . I did!’
‘WHAT ELSE ME WANT TO EAT?’ grumbled the monster.
The trouble was he’d chomped pretty much one of everything there was to offer in Shnozville Town Square. Apart from a real live person.
‘MMM, NICE CROWD!’ said Gozo, peering down at us all.
‘Run!’ cried an old man with seven ears, starting to run around in circles, which was probably the worst thing you could do if you were trying to stop a giant person-eating monster from noticing you.
Gozo opened his hand like a claw and hovered it over the crowd as if it was one of those metal grabber games you get at the arcade.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll save you, children!’ cried Bunny, waggling her ten arms in the air. ‘Cooee! Eat me, Mr Bozo!’
‘No, Bunny!’ I shouted, forward-rolling towards her. I grabbed all ten of her arms – five in each hand – and slotted them into ten of her pockets, then rolled her on to the floor and sat on top of her.
Which took about as long to do as you’d think. Which meant Gozo had had plenty of time to spot us.
‘YUM YUMS!’ boomed Gozo, reaching down to grab us both.
‘Why don’t you go and eat someone your own size!’ I shouted, as Twoface jumped on top of me.
‘Think you’re the superhero do you, Ratboy?’ he cried, his bum landing right in my face. ‘Well two can play at that game!’
‘Stop it you two, you’re squashing Bunny!’ yelped Splorg, pulling at Twoface’s arm.
‘Run, Splorg – save yourself !’ I cried, as Gozo’s fingernail scraped the tip of my TV aerial.
‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird.
‘SHUT UP NOT BIRD!’ I cried.
‘Stop bickering, you two!’ warbled Bunny from underneath us all.
‘IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO TO HELP, SIRS AND MADAM?’ bleeped Wheelie, rolling over.
Jamjar skidded to a stop next to my head and pointed her Triangulator at Gozo’s claw. ‘I’ll try and reverse the digital polarity – it might buy us a few billiseconds!’ she shouted.
But it was too late.
‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird again, as the shadow of Gozo’s hand made everything go dark and I got ready to be eaten alive by a giant vending machine monster.
You know when it’s all dark and you’re being eaten alive by a giant vending machine monster and you feel his teeth biting through your tummy, slicing you in half like a hot dog?
That wasn’t happening to me right now.
Everything went quiet and the lights came back on.
‘Wh-what happened?’ I stuttered, looking around. I was lying on the ground next to Bunny.
‘I’m alive!’ cried Splorg, dusting himself down and looking around. Jamjar was staring up into the sky, her mouth hanging wide open.
‘Where’s Twoface? And Not Bird!?’ I asked.
‘You don’t even want to know!’ chuckled Bill Aardvark from the hover-screen, and I twizzled round to look where he was looking.
There, about three sock trees’ height above me, inside Gozo’s plastic see-through belly, shrink-wrapped in a plastic and cardboard packet, sat Twoface and Not Bird.
‘OH. MY. UNKEELNESS,’ I said.
‘Twoface!’ cried Splorg.
‘Not Bird!’ warbled Bunny.
‘Hee hee!’ cackled Mr X.
‘I have to say, I’m really enjoying this little show!’ he said. ‘It almost makes me wish I CARED about somebody other than myself !’
‘Ooh, you horrible little man!’ cried Bunny, and Mr X stopped laughing.
At first I thought the reason Mr X had stopped laughing was because Bunny had called him horrible.
Then I realised it was something else.
Gozo had turned round and tilted his eyebrows even further into their REALLY angry positions. Not only that, he was walking towards Mr X.
‘Uh-oh, looks like he’s hungry again,’ said Splorg.
‘Watch out!’ cried Jamjar, diving out of the way as Gozo stepped over the top of us.
‘There there, Gozo,’ said Mr X, scrabbling backwards. ‘You don’t want to eat me! I haven’t showered for . . . ever!’
Gozo grabbed Mr X by the scruff of the neck and dangled him under his nostrils, giving him a sniff to see if he was worth chomping.
The great muddy beast breathed in through his nose. Then scrunched his eyes shut.
‘POO-WEE!’ he roared, flinging his
master into the nearest sock tree.
‘OUCH! OOF ! ARGH! EEK!’ cried Mr X, falling through the tree, bonking his head on every branch along the way.
The crowd that’d gathered for Mayor Goodhair’s birthday had run off in every direction, and Mr X’s screams echoed round the empty square.
‘Ooh, that has GOT to hurt!’ chuckled Cecelia Twizzlefrump as Shnozville News’s hover-cameras zoomed in on Mr X, lying dazed on the floor.
‘What happened?’ grinned Mr X.
Grinning seemed like a weird thing to do after falling through a sock tree.
He sat up and looked around. ‘Hey, where’s Gozo off to?’ he said, pointing over our shoulders and we all twizzled our heads. Gozo was stomping out of Shnozville Town Square, off to find something new to eat.
smiled Mr X, peering up at us all.