Right there and then, you could have knocked Frankie down with three quarters of a feather. Without even meaning to, he’d solved the mystery of the missing hand. Frankie’s eyes were drawn back to the image of young Alfie proudly clutching the trophy.
Poor Grandad, thought Frankie.
The other piece of paper was just an old advertising flyer, depicting a man with a pencil-thin moustache and a cape, hand-drawn in black ink. THE AMAZING FREIDO, with his fierce stare and dramatic hand gestures, seemed to be summoning words that appeared in puffs of smoke.
The artist had drawn electrical bolts flying in and out of a wonky-looking cube.
It was the kind of cheesy old thing that Frankie was sure Drew would get a big kick out of. He slipped it in his pocket, next to the forgotten forget-me-not. When – if – he ever got to see his friend again, he’d show it to him.
It was only when Frankie was about to leave the shed that he noticed the ruby-coloured suitcase sitting open on an adjacent bench.
Usually, a suitcase on a bench in a shed wouldn’t be of much interest – but considering the startling developments of the past few minutes, Frankie sensed that it might not be your regular, run-of-the-mill suitcase.
Frankie edged closer and peered in. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see – spare hand-hooks, maybe? – but he definitely wasn’t expecting a computer. Well, a sort of computer. It was a hybrid of an old chunky laptop and a typewriter, connected with hundreds of tiny wires and held together with occy straps.
Unbelievable, thought Frankie, as all the sympathy he’d been feeling melted away. He’s been secretly using a computer this whole time! Could he BE any more selfish?
He took a closer look. The computer, if it could be called that, had a small screen set into the lid. The suitcase itself was quite impressive, with a leather handle, a hard case and tiny monograms that Frankie could only just make out as ‘HT’.
There was a soft whispering noise behind him and Frankie whipped around, his heart beating madly. But no-one was there.
He knew Grandad could come back any minute. If Frankie was going to snoop around, he’d better hurry – and the main thing was to find out if this computer had internet access. Maybe he could get a message to Drew Bird.
Frankie went to press ENTER on the DIY keyboard, but something very strange happened. His finger went straight through the button and hit the wooden bench. It was only now that Frankie noticed the computer appeared to be shimmering slightly in the dusky light.
A message popped up on the screen in blinking green letters. ‘The Time Computer is temporarily inactive as operation remains in progress.’
Frankie frowned, sure he was being tricked somehow. It was bad enough that Grandad was a jerk, but for him to be a jerk who was playing a prank on Frankie – that was too much. Frankie and Drew were the prank kings, and nobody pranked the prank kings!
Two can play at this game, old man, thought Frankie. Nanna Fish wouldn’t like Grandad disappearing around dinnertime, not one bit.
Carefully closing the shed door behind him, Frankie hurried down the brick path towards the house. He was so keen to dob on Grandad that he failed to notice the pretty flowers that had been growing in Nanna’s garden were now weeds. If Frankie had been paying more attention, he’d have also noticed grasshoppers the size of soft-drink cans were hopping around where the forget-me-nots were only minutes earlier.
‘Nanna!’ Frankie yelled as he burst into the kitchen. ‘I can’t find Grandad. I think he’s fled the country!’
But there was no sign of Nanna. Not only that, but the house had completely changed. It was as if Nanna had never lived there at all.
Now Frankie Fish was paying attention.
Frankie did a double-take. He had walked into Nanna Fish’s house, hadn’t he? Yes, of course he had. The brick path he had danced down was the same, and the back entrance had the same flywire screen door – except now it had a hole in it and was acting as a revolving door for flies and mosquitoes. It was the very same house in which he’d spent the last few days lying around in utter boredom. But it also wasn’t.
‘Nanna!’ he called, darting from room to room.
But Nanna was nowhere to be found. There wasn’t any trace of her. In the lounge room, Nanna’s bright polka-dot curtains had been replaced by a wrinkled brown pair that were drawn tightly closed, even though it was still light outside. The scent of home-cooking had gone, and a stale funk lingered instead, as if the windows had never been opened. Beneath Frankie’s sneakers, Nanna’s freshly mopped floors were now crusted with a thick layer of old dirt.
Frankie started to feel a bit scared. ‘What’s going on?’ he said aloud to the dark house.
He hurried to the phone. His dad had told him only to call home in an emergency. But surely a missing Nanna and a weirdly different house qualified as one?
Riiiiiing, ring.
Riiiiiing, ring. Riiing -
A bored-sounding man answered. ‘Hello, this is Max’s Fish-n-Chips. If you need dinner, we’ve got a –’
‘Hello, is Tuna Fish there?’ asked Frankie, his voice quivering.
‘Ha ha, very funny,’ the unfamiliar man said. ‘Are you just making a prank call or do you want some fish and chips?’
D-dad?’ Frankie said, almost whispering.
The man snorted and hung up. Frankie put down the phone, his hand trembling. What was happening?
‘Mavis. Mavis!’
It was Grandad bellowing from outside – and for the first time ever, Frankie was relieved to hear it. The back door swung open, and Grandad’s voice became louder and more urgent.
‘Mavis!’
Frankie walked into the grimy kitchen, feeling as though his feet were on backwards. A flustered-looking Grandad was standing there, gaping at the funky smell, the darkness, the ugly curtains – the very changes that Frankie had gaped at too.
A small part of Frankie was relieved that someone else was seeing this too, and he wasn’t going crazy. But a much larger part of him wished that the ‘someone else’ was anyone but his grandad.
‘Mavis?’ Grandad said again, more worried this time. He finally noticed Frankie, and for once he didn’t glare. ‘Have you seen Nanna?’
‘She’s not … here,’ Frankie said numbly. ‘Grandad, what’s going on?’
But Grandad just stood there, terror written all over his face. ‘Oh dear Lord,’ he whispered.
Frankie was properly scared now. ‘Please, Grandad,’ he said. ‘Nanna’s gone, and then I tried to call my parents, but the phone number is different, and –’
Suddenly Frankie remembered the peculiar computer in the suitcase, and the message saying ‘operation remains in progress’.
The hairs on Frankie’s neck stood up like the national anthem was being played. ‘Did you do something to Nanna? Did you make her go away?’
‘How dare you accuse me!’ spat Grandad. But he looked guilty.
Something shifted inside Frankie. He went from feeling scared to ANGRY. Grandad had obviously done something to Nanna, maybe even erased her. As Miss Merryweather would say, it warranted a rise in tone.
‘This has something to do with that dumb computer in your shed, doesn’t it?’ Frankie said, his voice loud and strangely high. ‘I saw it, Grandad. And I know something weird is going on!’
‘Been snooping in my shed, have you?’ roared Grandad. ‘Not another word from you, boy. Just stop!’ he snapped, and thrust his hand in front of him like a police officer directing traffic.
And indeed Frankie did stop. But not because his grandad had ordered him to – no, Frankie was beyond listening to the old man’s orders at this point. It was because the hand Grandad was holding up was … his right hand.
Alfie Fish’s right hand, which had been missing for more than fifty years, was back.
Frankie went back to being scared again. ‘Wh-wh-what – where’s your hook?’ he stuttered.
‘You need to be QUIET and let me THINK,’ Grandad
said, running his hands through his thinning hair. ‘Just shut your –’
‘Wh-wh-what have you done?’ Frankie pleaded. ‘Why is everything suddenly different? Where is NANNA FISH and YOUR HOOK and MY PARENTS?’
Alfie Fish was clearly about to unleash another verbal barrage on Frankie when he suddenly stopped himself, lowered his hands and took a step closer to his grandson.
In a very different tone, he said, ‘Oh my – your face,’ and inspected every inch of Frankie’s face as if he was trying to spot spinach between his teeth … and up his nose and in his ears. He leaned back to pull open the curtains wider and let the fading evening light spill into the kitchen, and then stared at Frankie again. ‘Your face,’ he repeated with concern.
‘My face? What about your face?’ Frankie said defensively. ‘It’s old and wrinkly and –’
‘Never mind,’ muttered Grandad to himself. ‘I need to go back.’
‘Go where?’ asked Frankie.
‘Never mind.’
‘Never mind? I do mind!’ yelled Frankie.
‘You’re just a kid!’ Grandad shot back. ‘You don’t know what you’re dealing with.’
At that, Frankie lost it.
‘And you’re just a CRAZY, MEAN OLD MAN who’s somehow MESSED UP EVERYTHING and made Nanna Fish DISAPPEAR and turned my family into a fish-n-chip shop so wherever it is you’re going, old man, I AM COMING TOO!’ he screamed at the top of his lungs.
There was a very long pause that, if it had gone on any longer, could have asked for its own spot on the calendar. Frankie braced for impact.
Grandad grabbed Frankie by the arm, dragged him out of the kitchen, through the back door and down the back garden path.
Frankie barely had time to ask, ‘Where are we going?’ before he was back inside the Forbidden Shed (which appeared to be less and less forbidden by the minute) with the door slammed shut behind him.
The mysterious old ruby suitcase was still open on the bench, but this time it wasn’t shimmering. It looked solid, like it was actually on the wooden benchtop.
‘Take a seat, boy,’ said Grandad. ‘We don’t have much time.’
Grandad sat down heavily in an old chair and began furiously scribbling numbers on a bit of paper. Frankie just stared.
His grandad had never invited him to sit down with him, ever, let alone in this dusty forbidden shed. Frankie couldn’t help but feel deeply weirded out by that on top of everything else.
Alfie glanced up at Frankie and frowned. ‘Sit down now!’ he barked.
Frankie did so hastily. Grandad jotted down a few more numbers before turning to the ruby suitcase and typing the numbers into the computer with his two index fingers. It began beeping softly.
‘What are you doing?’ croaked Frankie.
‘Entering co-ordinates,’ Grandad replied bluntly.
‘What for? Is it Google Maps?’ asked Frankie. ‘Because you know you can just type in the address –?’
‘This isn’t the time for questions, boy,’ snapped Grandad.
‘I think it’s exactly the time for questions,’ Frankie snapped back, ‘because if I don’t ask questions, how the hell am I going to get answers? Tell me what you’re doing on that damn computer!’
Frankie knew full well that he wasn’t allowed to say ‘hell’ and ‘damn’, but this was an emergency (and also he liked the way it sounded). Grandad didn’t tell him off, either. Instead, he took a very deep, long breath.
‘Fine,’ Grandad said with forced calm. ‘But this isn’t a computer, exactly. It’s – it’s – well, I would probably say something like it’s a prototype device for manipulating spacial and chronological velocity and relative dimensional placement.’
‘Huh?’ said Frankie. It occurred to him that maybe Grandad hadn’t taken his medication that morning.
Alfie Fish sighed again, and leaned in close to his grandson. When he spoke, his voice was a mix of frustration, anguish and … pride. ‘It’s a TIME MACHINE, Francis,’ he said. ‘It’s a one-of-a-kind, wondrous time-travelling machine. And it works.’
Frankie leaned back as far as he could without falling off his chair. He was now completely certain that his grandad was off his old-man medication. ‘Um, so … where’s Nanna?’
‘Well, that’s just it, boy,’ Grandad blurted out, and his eyes filled with tears. ‘I went back in time to fix a mistake and I think that might have made her disappear.’
The computer’s quiet beeping suddenly stopped, then started again, louder and more insistent. Almost like a countdown.
‘Grandad,’ said Frankie nervously, ‘why does that thing sound like Dad reversing out of the driveway?’
‘Because we are going to get your nanna back,’ said Grandad.
The beeps got even louder.
‘But how?’ said Frankie.
‘Just think of it as reversing down a really, really long driveway,’ replied Grandad. ‘Now, hold on and don’t let go, whatever you do.’
Gulping, Frankie latched on to the suitcase handles and squeezed his eyes shut tight as Grandad typed one more thing into the old computer. ‘Happy travels,’ Frankie heard him mutter.
Then there was a blinding flash of light and Frankie’s world turned upside down.
I magine being stretched. Not just the kind of stretch you do after you’ve been sleeping in a weird position to get rid of the pins and needles and creaks in your bones.
No, imagine being stretched over time and space. Stretched like a rubber band to breaking point, or one of those elastic toys you get in lolly bags at a birthday party. Stretched like your skin is made of cheese on the world’s cheesiest pizza.
Then imagine that as you’re being stretched over time and space, the world is rotating beneath you and around you and flinging you through history in a big mishmash of colours and shapes, while your head is going in one direction and your brain is flung in the other. A million voices speak a thousand languages while the Statue of Liberty tumbles into the Pyramids and Genghis Khan rides a skateboard down a road made of stardust, alongside Roman Generals in their chariots being pulled by velociraptors.
This is what was happening to Frankie Fish and his grandad. Frankie could hardly tell what was real and what was not, let alone where his hands were and whether he still had knees. It was impossible to know anything, not even how long it lasted as they were catapulted through wormholes and time warps.
At one point, Frankie looked up and saw Grandad looking at him. The old man’s words came out like a movie on the wrong speed. ‘Geeeeeeet reaaaaaaaady.’
Then Frankie noticed the world spinning faster and faster around him, the voices getting louder, and somehow he could feel trees falling and rockets exploding and black clouds rumbling like a giant storm was imminent. Before he knew it, an exact moment in time and space had sucked Frankie and Alfie Fish into its belly like a vacuum sucking up ants.
This is so random, thought Frankie.
But it wasn’t random at all.
It was time travel.
Grey clouds, wet grass and cold, fresh air.
That is what Frankie Fish saw, smelt and felt as he opened his eyes. Gone was the kaleidoscope of colours and the sounds of a million voices, replaced with a whistling cold and bitter wind.
‘What just happened?’ Frankie said groggily, feeling like he’d had a go on the world’s worst roller-coaster ride.
He rubbed his eyes and looked around. He was in a paddock with grass as green as your greenest pencil, with enormous rocky boulders rising up from the ground.
Frankie blinked a few times, as if it might refresh the image in front of him. Still green. Still rocky.
Then he realised that on top of that, he was alone.
‘Oh, no,’ he groaned. ‘Where’s Grandad?’
Next moment, he heard a moan and a rumble from behind a large boulder nearby. Frankie got to his feet and soon found Grandad snoring with his mouth wide open, as happy as a pig in suspiciously stinky mud. Somehow, he was still gripp
ing the ruby suitcase. Frankie bent down and said right into his ear: ‘Grandad, are you OK?’
Grandad sat bolt upright. ‘What time is it?’ he demanded.
Frankie shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I don’t even know if my butt’s on the right way.’
Grandad leapt to his feet and started scanning the field, his eyes bright and clear. ‘Bugger it, this isn’t where I landed last time. We need to keep moving. The train will be approaching any minute and we can’t miss it.’
Frankie raised an eyebrow. ‘What train? We’re in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Come on, boy – time travel waits for no man, nor his annoying grandson,’ Grandad snapped like a piranha at a buffet before marching off.
‘Hang on a second,’ said Frankie, heart pounding with excitement. ‘Are you telling me we just time-travelled?’
‘No, we caught a taxi to 1952,’ said Grandad sarcastically.
‘This is amazing!’ Frankie yelled, scrambling after him. ‘I’ve never time-travelled before.’
‘And I’ve never left a child in the middle of nowhere before, but today will be a day of firsts if you don’t hurry,’ huffed Grandad. ‘We need to get to Hope Street again, and quickly.’
Then a thought struck Frankie. Not a good one. ‘Grandad, how many times have you travelled back to 1952?’
‘Does it matter?’ the old man replied over his shoulder, with all the care and consideration of a professional wrestler.
‘It matters a lot,’ replied Frankie slowly. ‘You see, Grandad, I’ve read a LOT of time-travel books and watched a LOT of time-travel movies … and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that if you keep going to the same point in time, you start to wear out the time path.’
Grandad stopped and stared at Frankie. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning things go wrong,’ said Frankie, gesturing to the paddock around them. ‘We end up in the middle of nowhere, instead of in the middle of SOMEWHERE …’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Grandad snorted as he stomped off at top speed.
Frankie Fish and the Sonic Suitcase Page 3