Stop Those Monsters!

by Steve Cole

  She tapped her nose again and winked. “Because it’s so crazily dangerous, no one in their right minds would ever take it.”

  I swallowed hard. “And that’s the way we’re taking?”

  “Yes.” Verity pressed on the brakes to slow our jerky journey. “It’s basically a big hole at the side of this old, disused road, hidden by mashberry leaves. You’d better hang on tight. And if we time things right, no one will be able to see us go.”

  “Huh?” I hugged my seat for dear life as the lights clunked off, and all was dark.

  “There we are!” said Verity, her eyes glowing green in the blackness. “Or rather . . . HERE we are! Hole ahead. Going down!”

  The road was gone as quickly as the light. Suddenly we were freefalling. Into oblivion . . .

  “” sang Verity, as our bus plummeted through darkness.

  “Nooo-ooooo-oooooo-ooooooo!” I joined in.

  My heart had flown up my throat, and I was glad of the sticky seat now – it held me in place and stopped me smacking into the roof. I had an awful flashback of falling through the window of my tumbling home.

  A band of glowing green whizzed past the windows. A blur of purple. Were these monster levels we were passing on our way down? If so, after one more and a smear of colour (ooh, orange now) we would—

  It was a soft landing, like crashing into a giant marshmallow. Except it wasn’t a marshmallow – it looked like a mushroom. First we sank deep into it. Then the marshmallow-shroom boinged us back up like a sticky trampoline. Up-down-up-down we went, over and over, like a bouncy ball slowly coming to rest.

  “Whew!” Verity said, upside down in a tangle in her seatbelt. “We made it!”

  “Verity,” I said weakly, sliding from my seat. “Next time we travel between levels, can we please take the nogglodon?”

  “You mean, nogglodon.”

  “Shut up.”

  Rubbing my eyes, I realised there was a burnt-orange glow outside the windows. The skybulbs were switched on down here, but they were much dimmer. I scrambled up and looked out through the windscreen into the thick gloom.

  “Welcome to the northern zone of Deep Monster Territory Level Four,” said Verity. “Landing here brings us out just around the corner from Uncle Voshto.”

  I smiled despite myself. “With the way you drive, I’m impressed you managed to find it first time.”

  “I’ve been coming here since I was a little nibbler, Bob-ob-ob.” Verity pressed a button and the bus doors fell off, clattering to the ground. “Well. Let’s go!”

  So we did.

  It was dank and chilly down here. As my eyes got used to the gloom, I saw a barren, sinister wasteland covered in spongy, sticky mushrooms, some low-level, some vast like the giant one we crashed into. It stretched on for miles! The air smelled like burnt rubber. Tatty tinsel creepers wound around concrete pillars that reached up into the shadowy space far above. Toadstool bonfires had been lit here and there, but they did little to light the place, and even less to warm it, and left smoke hanging in the air like mist. The whole place seemed mouldy, smelly and falling apart.

  “So this is where the monsters not as nice as the ones up on the top level live,” I shivered. “Why does your uncle stay here?”

  “He’s hiding out where no one would think of looking for him, while he works on a top-secret project,” Verity explained. “Not many monsters come here for fun. Hey, look! That’s where Uncle Voshto’s staying – a tavern called The Severed Arm.”

  She pointed a paw at a distant building that stood apart from the half-shadow of the houses beyond. It looked part-spooky-old-castle and part-nightclub, zinging with neon lights. I felt homesick for normal sights – then imagined how sick I’d feel if I had to live somewhere like this instead! Oh, my poor house! Could it really be scattered all over everywhere?

  Verity led me towards the jagged silhouette of The Severed Arm by a roundabout route, dashing between giant mushrooms for cover. The ground sucked at my trainers. The bonfire flames danced like living things. Every now and then a growl or a groan floated through the air, and Verity would hold very still. I decided to do the same thing. I had the feeling that I was being watched on all sides by unknown things.

  “We’d better move quickly,” Verity murmured. “I don’t much like it down here.”

  “Where did all you monsters come from?” I murmured as we sheltered under an especially enormous and unpleasant-smelling toadstool. “I mean, so many different kinds . . . ”

  “We’ve been on the planet as long as humans have. You must have heard the Really Old stories from the lands of Ancient Eejit and Greasy?”

  “Egypt and Greece, you mean?”

  “What are these human things, Egypt and—?”

  “Never mind,” I said quickly. “You’re basically saying that the old monsters like the Sphinx and the Minotaur and the Cyclops . . . they were all real?”

  “Abso-chompin’-lootly they were,” Verity said. “In the Really Old Days there were lots of monsters up top, living alongside your ancestors. Well, dying alongside them, usually. You humans! I mean, what about Odysseus – he was like a serial monster-killer!” She tutted. “Well, anyway, some time in the fifth century, all the monsters moved down here to Terra Monstra, out of sight.”

  I felt suddenly spooked, and glanced back at the old bus. It seemed a long way behind us already, a wreck washed up in the grotty sea of fungus. “But what caused them to suddenly hide?”

  Verity looked at me, dark-eyed. “My uncle can explain it better than me. He’s a professor and stuff.”

  “And he can get me out before Killgrotty has me taken out?” I added, seeking reassurance.

  “I’m sure he can, Bob-ob-ob. Though it might be quite a trek.” Verity paused beside a huge grey toadstool to wash her whiskers. “There used to be loads of easy ways in and out of the hidden monster-lands to the human world above. But they’ve all been paved over now.” She sighed, and set off again. “Some monsters were stuck outside, unable to return home. Like Bigfoot – he gets so bored wandering the Rocky mountains, he has to jump out and flash his bum saying ‘Oo! Oo!’ at startled tourists for a laugh.”

  “What about the Loch Ness Monster?” I asked.

  “She never shows her bum, Bob-ob-ob! She has her dignity.”

  Verity’s revelations were fantastic, but with all the weirdness I was already experiencing, I found myself accepting them quite easily. Perhaps the stinky smoke fumes were turning my brain to mush – they were getting stronger the closer we got to the tavern. I stopped walking (what the flip was I walking into?) and with a nervous glance at Verity, surveyed the ruined pub before me. Its ragged turrets stretched very nearly to the dirt ‘sky’ overhead. Smoke wafted past its neon lights.

  One sign flashed in different shades of green:

  There were other signs flashing in the murk, mostly in blood-red and crimson:

  read one.

  another instructed.

  Suddenly, Verity’s ears pricked and she turned round in a panic, shooing me behind a giant ’shroom. I heard the squeal of a heavy door and sounds of struggle.

  “What’s going on?” I hissed, eyes watering in a gust of smoke. “I can’t see!”

  Verity’s eyes were keener than mine. “Well, Bob-ob-ob, a big, purple monster with three arms just came out from the tavern.”

  I gulped as I heard a succession of splashes. “What’s he doing?”

  “Beating up six bigger monsters and throwing them into a stagnant pond.”

  Drying my eyes, I peered out from behind the mushroom and winced. “He must be The Severed Arm’s bouncer.”

  “What is this human thing called ‘bouncer’?”

  “You know, he stands at the door of a club and sort of keeps control. Says who can come in and who has to get out.”

  “I never saw one here before,” said Verity. “Normally I just sneak inside and scurry upstairs – the monsters are all too busy fighting to take any notice.”


  I nodded nervously. “Well, I’m sure this bouncer only beat up those monsters because they did something bad.”

  “RIGHT!” The bouncer screamed with rage at the giant thugs in the septic pool, waving three enormous fists. “The next time you ask me what time it is, I’ll tear you apart WITHOUT MERCY!” Then he smoothed out his leather trousers and stomped back to stand guard over The Severed Arm’s heavy wooden door. “When is someone gonna give me a PROPER fight?”

  I cowered under the mushroom cap. “Er . . . is there a back door?”

  Verity shook her head. “Afraid not.”

  “Perfect,” I muttered. “So, if we want to reach your uncle, we’ve got to get through that ultra-violent maniac first!”

  Verity and I stared at the huge, burly monster blocking our only way into the tavern.

  “It doesn’t look like this thing is going to listen to reason.” I gave her an encouraging smile. “I know violence isn’t the answer . . . but you trounced Killgrotty and his whole gang of greenies.”

  “I still don’t know how I did that.” Verity shrugged. “Anyway, all I really did was buy us time to run away. This time we want to stay. And that Bouncer will just follow us in and crush us.” She considered. “Maybe you could scare him away with the toxic nose thing?”

  “HUMANS DON’T DO THAT—” I burst out impatiently, to frantic shushing. “Sorry. I’ve just had a gutful of being the only human round here . . .” An idea crawled cautiously into my head. “Hey! Speaking of guts, do you think these monsters eat the mushrooms?”

  “Sure.” Verity nibbled a bit of our cover. “Yum! Why?”

  I looked at her. “Maybe we could make a special delivery?”

  Minutes later, our plan was prepared.

  Preparation basically involved Verity using her beaver teeth to gnaw a neat line up the side of the massive mushroom, allowing me to crawl inside. I held the spongy edges together as discreetly as possible, and (with much difficulty and squeaking), Verity hefted me up in her arms.

  “” I heard the big purple bouncer snarl. “You with the mushroom?”

  “Hey, monster, how you nibbling?” I heard Verity say. “Coooooool! Yeah. Punched any good faces, lately?”

  “,” he snarled. “Only bad faces like yours.”

  “Ha!” Verity squeaked nervously. “Well . . . this is a special delivery. For the kitchen monsters. They are expecting this marvellous mushroom. In one piece.”

  “Why?” the bouncer demanded. “Is it poisonous?”

  “Er, no.”

  “” he bawled. “What kind of a lousy mushroom delivery monster ”

  Through a crack in the mushroom I saw him pull all three fists back, ready to serve a triple helping of knuckle sandwich.

  “No!” I burst out through the spongy mushroom and fell in a heap on the floor. “Ta-daaa,” I said weakly.

  The bouncer blinked. “Thought you said it wasn’t poisoned?”

  The plan had failed – it was time to think up a new one. Fast. “I’m your, er, singing human-o-gram!”

  “My what?”

  I nodded. “I turn up dressed as a human and, er . . . sing a song to you.”

  The bouncer had screwed up his face in disgust, as if his ears could taste words and mine tasted like dog poo. “Sing? ”

  “Yes!” said Verity quickly, “because, um, I work for B.U.M. Magazine.”

  The bouncer raised his fists again. “”

  “Yes, you know, B.U.M., short for Big Ugly Monster. And I’ve brought this mushroom and singing human-o-gram to, er, celebrate the fact that you have been voted, um, Big Ugly Monster of the Year by our readers.”

  “I have?” The Bouncer lowered his fists a fraction. “Who nominated me?”

  “Umm . . . Your mum.” Verity nodded. “And your gran.”

  “What, even after I tried to blow them up that time?” The bouncer’s eyes welled up with happy tears. “I . . . I never knew they cared! Oi! Mum! Gran!”

  I swapped a panicked look with Verity. “Er, no need to bother them . . .”

  “Shaddap! I’m gonna tell my mates, an’ all.” The bouncer leaned through the doorway to reveal a dark, smoky space. It reeked of sweat, cabbage and overpowering wind. “Ere, everyone! You’ll never guess what – I’m of the Year!”

  “You wot?” came a grunt from inside.

  “” the bouncer yelled.

  “Who you calling a bum, son?” someone shouted. “You wanna fight?”

  “” the bouncer screamed, and charged inside.

  In less than a second, the sound of smashing glass, heavy blows and breaking furniture erupted from The Severed Arm like an explosion – quickly followed by a real explosion as a small bomb detonated. A wave of heat singed Verity’s fur and the shockwaves knocked us to the ground.

  “Now’s our chance!” she squeaked, as a yellow, lumpy monster was knocked cartwheeling out of the tavern. “Let’s sneak inside and creep upstairs!”

  “Through that lot?” I stared despairingly. “They’ll slaughter us!”

  But Verity was already scurrying inside. I took a deep breath and followed her into the smoky, stinky, candlelit den. Jostling monsters kicked and clobbered each other to a soundtrack of grunts and ‘’s. Barstools flew over my head. A huge bottle smashed just beside me – its contents making the carpet smoke before a weird, doglike monster lapped it all up, belched out flames, and set fire to the legs of a tall monster beside him. I rolled to get clear – straight into a swipe from the thick tail of an even thicker-looking monster. It knocked me backwards into a green, slimy octopus thing, who lifted me into the air and tossed me against the wall.

  “Verity?” I cried, but couldn’t see her amid the heaving scrum of maniac monsters.

  “” croaked a scorched and sooty female monster with four wide eyes and incredibly big fists. “ ”

  “Noooo, I am a singing human-o-graaaaaaaam,” I tried to sing, but my voice was so wobbly and faint I could hardly hear myself. “Do not kill meeeeee,” I crooned desperately, “do not kill me, dooooooo noooooooot kiiiiiiiillllll . . . meeeeee . . .”

  The beasts closed in around me. A dragon-thing with a machine gun. A cow-monster covered in spikes with a blue udder on her head. A huge lobster-like life-form with a hand grenade in each claw (or a claw-grenade in each hand?) ready to pull the pin with its sabre-sharp teeth . . .

  “That’s enough, boys and girls!” came a cry from the smoky darkness beyond them. “”

  The high-pitched command rang out at ear-whumping volume. The brawling monsters turned to see who was calling.

  And as they did so, they froze.

  I don’t mean they just stood still. I mean, they literally turned into blue and frosty statues where they stood (or crouched over their unconscious victims, or lay sprawled on the floor). I started to turn to see what on Earth could have done this.

  “No,” came the girl’s voice again. “Don’t look yet. We need to get ready . . . ”

  “Er, what?” Dread’s cold fingers pinched at my spine. Where had Verity got to? Had she been ice-blasted too?

  “There, now,” said the girl. I heard footsteps coming towards me. “You can look . . . ...”

  My eyes were tightly shut. Whatever it was, I wasn’t looking. I was NOT looking!

  “” the girl wailed, drawing closer. And closer . . .

  “Oh, come on, look over here,” came the voice. Now its mysterious owner was closer, I found she sounded less scary. In fact, she sounded quite plummy and posh. “The girls and I are looking particularly stylish today!”

  I risked opening my eyes.

  And stared.

  The person before me was wearing enormous dark glasses with round lenses, and a paint-splodged apron over a white blouse with puffy sleeves. She looked human enough, besides her green-tinged skin and the hooked claws on her fingers and thumbs. Oh, and the forked tail snaking out of the back of her black leggings. Oh (again), and the wild array of snakes growing out of her head.

  Yes.
Snakes, swaying and coiling, some with a little beret on their head, some with a mini pair of shades, some with a silk scarf tied delicately beneath their jaw.

  “What the flip?!” I breathed.

  “” She waggled her fingers at me in a coy wave. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?”

  My mouth was too busy flapping open and shut to form much of a reply, as the memory of a Year Six English lesson pinged into my mind. “You’re . . . a gorgon!”

  The green girl grinned and her snakes stood up, hissing happily and nodding to each other. “Yes, I am! My name is Zola. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

  “Gorgon . . . zola?” I frowned. Wasn’t that a cheese?

  Funnily enough, my mind didn’t linger on the ‘Zola’ part of all this. It lingered on the word ‘GORGON’ and the old Greek legends of the evil gorgon Medusa and her sisters who could turn people to stone with a single look . . .

  “What do you think of my still life, hmm?” Zola leaned towards me, enquiringly.

  “Your . . . what?”

  “All this!” She gestured round at the frozen scene.

  “Um . . . aren’t still lifes normally fruit and flowers and stuff . . . ?”

  “In the name of Athena . . . !” Zola started fanning herself. “Goddess above, you know about art! You’re artistic, aren’t you? You’ve just got to be.”

  I frowned. “Excuse me?”

  By now the gorgon was jumping up and down with excitement. “Okay, okay. Here’s the test: What’s paint?”

  “Huh?”

  “Tell me what paint is!”

  “It’s coloured stuff you . . . paint with?”

  “ No one down here has any concept of the stuff, but does!” The gorgon grabbed me and danced about, her snakes wiggling and trying to kiss me. “ He’s an artist!”

  “Get off!” I cried, wrenching free. I tried to back away towards a dingy staircase – then tripped over something warm and fluffy and fell to the filthy floor.