Stop Those Monsters!

by Steve Cole

  “Zola!” Voshto bustled about trying to hide his papers. “Oooh, you naughty gorgon, snooping about, listening at the keyhole . . .”

  “I’ve always known you were up to something special in here,” she said firmly. “And I want to help find that jewel.”

  “And we all know why, don’t we?” said Verity, tucking the notepad inside her toga. “You want to take it for yourself and wish for your heart’s desire.”

  “I only want to borrow it to make one wish,” said Zola simply. “I want to be a famous artist with my own great gallery, loved and respected by all. Then the other gorgons will let me go back home if I like, and I won’t have to wait tables for that horrible mob downstairs.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” said Verity, not sounding very sorry. “My uncle found out where the jewel is, and this quest is family business.” She glanced at me. “And, er, human boy business.”

  But at that moment I was all set to do my business in my pants. Movement through the grimy window had grabbed my attention. “Killgrotty and his greenie goons,” I gasped. “They’re heading this way!”

  Leaning heavily on his cane, Voshto came to see. “The Monster Army – here?!”

  “I’m guessing they’re not just here for the beer,” said Zola.

  “They’re after Bob-ob-ob and me,” said Verity. “What are we going to do?”

  I looked helplessly at Voshto – but it was Zola who answered our question. Without a word she pulled off her hat, pushed open the dirty window and leaped right through it. Her snakes whirled their heads about like propellers to slow her down, and her raincoat puffed out like a peculiar parachute. She landed with unexpected grace right in front of Killgrotty and his guards.

  “” Killgrotty snarled, taking a step back in surprise. “Causing a small fright to a captain in the Monster Army is an offence punishable by thirty years locked up in a small cage . . . or death!”

  “A small cage would cramp my style, Mr Captain, sir! As for death, well, they do say that looks can kill . . . ” She whipped off her dark glasses and stared round at each monster in turn. “But I prefer looks that grill!”

  And in a flash, as if by Medusa magic, Killgrotty and his platoon were suddenly stood still, steaming and sizzling, with dark, griddle-pan lines across their uniforms and their tough, monster hides.

  I gaped. “She’s made big, green grill-steaks out of them!”

  “Only for five minutes,” she called up to me, “remember? Then they’ll be back to normal, only even angrier. So if we’re going, we’d better go now . . .”

  I turned from the window in amazement. “Verity, we should totally take her along. She’ll keep Killgrotty off our backs, and protect us from any other nasty monsters we meet down below.”

  Verity didn’t look happy, but she nodded. “What about you, Uncle?” Verity looked sadly at Voshto. “Who’s going to watch out for you while Zola’s gone?”

  “I’ll just sneak away to my rest home up top.” Voshto smiled hopefully. “If you’re quick, you could be back in just a couple of days!”

  Zola pushed over her toasted soldiers and piled them into a heap beneath Voshto’s window. “Come on, you two – it’s not only art, it’s a soft landing!”

  The smell of pan-fried monster hide turned my tum, but Verity assured me Killgrotty and co would bounce back to normal in a matter of minutes – and in fact, they did make a pretty good crash-mat for Verity and me. Things really could’ve been worse.

  Of course, I wildly underestimated how much worse . . .

  Verity, Zola and I legged it away from The Severed Arm just as quickly as we could. The quest had begun!

  I had a cold ball of worry in my stomach. Well, maybe 77% worry, 19% full-on-fear, 3.99999-recurring-% indigestion and perhaps 0.00001% optimism. Knowing there was meant to be a way out of here gave me the tiniest amount of hope, but I was terrified that the hope would be taken away from me.

  It’s a good job I couldn’t see what was happening back at The Severed Arm, as Killgrotty and his army of thugs stopped sizzling and turned back to normal.

  “A gorgon,” Killgrotty snarled. “I gorgons.”

  “We should be stone, but we’re not,” said one of his guards, with brilliant insight.

  “” Killgrotty thundered. “She didn’t hold us up for long. Must be a weedy gorgon. We’ll crush her if she gets in our way again.” He nodded grimly. “Now let’s see if anyone’s seen them . . .”

  Killgrotty strode up to The Severed Arm’s bouncer. “I’m Captain Killgrotty of the Monster Army Special Squish-Splat Fusiliers.”

  “” the bouncer shouted.

  “We’re looking for two dangerous fugitives – a human boy and a furball. Seen them?”

  The bouncer jeered. “Why should I tell ”

  “If you don’t,” said Killgrotty, “my troops will zap you with laser-tasers set to level ten.”

  “That sounds like ” the Bouncer declared.

  Killgrotty rolled his eyes and signalled to his men. Much zapping of laser-tasers and frantic cries ensued. The bouncer was sent flying into the septic pond and lay there, cross-eyed and gently steaming.

  “I was right about that being fun!” he said weakly. “Anyway, yeah, them kids you was looking for came round here, but there was a big fight and . . . Well, they must’ve cleared off.”

  “Thanks for that.” Tutting to himself, Killgrotty burst into the pub with his guards right behind him, laser-tasers at the ready. The rabble of rowdy monsters fell quiet and swivelled round to face Killgrotty.

  “All right, you horrible lot of layabout lard-winks! I’m after the toughest monster here to do a job for me. A job that calls for strength, stamina, and unpleasant amounts of violence.” Killgrotty held up a small brown pouch. “If you are successful in this mission I will give you one hundred plogoos.”

  “What about hogberries?” called a monster. “I like hogberries.”

  “Huh?” Killgrotty scowled. “Okay, I could probably throw in a couple of hogberries.”

  “I like sofas,” said another monster. “Can I have a sofa?”

  “Oooooooh, I’d like a nice set of steak knives—”

  Killgrotty roared. “Who among you is the toughest and roughest of all?”

  “Me!” came a high-pitched squeak, as a small rodent monster pushed through the crowd and hopped onto a table. He looked like a rat who’d been inflated with a bike pump. “I am the greatest! The meanest! The worst ever!”

  With a sigh, Killgrotty pulled out an atom-masher pistol and fired it at the rodent.

  “” squealed the rat-thing, glowing yellow. He started running round and round the table, sparks and lightning flashes exploding from his body. “” Finally he leaped from the table into a pitcher of sour wine, which promptly blew up. The rodent was left wide-eyed, scorched, and about half his previous size. “Bah!” he squeaked. “Is that all you’ve got?” Then he fainted in a heap.

  The pub remained silent.

  “Anyone else think they’re tough enough?” Killgrotty sneered.

  A squat figure at the back of the room rose from his seat to his full, imposing height. His grubby shirt and trousers were rough and old, held together not by stitches but by the thick, dark stains that all but covered them. A grey hood hung over his head, hiding his features. But there was no hiding the huge twitching muscles in the two grey arms, nor the warts and blisters on the thick fingers gripping the whopping great axe.

  Killgrotty fired his atom-masher. The huge figure glowed and grunted, but did not move. At a nod from their captain, the greenies let rip with the laser-tasers too. The enormous figure shook a little, but stayed on his feet.

  “Right. You’ve got the job.” Killgrotty stopped firing. The greenies stopped too. A low buzz of excited, nervous chatter spread through The Severed Arm.

  The massive figure just stood there.

  “What’s your name?” Killgrotty demanded.

  “.” The word fell from the figure’s lips, heavy enough
to crash through the floor “.” The figure raised his axe. “.”

  “I like your spirit, son.” Killgrotty chuckled and put an arm around the massive monster. “Now, here’s what you’re gonna do for us . . .”

  Like I said.

  It’s a good job I couldn’t see what was happening back at The Severed Arm…

  Have you ever found yourself traipsing downhill through muck and puddles in pitch blackness with a giant hamster and a gorgon? I’m guessing probably not. In which case – congratulations!

  It’s not an experience I’m keen to repeat.

  Voshto’s map had guided us to a manhole – sorry, a monsterhole – cover in the middle of a muddy field. It was the entrance to a disused sewer, just a short fall off a broken ladder away.

  This was our secret short cut down to the next level without being spotted: trudging through super-smelly, fossilised monster whoopsies in the dark. There were lots of buzzy flies around, and as Zola led the way with her shades off, she transformed them into little tiny fairylights that dropped to the floor and shone for a few minutes until her gorgon glare wore off.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Zola sighed.

  “Very useful,” said Verity politely.

  “Bob,” Zola went on, “do you appreciate the way I’m layering colour and brightness to create intensities of light and shade?”

  “Er, yeah,” I said eloquently, as Zola sent another bunch of flies falling like radioactive M&Ms. “Can you transform anything, Zola?”

  “Well, I’ve never tried turning a human being into something else.” Zola popped on her shades and glanced back at me, eyebrows raised. “Your body make-up is so different to a monster’s. Can you imagine what might happen?”

  “I’m too busy trying not to imagine what I’m stepping in,” I said. And, truth be told, I was feeling kind of weird now I was outnumbered by monsters on this trip. I wondered what Verity’s real reasons were for risking her neck to find the jewel – to make her uncle’s dream come true, or to get out of trouble with the Monster Army? Or, could it possibly be because she liked having a ‘pet’ human she could take for walkies? She certainly acted friendly enough. Either way, I had no choice but to follow her. If she changed her mind and went back home, I was totally stuffed.

  Or would I be okay just following Zola? She was green and snaky and had claws, which I’m afraid I found a bit off-putting – but she seemed surprisingly friendly for someone who could’ve been a killer monster. And besides, her motives were easy to understand – she was coming along because she wanted to wish herself a happy ending, and I knew what that felt like.

  There’s no place like home, I thought dreamily, and knew I would do anything it took to get back there. Even so, this manky sewer tunnel was GROSS. “How much longer do we have to stay down here?”

  I was answered with a booming clang. “” yelled Zola. “By Athena’s sandal, .”

  “Aha!” cried Verity, “have you just walked into a big metal hatch, Zola?”

  “ Goodness Goddess, that hurt. I think two of my snakes have got mild concussion. .”

  “Well, that’s good news.”

  “What? How – – come?”

  “That hatch leads out into the Wilderness Woods.” Verity peered at the map, her dark eyes gleaming in the fly-light. “See, long ago, the muck from this old sewer came down into Level Five to help the wood grow.” She pulled on a rusty wheel, which squeaked round stiffly. The hatchway slowly opened. A chink of green light entered the old sewer, and a damp, musty smell crawled into my nose.

  “Here we go, then.” She hopped outside. “As you humans say – ”

  “We don’t, actually” I complained, as Zola woozily jumped after her. Taking a deep breath, I followed them.

  I landed next to Zola and Verity in a large forest clearing, dimly lit by a pinky skybulb. The trees were bare and dark and gnarly, like mutant skeletons clawing at the black-mud sky high above. The ground was covered in clumps of spiky grass, like enormous house spiders turned on their backs, glowing sickly yellow. I prodded one with my foot and it left luminous stains on my trainers.

  “Ugh! I feel dizzy.” A couple of conked-out snakes hung down over Zola’s forehead, their little scarves dangling over her shades. She gently scooped them up and smoothed them back over her head. “Think I’d better lie down for a bit.” She draped herself around a tree trunk and posed in pantomime pain. “Oh! If only someone could sketch me in this position and capture my aching soul!”

  “Yeah, they could call it, Gorgon with Conked-Out Snakes Hugging Dead Tree,” I suggested.

  To be honest, I was 97% more interested in the local wildlife, now we’d dropped another level. “How horrid are the monsters who live down here?” I enquired. “How long do we have before they try to splatter us?”

  “Uncle Voshto chose this area because it’s most deserted,” Verity said, with a reassuring smile. “Most monsters around here live in high-rise caves, and they’re kept in line by the Crudzilla clan.”

  “The who?” I asked.

  “The Crudzilla clan. They’re related to some massive scaly monsters that must still walk your world. Uncle V picked up transmissions of human documentaries – they smashed down cities, ate buildings, that sort of stuff. DinoBeasts.”

  “DinoBeasts?” I had a real ‘HUH?’ moment – I’ve seen all twenty-seven DinoBeast movies. “You mean, like . . . a sort of dinosaur-beast-monster thing?”

  Verity looked at me. “Bob-ob-ob, what is this human thing called ‘dinosaur’?”

  “A prehistoric monster.”

  “Well, I think Poppa Crudzilla’s only a century old,” said Verity. “But yeah, his DinoBeast relatives are, like, legends in Terra Monstra. That’s why everyone down here lets the Crudzillas boss them around.”

  “But . . . DinoBeast isn’t real!” I spluttered. “He’s just special effects. Made up.”

  “Made up?” Verity tittered and looked at me fondly. “Aww, Bob-ob-ob, bless you. You’re so naïve. Well, if it makes you feel happier, yes – DinoBeast is made up.”

  “He IS made up though.”

  “Fine.”

  “I mean it.”

  “So do I. He isn’t real. Sure.”

  “Listen—”

  A sudden, ghostly wail floated out from the gloom, whistling like wind about the skeletal tree branches.

  I gulped. “On second thoughts, don’t listen.”

  “You know, I’m an artist, not a travel guide.” Zola opened her eyes dizzily. “But I think we want to go in the opposite direction to whatever made that noise.”

  “” came a weird, high-pitched voice from the tree-shadows behind us; a voice that chilled me to my deepest bits.

  Zola, Verity and I all turned as one – to find an enormous, boss-eyed weirdo watching us from the other end of the clearing. He wore a black and white hoop top that barely contained his belly, and grey leggings that sagged in unpleasant places. His scary face looked like it had been soaked in yellow goo, but scarier still was the enormous axe he held in one hand, and the wooden club he held in the other.

  I stared, transfixed with terror. “What the flip is that?”

  Verity looked at least 62% more frightened than I had ever seen her. “L-l-l-looks like a jollywobble.”

  “It doesn’t look very jolly to me,” I hissed back. “It’s got an axe.”

  “Most jollywobbles are lumberjacks.” She stayed frozen as still as one of Zola’s should-be-statues. “The axe is for c-c-c-cutting down trees.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Abso-nibblin’-deffo.” Verity swallowed hard. “It’s that club he’s holding you have to worry about. They clobber you till your bones go wobbly and you end up a living jelly.”

  The jollywobble pointed to himself. “.” Then he pointed at me and Verity. “”

  “You’re quite the poet, Chopper.” Zola struggled up and pulled off her shades. “So – let’s see how you fare/With the terrible stare/Of the gorgon’s glare!”<
br />
  The Chopper looked at her. And went on looking. But nothing happened to him.

  “By the pimples of Homer! Not enough snake-strength!” Zola shook her head, her sleeping serpents flopping back and forth. “He’s too tough to transform!”

  I groaned. “What do we do now?”

  Zola looked thoughtful. “Perhaps we could try to express our feelings of fear through an interpretive dance or—”

  “Not now, Zola!” I looked at Verity, who had started to shake. “Verity, got any plans, or—?”

  “” With a loopy laugh, the Chopper raised his weapons and charged towards us.

  “Zola, hide!” I shouted, then yelled in Verity’s ear: “RUN!”

  Verity’s eyes glinted green, just as they had before she’d tackled Killgrotty up on Level One. Only this time she scurried away into the forest on all fours, super-fast.

  “Wait for me!” I put on a spurt of speed. I glanced back to find the Chopper was still coming right for me.

  Panicking, I tried to follow the crashing of branches and footfalls as Verity ran on. But the smashing, swiping, clattering pursuit of the Chopper was growing louder in my ears as he sprinted after us like something from my worst nightmares . . .

  With a shock, I realised: the Chopper’s got to be around 24% faster than I am. He’s going to outrun me.

  What could I do?

  I paused in a small clearing, panting for breath. There was nothing ahead but the dark, skinny trees and their gnarled branches.

  With sudden inspiration, I hurled myself at the thickest tree I could see and began to climb, shinning up as quickly as I could. When I reached the highest of the thick branches, maybe ten metres above the ground, I clung on to the old, dead wood, trying to calm my breathing, desperate not to give myself away.