‘What does she do here?’ asked Dwayne.
‘Molly, she’s, uh . . . she’s . . .’ Nelson was struggling to come up with an answer when a fireball erupted from the top of Nosh’s head and hit the ceiling.
‘AHH!’ cried Dwayne, who tripped, fell backwards over Crush and smacked the back of his head on the corner of the kitchen table. He lay on the floor, knocked out cold.
‘OH MY GOD!’ cried Nelson. ‘YOU’VE KILLED THE ROCK!’
‘HONK!’ screamed Crush, and the monsters went into panic mode.
Crush caressed the head of his beloved hero and honked into his ear.
‘Get ’im some water!’ ordered Stan, and Hoot did as instructed, flying over to collect a fish bowl containing three fish.
Splash! went the water and the little fish, all over Dwayne, Nelson and the carpet.
‘Yeah, ideally without fish in it!’ spluttered Nelson, collecting the poor things carefully as they flopped around on the floor and plopping them into a glass of water.
The water had no effect on Dwayne, and now the flames were spreading quickly across the ceiling, down the wall and into the small kitchen area.
‘FIRE!’ cried Nosh, and Miser’s tentacles reached out to pull a fire extinguisher from the wall. He aimed it at the ceiling. Fsssssshhhh! went the extinguisher. Thick white foam appeared but it seemed no match for the growing fire.
Crush clung to Dwayne’s now foam-soaked head and wailed. ‘HOOOOOOOONK!’
‘We’ve gotta get The Rock out!’ cried Puff over all the shouting.
‘YOU TAKE ’IS HEAD, I’LL TAKE ’IS FEET!’ Stan commanded, and with that he dragged Dwayne’s feet to the door and down the steps. Sadly, no one had responded quick enough to the command to hold Dwayne’s head and so it bounced down the four trailer steps like a basketball with a face and landed – splat! – in a puddle of mud at the bottom.
‘Do not worry. The fire is out, Master Nelson,’ said Miser as he stepped down from the trailer, covered in foam. Sadly, Miser could not have been more wrong. While he had succeeded in extinguishing the flames on the ceiling, the fire had also spread beneath the kitchen cupboards, where it met with a large gas canister and . . . BOOM! The back wall of the trailer blew away in a shower of sparks and sent the trailer shooting forwards like a rocket. Nelson’s mouth fell open at the sight of Dwayne’s trailer trundling down a dirt slope and gathering so much speed that when it reached the bottom, it drove right through a gigantic green-screen sheet that had been hung at the back of the location, rolled through a set that had been made to look like an airplane hangar, and smashed through the fake wall that Dwayne was supposed to be driving his stunt car through.
‘Run!’ cried Nelson, and they ran back towards the film-set fence. Hoot flew over Nelson’s head, grabbed hold of his shoulders and pulled him up into the air and over the fence while the rest of the monsters ran through the security gate.
‘SORRY, DA ROCK!’ was all Nosh could think to say as he looked at their beloved action hero, for Nosh knew that had he not eaten the sneaker, his stomach would not have incinerated it, flames would not have shot from the top of his head, there would have been no fire, and Dwayne would now be looking fabulous while driving a car – and not lying unconscious in a puddle of mud covered in white foam while his trailer burned to a crisp in front of a stunned camera crew.
NOTE: you will be pleased to know that Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson was only mildly concussed and will be returning to your screens very soon.
THE UNHAPPY VAN
Though their encounter with Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson had not exactly gone to plan, Nelson and his monsters were still in a good mood. Crush had been especially happy and spent most of the next day staring at the signed photo, tracing the ink with his fingers as if this connected him to his idol.
As Nelson cycled back from the first rehearsal of Katy’s play, however, he felt a sudden heavy feeling in his chest as he remembered there were only two monster wishes left: Spike’s and Stan’s. Both of these monsters had been tricky when it came to deciding what they wanted to do. Spike simply couldn’t make up his mind, whereas Stan had lots of ideas, but they all involved getting revenge on someone who might have upset Nelson or caused him to feel shame in the past.
Nelson had refused to let Stan react to any of these incidents. ‘It’s not worth it, Stan; all these things bother you way more than they bother me. I mean, yes, it was embarrassing when those girls laughed at me at lunch today, but how was I supposed to know I had a massive bogey hanging out of my nose? And you can’t just give the sports teacher a wedgie because he didn’t allow a try in our last rugby game.’
‘You lost the game cos of ’im!’
‘No, we lost the game because the other team were a bit better than us.’
‘Let me go after the captain of the other team. He was a nasty little cheat and he elbowed you in the face.’
‘No, Stan! It was an accident! No revenge wishes, OK? You have to think of something else.’ Though Nelson had been strict with Stan, he secretly loved how much Stan stood up for him. It was like having a tiny red bodyguard, which, though ridiculous, was actually a reassuring thing to have in his life.
As Nelson cycled along the cycle path, he noticed some of the passing cars had switched on their headlights, so he pulled over beside the park and switched on his lights too. A squealing sound caught Nelson’s attention and, looking behind him, he saw a van pulling into the side of the road. It was a rusty, unhappy-looking vehicle and the van’s engine made an awful, high-pitched whining noise. The handbrake crunched as the driver brought the van to a stop.
Nelson turned away, covering his mouth and nose with the crook of his arms to avoid breathing in the cloud of black petrol fumes. With one hand on the handlebars, he pushed off, but had only gone a few feet when a man shouted, ‘Nelson? Nelson Green!’
Nelson was so shocked to hear his name he almost fell off his bike.
Stopping once again, he turned to see a male driver lean out of the window. He had light brown hair cut very short around his ears, small eyes and a smile just a little too wide for such a narrow face. He gave Nelson the creeps.
‘Who are you?’ shouted Nelson.
‘Mate. Just wanna talk to you for a minute,’ said the man and he opened the door of his van.
Nelson was standing out of his saddle and pedalling away at full speed before the man had even set foot on the ground. Talking with strangers made him feel uncomfortable at the best of times, but this stranger struck fear in Nelson’s heart.
He shot across the park, past the basketball court, and straight through the adventure playground.
Down the alleyway, across the car park of the council estate, past kids with wet hair swinging their bags as they left the public pool, and on to the pavement past a row of small shops – Nelson knew he was going too fast to stop should someone suddenly appear, but his fear was as powerful as rocket fuel and there was no way he was going to slow down until he was safely back with his monsters.
It was only as he reached the smashed-up pub at the end of Ivan’s road that Nelson dared to glance over his shoulder. No sign of the van. Nelson let out a great sigh of relief, sat down in the saddle and allowed the bike to coast the last few metres towards Ivan’s house. His monsters were already rushing out to greet him.
‘What ’appened? Why you all freaked out?’ squeaked Stan.
Nelson dropped his bike to the ground and pulled out his phone. The rules were that he was never to talk directly to his monsters in public in case someone saw him and became suspicious, so pretending to talk on the phone was the agreed solution.
‘Hi. How are you?’ said Nelson into the phone.
‘HONK! HONK! HONK!’ Crush was running around in circles. You could see from the monsters’ wide eyes and their jittering movements that Nelson’s fear had infected them too.
‘How are we? We felt what you felt and we were jolly well pooping our pants, dear boy!’ said Hoot breathless
ly.
‘We don’t wear any pants, you stupid bird!’ snapped Stan.
‘What has happened, Master Nelson? Do we need to prepare ourselves for bad news?’ asked Miser.
‘I’m OK – just had a bit of a creepy encounter with some van driver in the street.’ As he pretended to talk on the phone, Nelson walked around the side passage and into Ivan’s workshop.
‘Right!’ said Stan as he slammed the door behind them. ‘Can you please tell us what exactly happened?’
WHO WAS THE MAN IN THE VAN?
What Nelson didn’t know was that the man in the van was called Jim Tindle. Jim was a pale-skinned thirty-four-year-old who had until recently worked at Heathrow Airport in the passenger security section. What he had loved most about his job was the power it gave him. He enjoyed shouting at people to put their laptop computers or other electronic devices in a separate tray and he especially liked finding things in bags that the passengers were not allowed to take through security, like a pair of scissors or a large bottle of water, because Jim had the authority to throw these items into the bin right before their eyes. Sometimes his job was to pat down people if he thought they might be hiding something in their clothes. Jim had a knack for picking the people who would hate it the most. An angry businessperson already late for a plane. A parent with a screaming baby. An old man who was already feeling humiliated by having to hold up his trousers because his belt had had to be removed. Jim would relish pulling his victims aside and treating them as if they were criminals.
Oh yes, Jim loved his job. He also loved the uniform, and the routine, and the repetition. Even though he didn’t care for his fellow workers, this was the first time in Jim’s life he had found a place where he fitted in, and it made him happy to know he could do this for the rest of his life.
Then one day Jim’s life plan was suddenly ruined by a mysterious eleven-year-old boy.
It all started when a fire broke out in the passenger scanning area.
For a few minutes there was pandemonium, and though a great deal of equipment was damaged by the flames, there were no casualties. None of the airport staff knew what had started the fire, but checking the footage later on the CCTV, Jim discovered what appeared to be a single frame of a boy diving through the body scanner a split second before the fire broke out.
Jim had no idea who this boy on the screen was, but he was convinced he was somehow connected with the incident.
Unfortunately, none of Jim’s colleagues believed him. Jim absolutely hated it when he wasn’t taken seriously, so he had shown the video to his bosses. After much squinting at the screen, Jim’s bosses put it down to a glitch in the video system. ‘Anyway, little boys don’t just appear out of thin air,’ they said.
When Jim had got angry with them for not taking him seriously, they chuckled and told him to calm down. Big mistake. Jim felt ashamed, and shame is the red chilli pepper of emotions.
Jim carried his sizzling-hot shame home with him and logged on to the internet. If his bosses weren’t going to listen to him, then maybe someone on the internet would. He posted the picture of the mysterious boy flying through the air on Twitter and Facebook.
And guess what? It worked.
Within a few hours the photo was featured on a dozen blogs devoted to conspiracy theories such as ‘Is Bigfoot real?’ and ‘Are our mobile phones listening to everything we say?’ The picture was even picked up by an online news website.
Jim came to work that day feeling triumphant, but before he had even put on his uniform, he was called into the boss’s office and fired.
Jim had broken the rules by taking airport security images home with him and then sharing them online.
Just like that, Jim Tindle had not just lost the job he loved, he had also lost his place in the world. In the days that followed, Jim couldn’t bear to speak to or even see another person, and so he stayed inside his little flat with the curtains drawn with only his laptop for company . . . and then something wonderful happened.
It had been while scrolling through the online news that Jim saw Nelson. He was in a photo of a family gathered around a teenage girl called Celeste who had just been found alive after a kidnapping incident in South America.
Jim whooped with joy. The mysterious boy he had seen on the tape was real. His name was Nelson Green and he was even wearing the same hooded top from the blurry video.
Jim was sure it was no coincidence, but this time he decided to keep his findings to himself until he could prove without doubt that he had been right all along.
Without a job, Jim wasn’t able to afford the rent on his flat so he moved into his white van. He didn’t care. He had enough money for petrol and Jaffa Cakes, and even more importantly, he had a new sense of purpose: to find Nelson Green and prove he started the fire that cost Jim his job.
It took most of the summer for Jim to locate Nelson and his family, and for a few days he parked himself across the street from their home. Like a private investigator, Jim made notes about everything he observed Nelson doing that summer: all of the boy’s late-night trips to the park and London Zoo. From an oak tree on the other side of the school fence, Jim had even observed the rugby game during which Nelson appeared to fly for a moment, and it was while following Nelson and his sister one night that he had discovered the bike workshop. While crouched outside it, Jim heard Nelson talk of Uncle Pogo, Doody, something called a ‘sin extractor’ and the names of seven invisible creatures that had been extracted from Nelson’s soul: Nosh, Spike, Stan, Puff, Hoot, Crush and Miser.
Jim had been too excited to sleep for the previous few nights. He lay awake in his van imagining how terrific it was going to feel when he not only proved to the folks at work that he had been right all along, but that he had also uncovered a story the likes of which had never been heard before. The story would probably make him rich, he would certainly be famous, and best of all, he would be taken seriously and the red-hot shame that kept bubbling up when he thought about being fired would finally be cooled.
Now you know who Jim Tindle is.
But Nelson and his monsters were only just about to find out . . .
THERE WAS A KNOCK AT THE DOOR
The monsters froze. Nelson’s heart raced.
‘Ivan?’ said Nelson. ‘Is that you?’
The door opened, and there stood Jim Tindle, a creepy wide smile on his pale, narrow face. What made the expression creepy was that his eyes did not join in with the smile. They remained emotionless, almost blank. Recognizing Jim from the van, Nelson backed away from the door and tripped over Crush.
‘It’s all right; I’m not gonna hurt you, Nelson,’ said Jim with a fake little laugh.
‘Do you know this bloke?’ whispered Spike. The other monsters tensed and hissed and growled, like animals readying to attack their prey.
Nelson held up his hand, a sign that told his monsters to wait.
‘Who are you?’ said Nelson. ‘And how do you know my name?’
‘I’m Jim. You don’t know me. But I know all about you. The fire you started at the airport. And your little invisible friends.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Nelson, starting to feel very sick.
‘I’ve been following you for ages now. I know everything. I just need you to admit it all on camera, and I swear I will never bother you again.’
There was a pause. Jim was waiting for Nelson to reply, but Nelson was too shocked by what he had just heard to speak. The idea that he had been followed, and that his monsters were not a secret any more, chilled him to the bone.
‘Can I kill him?’ snarled Stan.
‘No you can’t!’ shouted Nelson.
‘Are you talking to them? They’re all here now, aren’t they? Spike, Nosh, Stan . . .’ Jim enjoyed seeing the colour drain out of Nelson’s face as he listed the names.
‘See? I know all about you and these creatures you’ve got I heard you talking about the sin extractor and how it works . . .’ Jim took his phone out of his pocket
and switched on the video mode.
‘Please. For your own sake. You’ve got to go away and leave us alone,’ said Nelson in a shaky voice.
‘Oh, I will, after you just do this one thing for me. I promise. Now, just start by saying your name into the camera.’
Nelson knew exactly what Stan was going to do if he didn’t get his own fear under control.
‘Let’s start from the beginning,’ urged Jim. ‘Your name is Nelson Green, isn’t that right?’
SMACK!
The phone flew out of Jim’s hand and hit the ceiling of the workshop. Before it had even landed on the ground, Jim was flying backwards out of the door, barrelled along by Stan, who roared like a tiny lion.
‘Aaaaaargh!’ cried Jim.
It was the last sound he made before a cloud of stinky purple gas rendered him unconscious.
THE MAGNIFICENT LADY OF KNIGHTSBRIDGE
Mrs Ailsa Linley was tiny, and almost a hundred years old, but she swished through the streets of Knightsbridge, London, as if she were on the red carpet leading to her very own premiere. Wearing her late husband’s tuxedo, slippers on her feet, a cigarette in one hand and her loyal Alsatian, Max, trotting by her side on a leash, she was the very definition of magnificent. It was a shame no one was around to see Ailsa, but she much preferred to take her morning walk before the tourists swarmed the streets. Though people often found Max intimidating, he was a quiet and gentle soul, which is why Ailsa was startled to hear him bark suddenly.
‘What are you barking at, Maxy? Huh? What is it, darling?’
They had stopped in front of the famous luxury department store called Harrods, and Max had jumped up at one of the display windows, his front paws pressed against the glass, his bark painfully loud.
‘You silly dog. It’s just a mannequin.’ Ailsa tugged at Max’s leash, but for the first time in his life, Max did not obey. His barking became more aggressive.
‘Maxy! Stop it! Look. See? It’s not a real man, it’s just a . . .’ Ailsa didn’t finish her sentence because she realized she was wrong and Max was right. There was a real man lying fast asleep in the window display. He was tucked up under a polka-dot duvet, a baby’s dummy in his mouth, and a shower cap on his head. He was surrounded by cuddly toys.
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