Charlie Morphs Into a Mammoth

by Sam Copeland

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 4

  Author’s Note II

  Chapter 4 (Again)

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Sam Copeland is an author, which is an enormous shock to him. He is from Manchester and now lives in London with two smelly cats, three smelly children and one relatively clean-smelling wife. Sam also works as a mammoth shaver, shaving mammoths so they can hide peacefully among elephants without being bothered by nosy scientists. Charlie Morphs Into a Mammoth is his third book, following Charlie Changes Into a Chicken and Charlie Turns Into a T-Rex. Despite legal threats, he refuses to stop writing.

  Follow Sam online:

  www.sam-copeland.com

  @stubbleagent

  #CharlieMorphsIntoaMammoth

  Books by Sam Copeland

  CHARLIE CHANGES INTO A CHICKEN

  CHARLIE TURNS INTO A T-REX

  A FEW LETTERS FROM OUR VALUED READERS CONCERNING THE LAST BOOK

  Dear Puffin Books,

  WHAT?? Where were the T-Rexes?! I spent the last of my pocket money on Charlie Turns Into a T-Rex and I feel completely cheated.

  Worst wishes,

  Josh, nine, Whitstable

  Dear Puffin Books,

  I should have learned my lesson after the first book, when Charlie didn’t change into a chicken. But I didn’t. Instead, I bought Charlie Turns Into a T-Rex fully expecting him to turn into a Tyrannosaurus. Once again, I was lied to. I shall never trust Sam Copeland, Puffin Books or, in fact, anybody ever again.

  Yours devastatedly,

  Mae Dupname, ten,

  Banjax-on-Thames

  Dear Puffin Books,

  No T-Rex?! That’s the worst news. The worst. Sneaky Sam Copeland is a stone-cold loser! I could write a children’s book better than him. Easy!

  Yours,

  D. Trump, 73 and ¾, USA

  Puffin Books

  80 Strand

  London

  Dear Reader,

  Well, here we are again.

  After a string of letters from angry children from around the world complaining about the non-appearance of T-Rexes in Charlie Turns Into a T-Rex, we have put in place measures to ensure that the author inserts WITHOUT FAIL at least one mammoth into this book.

  Please find below a written-down, 100% guaranteed, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die, unbreakable promise from the author.

  Yours faithfully,

  The Publisher

  Dear Puffin Books and Angry Children Around the World,

  I TOTALLY, 100% promise that Charlie will turn into a mammoth in this book.

  Your truthful author,

  Sam Copeland

  Charlie McGuffin was late again.

  And he really couldn’t be late this time or he was a dead man.

  And what was Charlie McGuffin late for?

  That’s an excellent question, dear reader. You all seem like a clever bunch, not like that dreadful crowd who read the last two books. They were awful. I think you guys are going to be my favourite readers so far – I can feel it in my bones.

  So, in answer to your question:

  Charlie McGuffin couldn’t be late for his school trip or he was a dead man.

  And where was the school trip to?

  Another great question, you clever reader! Well done! The school trip was to the local zoo.

  And was he actually going to be dead if he was late?

  No! Of course he wasn’t! Now that was a silly question. I meant he’d just be in quite a lot of trouble.

  You know, we got off to a good start, reader, but I’m beginning to have my doubts.

  So, to be clear – Charlie McGuffin couldn’t be late for his school trip or he was a dead (not actually dead) man.

  Oh, come ON. What is wrong with you? What do you mean, ‘Is Charlie a man?’ No! I know I said he was a ‘dead man’ but that was just a phrase. He’s obviously a boy. There’s even a picture of him on the cover of the book!

  I take back everything I said earlier. You’re every bit as dreadful as the readers of the last book. Possibly worse. I should have learned by now – I only ever get disappointed by readers. I suggest you run into the bathroom, take a good hard look at yourself in the mirror (if you can bear to) and then repeat three times, ‘I’m a massive bum-faced wazzock’.

  Meanwhile, I’m going to have to start all over again and I want NO QUESTIONS this time from you people.

  Charlie McGuffin was late again.

  And he really couldn’t be late this time, or he was a deadfn1 man.fn2

  Charlie had eighteen minutes to get to school if he didn’t want to miss the coach which was due to leave at precisely 9 a.m. to take his whole year to the zoo. Miss Fyre, the headmistress, had given them all a warning in assembly the day before: anyone who missed the bus would spend the whole day scrubbing the teachers’ toilets with the caretaker, Mr O’Dear.

  Charlie hoovered up his corn flakes,fn3 flung on his coat and jumped into his shoes,fn4 trying to ignore the sound of his parents arguing again. He flew out of the door,fn5 hopped onto his trusty bike and started pedalling. That was when disaster struck.

  His front wheel immediately started making an odd clicking noise and began to deflate. Charlie groaned. He couldn’t have a puncture.

  But a puncture it was. Dug deep into the tyre were four drawing pins. Four? How had that happened? Charlie looked down at the pavement and saw at least twenty more pins scattered all over the ground.

  Somebody must have accidentally dropped a box and not picked them up, Charlie thought, without a hint of suspicion, which he really should have had, considering this is the start of the book and suspicious goings-on always happen at the start of books.

  Well, that’s just really bad luck, Charlie thought. No one would put drawing pins on the pavement outside my house on purpose.

  Anyway, there was nothing he could do about it now. He was definitely going to be late and miss the school trip. Unless …

  Unless …

  Unless I change into an animal, Charlie thought. Then he might JUST have the time to fly to school or run there super-fast, change back into Charlie without being seen AND catch the coach.

  Charlie had been changing into animals for several months now, and had learned how to do it whenever he wanted. It was choosing which animal that he hadn’t quite mastered … No matter what he did, it still seemed almost completely random.

  Even so, changing was his only chance. It was a risk he had to take.

  Charlie dumped his bike underneath a bush in his front garden, and looked around to make sure there was nobody watching.

  It looked like the coast was clear.

  Charlie closed his eyes and balled his fists, allowing stress to flow into his body. He thought about the rumble of his parents’ arguments, which seemed to be non-stop these days. The sound of raised voices and slammed doors gave Charlie a feeling like his lungs were too tight and his stomach had been dropped in icy water. He remembered running upstairs and finding the Great Catsby lying on his bed, out of his box in the kitchen for once, and burying his face in the cat’s fur, sobbing.

  Charlie recognized the feeling of electricity rippling through his body almost immediately.

  He was changing, and changing fast.

  Charlie tried imagining the
quickest animal he could think of. A great, soaring bird sprang into his brain – a golden eagle with huge wings, designed for maximum speed.

  He kept the picture in his mind as the electricity built and built, ripping apart every atom in his body and rebuilding them. He could sense himself shrinking and feel wings sprouting out of his back. But then, to Charlie’s dismay, he continued shrinking. Smaller than a golden eagle.

  Way smaller.

  Maybe I’m going to be a pigeon again, Charlie thought with a groan. Please – NOT a pigeon. ANYTHING but that!

  No, he realized with relief. I’m even smaller than a pigeon.

  A sparrow?

  No, smaller than a sparrow. And anyway, he wasn’t growing feathers.

  He had grown four new legs, some bristly hair and three new eyes on his forehead, but no feathers. His two original eyes had split into thousands of tiny eyes, and he’d grown antennae out of his head. Charlie was pretty sure that no bird looked THAT freaky. He rubbed his two front legs together and buzzed a pair of fragile, transparent wings.

  He was tiny now. The size of a –

  Charlie was a fly.

  Ah well, thought Charlie. It could be worse. He could still whizz to school super-fast, and while an eagle over the playground would have probably drawn a bit of attention, nobody would notice a boring old house fly, so Charlie reckoned he was pretty safe.

  As long as he kept focused and didn’t forget who he really was, that is. Because, as Charlie had discovered, becoming an animal sometimes made him start to forget that he was actually a human. And that meant trouble …

  Charlie’s antennae twitched and a sudden shiver of nervousness shot through his body. It felt like his body had some sort of tingling fly sixth sense, on high alert to any danger.

  With a final rub of his front legs, Charlie buzzed his wings and zipped into the air. He had a curious feeling he was being watched but, despite his many eyes, he couldn’t see anybody, so he put it to the back of his tiny fly-mind and started off in the direction of school.

  Charlie zoomed happily along, his wings whirring so fast they were a blur. He would never get bored of the feeling of flying – he felt so free, so agile. Plus, his new fly-vision gave him an incredible 360-degree view of the world. It was strange to be flying forward but able to see behind him at the same time. The people and cars below seemed to be moving incredibly slowly. Compared to Charlie, they were crawling in slow-motion. He could see a boy cycling below him who looked like he was pedalling through water.

  Suddenly, Charlie’s antennae twitched again.

  He could smell something delicious.

  Well, Charlie thought, I did miss out on my cornflakes. And I’m making such good progress, I reckon I’ve got time for a quick snack …

  Charlie the fly followed the irresistible smell drifting through the air, zig-zagging closer and closer.

  Finally, he spotted the source.

  There, on the ground.

  A scrumptious, exquisite, delicious-looking mound of brown, steaming poo.

  Yum, thought Charlie.

  Charlie darted down and landed slap-bang on top of it. The intoxicating smell was making his little fly stomach rumble with hunger.

  His feet were now covered in poo. He rubbed his two front legs together and then pressed them against his proboscis.fn6

  Deep down, Charlie knew what he was about to do was wrong.

  He knew it was appalling.

  He knew it was revolting.

  But he just couldn’t help it.

  Without any warning, Charlie puked on to the pile of poo he was standing on. He watched, proboscis watering, as his puke bubbled and fizzed and turned the poo into a steaming liquid mixture – a sort of poo-and-vomit smoothie. And then he stuck his proboscis into it like a straw and started to slurp greedily.fn7

  Mmmm, thought Charlie. Yummmm!

  As Charlie was tucking into his foul breakfast, he half-noticed something was approaching him from behind. It looked like a person, but they were moving so slowly it wasn’t important. Charlie knew he could fly away at any time.

  A bit more lovely, lovely poo smoothie, he thought, and then I really must get off to school.

  Charlie slurped on until finally his belly was full. It was only as he was wiping the poo from his proboscis that Charlie noticed the danger he was in.

  The huge, dark figure was upon him, a vast giant towering unimaginably high. It was swinging something towards him and Charlie tried to jump into the air, wings buzzing furiously.

  But he’d left it too late.

  A huge black box slammed down and swallowed him up.

  Charlie sat in the darkness, facing up to his situation.

  He was encased in a pitch-black jail, standing on a pile of poo.

  Oh no …

  He’d been eating poo!

  All sounds from outside the box were muffled but Charlie could hear the unmistakable sound of somebody being sick. And then something slid underneath him and Charlie could no longer feel the warm, squidgy poo under his feet, but hard cardboard instead.

  ‘Ha!’ the voice panted between retches. ‘I’ve – ugh, it’s all over my hands – I’ve got you now!’

  Charlie had a terrible feeling he recognized the voice.

  Panic began to set in and he buzzed inside the box, banging against the walls in a desperate attempt to escape.

  But it was hopeless. He was completely trapped.

  Charlie felt as if he was in a great elevator, being lifted high into the air. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was being carried.

  ‘Well, well, well, Charles McGuffin,’ said the voice triumphantly. ‘Looks like I’ve finally caught you.’

  Charlie did know that voice. He’d know it anywhere.

  ‘I told you I’d get you, one of these days,’ gloated the voice. ‘And you flew right into my trap. Now when you change back, I’m going to make sure the whole world sees what a freak you are!’

  With sickening dread, Charlie realized he’d been captured by Dylan van der Gruyne.

  Charlie the fly sat in total darkness, his tiny heart thrumming in panic. He tried to calm himself down and figure out what to do. His cardboard prison was bumping up and down, and Charlie guessed by the steady rhythm that he was in Dylan’s pocket, and that Dylan was walking.

  Charlie was well and truly stuck.

  He had to change back – and fast.

  But Charlie needed to be calm in order to change, and there was no escape from his spiralling thoughts.

  He felt as if he was trapped in a coffin, buried deep under the earth.

  He couldn’t imagine ever seeing daylight again.

  He could hardly breathe.

  Charlie hurled himself against the cardboard walls of the box, banging and bashing to no avail, until he finally gave up and miserably clung to one of the sides. He couldn’t even tell if he was the right way up.

  Slowly but surely, Charlie the fly felt himself start separating from Charlie the boy. Bit by bit, he could feel his thoughts and memories slipping away, and Charlie knew they would go on shrinking until they disappeared altogether, and all that would be left would be a fly in a matchbox.

  Charlie fought the terror that clutched at him.

  He tried to slow his breathing and remember all the people who loved him: his mum and dad; his brother, SmoothMove; his best friends, Mohsen and Wogan, and of course, Flora. He clung to warm memories of them, desperately trying to stop himself sinking into the dreadful quicksand of forgetfulness that threatened to engulf him.

  Slowly, the slide into oblivion stopped, and Charlie found he could still remember who he was. He might be a fly with a pooey proboscis, but he was Charlie the fly.

  He was still stuck, though. The happy memories had been enough to stop him losing himself, but hadn’t been quite enough to get him to change back.

  Through the cardboard, he could hear faint noises from outside.

  It sounded like he was in a playground. Dylan must have reached sch
ool, and Charlie was still stuck in his pocket.

  ‘Come on, Van der Gruyne!’ shouted the unmistakable voice of Mr Wind, the Head of Year. ‘You nearly missed the bus, boy. Get on quickly!’

  Charlie felt the bumping steps as Dylan clambered on to the bus.

  ‘Now,’ Mr Wind continued, ‘that’s everybody … apart from McGuffin. Anybody seen Charles McGuffin? No? Well, he was warned! Hope he has fun on bog-duty with Mr O’Dear! Driver, if you will, to the zoo!’

  Through his six sticky feet, Charlie felt the vibration of the bus engine starting, then a sudden bump as Dylan sat down.

  Now Charlie was REALLY stuck. There was no way he could change back now. Everyone would see him.

  As the bus drove further away from the school, the babbling of the children became louder and more excitable.

  But above the chatter, Charlie could clearly hear two voices arguing.

  ‘He does!’

  ‘He doesn’t!’

  ‘He DOES!’

  ‘He ’

  Charlie would know them anywhere. It was Mohsen and Wogan.

  ‘How do you know? You haven’t even seen it!’

  ‘Right, Flora, can you settle this?’ That was Mohsen speaking, Charlie thought, smiling inside. ‘Does Spider-Man blow webs out of his bum?’

  ‘Does Spider-Man blow webs out of his bum?!’ That was Flora’s voice, and Charlie’s heart leaped with joy. He could imagine the look of disbelief in her face. ‘Is that what you’re really asking me?’

  ‘He does!’ exclaimed Wogan. ‘In the first movie – the one with the evil sheep! Spider-Man bends over and blasts webs out like massive farts all over them!’

  Charlie felt laughter begin to ripple through him like sunshine on water.

  ‘Wogan,’ Flora said wearily. ‘Please. Listen to yourself. Spider-Man blasting webs out of his bum on to evil sheep? Are you sure this wasn’t a dream?’

  ‘Ah,’ Wogan replied. ‘Yes. Now you mention it, there’s actually a strong possibility it was a dream. In fact, come to think of it, I’m almost certain it was a dream.’