Hamish and the WorldStoppers Page 6

  Hamish was panicking now. What were they going to do to him? Maybe he could get to Robin’s house. But Robin would have a heart attack if he saw Hamish pedalling up with Grenville Bile right behind him. What about Jimmy? Jimmy would save him! That’s what big brothers were for, wasn’t it?

  Wait! Felicity Gobb’s street was just around the corner and Jimmy might be there!

  But just as Hamish was going to turn into Aubergine Lane . . .

  ‘GOT YA!’ shouted Lurgie, springing out from nowhere and skidding to block the road.

  Hamish couldn’t turn – he had to keep going! Look! He could take the next right instead . . .

  ‘STOP RIGHT THERE!’ shouted Roger, skidding from round the corner, a long line of snot flinging itself out of his nose and whipping around his head.

  Uuuurgh!

  Hamish kept cycling straight ahead, with Grenville huffing and puffing behind him, but showing no sign of slowing.

  Hamish needed a plan!

  If he could just circle back to the high street and get to where there were other people, maybe Grenville would leave him alone.

  So Hamish hit a right down Elderberry Avenue . . .

  He looked over his shoulder, quickly . . . All three kids were gaining on him . . .

  Just a little further . . . just a little further . . .

  Round this corner!

  Down this alley!

  Over this road!

  And then . . .

  OOOOOOF!

  BANG!

  OUCH!

  Hamish nearly rode straight into someone, right on the corner of the town square.

  He tumbled to the ground, grazing his knees and rolling over until he went slap-bang into a fence. His bike skittered and clanked to the ground. The shopping went everywhere.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Hamish looked up to see a girl about his age. She was wearing blue combat trousers and a blue military jumper. She had a bag over her shoulder with the letters ‘PPP’ written across it and a small badge stuck to one side – a badge with the St Autumnal’s school sign on it. And, strangely, she had one blue streak through her otherwise jet-black hair.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Hamish, looking around, panicked. He had nowhere to go and Grenville would be here any second. ‘I’m sorry, I’m . . .’

  ‘HA! HAHAHAHA!’

  The laugh was loud and malavolunt evil.

  Grenville had arrived. He dropped his bike to the ground. His associates did the same. The three boys each cracked their knuckles menacingly.

  They had Hamish right where they wanted him. Up against a wall and just out of earshot of any nosey grown-ups, busybodies or blotter-jotters who might stop them undertaking their evil deeds.

  Grenville sauntered forward, still in his El Gamba mask. Evidently, he thought he looked pretty cool in that.

  Either side of him, Lurgie and Roger seemed to grow taller.

  ‘Get up . . .’ said Grenville, putting his hands on his hips. ‘Get up right now—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said the girl, interrupting. ‘Why are you wearing a mask?’

  ‘What?’ said Grenville, who really didn’t want to be distracted right now.

  ‘Is it for dramatic effect?’ she asked. ‘Only you look like a doofus.’

  Roger and Lurgie were shocked. Who was this girl? No one spoke to Grenville like this!

  ‘I’ll have you know this is a Mexican wrestling mask,’ said Grenville, patiently. ‘The same one worn by . . . El Gamba!’

  He made an impressive face. The girl scrunched up her nose.

  ‘My cousin lives in Spain,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t “El Gamba” mean . . . the Prawn?’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘Yes it does,’ said the girl. ‘“El Gamba” means “the Prawn”. What kind of name is the Prawn? The Prawn is pretty much the least frightening name of all time.’

  ‘No it’s not,’ said Grenville, who felt like he was losing some of his power here. ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Oh, no, the Prawn, the Prawn!’ she said, sarcastically. ‘Well, I’d better do what you say, seeing as you’re known as the Prawn and all. I wouldn’t want to get light-to-moderate food poisoning or anything.’

  Roger laughed. Lurgie pushed him to tell him to stop, then had to wipe his hand.

  ‘Look, I’m pretty busy here,’ said Grenville.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the girl. ‘I must remember not to be so shellfish.’

  Roger laughed again and even Lurgie had to admit that was a pretty good gag. Who was this girl? wondered Hamish.

  ‘Now, Ellerby,’ said Grenville, firmly. ‘You need to be punished for what you did to my associates.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything to your associates,’ said Hamish, who felt a little braver with this girl around. ‘Honestly. They just ran at me and missed.’

  ‘Scratch and Mole said you made them look stupid in front of everybody,’ said Grenville. ‘And so now I’m afraid you must pay.’

  The three boys were very close to poor Hamish now. He took a deep breath, ready for whatever they had in store. Grenville suddenly took Hamish’s hand, lifted it up to eye level and said . . . ‘Now that’s a nice watch.’

  ‘It’s my dad’s,’ said Hamish. ‘Or it was. Please, Grenville, look—’

  ‘Well, if it was your dad’s, it’s not like he needs it now, is it?’

  Hamish started to panic. He wanted to fight them. He could feel his chest tightening with rage. This was so unfair. And they were going to take the one special thing Hamish had.

  But there were three of them. And they were so much bigger than him.

  ‘I’ll just borrow it, I think,’ said Grenville, pulling the watch off Hamish’s wrist and tossing it casually to Roger. ‘I could do with a nice new watch.’

  ‘Leave him alone,’ said the girl. ‘You’re a bully in a mask. The only thing you’ve got in common with a prawn is the size of your brain.’

  Oh, don’t make this worse, thought Hamish.

  ‘I bet you’ve never punched anybody in your life,’ she said. ‘I bet you’d just hurt your knuckles if you did!’

  What was this girl doing? Why was she winding Grenville up?

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ said Grenville, smiling. ‘Well, Hamish, prepare to find out . . .’

  And as the nasty little thug raised one chubby fist to do just that . . . and as Hamish cursed that strange girl and closed his eyes in anticipation . . .

  A bright . . .

  . . . brilliant . . .

  Hamish took in the scene around him.

  Grenville with his fist in the air. Roger about to wipe his nose. Lurgie with his hands on his hips. The girl with the blue streak watching it all take place.

  He began to laugh, out of nothing but sheer relief!

  Twice the Pause had saved him now!

  Oh, thank you! Thank you!

  He could do anything he wanted now. He could tweak Grenville’s nose if he liked. He could kick Lurgie in the shin. He could swap everything in Roger’s pockets around so he didn’t know where anything was any more. He could pull down his pants and show them his bottom if he wanted to.

  Hamish had the power.

  Hamish had the control.

  Hamish was the greatest force in the universe!

  But what Hamish wasn’t banking on was this.

  The most awful, horrible, blood-curdling noise . . .

  A noise so awful, so horrible and so blood-curdling it is impossible to tell you exactly what it sounded like.

  Except that it was awful.

  And horrible.

  And it could curdle your blood.

  A kind of

  FVAA­­AAAA­A­AAA­A­AA­AR!

  A sort of

  PH­WAAEE­E­E­E­E­EE­EEE­ER!

  A type of

  PHFF­FVV­VV­AAA­EE­E­E­E­E­R!

  It was the sound of pain and fear. Of nightmares. Of hope disappearing down a screaming plughole.

  The noise was everywhere, almost like it was sol
id. It ran through Hamish’s body, making his teeth ring. It was sharp and spiked and almost too loud to handle.

  He raised his hands to his ears to block it out, but it was no good. The noise was stronger than he was.

  Looking around him, he saw the sky darken – how was this possible, when the world was still? This had never happened in the other Pauses. Suddenly it wasn’t so great to be the only one moving around. He wanted to ask questions, to talk to the others . . . which was when he heard something else.

  A roar.

  The terrifying clatter of hooves.

  Hundreds of hooves.

  The whispers, growing louder by the second.

  The hum of a huge and approaching horde!

  Hamish began to feel very frightened indeed. He wanted to run. To hide. To get inside somewhere, anywhere. He wanted to be in his own room more than anything in the world. He wanted his mum. He wanted his dad.

  What was coming? What was round the corner?

  These were questions Hamish would quickly realise he actually did not want the answers to.

  Because the truth was so much worse than anything he could imagine.

  The Awful Truth

  As they turned the corner and came into view, Hamish fell completely still.

  Not because he was trying to blend in with the others.

  But because what he saw made his blood run cold.

  These things, these shapes, they were everywhere.

  Starkley was overrun.

  Some came on horses . . . but wait, no – not horses. These horses had scales. They were black as the night, black as coal and the breath that shot from their nose was black too.

  Others just ran, their barbed feet clickety-clacketing on concrete and their bony fingers constantly wiggling, like skittery spiders’ legs.

  The awful figures wore hoods and cloaks and, when Hamish saw what was underneath, his tummy flipped and turned . . .

  Pale white faces, bug eyes, two tiny pinpricks for a nose . . .

  Some had monstrous tusks and smaller, round black eyes and mouths that seemed to open half their head . . .

  And the teeth! Hamish had never seen so many fearsome teeth.

  He moved a fraction backwards as he realised they were coming his way – they were coming every way!

  Stop! Hamish thought. I can’t move a muscle! I mustn’t! Or else they’ll grab me! Or eat me! Or do who knows what to me!

  He fixed himself in position next to Grenville and the girl. He felt the urge to chalk round his feet, but there wasn’t the time!

  The things came closer . . . What were they? They prodded and poked the poor people of Starkley who were stuck in the Pause. The creatures slithered about, the hum getting louder . . . They ruffled hair and slid their long, wet fingers into pockets, pulling out wallets and tissues and coins . . .

  Some of them cackled as they clambered around, climbing up buildings or overturning flowerboxes . . . cracking the odd window with their sharp yellow nails as they sniffed out what was inside . . . while their scaled horses, with giant red lizard tongues, thundered noisily around.

  This was chaos. Starkley was absolute chaos.

  FVAA­AA­AAA­AAAA­AA­A­R!

  The noise again. Louder this time and even more painful. Hamish winced until it stopped, his eyes growing wider as he saw . . .

  . . . the tallest, most grotesquest thing he had ever seen.

  It must have been twelve feet tall with a top hat that made it taller still. Was it in charge? It was like an ogre! Or a warlock! A cross between a circus ringmaster and a witch! It made string-bean Mr Ramsface look like a toddler!

  The smaller things skittered away as this giant strode into view, like fish fleeing a shark. They cowered around it. It was huge with enormous feet, the size of dogs. Wooden shoes that splintered and creaked. Knees like footballs, thighs like logs, two huge grey arms and that black top hat . . .

  And there – look at that! A roll of low black fog crept into town with it, like a carpet beneath its feet . . .

  Hamish totally wanted to vomit. I’m serious. This kid wanted to bend and send. He wanted to set his lunch free. He was all about fertilising the pavement.

  And that was before the smell hit him.

  This smell was the opposite of anything you’ve ever wanted to smell, ever. Like the weird noise, it felt to Hamish like you could touch it – that was how thick and rich and bitter it was. It was like vinegar and fish. It was like sulphur and eggs. You could almost see it as it hung in the air. It made your nose rise and your eyebrows fall. It was powerful. So powerful it could turn a white cat brown.

  In its hand, the gigantic beast held some kind of crooked and shell-like bugle, which seemed to move and grow . . . Hamish almost thought it could be alive . . .

  Once more it blew it -

  FVAAA­AAAA­A­A­A­A­A­A­AR­!

  The things became quiet.

  The beast stared at them.

  ‘BEGIN!’ it suddenly roared, looking at the town clock, while the trees began to sway from the power of his words.

  Hamish found himself covered in thick raindrops of spittle that emerged from the giant thing’s mouth and splatted loudly on the concrete. It was like having a shower in cabbage and pickle juice. It almost made him miss Mr Longblather.

  World! Please start again! thought Hamish. Please, world, start again!

  Next was a rising howl of joy from the things that made Hamish shake.

  Stop shaking! he thought. Don’t move!

  He wanted to close his eyes, but they were welling up from the stench of that pickle juice and he was worried that if he closed his eyes a tear might fall. Then it would be Game Over.

  The things were taking over Starkley, bursting through doors and slinking down sewers . . .

  Hamish’s eyes followed them from the edge of the square. He couldn’t turn and run, because then they’d know. They’d grab him! And eat him! All he could do was watch in sheer horror as these vast things leapt from rooftops, landing on people’s shoulders, getting inside their clothes, sniffing their armpits . . .

  There were two of them pulling at Mr Slackjaw’s jacket!

  Another two were pushing a frozen Astrid Carruthers around like a ball!

  Which is when Hamish noticed something . . .

  The girl opposite – she was looking at him. She hadn’t moved an inch, but her eyes were on him. She hadn’t been looking at him before – how was she looking at him now?

  ‘FIND ONE!’ came the roar again, and Hamish noticed the beast had a moustache so huge it could easily have been a damp black squirrel. Its fingers were like greasy, bloated sausages, dripping fat.

  What did that mean, find one? Find one what?

  Then . . .

  Sniff sniff.

  Sniff sniff sniff.

  Oh, no.

  A thing was near.

  It was slinking up to Hamish and his group. He could see its terrible mouth and pale, awful face, getting closer and closer.

  Instinctively, Hamish glanced at the girl again. But she wasn’t looking at him any more.

  The thing was joined by two more, who snuffled and grunted at Hamish’s feet, their tusks scraping the concrete below. Slowly, they unfolded their legs like crickets and rose up until they towered far above him.

  Hamish stood in their shadow and fought the urge to whimper. He tried to control his breathing. He took a quiet breath through his nose and held it.

  The things didn’t seem to talk. They stalked around the kids, every once in a while lurching forward to stare into an eye or study an ear.

  Ewww! Their breath smelled of old beef! It was hot and sour, as they snorted and gruntled . . .

  A moment later . . . THWACK!

  One of the things delivered a mighty slap to Grenville’s thigh.

  They all laughed and pointed as it wobbled.

  Grenville remained perfectly still.

  Another thing wanted a turn.

  THWACK!

  Woa
h! That was a really big one! They all laughed again.

  EE­E-­EEE-­EEE-­EEE-­EEE!

  Then they all pointed at Grenville’s wrestling mask and laughed at that too.

  Now another one got in close to Roger’s face.

  It noticed the trails of snot dripping from Roger’s nostrils, like a couple of bright green waterfalls.

  It made a noise of appreciation.

  And then, from somewhere in that dreadful head, the biggest, wartiest tongue you could ever imagine flapped its way out . . .

  No! thought Hamish. Anything but that!

  And he watched in horror as the thing slowly licked its way up that grotty boy’s snotty face.

  Hamish was horrified. At everything about that. He didn’t want to be either of them. He could see that bristly, hairy, scratchy tongue make its way to the top of Roger’s head, where it wet his hair and made the front spike up.

  FVAAA­AA­AA­AA­AA­AA­AR!

  The beast began to stomp away with its bugle in its hand and a second later the things began to bound away . . . Was it over? More of them slunk out of doorways and garages, or slid down buildings. Those closest to Hamish backed away too, pausing only to pick up a frozen cat and lick it as they left.

  The sky lifted, the world brightened . . .

  And there was a small, but significant . . .

  ‘Thank goodness!’ said Hamish, loudly. ‘Oh, thank goodness!’

  Grenville stared at him, his fist still in a ball.

  ‘Well, I must say, Hamish,’ he said. ‘That’s a very strange reaction to being told you’re going to get thwunked on the nose!’

  ‘Hahaha!’ said Hamish, laughing in sheer relief. ‘Hahahahaha!’

  Grenville shrugged then thwunked him.

  As he stood up again, still smiling, Hamish watched the boys walk away. Grenville was limping, but obviously didn’t know why. He kept pointing at his thigh and shaking his head.

  How long had that Pause been?

  Then it hit Hamish. The Explorer. Grenville still had Hamish’s Explorer.

  Over their shoulders, already some way away, was the girl with the blue streak in her hair. She must have set off the moment the Pause ended, and was putting something into her bag as she walked quickly away.