Bug Eyed Monsters (4 page)

‘Me, too,' said Ryan. ‘I'd eat chips all the time if they'd let us. Which they don't. Unfortunately.'

‘Ah, well, you're not an alien!' said Miss Beam, collecting up her books. ‘Well done again on that essay, Harry!'

‘Know what?' said Bal, as Miss Beam left the room. ‘I bet same as they can change what they look like, they can change how their bodies work. That way,' said Bal,
‘they could eat whatever they like… chips, and snails, whatever turns ‘em on.'

Or, said Harry, it could be that the only sort of aliens that came here were the sort that could naturally eat chips and stuff.

Joe shook his head. Far more likely, he said, they would just bring a load of pills with them.

‘But we've seen them eating,' said Bal. ‘All of ‘em!'

At this, Joe abruptly lost interest in what aliens might eat. He gave it as his opinion that what aliens ate, or did not eat, was of very little importance. What he wanted to know was what kind of language they spoke.

‘Guess that would depend,' said Ryan. ‘There's got to be all different sorts out there. Could be like giant reptiles, some of ‘em.'

‘Or insects,' said Bal. ‘I reckon if they were insects they'd most likely make clicking noises.'

‘Could be all soft and jellified, like great pools of gunge, sliming about… dunno what sort of sound
they'd
make.'

‘They'd plonk and gurgle,' said Joe. ‘Like when your stomach's empty and it goes
blurp.'

Five seconds later Mr Trout entered the room to find the whole of Year 6 busily blurping and plonking, clicking and gurgling, shrieking and howling. A zoo! A veritable zoo!

‘What is going on?' bawled Mr Trout. ‘Be quiet this instant, we are going to do fractions!'

‘Oh, sir, not fractions, sir!'

‘There's something we wanted to ask – '

‘Being as you're an expert, sir – '

‘What kind of language, sir, would aliens speak?'

Mr Trout breathed very deeply through hairy nostrils. Did the boys take him for an idiot?

‘Fractions,'
said Mr Trout.

Nobody played the same trick on him twice!

It was an interesting point, though. What kind of language
would
aliens speak?

Late in the night – maybe as late as midnight, but certainly long after lights out – Harry padded down the passage to the boys' bathroom. Mr Snitcher, next door, had his own bathroom. All the housemasters had. It didn't really seem quite fair, but then as Joe pointed out, life wasn't.

‘No use expecting it.'

Unlike Joe, Harry couldn't honestly have said that he was bothered one way or the other. There wasn't very much that bothered Harry. He was quite a laid back sort of person. He had admittedly felt a few prickles when he'd seen the bright red
golf balls floating in the dark, but maybe, after all, that had just been a trick of the light?

He left the bathroom and padded back up the passage. Yes! A trick of the light, that's all it had been. Nothing to get spooked about.

It was as he was passing Mr Snitcher's room that he heard it: a strange unearthly sound coming from somewhere inside. A kind of glooping, followed by a glurping. Could it be Mr Snitcher?

Harry crept in close and pressed his ear to the door crack. The strange sounds continued.

‘Glaaaaa-AAAAA-ergh-aaa-blurgh!'

A pause. And then again, more vehemently this time:

‘Glaaaaa-AAAAA-ergh-aaa-BLURGH!

This was followed by a gloop, followed by a glurp, followed by a long-drawn-out '
Flerrrrrrgh-BLOP!'

And then quite, quite suddenly, the door was flung open and Harry had the fright of
his life. With a stifled yelp, he took to his heels and ran.

* * *

‘Tell us again,' said Joe.
‘What
did it sound like?'

‘Like – ' Harry concentrated, trying to remember. He'd been through it all once, in the dorm before breakfast. ‘Something like… glaaaa-AAAA – '

‘AAAA – '

‘Ergh-blaaa – '

‘Ergh-blaaa —'

‘Blergh – '

‘Blergh – '

‘Blop.'

‘Blop?'

‘Right at the end. Blop.'

‘Blop. And then he opened the door – '

‘Then he opened the door and he was all mad and foaming.'

‘At the mouth?' Joe liked to be sure he had things right. ‘Foaming at the mouth?'

‘Yes, it was all frothing out of him.' Harry wriggled his fingers in front of his face. ‘Great crowds of it.'

‘Crowds of it.' Joe lingered lovingly over the picture of Mr Snitcher with crowds of froth coming out of his mouth. ‘What about his eyes? Were they red again?'

Harry hesitated. ‘Not really sure. Might have been.'

He was ashamed to admit that he hadn't hung around long enough to notice. He'd fled, in a panic, back down the corridor and hurled himself under his duvet as fast as he could, expecting the Snitch to come foaming in at any moment.

‘It's all right,' said Joe. ‘It was probably pretty scary. Anyway, we've already seen the eyes. Now we've heard the language… glaaa-AAAA-blergh… prob'ly communicating with a ship. Could be one out there right now, waiting to land.'

They both peered up into the sky, in search of alien vessels. The sky remained blue and clear.

‘Course, they'd land at night,' said Joe. ‘That's when the Fish saw them. They wouldn't risk coming in daytime. Hey, look! Isn't that your gran and granddad?'

Two or three times a term, Harry's gran and granddad would treat him and one of his friends to a special cream tea, down in the village. Gran wouldn't let Harry eat sweet things at home, she said they rotted the teeth, but she had this touching belief that the boys of St Bede's were fed on bread and marge and gristle stew for nine months of the year and were therefore entitled to a naughty treat now and again.

It was Granddad who had put the idea into her head.

‘All we ever had… bread and marge and gristle stew! Eh?'

He winked at the boys as they settled themselves into a corner at the Merrie Kettle.

‘Don't suppose anything has changed much since my time?'

Earnestly, they assured him that it hadn't. ‘We're pretty well always starving,' said Harry.

‘Know the feeling,' said Granddad. ‘You stoke up while you've got the chance!'

‘Order whatever you like,' smiled Gran.

Joe and Harry studied the menu. There were meringues with fresh cream; doughnuts with jam; fairy cakes with sprinkles; chocolate cake with butter icing; and fruit cake with fruit. Joe and Harry ordered two of everything except the fruit cake.

‘Why not go for the lot?' said Granddad. ‘What's wrong with the poor old fruit cake?'

‘No icing,' said Harry.

‘Ah.' Granddad pulled a face. ‘How stupid of me!'

Gran settled back cosily into her seat. ‘So what's been happening at school?'

Gran always wanted to know what had been happening at school. Harry racked his brains for something to tell her.

‘We think one of the teachers might be an alien,' he said.

‘If not several,' added Joe.

Granddad nodded, wisely. ‘Shouldn't be surprised,' he said.

‘Oh, Arthur, really!' said Gran.

‘No, it's true,' insisted Joe. ‘We know for a fact about one of ‘em.'

Granddad chuckled. ‘Saw him land, did you?'

‘Harry heard him talk.' Joe turned excitedly to Harry. ‘Tell them what it sounded like!'

‘Glaaa-AAAA-blergh,' warbled Harry obligingly.

A lady at the next table looked at him in some surprise.

‘Harry, hush!' said Gran.

‘I was just demonstrating,' said Harry.

‘I'm sure you were, dear, but not in public. It's vulgar. It sounds to me as if the poor man was having a choking fit.'

‘Sounds to me like some kind of alien tongue,' said Granddad.

Gran tutted impatiently.

‘We reckon he was using his communicator,' said Joe.

‘Yes!'
Granddad banged his fist triumphantly on the table.

Gran said, ‘Arthur, please.'

‘Sorry, m'dear.' Granddad put a finger to his lips. ‘Not in public!'

‘Thing is,' said Joe, ‘we reckon there could be a whole nest of ‘em.'

‘Nothing new,' said Granddad, ‘nothing new! Always been aliens at St Bede's. Plenty of ‘em in my day, I can tell you.'

Gran said, ‘Arthur, don't tease.'

‘Me, tease?' Granddad rolled his eyes. ‘True as I sit here! Place was riddled with ‘em. One chap, I remember, old Gorraby – ' Granddad gave another of his throaty chuckles. ‘Didn't even look human!'

‘This is it.' Joe leaned forward, eagerly. ‘Half of ‘em don't!'

‘We got one guy?' said Harry. ‘He's got this eye keeps falling out?'

‘Falling out?' said Gran. ‘His eye?'

‘Keeps going plop! Then he yells at people not to tread on it.'

‘I should think he does!' said Gran.

‘We reckon,' said Joe, ‘it's got something to do with his cloaking device.'

Gran was looking bewildered. ‘What, pray, is a cloaking device and what does it have to do with the poor man's eye falling out?'

‘It's this thing?' said Harry. ‘Thing they use to make themselves look human?'

‘Yeah, and if it's not working properly,' explained Joe, ‘then bits of ‘em'd probably start dropping off.'

‘Or even,' said Harry, ‘disappearing altogether.'

Gran turned slowly to Granddad. ‘Arthur,' she said, ‘what are they talking about?'

‘Cloaking devices, m'dear.' Granddad patted her hand. ‘Don't worry about it. Here come the cakes!'

When the cakes had all been eaten, and the last few crumbs splatted up on
wet fingertips, Gran said it was time to be getting them back.

‘Back to prison, eh?' Granddad chuckled again. ‘Back to bread and water!'

As they were leaving, they caught sight of Miss Beam, over in the far corner. She was tucking into an enormous bowl of chips.

She looked up and saw them, and waved hello.

‘That's Miss Beam,' said Harry.

‘She's our English teacher,' said Joe.

‘Is she, by Jove?' Granddad's eyes swivelled appreciatively in Miss Beam's direction. ‘Well! We certainly didn't have anyone like that in my young day.'

In warning tones, Gran said, ‘Arthur!'

‘Yes, m'dear.' Granddad made a trumpeting sound down his nose. ‘Sorry, m'dear. A bit carried away.'

‘You should be ashamed of yourself,' said Gran. ‘A man of your age!'

‘Everybody loves Miss Beam,' said Harry.

‘Hm!'

Gran hustled Granddad out on to the pavement. ‘You say she's one of your teachers? What on earth was the woman doing? Gorging herself on chips!'

‘She likes chips,' said Harry. ‘She reckons they're a delicacy.'

‘Have to say that I agree with her,' said Granddad.

He sounded rather wistful; Granddad wasn't allowed to eat chips.

‘I'm appalled,' said Gran, ‘that a
teacher
should set such a bad example.'

‘She's not the only one.' Harry sprang at once to Miss Beam's defence. ‘We had another teacher used to like ‘em, too. Mr Hodge. Used to bring bags of ‘em into class.'

‘That is outrageous!' said Gran. And then, rather sharply: ‘Where did he get them from?'

Harry shrugged. ‘Kitchen, I s'ppose.'

‘Are you telling me they do
chips?.'
said Gran. ‘At
St Bede's?
I was led to believe you had nothing but gristle stew!'

‘Yeah, we have plenty of that,' Joe assured her. ‘Looks like washing-up water with bits floating in it.'

‘Tastes like washing-up water, too,' said Harry.

‘Gristle stew is what we have most days. Chips is just, like, occasional.'

‘Hardly ever, really.'

‘Can't honestly remember the last time we had ‘em.'

‘I'm afraid,' said Gran, ‘I don't believe a word that either of you say. Or you!' She gave Granddad a prod.

Granddad started, and said, ‘Yes, m'dear! Absolutely!'

Slowly, because of Gran's knees, they made their way back up the High Street and round the side of the hill to St Bede's.

‘We reckon,' said Joe, waving a hand, ‘up there is where they land their ships.'

‘Ships?' said Gran. ‘What ships? How could ships land on a hill?'

Very solemnly Granddad said, ‘The lad is talking about spaceships, Martha.'

‘Oh, we're starting that again, are we?' said Gran. ‘Such nonsense, all of it! I do wish you wouldn't encourage them.'

‘Won't do them any harm,' said Granddad. ‘Never did me any, and goodness knows, I've been taught by a few aliens in my time!'