The Gunhen and other Videoville Animal Stories

Contents Front Matter..................................................3 Title Page...................................................3 Publisher Information.................................4 The Stories.....................................................5 The Gunhen...............................................5 The Owl Who Was Not Very Bright............13 Morrey Monkey Reads ‘The Ramborinctus’..20 The Werewolf............................................28 The Duel..................................................35 Also Available...........................................46

    THE GUNHEN  

AND OTHER VIDEOVILLE ANIMAL STORIES       By Merv Lambert

Publisher Information

 

The Gunhen published in 2011 by Andrews UK Limited   www.andrewsuk.com   This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.   The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.   Copyright © Merv Lambert   The right of Merv Lambert to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The Gunhen

 

“Who’s outside?” asked Mewsli, the great cat detective. “I think we know already,” replied her partner J.S. Bach. “It’s Stinky Winky.” “Yeah, but he’s a good friend, so I’d better let him in. I wonder what he wants.” Hurrying to the door of their office, she opened it, and right away the powerful odour of the little skunk filled the room. “I’m sorry, guys,” said Stinky Winky, “but I had to come straight away to let you know. I didn’t have time to spray on my Slinky Link deodorant.” “What’s happened, Stinky?” asked J.S. “There’s been a shooting down at the Foxy Club. I thought you would be needed, as everyone knows that Chief Spotto is not the brightest spark in the police department.” Mewsli frowned. “He’ll not be happy, if we just barge in unasked, especially as I got him into trouble over the Gnomicide case.” Stinky Winky laughed. “Yeah, but Freda and Alfredo Ferret are there even as I speak. Freda will already be in front of the T.V. cameras, and Alfredo will have done his first report for the newspaper. We’d better get down there pronto, or it’ll be all over before it’s started.” So it was ten minutes later they were standing with a crowd of other animals, who had gathered on the other side of the street from the Foxy Club. Because it was daytime the gaudy neon signs were unlit. Chief Spotto was barking orders to his squad of police, including his deputy Gronya, who was organising setting up the blue and white Videoville crime scene tape around the building. Moggo Doggo was standing guard. For once he was not eating anything. Already Freda Ferret was standing in front of the T.V. van and speaking to camera. She was wearing a long blond wig. It was known, of course, that she was a friend of Trendy Wendy, the fashion-setting penguin. She waved to Stinky Winky, put a paw to

her nose, and then pointed to her right, where her brother Alfredo was talking to some of the bystanders. “Hi, Alfredo,” said Stinky Winky. “Tell us. What’s the latest?” “Well, guys, I’ve got to get along to the hospital to interview Phineas Fox.” “He’s the owner of the Foxy Club, isn’t he? How is he?” “More shocked than hurt. A masked intruder suddenly appeared in the casino and shot up everything, including the roulette wheel, the card tables and even the bar. Then he disappeared just as quickly. Sorry, fellas. Got to dash.” Alfredo leapt onto his motorbike and sped off towards the hospital. J.S. thought for a moment. Then he decided. “I think I can get into the club without Spotto knowing. I’ll have a look around. Mewsli, you could visit Phineas Fox.” “O.K.” agreed Mewsli. “We’ll meet up in the office later. If there’s anything urgent, ring me or text.” She strolled off towards the hospital. Two minutes later J.S. came out of a baker’s shop, and crossed the road to Moggo Doggo. “Say, Moggo, you must be getting hungry just standing there and guarding the tape.” “Yeah, I sure am.” Moggo was eyeing the waxed paper bag J.S. was holding. “Fancy a doughnut or two?” asked J.S., holding up the bag temptingly. “Er…I’m not supposed to eat on duty,” growled Moggo. “But I bet you’re starving,” remarked J.S. casually, pretending to walk away. “What do you want?” asked Moggo suspiciously. “Just a quick look round inside the club and you can have all these.” J.S. shook the bag gently just under Moggo’s nose. “O.K., but don’t let Spotto spot you.” “No chance,” grinned J.S., and handing over the bag of doughnuts, he ducked under the police tape and entered the

Foxy Club. The light inside was rather dim, and there seemed to be broken furniture everywhere. J.S. had to pick his way carefully around pieces of broken glass that had once belonged to a chandelier that now lay shattered in the middle of the floor. Luckily no one else was around, as he checked every part of the large room, that was, or rather used to be, the smartest gambling joint in town. He had found nothing, no clues at all until suddenly he sniffed sharply. He realised that among all the strong and faint smells he had briefly become aware of an unusual scent. It was probably coming from something quite small and seemed to be hidden in the darkest corner of the room near the exit. He allowed his nose to direct him through the darkness, and suddenly he saw it, something small and white lying on the floor door next to the door. Quickly he picked it up and put it in his coat pocket. Removing evidence? Chief Spotto wouldn’t know a piece of evidence, even if it walked up to him and bit him! After a final glance around he made his way out of the back doors of the club and round again to the front. He waved to Moggo Doggo, who had just finished the last of the dozen doughnuts and was pushing the crumpled wax paper bag guiltily into a pocket of his uniform. “Thanks, buddy!” called J.S. He did not hear the mumbled reply, as Moggo was still chewing on the remaining morsels of the doughnut, and he ambled off down the street. Meanwhile Mewsli and Stinky Winky had arrived at the hospital. At first they were refused entry, as the little skunk’s odour could well bring the whole hospital to a standstill. Mewsli had to rush off to the shop inside to buy him some Slinky Link deodorant and then outside again to spray him all over. “Gee, thanks, Mewsli,” gasped Stinky Winky. “I always smell worse, when I get excited or worried, and this is an exciting story we’re investigating, but hospitals make me worried.” “Yes,” agreed Mewsli. “Let’s see if they’ll let us in now to see Phineas Fox.” In fact the nurses were rather reluctant to let them see their patient, but they also knew it was unwise to upset Stinky Winky.

“You can’t stay too long,” they said. “Phineas is rather tired.” The two friends entered Phineas Fox’s private room. “Hello, Phineas. How are you?” asked Mewsli. “Does it hurt?” blurted Stinky Winky. “We heard you were shot!” Phineas smiled briefly and said, “No, I wasn’t shot, but I was hurt by a falling table. They’re keeping me in here for observation. I’ll probably be out of here by tomorrow.” “Good,” said Mewsli. “Do you feel up to telling us what happened?” “I don’t see why not. I’ve already spoken to Chief Spotto and Gronya, and also to those reporter twins Freda and Alfredo Ferret. I’ve even been filmed in this hospital bed for this evening’s Videoville Channel News. I’m feeling quite famous.” “Yes, but what happened?” squeaked Stinky Winky, who was almost jumping up and down, unable to contain his excitement. “Well,” drawled Phineas, as he gathered his thoughts. “It was lunch-time and because there weren’t a lot of punters…er… customers…There never are at that time of the day…only the bar was open. The casino was closed. I was standing near the bar talking to my friend Slim, when the bandit suddenly came in through the back doors. He looked like a small fat man dressed all in black. He had a black hat pulled down over his eyes, a black eye-mask and a black scarf tied round his face. He wore a black coat with long sleeves but didn’t seem to have any boots because the bottom of his trousers reached the floor. They were rather wide and old-fashioned. I think they used to be called bell-bottom trousers. Anyway he was clutching a very scary machine-gun. He didn’t say anything but looked around the room. Some people froze, but most of us, including me, flung ourselves on the floor. Then the guy looked up and shot out the chandelier. It crashed to the floor. Then he fired at the bar and smashed most of the bottles lined up there. We were all stunned, terrified. Last of all he turned the gun on the card-tables, the slot-machines and the roulette wheel. He shot them all to pieces. It’ll take a lot of time and money to repair everything.

Then he just turned, and calmly walked out.” “Was anyone hurt or killed?” Slinky Winky wanted all the gruesome details. “No, only me,” said Phineas, “and you’ve probably noticed that I wasn’t killed either.” “Did you notice anything else about him, apart from his unusual costume?” asked Mewsli. “Now I come to think about it, yes. When he fired the gun, he raised one leg and stood stock still on the other. He seemed to pull the trigger from his knee or rather with his knee!” “Hmm, that’s very odd,” mused Mewsli. “Thank you for speaking to us, Phineas.” “Yes, get well soon,” piped up Stinky Winky. Phineas gave them one of his well-known foxy grins. “Thanks, fellas. I’ll pay you well, if you find out who did this and why.” Later that afternoon the three friends met in the private detectives’ office. Stinky Winky had had to spray himself again with his special deodorant, as he knew he was far too excited still. Mewsli was rather disappointed. “We’ve got an overall picture of what happened at the Foxy Club today, but we are not making any progress.” “Not so sure about that!” barked J.S. He was grinning happily. “I think I may have got a lead.” “And you want us to take you for a walk!” Mewsli couldn’t help making fun of her friend. “No, honestly, just look at this,” said J.S. He took something out of his coat pocket and laid it on the table next to the computer. Now it was Stinky Winky’s turn to be disappointed. “It’s only a…” “Feather,” finished Mewsli. “Yes, but my highly efficient sense of smell tells me something else. It came from a farm. How many farms are there around here?” “One or two.” Mewsli appeared to be thinking hard. “The nearest one is Farmer Wellygreen’s. It may be worth paying him a visit.”

Half an hour later the three friends were standing outside the Wellygreen farmhouse. They could hear some very strange sounds coming from inside. Celia Moo was singing to herself, as she guided the automatic vacuum-cleaner around the main room, which also served as a kitchen. It was her favourite song. “Mooooon River!” she crooned, and she was so happy in her work that she did not notice the visitors. It was only when J.S. barked, “Hello, Celia,” that, startled, she switched off the machine. “Is Farmer Wellygreen around?” asked Mewsli. “No. He’s gone to the maaaaarket in Videoville,” replied Celia. “Can I help you?” “Maybe,” said Mewsli. “We…” “Say, guys, isn’t this the place where the Wellygreen Farm Massacre took place about twenty years ago?” interrupted Stinky Winky, who was again jumping up and down excitedly. “Yes, it is,” said Celia. “It was before I was born. It must have been horrible though. A fox got into the henhouse one night and killed all the chickens. Blood and feathers everywhere.” “What all of them? It killed all of them?” Stinky Winky was horrified. He really was a kind-hearted little animal. “No. Actually Clara Cluck escaped. She had got trapped in a barn that day and no one found her.” Stinky Winky whistled in surprise. “She was lucky then.” “Yes,” said Celia. “Some of her descendants, the Cluck Family, still live here.” J.S. held up a paw. “That would have been a year or so before the Animal Amnesty came into force.” “What’s that?” Stinky Winky had never heard of it. “Oh, a law was passed that all the creatures living in Videoville and the surrounding area would not kill or eat each other, as they would have a different and far better life-style.” “Some thought it wouldn’t work,” added Celia. “Yes, but apparently it did,” smiled Mewsli. “Do you think we could speak to the chickens?”

“Certainly.” Celia led the way to the small field, where many hens and one cockerel were strutting about and pecking at things in the grass. “Hi, guys,” mooed Celia. “We have some visitors. They would like to talk to you.” Soon Mewsli, J.S. and Stinky Winky were surrounded by a crowd of curious chickens. Mewsli glared sternly at them all. Then she began. “No doubt you have seen the news on T.V. today.” The chickens nodded and clucked in agreement. “My colleague and I…” at this point she nodded at J.S., who was strolling in and out among the hens…”have reason to believe that one of you may have been involved or may even have pulled the trigger of the machine-gun that did so much damage at the Foxy Club. Do you have anything to say?” Her words were met with a stunned silence, so she went on. “There may well be good reasons for what was done there. We are not here to punish you, but we don’t want Chief Spotto arresting anyone who happens to be innocent. You know he has a certain reputation…” There was some subdued clucking, then silence again. Mewsli sighed. “So nobody is going to own up?” Still the flock of chickens remained unusually silent. Mewsli shrugged. “J.S., what do you think?” J.S. stepped to the front and gazed round at all the chickens. Stinky Winky was again jumping up and down. “Well,” drawled J.S. “I know who did it. I know because of a piece of evidence I found at the scene of the crime. This piece of evidence.” He held up the small white feather. “But that could belong to any of us!” protested Roddy Cockerel, who had been remarkably quiet so far. “Yes, but you see,” replied J.S., “my sense of smell is so acute, so sharp, so trained that I can tell which individual hen this feather matches!” He pointed at a brown and white hen in the middle of the group. “It was her!” After a furious squawk of protest the accused hen gave in. “O.K. O.K. It was me.” She started to sob. The other hens gathered round to console her.

“But, Matilda, why?” screeched Roddy Cockerel. “Was it because your relatives were killed at the Wellygreen Farm Massacre? That was years ago. We’ve moved on. It’s ancient history and that’s why Farmer Wellygreen trained us to use firearms to protect us from foxes and other intruders. As I say, ancient history!” “Maybe it is to you!” sobbed Matilda, “but that isn’t why I did it. It’s all your fault!” “Me? My fault? What are you gibbering about?” “It is your fault I did it because you are always gambling away what we earn. All the money Farmer Wellygreen gives us for the eggs we produce is taken by you and gambled away, lost by you at that casino in the Foxy Club. So now you know. I did it for all of us because we’re angry about it and tired of it. You’ve got to stop!” “O.K. O.K.” Roddy looked upset. “I’ll give up gambling.” “Oh, yeah?” chorused the hens in disbelief. “You bet!” smirked Roddy. One hour later Mewsli, J.S. and Stinky Winky were sitting in the office of Chief Spotto. “How come I’m the last to learn what happens around here?” he growled. “Could it be down to hard work?” asked Mewsli wryly. She winked at Stinky Winky, who said, “Gosh! What will happen to the gunhen?” “Nothing much,” grunted Spotto, “especially since Farmer Wellygreen is going to pay for the repairs to the Foxy Club, and also because it’s another case I’ve solved!” Suddenly Stinky Winky looked out of the window, pointed a small paw, and winked at the others. “Look! What’s that?” he squeaked, getting excited again. “Neaaargh!” roared Spotto. He could see yet another startling, very noticeable figure among all the others outside the front of the building. It looked like a small fat man dressed in a black suit with wide trousers that hid his feet, a black fedora hat, a black eye-mask, and with a black scarf over his face. Slung over one shoulder was a machine-gun…

The Owl Who Was Not Very Bright

 

Owls are supposed to be bright, aren’t they? Oliver Owl was not. He was said to be the dimmest creature in Videoville. The trouble was that he did things without thinking. When he was extremely young, his mother said to him, “Oliver, go to the barn shop and get some mouse noodles.” Of course he forgot to take the money, but came back with the noodles anyway, only to be surprised by his mother, who told him she had just had a phone call from the angry owner of the shop saying that Oliver had stolen some mouse noodles from him. His mother was furious. She gave him a stern telling off and ordered him to return to the shop with the correct money and to apologise to the shopkeeper. Oliver was very embarrassed. He had not meant to steal anything. It was just that he was a tiny bit forgetful. He nearly always forgot to take his homework to school, and his marks were always poor because he did not think about what each task was aimed at. For instance, he was once required to make up sentences to show the meanings of certain words. He did not bother to check the meanings of the words in a dictionary. His teacher was disappointed with his effort for the word ‘legend’, as Oliver had simply written ‘The knight got his leg-end caught in the stirrup of his saddle’. Even worse was his attempt at the next word. ‘Hold tight – I’m exhilarating!’ It’s hard to believe, but on the one occasion he remembered his teacher, Miss Little-Ears’ advice to look up the meanings of the words first, he did even worse. The word was one he had heard before but was not very sure about – ‘pregnant’. Carefully he opened the dictionary at the right page and saw that the word meant ‘carrying a child’. Equally carefully he made up his sentence. ‘The fireman entered the burning building, and when he came out, he was pregnant’. No wonder Miss Little-Ears collapsed in a heap, giggling helplessly, when she read that! The only thing Oliver was good at was drawing. If he was playing wingball with his mates, he often got it all wrong. Wingball was played with a small ball with

a loop attached to it, so that the owls could catch it in their beaks. As the owls flew around, they would sling the wingball to a teammate, but they could only carry the ball for ten seconds, during which the opposing team would count at the top of their voices, “ONE, TWO, THREE…” and so on. Some players tried to cheat by missing numbers out, as they counted. By the end of the ten seconds the owl with the wingball had to pass it on or drop it. The aim of the game was to sling the wingball into the goal, which was like a miniature football goal, complete with net. There was a goalminder, usually Oliver’s best friend, Barney. Times many Oliver had planted the wingball accidentally into his own goal, but his friends just laughed. After all he wasn’t the brightest spark in Videoville, was he? Some of the townsfolk joked that when Spotto, the chief of police, retired, Oliver would be a perfect replacement. Poor Oliver! He knew he often got things wrong, but he did try to get them right. However, something was about to happen that would change his life completely. One day, when he arrived at night-school –Yes, owls are more active at night – he found all his classmates gathered in a huddle and chattering excitedly about something. Oliver landed next to them, and asked, “What’s going on? What have I done now?” Barney hopped up and down, swinging his head nearly a full circle to look his friend in the eye. “Not you, Oliver. Haven’t you heard? There’s a new girl, I mean bird. She’s just arrived today. She’s a real stunner. We all fancy her.” “Oh,” was all that Oliver could think to say. He was relieved that he had not accidentally done something daft or embarrassing, but he knew from experience all that could change in a moment. He was poking with his beak in his school-bag, looking for the homework he was sure he had done, and then he saw her, the new girl owl. His head was half inside his school-bag, but both his beak and his eyes opened wide. His mates were right. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen and there he was looking ridiculous – half owl, half bag! She would not even look at him, would she? He thought, “I’m a loser!” He raised his head. The handles of the

bag were still caught round the back of it. He was surprised by her voice. Owls’ voices do not usually sound musical. This voice though seemed like music to his ears. “Why, hello, handsome!” The long drawn out ‘o’ sound of ‘hello’ took his breath away. He stammered a reply. “Huh, huh, hello.” “Who are you?” enquired the alluring voice from a shapely beak underneath two beautiful brown eyes. “I’m…I’m…I’m Oliver.” “Oh, are you a common or garden Oliver, or an extraordinary Oliver?” “I really can’t say.” Oliver realised that all the others in the owl playground were staring at the two of them. “No need to be shy,” went on the newcomer. “By the way, I’m Owlexandra. My friends call me Owlex.” “Oh, you sound like a character from a James Bond novel, Owl X.” Oliver had no idea where his words had sprung from. “Why, sir, you flatter me,” laughed Owlexandra. “My father is indeed making a film like that with Audley Penguin, starting next week. We’ve only just moved here from Lake Yahoo.” Someone shouted,”Hey, Oliver, Don’t keep her all to yourself.” “Yes, why don’t you introduce me to all of your friends?” said Owlexandra. The loudest of the young owls hopped up to them. “Hey, big girl, I’m Screecher,” he screeched. “I would never have guessed,” remarked Owlexandra. Irony was lost on Screecher. He strutted about proudly. “What about coming with me to the Owl School Disco on Saturday night?” It was Oliver, who replied. “I don’t think so. Thanks, mate, but Owlexandra is going with me.” He did not know where those words came from either, but he was amazed and delighted, when he heard Owlexandra say, “Yes, that’s right.”

“Strewth! You’re a cool one, Oliver,” smiled Barney. “None of us has got a look in so far.” Oliver grinned back. “Owlexandra, this is my friend Barney.” In turn he introduced the rest of the young owls, but then it was time for the first lesson of the night. As usual Oliver did not concentrate very well, but this time it was for a different reason. The same could be said for all the other boy owls in the class. They were all thinking about Owlexandra, who besides being very attractive also seemed very bright. At dawn school finished and all the young owls flew quickly home. Oliver accompanied Owlexandra and found that she lived in a big tree-house just two streets away from him. “See you tomorrow,” Owlexandra said. “Yes. The disco. I’ll meet you here,” replied Oliver. That morning and throughout the day Oliver’s parents couldn’t understand why he was so excited, and he just couldn’t manage to tell them. He’d had a text message from Barney calling him a lucky devil. He just couldn’t wait to see Owlexandra again, but at last it was midnight, time for the disco. Oliver hurried to meet Owlexandra, and there she was right on time. As they reached the huge barn, which was one of the school buildings, they could see the coloured lights and hear the loud music. This time it was a tribute band of the Polar Teds, who had broken up last year. Trendy Wendy, the leader of young fashion in Videoville, claimed the lead singer, Cool Cormorant, was going solo, but Owlexandra told Oliver that the singer would be making an appearance in her Dad’s and Audley Penguin’s next film. “Er what’s it called?” asked Oliver. “The film? I think it’s called ‘The Tickle Ghost’. If you like, I’ll ask my parents to take us to the studios in the daytime next week. Maybe you’ll meet some of the actors.” “Wow!” Oliver was stunned by this, but then they swooped into the barn’s main hall, which was also used as a gym by some of the other animals at the school. However, tonight was Owl Night at the disco. It was now in full swing. The tribute band, who were

not polar bears but a group of groovy little meerkats, had sprayed themselves white so that their fur changed colour dramatically under the lights. They were playing a very fast number. All the owls, apart from those perched high up watching, were on the dance floor jigging up and down in time with the music. Even Oliver found he could do this correctly with Owlexandra by his side. Many of his owl buddies were dancing with female partners that they knew. Barney was smiling happily, as he had found a charming little owl called Elisha liked him, and he was chatting to her, when suddenly she said, “Oh no!” “What’s the matter?” asked Barney. “Look who’s just come in!” “Oh. Who’s that?” “He’s a troublemaker. He calls himself Tawny Tony Tornado. He thinks he’s the smartest owl in town. He isn’t at all. He’s very vain and conceited. He got thrown out of this school about two years ago.” They watched, as the slightly tubby Tony, followed by two big owls, rudely jostled other owls out of the way. It was not long before he spotted Owlexandra, and he immediately pushed his way through to where she was dancing with Oliver. “Outta the way, buddy!” he snarled at Oliver. “This chick’s mine!” “Who says so, Fatso?” Owlexandra snapped back. “I do. Tony Tawny, the Town Tornado.” Again Oliver didn’t know where the words came from, but he said, “Where are your manners, Fat Boy?” “I don’t need no manners. I do as I please.” Tony Tawny puffed out his chest, and sneered, “What are you going to do about it? Get lost!” Before he could finish his arrogant boasting, he found himself upside down, being whirled round and round. Oliver’s beak was clamped firmly round his left ankle. Then just as suddenly he felt himself soaring up into the air at great speed. Moments later there was a loud clanging sound. He was not moving anymore, and he

himself was unable to move. The music thudded on, but all the other owls seemed to be laughing and pointing up at him. That was the moment in his life he knew he would never live down. He had instantly and forever lost all his street cred. Slowly he came to realise that he was stuck upside-down in the basketball hoop at one end of the gym. Although he struggled, he could not move even one millimetre. The hoop was a perfect fit for him. “Say, buddy,” Barney said to Oliver, “that’s the best three point score I’ve ever seen! How did you do that?” “Pure instinct, I suppose,” Oliver replied modestly. “Thank you, Oliver. Well done! He deserved that,” added Owlexandra. Meanwhile Tony’s two buddies, Hugh Tallott and Hugh T. Tootie, were worriedly flying around their trapped leader. “I guess we gotta phone the fire-service,” said Hugh T. Tootie. “They’ll need a ladder and cutting equipment to get him out.” About forty minutes later all this had been done, and Tony and his two companions were jeered, as they flew out of the barn. “Don’t come back!” and “Not welcome here!” were two of the more polite things they heard. The next evening Oliver brought Owlexandra to meet his parents and grandparents. “This is my girlfriend Owlexandra,” he said. All of his family liked her immediately, even his younger brothers Osman and Turk and his little sister Tilly. If owls could blush, Oliver would have, as Owlexandra explained what had happened at the disco. His family remained with beaks open in amazement. “That’s our Oliver,” said Grandma Owl. “He acts before his brain starts up. He…” “That’s not fair, Grandma, and you know it!” interrupted Grandad Owl. “He did the right thing. If he’d hesitated, he’d have failed.” “Well, I’m proud of him,” declared Owlexandra, giving Oliver a big hug. He was doubly embarrassed now.

Grandad Owl, who actually was quite wise, remarked, “What Oliver needs is a calming influence,” and nodding at Owlexandra, he went on, “and now he seems to have found one. What say you, lad?” “Oh, I’m not s…s…sure,” stammered Oliver. “I’ve got to learn to consecrate, I mean constipate, no, no, what’s the word?” “Concentrate,” said his mother and father together. “That’s true. Then I could be something brainy, like a teacher.” “Preacher?” queried Grandma Owl, who was slightly deaf at times. “Did he say preacher or screecher?” “Perhaps he should be a painter or an artist,” said Owlexandra. Suddenly there was a thunderous knocking at the front door of the tree-house. When Oliver’s father went to answer it, in swept an extremely handsome, very famous owl, who spoke in a booming voice with a cut-glass English accent. Oliver’s mother nearly fainted in excitement. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cried. “I can’t believe it! Ashley Owl here in my house!” “Yes, madam,” said the newcomer with a polite bow. “I just couldn’t wait to meet the young owl, who saved my daughter from that odious thug! Is this the hero of the hour?” He approached Oliver and clapped him on the back with one strong wing. “Congratulations, young fella. Well done!” Again Oliver was almost lost for words. He managed to stammer, “Th…Thank you, sir.” Turning back to the family, the actor raised his right wing and proclaimed,” You are all invited to come to the Videoville Studios tomorrow afternoon as my guests. I am making a new film with Audley Penguin. Now, I don’t want to impose on you good folks, so I’ll be on my way. See you later, Owlexandra. Be home before dawn.” And then he was gone just as dramatically as he had arrived. “Was that the preacher?” asked Grandma Owl, and she was puzzled, when everyone else laughed.

Morrey Monkey Reads ‘The Ramborinctus’

 

Like nearly all youngsters Mandy and Marky Monkey loved dinosaurs and stories about them. Their mother was Marietta Montqui – Yes, M-O-N-T-Q-U-I – She spelled her name like that because she was an artist and thought it amusing – and their father was Morrison Monkey, who was generally known as Morrey and worked for Mike Mudd the famous movie director. One cold winter’s night Mandy and Marky were both tucked up snugly in their beds, as Morrey began reading them the story of the Ramborinctus, the dinosaur from Videoville pre-history. Both of the little monkeys were clutching a toy dinosaur in one small fist. However, Morrey Monkey didn’t just read a story. He acted it out, using amusing voices for all the different characters. He had seen Ashley Owl and Audley Penguin acting in front of the film cameras. To do that himself was his secret dream, but he did not think he was good enough. First he read the story’s title in a deep, scary voice. “The Day of the Ramborinctus.” Then he read on, switching to a higher, slightly annoyed voice to begin it all. “Oh, not again, Dorothea!” groaned Dotty’s mother. She only called Dotty by her full name, when her daughter was in trouble. It happened quite a lot. Dippy and Ploddy Diplodocus, the two police dinosaurs, had come to see Dotty’s parents for the second time that week to warn them about Dotty’s behaviour. On Monday she had been jumping in and out of their neighbours’ pools without permission and because of her some of them were almost empty. Now a couple of days later she had upset them again. Now Morrey changed to a slow, dopey-sounding voice. “The trouble is…” said Dippy. “She just doesn’t think,” finished Ploddy. They slowly shook their heads from side to side on their long necks. Morrey shook his own head slowly from side to side.

Then he carried on the story. Dotty was a very naughty little dinosaur, but her twin brother Dougie tried to keep her out of trouble. In fact she thought – no, she knew – she was special and different from most of the other dinosaurs, because she was from a small family of a rare species called the Mini-Flatosaurs. They were not very big, but very quick, and very, very smelly, for they loved wild garlic. Most of the other types of dinosaur would have little to do with these plant-eating Flatosaurs, let alone eat them, as they probably didn’t taste very nice. No one knew. No one had ever eaten one. Once Dotty got stuck in a quicksand. It had looked muddy, squelchy and fun, but no sooner had she jumped into it than she realised it was slowly sucking her down beneath the surface. Her parents had warned her it was a dangerous place and not to go there. That of course had been enough to make Dotty really want to go there. Fortunately Dougie had run to fetch Ploddy, who had reached out his long neck, and gripping Dotty firmly in his strong mouth, had lifted her clear. You will have guessed that Dotty was also often in trouble at the dinosaur school, which was run by an ancient lady dinosaur called Miss Brollisaurus. She taught in a large glade in the forest. One morning the class was learning how to behave with older visitors, how to speak clearly and not to dribble into the visitors’ soup. All the young ones had many uncles and aunts on the island where they lived, and they all came to visit as often as possible. When Dotty strolled into the glade, she was half an hour late. “Dotty! I’ve marked you absent!” snapped Miss Brollisaurus. Morrey’s voice now sounded sharp and annoyed. “Ooh!” squealed Mandy, “that’s just like old Mrs. Gizmosaurus at our school!” Morrey smiled, but carried on. He repeated the line - “Dotty,I’ve marked you absent!” “Thank you very much, miss,” said Dotty cheekily. “I’ll go home and help my mother.” She walked away before Miss Brollisaurus could stop her. She was grounded by her parents for three days for

that, and she missed going to the weekly dinosaur disco. Today Dotty knew she was in trouble with a capital T. Her despairing mother and father waited to hear what Dippy and Ploddy had to say. This time a lot of dinosaur neighbours were complaining that Dotty had been upsetting them and frightening the little baby dinosaurs by suddenly appearing and calling them names such as ‘scruffysaurs’ and ‘no-brainers’, Although the neighbours had tried to stop this, Dotty took no notice. Her parents had tried really hard with her. “This is a…” began Dippy. “Final warning,” continued Ploddy. “We’re sure you don’t want to be…” “Sent away,” finished Dippy. “No,” said Dotty, and for several weeks she really did try to keep out of trouble. One bright sunny day, however, Dougie and Dottie were chasing each other through the wet jungle. Suddenly they spotted their Uncle Bessom and Auntie Dora through the trees. They were breaking branches off some tree trunks, which had been pushed over and broken off close to the ground. “Let’s hide,” said Dotty. “I don’t think they’ve seen us.” Quickly they hid under some bushes. “What are they doing?” whispered Dougie. Dolly answered truthfully. “I don’t know.” They watched as Auntie Dora began rolling some of the round, broken off tree trunks to the edge of the great crater that was hidden there in the middle of the forest. Next they saw Uncle Bessom gather some large bushes and stack them over the logs. “I’m going to ask what they’re doing,” said Dougie, and he ran up to the older dinosaurs. Dotty followed. “What are you doing, Auntie, Uncle?” asked Dougie. “We’re building a trap,” replied Auntie Dora. Dougie was puzzled. “Why?” “Haven’t you heard?” said Uncle Bessom in surprise. “A very dangerous dinosaur has got across to our island. He is the first to

manage it in two million years. Nobody knows how he did it. He has sworn to eat everyone on the island. He is called the Ramborinctus. Even the Tyrranosaurus Rex are said to be afraid of him.” “Wow! What does he look like?” Dotty shivered. “Absolutely enormous, scaly, knobbly, and with horrible glaring red eyes.” “He’s not very bright though, and he’s so noisy that everyone can hear him even when he’s miles away,” added Auntie Dora. “He’s very boastful and loves showing off.” “But where is he now?” Dougie was rather frightened and so was Dotty. “Coming north. Heading this way. Everyone is hiding,” said Uncle Bessom. Suddenly a little face appeared around a bush. The face was attached to a little dinosaur known as Squeaky Aggie. She was Uncle Bessom and Auntie Dora’s daughter and one of Dougie and Dotty’s many cousins on the island. Her voice was indeed high and squeaky. Morrey made it deliberately so. “Hurry! It’s on its way!” squeaked Aggie. “It’s getting angrier and angrier. It can smell us Flatosaurs but so far we’ve been too quick for it. It can’t catch us.” They could now hear in the distance some furious roaring and a strange thumping sound. Morrey made a roaring sound and thumped his chair with his hands whilst still reading the story aloud. “That’s its feet making that banging noise and its tail hitting the trees,” said Auntie Dora. “You all go and hide now,” said Uncle Bessom. “I’m going to run out in front of him and try to lure him into the trap.” The others did just that. Dotty, Dougie and Aggie lay in a small hollow under a large bush that had lots of thick leaves. “I wish we’d had a bath this year. We must smell more than ever. He’s sure to sniff us out,” whispered Dougie. The angry roaring and thumping sounds were getting nearer and nearer and louder and louder. Morrey gradually increased the

volume of the noises. Meanwhile the Flatosaurs waited, hardly daring to breathe. Then suddenly they could see a huge head on a long neck swaying from side to side above the tops of the trees, as the creature’s fierce red eyes looked right and left for its prey. The mouth was equally huge, full of long, wicked-looking, sharp yellow teeth, giving out a constant moaning roar. Now Morrey gave his best impression yet. The giant dinosaur’s voice was loud and ridiculous. “Where are you, you puny Flatothauth?” Dotty and Dougie had to stifle a giggle. The Ramborinctus had a lisp! “Where are you? Where are you?” it continued in an almost monotonous chant. “I can thmell you. Pouah! I know you are here thomewhere. I’m going to eat you all. None of you will ethcape. I am the motht terrible, fearthome creature that ever lived!” Dotty noticed that on the top of its head the Ramborinctus had a tuft of what looked like bright green hair. This, together with its lisping, boastful threats made her feel far less frightened than before. The gigantic, rather nasty dinosaur at that moment appeared to be exceedingly silly. Still the Flatosaurs waited, still scarcely daring to breathe. Uncle Bessom chose his moment well. When the Ramborinctus was only about one hundred metres away, he dashed out from where he had been hiding behind a rock and shouted things he had learned from Dotty. “Yah, boo, Bonehead! Yah, boo, Scruffychops! Yah, boo, Nobrainosaurus!” The others held their breath. Dotty could only think how brave Uncle Bessom was. He was dancing about, taunting the monster dinosaur. Unfortunately he had not noticed a patch of mud, and he slipped and fell heavily, banging his head hard against the ground. He lay there motionless, unconscious. “Oh, no!” thought Dotty, horrified. The Ramborinctus gave a roar of triumph. It reared up to its full height above the trees and its tuft of green hair waved like a small,

ridiculous grassy flag, as it drew back ready to charge its victim. Without thinking Dotty knew exactly what to do. She dashed out from under her bush and waggled her tongue at the Ramborinctus, which skidded to a stop in surprise. It couldn’t believe its angry red eyes. Everything, every living creature was afraid of it, the great Rambo. What was this tiny morsel doing making fun of him? It gave a small puzzled snort, and ignoring Uncle Bessom, turned its attention fully on Dotty, who suddenly sprang onto one end of one of the great logs that Uncle Bessom had placed at the edge of the crater. The Ramborinctus with a savage snarl and its loudest roar yet gathered speed and lumbered towards Dotty, who was now dancing about on the tree trunk, screaming insults. “Thicko! Dweeby baby! Dimborinctus!” As it thundered towards her, one of the Ramborinctus’ giant feet landed on the end of the log on which Dotty was standing. She was not quite quick enough. She had darted to the other end of the log, but as the outsize foot hit it, she was catapulted high in the air. With a howl of rage the Ramborinctus twisted its neck, trying to snap her with its huge jaws, as she flew through the air. It was hurtling forward, not looking where it was going. All of its feet were now on the rounded logs, which started to roll, just as Uncle Bessom had planned that they should. The giant dinosaur could not stop. Faster and faster it sped forward uncontrollably. Then it zoomed out over the edge of the crater, which it had not noticed beyond the screen of bushes. It looked down and saw the bottom of the crater far below. It gave one last despairing roar before it fell. There was a great splash – Kersplosh!! – and a huge fountain of mud rose high out of the crater and drenched the jungle all around. At this point Morrey leapt up with his hands above his head to mimic the explosion of mud into the air. Then he wiggled his fingers to represent drops of it falling back down so that some of it went on the twins. They squealed and laughed. Morrey also indicated some plops and gurgling sounds coming from the bottom of the crater.

“Dotty, are you all right?” yelled Dougie, as he crawled, covered in mud, out from under his bush. “No, Braindead, I’m stuck up here!” called an equally muddy Dotty from the top of the tree where she had landed unhurt. Meanwhile Auntie Dora had helped Uncle Bessom to get to his feet. He was staring round in astonishment at all the mud, while Dougie and Aggie went to peer over the edge of the crater. “Be careful near the edge!” called Auntie Dora, and she trotted up to join them. Far below they could see the huge Ramborinctus lying unmoving. It was slowly being sucked into the quicksand. “Oh, it’ll soon have disappeared altogether,” cried Auntie Dora. “Aggie, you had better fetch Dippy and Ploddy. Dotty needs rescuing again.” “Yes, hurry up!” shouted Dotty. “I want to see the Ramborinctus disappear.” Quickly the police dinosaurs came running up with Aggie. “Hello,” said Ploddy. “Not you again!” said Dippy, pretending to glare at Dotty. Everyone was smiling though. Soon Dotty had slid down Dippy’s long neck to reach the ground safely. Straight away she rushed to the edge of the crater just in time to see the last bit of the Ramborinctus’ back slip under the surface of the quicksand. A few bubbles plopped up. The Ramborinctus had gone. Auntie Dora, Uncle Bessom, Dippy and Ploddy all made their way slowly home, as the three youngsters darted on ahead. “I wonder what mischief Dotty will get up to next,” said Auntie Dora. Dippy began to reply. “Whatever it is…” “She’ll be forgiven,” finished Ploddy. “She saved us all today,” said Uncle Bessom. That night everyone came to a special party in the dinosaur village. Uncle Bessom and Dotty were the guests of honour. “Show us what happened, Dotty,” someone called out. “Yes, yes. Show us what happened,” they all shouted.

“Just a minute though,” said Dougie. He had had an idea. He snatched up a tuft of bright green grass in his mouth and stuck it with a lump of mud on top of Dotty’s head. “Go on, Dotty,” he said. “Now do the dance of the Ramborinctus.” So Dotty ran to the edge of her circle of friends and family, and pretended to lumber forward like the Ramborinctus, shouting,”Raaargh! I’m the motht fearthome dinothaur you’ve ever theen! Come out, you puny Flatothaurth. I’ll eat you all! Raaargh! Oopth!” Immediately she looked down, gave a terrible scream, flopped down on her tummy and lay still. Everyone else laughed and stamped their feet in delight. First one, then a second, and soon they were all copying what Dotty had just done. They stuck tufts of mud and grass on each other’s’ heads, and ran round and round the forest glade before flopping down on the ground laughing. Every year after that they did this on a warm summer evening to celebrate the Day of the Ramborinctus. So, if ever you meet a dinosaur with a tuft of green on its head, you know what to do. Just invite it to a party, and ask it to do a little dance… Morrey bowed to the twins and proclaimed in his best deep actor’s voice, “The end.” However, it was not quite the end, for Mike Mudd popped his huge head round the bedroom door, smiled at everyone, and said,” I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been listening in and so has my brother Hank Hippo. Marietta told us it would be all right for Hank to record your story, Morrey. Hank captured it all on his camcorder. You were so wrapped up in the story that you did not notice the camera at all here in the doorway, did you? We love what you’ve done. Now here’s the deal. We’re going to film ‘The Day of the Ramborinctus’, and you, Morrey will be the star. You can do all those voices, anything you like. What do you say?” Morrey was stunned, but he didn’t really need any persuading. He looked at the twins. Mandy and Marky had now painted a small patch of green on top of the heads of their toy dinosaurs and were waving them in their small fists. They knew he was a star anyway.

The Werewolf

 

Wilfred was often confused. His wife said that he was absentminded. His friends called him scatter-brained. He was the most gentle, kind-hearted wolf that anyone had ever met. However, he did not like to be called Wilf Wolf or Wilfy Wolf or even Willy Wolf. This could make him quite angry. He insisted that he was Wilfred Wolf. Wilfred would do almost anything to help anyone, but the trouble was that half-way through a task he forgot what he was doing, and did something else. Once he was helping old Madam Croc move some rubbish from her garden into her trailer attached to her car in the street, but he left a whole pile of it right in the middle of the road so that oncoming traffic had to slow down and move around it. This was because he had suddenly been tempted to go for a swim in Madam Croc’s outdoor pool still wearing his garden clothes. It was not surprising that he could not hold down a job for long, and nor was it surprising that his wife never allowed him to paint anything in the house. You can imagine what would happen. Well, it did. He was using a paint-roller to decorate the walls of the upstairs landing. He was humming to himself, as he contentedly and methodically pushed the roller up and down, changing the surfaces from cornflower blue to a bright sunflower yellow. Suddenly the telephone rang downstairs. Wilfred calmly put down the paintroller on its tray, and accidentally caught one of his feet in the cloth he had put down to cover the floor. Of course it was sheer bad luck that the open tin of paint he was using to refill the tray overturned. He did not notice it. Nor did he see that he had stepped into the paint. When his wife Leonora came home, she was horrified to see a trail of yellow paw-prints leading up and down the stairs carpet and across her lovely hallway. Although she helped Wilfred to clear up the mess, she frequently reminded him of the incident, and his friends often pulled his leg about it, offering him ‘jobs’ at their

houses. Wilfred just grinned. All their friends thought Leonora was sweet and forgiving. She was, but Wilfred dared not tell them what she was like on the night of the full moon, for terrible changes seemed about to take over her whole personality. She would howl all night, but in a rather quiet and subdued way, sometimes drumming her forepaws on pots and pans in the kitchen to keep up a constant rhythm. It was as if she were waiting for something to happen. Wilfred feared she was becoming a sort of apprentice werewolf. She never woke the neighbours, but in the morning her eyes had taken on a hollow stare. This only lasted a few hours, but during them she would ask Wilfred questions starting with the word ‘where?’ – for example, “Where is my red scarf?” or “Where is my hammer-drill?” (which was surprising, as she didn’t have one) or “Where did you put the marmalade?” (which was even more surprising, as they didn’t eat it). Whenever this happened Wilfred had to keep focussed. He wondered whether Leonora was secretly or unknowingly worried about something. Was she worried about him? One day he had an idea that could perhaps help him to know what to do. He decided to research their family history. Within a week, after visiting the Videoville Library and various websites on the internet, including Wolfipedia, he discovered several living relatives, who could possibly shed some light on the reasons why his wife was such a weird wolf. It was a cold November day, when he said,”Leonora, I’ve had an e-mail from Auntie Hexia and Uncle Virus. They’re coming to see us this evening. Maybe they’ll stay.” “Oh, that’s nice,” replied Leonora. “Some relatives. We tend to see most of them only at weddings and funerals. We should be able to get to know them better.” This turned out to be a big mistake. Aunt Hexia was, to put it simply, a pain, and Uncle Virus was gloom itself. “I don’t see why you want to draw up a family tree,” remarked Hexia. “No, nor do I,” added Virus. “It’s mostly a lot of dead people.”

“Or in our case, animals,” commented Hexia. “Well, do you know any wolves in our families, who might be ‘wolves in wolves’ clothing, really alarming creatures?” asked Wilfred. “Oh, you mean werewolves,” growled Virus. “Oh, not that ridiculous myth!” snapped Hexia. “Wolves that howl at the full moon and turn into dangerous maniacs? Huh! What a load of baloney! I can just imagine a group of us wolves sitting around in a session of Werewolves Anonymous. Someone starts off. “My name is Winnie Wolf, and I am a werewolf. I howl at the moon, and I…er…slaughter people. It all began when…and so on…and so on. You get the general idea.” Wilfred tried to explain. “Yeah, but I know of someone, who’s… er…showing signs of stress.” “Stress? You don’t know the meaning of the word!” barked Virus. “I work all day at the sausage factory, and then come home to her!” He pointed a forepaw at Hexia. “She never stops moaning. I wish sometimes I were a werewolf. It’d be a way of getting rid of her…” “You wouldn’t dare, you miserable old git!” snarled Hexia. “Oh dear! Oh dear!” sighed Leonora. “Do have another sherry.” “Anyway tomorrow we’ll find out whether any of us are affected by the full moon,” said Wilfred. “I’m going to bed early tonight. I’m going to be up all night tomorrow.” “Don’t worry, Wilfred dear.” Hexia sounded quite sympathetic for once. The next evening Leonora and Wilfred were pleasantly surprised, when their two newly-discovered relatives appeared at their house. Hexia and Virus had enjoyed their tour of the Videoville Studios, and were in a more relaxed mood. After several sherries Hexia had become less talkative and more ready to listen to others. Virus had nodded off a couple of times in front of the T.V., whilst watching one of Audley Penguin’s earlier films called ‘Atishoo of Lies’, in which he played a spy, who could not stop sneezing. In fact Virus even laughed aloud once. He had also chuckled, when Leonora told the story of Wilfred’s yellow pawprints.

However, as darkness fell, the mood of everyone in the house became more nervous. This did not seem a good omen. Things started to turn weird just after midnight. From Hexia and Virus’ room came the sound of the curtains being drawn back and of the window being opened. Some whispering was followed by a soft howling that quickly grew louder. “How, how, how, how?” This was obviously Hexia, for it was followed by the deeper voice of Virus. “Why, why, why, whyeee?” “Egad!” murmured Wilfred. “Now we’ve got you, Leonora, who’s perhaps a werewolf, Hexia, who seems to be a howwolf and Virus is without doubt a whywolf! It must run in the family.” “That doesn’t tell us what, what, what to do about it,” stammered Leonora. “Hmm.” Wilfred was thinking hard. “Wait here, Leonora.” Thirty seconds later he was back and holding something out to her. “Here. Put this on,” he said. It was a small black eye-mask last worn on their flight to Lake Yahoo the previous winter. “Why?” asked Leonora, puzzled. “Just do it!” commanded Wilfred. He did not tell her what had happened, when he put one on that afternoon. He had fallen asleep on their back lawn. Leonora put the mask on. “Where am I?” she said. “Oh, no!” thought Wilfred. “Bad idea. It’s not working.” “Only joking,” said Leonora. “Concentrate!” urged Wilfred. Leonora was silent for several seconds. Then she said, “I feel different.” She gave a few little practice howls. She frowned. “Am I changing in any way? Is my fur growing thicker? Aieee!” Wilfred couldn’t believe his ears. “No, only your voice is different. You are not howling. You are singing.” Leonora’s voice was suddenly perfect and like an opera singers. Then Wilfred had a heart-stopping moment. She was changing shape. Her face was no longer covered in hair. Within a few seconds she was transformed into a beautiful young human woman with golden hair, and she was now wearing a long red dress. So was this

caused by the black mask and the fact that they had concentrated so hard? He did not know, but it all seemed better than the old legends about humans turning into werewolves and going out killing people. At least Leonora didn’t seem about to do anything like that. This was just the opposite. Surely it was good, thought Wilfred. It was then that they realised that they could hear two other superb voices. It was Hexia and Virus. They came out into the hallway. Both had removed the masks that Wilfred had lent them. Both were in human form wearing elegant evening dress. Wilfred dashed to find his camcorder. He had to record this fine harmony before it was lost. For two hours the glorious singing did not stop, and Wilfred managed to record it all. That morning they were so tired that they slept for hours, all of them that is, except Wilfred. By the time Hexia, Virus and Leonora awoke they all seemed to have regrown their fur and to have returned to normal. It was then that another strange thing happened. Wilfred woke up! He was lying on his back on the lawn behind his house, and he was wearing a black flight mask over his eyes. How odd! How sinister! A sudden thought alarmed him. Ripping off the mask, he dashed to find his camcorder, and he began to play back what he believed he had recorded during the night. Yes, there was the beautiful singing from all three of the wolves, but nowhere could he see them turning into human beings wearing clothes suitable for performing at the opera. As usual he felt a bit confused. He must have fallen asleep and dreamed that very strange and very disturbing event. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He counted to ten and made up his mind what he would do. He shouted,”Leonora, I’m going out. I don’t know how long I will be.” When he came home late in the afternoon, he was very excited. “Listen,” he said to Leonora, Hexia and Virus,”I’m your new manager, and I’ve booked you for your first two gigs. Next full moon you’ll be singing at the Wolf Pack pub and then at the Foxy Club.”

“Do we have to wear our black flight masks, when we’re singing?” asked Virus. “That’s up to you. It would make it more dramatic,” replied Wilfred. “Or more exotic, “breathed Hexia excitedly. “We can play it by ear.” “Or we can play it by eye,” quipped Virus, who held up his mask and squinted through one of the eye-holes he had cut in it. Hexia and Virus seemed different creatures today. They were no longer snappy and gloomy. Perhaps it was because they sensed their lives were changing. Or was it that Wilfred had completely misjudged their personalities? He found that he now liked them a lot. Leonora was equally pleased and said that her two new-found relatives could stay for a month. Hexia and Virus looked at each other. “Thank you,” said Hexia. “Yes, thank you,” echoed Virus, “but we are thinking of renting a place in town. We are moving here. Everyone seems so friendly. I’m not going to work in a sausage factory any more. I don’t really think my wife and I are cut out to be singers. Me, I’m going to be a stand-up comedian.” “What!” shouted Hexia. “Tell us a joke then.” “O.K. I’ll start off something like this…I never thought I’d be a comedian, but my friends said I’d go down a storm.” “Yeah,” interrupted Hexia,” you should go down a storm-drain!” “Hey, that’s good!” exclaimed Virus. “I’ll add that in. Where was I? Oh, yes, my friends said I’d go down a storm, but my wife said I’d go down a drain, a storm-drain. Anyway, I was talking to my next-door neighbour, and I said, ‘What do you know about lycanthropy?’ He said, ‘What colour flowers does it have?’ and I said, ‘No,no, lycanthropy the study of werewolves.’ ‘Oh’, he said. ‘Well, don’t plant any of them next to this fence!’” By now Virus with his deep voice was really getting into his stride. He looked so gloomy, but the impression he made was

very, very funny. He had a certain presence, a magnetic charisma. He was a real hoot! “And did you hear about my nephew?” he asked. “He thought his wife was turning into a werewolf. She was howling at the moon and began to lose all her fur. She turned into a beautiful woman, a human being with smooth skin and she was wearing a long red dress. I said, ‘Nah. That’s impossible. She’d be a chihuawolf!” “Ha, ha, ha, ha!” Hexia was rolling about on the sofa, laughing. Wilfred hid his surprise. How on earth did Virus know about his dream? Leonora was smiling too. Then she asked, “Are there any other surprises in store for us, I wonder?” Virus had stopped his comedy performance, and he turned to her. “Erm… Perhaps, Leonora, if you wish to do it. I was speaking to someone I met in town. She is looking for someone with a special voice. You could be the voice of the new Sat Nav system being created here for all cars and other vehicles.” “You mean my singing voice?” asked Leonora uncertainly. “No, your normal speaking voice. She was at the Wolf Pack and heard you speaking on a different part of the camcorder recordings. She said your voice was perfect for it, nice and clear.” “Oh,” said Leonora overcome with shyness and confusion. However, three months later she did not seem at all shy or confused, as her voice came out of thousands of Sat Nav speakers in thousands of vehicles in the area. “In three hundred yards turn right at the traffic lights…” “Take the next exit…” “If possible make a U-turn…” There were hundreds of these phrases Leonora had had to record, but Wilfred was very proud of her. He now had a steady job. Whenever and wherever he was driving his taxi, even if he knew exactly where he was going, he would keep his Sat Nav on just to hear her voice. He was no longer forgetful and scatter-brained, and he was absolutely thrilled that he was married to the person, who was now known as the ‘Wherewolf ’!

The Duel

 

Ronaldo Rhino was a real pain. That was not just the opinion of Wayne Arthur Vansittart, the mayor of Videoville. Not only was Ronaldo, who happened to be the Mayor of DVD Town, very boastful about himself, he also sneered at everything to do with Videoville. He said it was an out of date little town full of has-beens and useless wannabe actors and performers, and that DVD citizens were much brighter, sharper, quicker, more talented and generally more attractive in every way. Now although Wayne Arthur Vansittart was only penguin-sized, because he was a penguin, he always stood up to the extremely unpleasant, extremely annoying brother of Renata Rhino, who lived in Videoville. This year the annual Two Town Gala was being held in Videoville, and as usual the two mayors were discussing and disagreeing about nearly everything in the show. Vansittart glared at Ronaldo and snapped, “Why don’t you say what you really mean?” “Oh, I thought I had made myself clear, very clear,” smirked Ronaldo, “but us superior beings are often misunderstood by those of lower intellect and intelligence.” “They must be rather few in number,” replied Wayne Arthur, but sarcasm and irony were lost on the very thick-skinned rhinoceros. “What I’m really here to tell you,” he said,” is that we, the glorious inhabitants of DVD Town are issuing our annual challenge to all the animals of Videoville in the full knowledge that we will beat you at anything you choose to come up with, and, by the way, I have once again been chosen as the DVD Champion of Champions to represent us in the two main events.” Boastfully he raised his horned snout as high as he could and declared, “I must warn you that I am still the strongest of animals. I am invincible. No one will beat me.” “Hmm,” frowned Mayor Vansittart. “I think you’re wrong. In fact I know you’re wrong, and, since Videoville as host towncan

choose which events you’ll be trying so desperately to beat us in, how about cake-making?” “Tcha!” jeered Ronaldo. “How about cake-eating? I’d win that!” “Or hat-knitting?” asked Mayor Vansittart. “Har! Har! Har!” sneered Ronaldo. “That’s not a contest of strength!” No, but it could be part of a craft decathlon I’m considering setting up. Remember, I’ll have a big say in what events will be included. I think I know who our champion will be, although he may need some persuading, as he’s very modest and does not think he’s good at anything.” And who is this magical creature?” boomed Ronaldo. “Whoever it is will be doomed to failure, as he will be struggling to keep up with me!” “Really?” murmured the mayor penguin. “Well, I shan’t tell you for the moment. Besides I haven’t asked him yet.” Oh, yeah?” grinned Ronaldo. “I can’t wait to meet him, or rather I can’t wait to beat him!” With that he turned rudely and stomped off to his massive limousine, which was chauffeured by a grinning chimpanzee, who looked rather ridiculous in his gold coloured uniform complete with peaked cap and gigantic sunglasses. Watching the rival mayor being driven away, Mayor Vansittart felt someone tugging his left flipper. It was Alfredo Ferret, the reporter from the local newspaper,the Videoville Vortex. “Hey, Wayne,” said Alfredo. “Can I report that Ronaldo has been showing off as usual?” “Gee, that’s hardly news, is it?” replied his friend. “But we’ve got to come up with a good plan to beat him this time. For the last five years he’s walked all over us in the Gala contests.” “Who have we got with a chance of beating him?” Alfredo was busily scribbling on his notepad. “Well,” drawled Wayne Arthur, “who have we got that can match him for strength? Let’s see. The obvious guy is Mike Mudd.”

“The film director?” asked Alfredo. “Even for a hippo he’s enormous.” Yeah, but Mike won’t have anything to do with Ronaldo. They fell out years ago, when Mike refused him a part in a film. They hate each other. Who else then? How about Aurelia Orang-Utan? No, I don’t think so. Grayson Silverback, our champion gorilla wrestler? No, he’s probably too old. Hatty Hippo? No, she’s too short-sighted.” “What about Tamara Tiger?” put in Alfredo. “Hmm. She’s good at tennis, but not much else.” “And Chuck Cheetah? He’s almost as fast as Skidder Penguin!” “No, no. I’ve got a better idea. I’m thinking of asking Erwin Elephant.” “Erwin? He’d never agree to it. He’s only interested in studying. He’s an aca…er…an aca…” “Academic, you mean, “finished Wayne Arthur. “Maybe, but I think he’ll rise to the challenge.” Alfredo had stopped scribbling and was jigging up and down excitedly. “Let’s go and ask him now,” he said. “And perhaps we could get Skidder to help him with his training. And I’m sure Trendy Wendy will want to be in charge of the cheer-leaders.” Again he tugged Wayne Arthur’s flipper. “Come on! What are you waiting for? We must go and see Erwin now!” So it was that half an hour later they were standing in a huge room in Erwin Elephant’s huge house. The room was in fact Erwin’s observatory. It was dominated by a giant telescope, and its large owner was concentrating most of his attention on something he could see through the eyepiece. “Morning, guys,” he said, without looking away from what he was doing. “I’m just doing my usual morning moon-gazing. I find it fascinating. I know I’ll never be the first animal on the moon. The rocket would never achieve lift-off. I’m far too heavy, but you two fellas would be ideal. At the moment I’m writing a book about it. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

Quickly the two friends explained what they wanted. At the mention of Ronaldo Rhino Erwin snorted in disgust. What a charlatan!” he said. “A Charley what? What’s that?” asked Alfredo, ever keen to learn new words. “Oh, it’s someone, who is false, full of false charm, a fraudster claiming to be far better than he really is,” replied Erwin. “But are you willing to take him on?” Wayne Arthur was anxious to know. “Well…” Erwin was thinking aloud slowly and deliberately. “I’m rather busy, you know, what with the books and articles I’m writing. The University of Videoville will be up and running next year, and I’ve been asked to give some of the lectures. And besides, I’ve never been much of an athlete. I wouldn’t want to let everyone down.” “You’ll be fine,” urged Alfredo. “Only you can match Ronaldo for strength, and we’ve got a month to train you up.” Wayne Arthur added, “Yes, and you’ll enjoy it. It’ll be great fun.” “Yes,” murmured Erwin, frowning thoughtfully. “It would be nice to try something different. It would also be rather droll…er… amusing to put one over Ronaldo. What do you think I should challenge him at? Hang-gliding is obviously out of the question for both of us. Swimming? No, we’d empty the pool as we plunged in. I couldn’t do anything like throwing the discus or hammer. I’d fall over trying to spin round or I’d endanger the lives of spectators. I’d be hopeless at throwing the javelin, and it would be even more dangerous.” “Actually there is a throwing event you could do,” put in Wayne Arthur, who could see that Erwin was warming to the idea of taking on Ronaldo. It’s something they do in the Highland Games in Scotland. It’s called tossing the caber.” Erwin nodded his large head. ““Right, I’ve heard of that. Good idea.” “I know! I know!” Alfredo was once again jumping up and down in excitement. “You could challenge him to a cycle race!”

“What?” Erwin’s bellow of laughter shook the huge room. “I can’t cycle. I’d fall off. Besides I haven’t got a bicycle.” “No, no.” Wayne Arthur had picked up on Alfredo’s idea. Burt and Kurt could build you one.” “Burt and Kurt?” Erwin was puzzled. “You know, Burt and Kurt Turtle.” “No. Who are they?” “They designed and built Myrtle Turtle’s drag-racing car. Surely you’ve heard of Hurtle Myrtle? She’s their sister.” “Oh, is she the 80 year old? The one, who beats everyone else at the DVD track?” “Yeah, that’s the one,” grinned Alfredo. Erwin was still not convinced, so he protested, “But I can’t balance on a bicycle! I’d wobble all over the place and fall off.” “Ah,” said Wayne Arthur. “It wouldn’t be a bicycle as such. Burt and Kurt would build a quadricycle for you and one for Ronaldo. Balance shouldn’t be a problem, and you would have four pedals instead of two.” “Intriguing,” was all Erwin said. Alfredo was still jumping up and down excitedly. “I’ll ring Burt and Kurt now.” Mayor Vansittart was almost as excited. “And I’ll text Skidder. I’m sure he’ll help you in your training.” “O.K. I’ll do it!” declared Erwin firmly. Alfredo and Wayne Arthur heaved a sigh of relief. It did not take long for them to get things moving, and Ronaldo proved surprisingly enthusiastic about a bicycle race. “Sure thing. You know my motto. Glad to beat you!” As for tossing the caber, he thought that would be a hoot. Three days later Burt and Kurt delivered the quadricycles to Ronaldo and Erwin. Ronaldo had insisted that his be painted gold, as he was a winner. Erwin was pleased with his machine painted a gleaming flame red, which the Turtle Brothers called Hue Myrtle. Time seemed to gather speed for Erwin, as he trained every day. On his Erwincycle he sped around the Videoville Velodrome racing

circuit. Sometimes Skidder Penguin would zoom around with him, unaided by any machine. At first the elephant found it all very tiring, but gradually he felt his stamina grow, and he really enjoyed propelling himself at great speed around the track. Skidder’s friend Pudden Penguin also helped by timing Erwin on a stop-watch and by measuring, when Erwin practised tossing the caber. Eventually the great day of the Two Town Gala arrived. As usual it was a bright sunny day. Loads of visiting animals from DVD Town started arriving by all means of transport. All of them seemed in party mood. Most of them were not as boastful as Ronaldo, but they playfully mocked the chances of the inhabitants of Videoville. The Gala was a sort of party that lasted all day. There were musicians in the streets and many animals were in fancy dress. The games began promptly at 2 p.m. on the Videoville playingfields, and were opened with a very short speech by Ozkar, the famous boxing kangaroo, who was also the referee for all the events, as he had a house in Videoville and another in DVD Town. He was popular, and also known to be strict but fair. He said, “G’day, folks. I declare the Games open.” Immediately Trendy Wendy and her team of cheer-leaders, a group of young female penguins dressed in red skirts, started performing their well-rehearsed routine of chants and dancing. Not to be outdone the DVD Town cheer-leaders, a very acrobatic team of marmosets dressed in gold-coloured costumes, began their routines as well. Soon all kinds of competitions were under way. Ozkar hopped here and there, keeping an eye on everything, and both towns were performing well and scoring lots of points. No animal was allowed to compete in anything in which he or she would have a natural advantage. For example Chuck Cheetah could not enter any footraces, so he did his best to win at jam-making. Tamara Tiger would probably win the tennis (and did so later), but the penguins were not permitted to do any swimming races, nor were the otters. In fact it was Priscilla Panda of DVD Town, who was declared the swimming champion. However, Mayor Vansittart or

Wayne Arthur to all his friends came second in the ground piano hopping contest, where musical notes were sounded by someone hopping onto slabs set in the ground. His musical accuracy was 89%. He was easily beaten though by Moses Meerkat, also from Videoville, on 100%. Stinky Winky, the popular little skunk from Videoville, won a special trophy for selling the most products for charity at his perfume stall. Buster Gutter, the famous Videoville stunt bear, did brilliantly to win the speed-knitting contest. In just under 30 minutes he made a multi-coloured woollen cosy, which fitted perfectly over his employer, Mike Mudd, the equally famous Videoville film-director. Mike joked that now he too would have something to hibernate in! Ronaldo stalked haughtily past, as Buster received his applause for winning. Other Videoville successes included Matilda Hen, who won the rifle sharp-shooter award and ‘Rocky’ Rockhopper Penguin for his putting skills in the crazy golf. Of course Chief Spotto was there supervising the police presence. He did this, as he always did, lazing in the shade of a large tree with a constant supply of ice-creams, and dreaming of ways to get rid of all those pesky garden gnomes and figurines planted in front of the Videoville Police Headquarters by that annoying little mayor penguin and the townsfolk. He realised that they were no doubt there to stay because they had become so popular that visitors now came from all over the country to take photographs of them and to have their own pictures taken posing for example with Pudden or the Gunhen. By the end of the afternoon the points on the large electronic scoreboard (with 10 for a win, 5 for second place, and 4, 3, 2, and 1 for the next places) showed that Videoville had 530 points and DVD Town 540. Only the two Champion of Champion events remained. Both would be contested by the selected town champions, but few of the animals yet knew who the Videoville champion was to be. Ozkar hopped up to the microphone to announce, “Tossing the caber. One attempt only, as time is short, and we will all have to get over to the Videoville Velodrome for the final event, the cycle race. These last two events will be between the champion of DVD Town,

Ronaldo Rhino…” At these words cheers rose from the DVD Town supporters and their numerous gold banners waved accordingly. Ozkar paused. Then he continued, “And the Videoville champion, Erwin Elephant.” There was a gasp from the crowd, and suddenly the Videoville animals were cheering and waving their red banners. From the moment he heard his own name announced Ronaldo had been bowing to the crowd with a conceited smile on his face, and he kept repeating, “Thank you. Thank you,” in his loud, rumbly voice. However, the applause for Erwin drowned out the cheers for Ronaldo, as the large elephant stepped out from the tent where he had been resting, reading a copy of ‘Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens. Yes, he was that cool! Pudden Penguin had really taught him to relax. “O.K., cobbers,” said Ozkar. “As guest champion it’s you to go first, Ronaldo, in tossing the caber.” With a confident snort and a swift shake of his head Ronaldo strode up to the long, straight tree-trunk lying on the ground. It had been stripped of all its branches. Ronaldo stood to one side of the huge log, planting his front feet firmly in front of it. He lowered his head and placed the horn on his nose underneath the log at its mid-point. Then with a roar and a massive heave of his neck and shoulder muscles he flipped the caber into the air. It spun over and over to land with a thump several metres away. Two wallabies, friends of Ozkar, quickly hopped over to measure the throw and reported back to him. “Twenty-five point two,” he announced. The log was carried back to the starting line by several strong animals. Next it was Erwin’s turn. Although he knew what to do, he studied the log for a moment before placing his large trunk round one end of it. Then, hoisting it into the air, he held it vertically. Balancing it carefully, he advanced a few steps and hurled it so that it tumbled end over end to land about a third of the distance of Ronaldo’s throw.

“Ho, ho! Har, har! I’ve won!” crowed the delighted rhino, as the two wallabies skipped to measure Erwin’s throw. “Sorry, mate,” said Ozkar. “It isn’t how far you throw the thing that counts. It’s how straight end over end you manage to throw it. Ronaldo, you obviously didn’t bother to read the rules. Erwin’s throw was only 5 degrees out from being perfectly in line.” Raising his voice to drown out Ronaldo’s angry protests, Ozkar spoke again into the mike in his broad Australian accent. “Erwin…er…wins!” The red banners were waved joyfully to the accompanying Videoville cheers. Ronaldo glared at Erwin and snarled, “You haven’t won yet!” “Absolutely,” agreed Erwin calmly, and he walked off towards the Velodrome along with the crowds, who were already drifting that way. The atmosphere in the Velodrome was electric. All the seats around the arena were full, and there was an eager buzz of conversation everywhere. Trendy Wendy’s team of penguins were matched by the DVD marmosets, all of them arranged in the large arena in the enormous space in the middle of the oval track, already well into their routines. Meanwhile Erwin was waiting patiently next to his machine. He glanced at his book and spoke to Ronaldo in a quiet voice. “You should read this. Quite suitable for you I would have thought.” “Huh!” Ronaldo was not interested. “Concentrate on the race you’re about to lose, you loser.” The number of words he knew as a V.I.P. politician was really quite limited. Erwin almost did not bother to reply. “We’ll see,” was all he said. Again Ozkar spoke into a microphone. “Well, folks, this is it. The decider. The cycle race. Ten laps of the track. A klaxon will warn the riders five seconds before the start, and a red light will show. The light turns green and another klaxon starts the race. Riders, to your marks.” Ronaldo, who was on the inside of the track, grinned across at Erwin. “Hey, loser, watch my smoke!” he boasted.

Erwin said nothing, but concentrated on the red light. The five seconds warning klaxon sounded. He counted down. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Go!” The starter klaxon sounded, the red light turned green, and both riders were away pedalling furiously with all four legs on their quadricycles. Ronaldo gripped the steering –bar in his strong mouth, but Erwin guided his bike by manipulating (or should that be ‘trunkipulating?) the bar with his strong trunk. After two laps the riders were neck and neck, easily keeping pace with each other. The crowd screamed continuous encouragement, and the various groups of red or golden banners were waved non-stop. Even after five laps the two riders were still inseparable. Ronaldo was thinking all the time, “ha, ha, loser, I’ve got you now!” Erwin was thinking about the advice Skidder had given him about keeping a reserve of strength for lap 8. He didn’t see Skidder, Pudden and Alfredo on the central section urging him on. He concentrated on keeping a steady rhythm in his pedalling and counting the number of laps still to go. Inside, on the centre of the arena both sets of cheer-leaders stuck to their routines of twirling, dancing and chanting. At the start of lap 8 Erwin increased his pace, just as Skidder had trained him to. Gradually he drew ahead. Ronaldo couldn’t believe it, but he wasn’t beaten yet. Oh, no, not the great Ronaldo! If he could not win, he would at least stop Erwin. He eased off his speed, slowing down at the final corner of lap 9, and, suddenly leaning his weight to the left towards the inside of the track, he turned his machine completely on its side, so that it lay covering most of the width of the track. Erwin was so far ahead on his 10th lap that he did not see what had happened. He merely heard a thud, the gasp of the crowd, and a few shrill screams of horror. The cheer-leaders had all fallen silent. They were no longer dancing. They were all staring open-mouthed at the quadricycle lying across the track with Ronaldo next to it and Erwin hurtling towards it at full speed. The crafty rhino had made it look as if it had happened by accident. He was grinning to himself about the real accident that was about to happen to Erwin. At almost the last moment the elephant saw the obstacle directly in

front of him. Instinctively he swerved to the right up to the high banking of the track, and, as he came up to the stranded bike, he let go of his steer-bar, reached forward with his trunk, and, grasping the still spinning rear wheel, flipped the machine off the track into the middle section. The crowd roared in surprise and delight, as Erwin shot past it and swept down from the high banking to cross the finishing–line in a blur of speed. All the crowd applauded, even the DVD animals. The Velodrome’s enormous electronic scoreboard now read ‘1st Erwin Elephant (Videoville) 10 points. Ronaldo Rhino (DVDTown) D.N.F. Final result – Videoville 550 points. DVD Town 545 points. Congratulations to Videoville! And well played DVD Town!’ Alfredo, still scribbling in his notebook, but still eager to learn new things, asked, “What’s D.N.F.?” Pudden replied, “It means ‘Did not finish’, so Ronaldo got no points for taking part in the race. It doesn’t matter. We’ve won! We’ve won!” Five minutes later as Ozkar presented Erwin with his winner’s medal and Wayne Arthur Vansittart with the Gala tournament trophy, Alfredo got some brilliant photos for his newspaper, including one of the defeated Ronaldo, as he slunk dejectedly away. Wayne Arthur was so pleased that he was already on his mobile phone, ringing the local artist Marietta Montqui, and asking her to produce a new figure of a cycling elephant to put on display with the other figures in front of the Videoville Police Headquarters. He chuckled to himself. Chief Spotto would not be best pleased!

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