The howling coming from outside sounded as if an entire pack of starving wolves had just found where the three little pigs lived. Nelson spun around on the spot, eyes suddenly wide open and staring at the front door. It seemed too soon for Uncle Pogo to be back. Nelson hoped it was just foxes—he’d often heard them squealing and shrieking in the middle of the night—but this idea was instantly shattered by the sight of several strange little figures leaping over the junk in the front yard. The doorbell started ringing over and over again and somebody knocked, but rather than a normal knock, it was a knock at the speed of a woodpecker. The dog went absolutely nuts, but even its incessant barking was no match for whatever was wailing on the other side of the front door.
Nelson backed away, tripped over a foot spa filled with empty pistachio shells, and landed on the TV remote control. The TV switched off, a lamp stand toppled and fell as he backed into it while the horrible cacophony outside grew louder still as more voices began to howl and screech and hiss and knock and ring and … suddenly it stopped.
Everything just stopped.
Except the dog, who barked like crazy.
Nelson desperately tried to reassure himself that whoever or whatever it was couldn’t get in and that Uncle Pogo should be back soon, but this brief glimpse of hope was quickly extinguished by a loud crunch from outside. The dog stopped barking.
The silence that followed was terrifying. Nelson didn’t know if he was being watched or about to be attacked. The security light was out, the television was off, and he could hear his heart pumping blood around his body as if he had just run the Olympic 100-meter sprint.
Suddenly a jet of flames fired upward from outside the kitchen window. The flame burned with the intensity of a rocket engine for a moment before dying out just as suddenly.
Again there was silence.
And then a burp.
Yes, a great, big, gut-rumbling belch came from whatever was outside the kitchen, followed by a plume of black smoke that rose up and drifted through the … open window! Nelson knew there was no way he could close that window now. The best he could do was retreat and hope he wasn’t noticed. He crawled backward across the floor, his eyes glued to the smoke drifting into the kitchen, until he hit the wall. No, it wasn’t the wall, it was Uncle Pogo’s red telephone booth. Nelson reached behind him and found the edge of the phone-booth door. As he gingerly pulled the creaking door open, Nelson heard a whistle outside, the kind of loopy whistle you would do if you wanted someone’s attention. Looking up, Nelson saw a tiny pink hand reach up from outside and grab hold of the windowsill.
“Hide” was the only word that came to Nelson’s mind (which is quite a good word to think of in a situation like this—certainly better than “sausages” or “rhinoceros”)—so he scrambled backward into the phone booth and the door slowly closed by itself. He still had the poncho gripped in his fists and, as the door shut, Nelson pulled his knees up to his face and curled up as small as he could.
There was an urgent scraping sound, followed by a thud, and then somebody (or something) spoke.
“Well, don’t just stand there! Lift me up, yer great lump.” The voice sounded angry, and as if its owner had the most terrible sore throat.
“Ow! You are currently standing upon my nose!” hissed another. A struggle ensued and then a great honking noise, like a faulty bicycle horn, began blasting away.
“Oh, don’t start honking again,” said a different voice, this one more like a sad and desperate moan.
Thud.
Another thud.
The sound of wings flapping filled the air and something obviously made of glass and belonging to Uncle Pogo was knocked to the floor and broken.
“Oops-a-daisy!” said a rather plummy voice.
A slithering rattle, like a snake, was followed by three more thuds to the floor. Whatever had been outside was now inside.
Nelson screwed his eyes up tight and wished that Uncle Pogo would fling that front door open and chase away whatever was there.
There was a thump, then an “Oi! Watch where yer putting them spikes!”
“Shh! Look. See? I told you this was the right house. He’s over there.”
The sound of the voices approaching the telephone booth completely terrified Nelson. He could hear things pressing against the booth and the sound of breathing against the glass, quick and shallow like dogs panting after retrieving a ball. The strange voices spoke again.
“What’s ’e doin’ in there?”
“How should I know?”
“Ask ’im what ’e’s doin’ in there.”
“You ask!”
“Honk!”
“Shhh!”
Then there was a knock on the glass. Not a scary thump, but a very polite one-two-three knock, followed by someone clearing their throat to speak.
“Um, hello there,” said the plummy voice, the kind you would expect from the Queen’s butler. “Are you all right in there, old bean?”
Though his eyes were still screwed up tight, the surprise of hearing such a polite voice chipped away at the great slab of fear in Nelson’s belly.
“I know just how he feels,” moaned a hollow-sounding voice as if about to cry.
“Big deal. We all know ’ow ’e feels,” growled another, with a derisive snort to emphasize its point, which was met with murmurs of agreement.
“Oh, please come out,” urged the hollow voice. “We need you, Nelson.”
They knew his name.
How on earth could they know who he was when he had absolutely no idea who or what they were? Also, hadn’t they just used the word “need”? They hadn’t said, “We want to eat you, Nelson,” or, “We’d very much like to turn you inside out and wear you as a hat, Nelson”—no, they’d clearly said, “We need you, Nelson.”
For the first time since this terrifying episode began, Nelson experienced a feeling other than gut-wrenching fear, and it was curiosity.
With absolutely no idea what he was going to find, Nelson slowly opened his eyes and peeped over the tops of his knees.
At first it was hard to see anything, as the phone-booth windows were steamed up from the breath of whatever was panting on the other side, but as Nelson’s eyes scanned left and right he began to see little faces moving beyond the foggy glass. For a moment he didn’t know if he was looking at little people or animals. They spoke like people, but they certainly moved like animals. In fact their enthusiastic snorting and snuffling and shuffling reminded him of the piglets he’d seen clambering over each other to feed from their mother on a primary school trip to a farm.
“Shh! You’re scaring ’im,” growled one of the creatures, and the group fell silent.
“Allow me to do the honors,” said the plummy voice, and the phone-booth door began to open.
Nelson’s eyes widened, even his eyebrows started to rise, and blinking was completely out of the question as the door gradually opened to reveal a truly extraordinary sight. A birdlike creature stood before him, approximately half Nelson’s height and covered in dazzling gold feathers. Its chest was puffed up proudly, its eyes were large and heavy-lidded, and beneath them protruded a magnificent beak of what looked like solid silver. How any bird could move around let alone fly with a solid metal beak was anyone’s guess, but there it was, standing there looking like a gilded dodo with the voice and demeanor of a waiter from a very expensive restaurant.
“Sorry for that rather messy entrance,” said the creature, as it swept one wing forward and bowed before Nelson. “We did knock, but it appears your servant is away at this time.” Nelson heard one of the other creatures hidden behind the phone booth respond with a loud “Honk!”
“I go by the name of Hoot,” said the golden bird. “And I can tell by your stunned expression you have never met a creature as handsome as me. Please, do not feel embarrassed. I am well aware that my looks are, quite literally, stunning. However, my cohorts aren’t quite as—” His sentence was cut off by one of the other creatures rolling into view and knocking him right out of the way. This one looked like a great pink sack of potatoes with tiny eyes, large hairy nostrils, coarse skin, useless sticklike arms, hands, and legs, and a mouth as wide as an oven door.
“’Allo, Nelly-son,” roared the pink blob, and there was loud cackling from behind the booth.
“My name Nosh! You, Nelly-son!” said the blobby thing with a big grin, stretching out one of his funny little hands to shake Nelson’s.
Nelson’s fear was shrinking fast and an overwhelming sense of “blimey!” was taking its place. He held tight to the door frame with one hand and slowly stood up to shake Nosh’s hand with the other. What a strange little hand it was. Tiny and hot, like a plastic doll that had been left in the sun all day, except this hand was very much alive, had a firm grip, and belonged to a body that was as big and round as a butcher’s belly.
“Nice to meet you, Nosh,” said Nelson, which wasn’t exactly true. “It is totally mind-blowing to meet you, Nosh,” might have been nearer the mark, but the fact that Nelson even managed to speak right now was pretty good going.
“Look! Look! It’s Nelly-son,” roared Nosh, and like a group of excited children about to meet Santa Claus, the other creatures hidden behind the steamed-up glass quickly assembled in front of the phone booth to greet Nelson.
It is very rare to see something you do not recognize at all, but apart from photos Nelson had seen of some bizarre luminous fish that dwell in the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean, he could not remember laying his eyes on anything so completely strange in all his life. In fact, it is time to stop referring to the things now gathered in front of Nelson as creatures because that would imply they were something Mother Nature had had a hand in creating, but there was absolutely nothing natural about them. They were not creatures. They were monsters.
And though they were all roughly half the size of Nelson, their height was the only thing they had in common. “Dat one is Miser,” said Nosh, gesturing toward a blue egg-shaped monster that shuffled forward on feet that flopped like wet socks. Miser had long tentacles for arms, rough callused skin like the barnacle-encrusted rocks you find by the sea, and a nose that started at the top of his head and ran all the way down to a small, pinched mouth, on either side of which bulged two very shifty eyeballs.
“Master Nelson, ’tis an honor to make your acquaintance,” hissed Miser, gripping Nelson’s hand with his sticky fingers.
“Give it back, Miser,” said what appeared to be a very sad-looking cactus. Its bright green waxy flesh was covered in hundreds of spikes and its arms were long, thin, and trailed on the floor like spindly branches.
“I have nothing to give back,” hissed Miser, and Nelson looked down to see another of Miser’s tentacles had crept into the back pocket of his jeans and had lifted the money left over from the cab ride last night. Miser dropped the money back into Nelson’s pocket and retracted the tentacle with whip-crack speed.
“Watch out for Miser,” said the cactus monster. “Greedy rotter’ll steal anything.”
“All property is theft,” grumbled Miser as he released his other hand from Nelson’s, leaving a sluglike slime trail behind.
Nelson said, “Hello,” and offered his hand, but the sad cactus merely sniffed and looked back at him with two sad eyes rattling around in dark, hollow sockets. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to shake hands with me. Look,” it said, and flapped its feeble twiggy arms as if to prove its point. “Lucky you. You’ve got proper arms. Not like these stupid things.”
“What’s your name?”
“Spike. I know. So obvious, isn’t it? Wish I had a nice ordinary name like Richard or Steve.”
A horned beast with the angriest red skin you’ve ever seen and hands as big as boxing gloves stomped forward on shiny black hooves, pushed Spike out of the way, and shook Nelson’s hand, but only managed a grunt instead of a hello.
“Hi,” said Nelson, feeling the bones in his own hand being crushed by its powerful grip.
“Stan,” growled the creature.
“Hello, Stan.”
“Easy now, Stan old boy,” warned Hoot, and Stan backed away, looking awkward and angry.
“Dat one is Crush,” said Nosh, and the smallest monster of the group rushed forward. This one had a ginger-colored body shaped like a cross between a puppy and a foghorn. It bounded toward Nelson on round feet that looked as if they belonged to a miniature elephant. Its eyes were wide, it had big floppy ears like a springer spaniel, four little arms, and a mouth like the bell of a trumpet. The little monster bounced up and down, honking like an old bicycle horn.
“Honk! Honk! Honk!” went Crush as Nelson reached down to shake its little hand. But all four of Crush’s arms were already wrapped several times around his legs like jungle vines. “Hello,” said Nelson, and Crush replied with an emphatic “Hooooonk!”
“That’s all he ever says,” said Spike, rolling his eyes, but Nelson couldn’t help but find it quite funny. “Oh, you might like him now, but you soon get tired of it,” moaned Spike as Miser pulled Crush off Nelson’s leg.
“Where Puff? Puff? Where he gone?” shouted Nosh, but Nelson couldn’t see any more monsters.
“The last I saw of Master Puff was outside,” said Miser, who had found an old coin on the floor and was hiding it in one of the many pocketlike folds of his skin.
Nelson’s brain was suddenly engaged. A flurry of questions rushed out of his mouth. “So, who are you and where do you come from and what are you doing here and how do you know my name and—”
He was cut off mid-question by the sound of a car horn. Miser leaped onto the bookcase below the living room window and peered out through the net curtains.
“Puff? Puff, dat you?” called Nosh.
“No! ’Tis the one-legged giant—he has returned!” hissed Miser, and quickly retreated behind an electric armchair.
“I’ll take care of ’im!” bellowed Stan, pounding his fists together as if readying for a fight.
“What? No, it’s just my uncle!” cried Nelson, as the other monsters surrounded the front door.
His words had no effect whatsoever.
“This is his house!” he yelled and was again ignored.
There was a jangle of keys followed by the click of the lock and in walked Uncle Pogo carrying two large plastic bags filled with their dinner.
“Sorry it took so long. They’d run out of haddock so I had to wait around for a bit,” he said, walking straight past the growling monsters.
That’s right, Uncle Pogo walked right past the monsters without a second glance. Nelson was utterly lost for words, but the monsters had plenty.
“Mmmm, dat smell ’licious,” groaned Nosh, his slobbery tongue hanging out as Pogo’s take-out bags swung by his face and the smell of fried fish wafted through the house.
“Sorry, but would one of you remind me who the large fellow is?” said Hoot, now standing on the back of the couch and tilting his head to one side.
“The one-leg cannot be trusted,” whispered Miser, his eyes following Uncle Pogo to the kitchen as one of his tentacles found its way to the mantelpiece, where it stole a silver letter opener and a medal Pogo had won in a rugby tournament.
“Miser’s right. I’ll squash ’im like a slug,” growled Stan, and Crush gave a short and rather squeaky honk in support.
“Please don’t do that!” shouted Nelson, making Pogo jump out of his skin.
“Oh. Don’t you want fish-and-chips?” asked his uncle, taking two plates from the draining rack as the monsters began to close in around him.
“Are you feeling all right, Nelson?” he went on, in response to his nephew’s wide-open mouth.
“Can’t you see them? They’re all around you!” said Nelson, throwing his arms wide.
“What are you talking about?” Pogo began unwrapping the steaming parcels of fried food.
Nelson opened and closed his mouth and found he didn’t know how to reply. I mean, it’s not often you find yourself saying, “Your house is full of monsters,” is it? As he searched for a sensible-sounding sentence he felt something tug at his trouser leg. Looking down, he found Miser looking up at him.
“The one-leg cannot see or hear us. No one can. Except you.” That certainly explained things to Nelson, but it still didn’t help him find a way to explain it all to his uncle. Then, to add to everything else, a great purple bear claw reached up from outside the window and grabbed hold of the sill.
“Something’s out there,” said Nelson, pointing at what was now two large purple bear claws clinging to the window frame.
“Really?” said Uncle Pogo, putting down his knife and fork and turning to the window. “You might have a point—it’s the first time that dog’s stopped barking.” He got up from his chair.
“No need to get your hopes up—it’s only Puff,” moaned Spike, but Uncle Pogo was already leaning out the window.
“Dat is Puff, Nelly-son,” wheezed Nosh, as a seventh monster, a furry and very slow-moving ball of purple, flopped through the window and onto the floor. It looked as if someone had deflated a huge purple cat. Puff had fat paws, a soft pink nose, and huge eyes that were almost completely hidden under heavy purple eyelids. He yawned and revealed the inside of his mouth, which was pastel blue except for his teeth, which were banana yellow.
“Crikey O’Mikey!” exclaimed Uncle Pogo, without any idea there was a purple monster at his feet. “Where on earth is the dog?” He craned his neck to see farther into the yard. A ripple of giggles, cackles, and laughter began to break out among the monsters. The purple monster, Puff, slowly opened his eyes and yawned again with a mouth that opened like a large purse filled with teeth and tongue instead of coins.
“What are you all laughing at?” whispered Nelson to the monsters, noticing that the only ones not laughing were Nosh and Puff.
“It appears that Nosh has consumed the beast, Master Nelson,” said Miser.
“Nosh was hungry,” pleaded Nosh, blushing even pinker than he already was.
“What? You actually ate my uncle’s dog?” hissed Nelson, not sure he wanted to know the answer.
“Did you say something?” asked Uncle Pogo, but Nelson just shook his head.
“Oh, dearie me. Was this doggy a friend of yours?” said Hoot with real concern, but this only made the others laugh louder.
“That dog must have gotten out over the fence somehow,” said Uncle Pogo, scratching his head as he turned back toward the dinner table.
“Uncle Pogo—watch your step,” shouted Nelson, but it was too late to stop him from stepping on the great hairy blob called Puff, who was so squishy that Pogo didn’t even notice.
There was the most humongous fart as Puff deflated under Pogo’s false leg like a squished whoopee cushion.
“Oh, Puff! You wretched beast! You foul and odorous cretin!” cried Hoot, flying back to take a position on the banisters as a cloud of purple bubbles rose into the air.
“Run, Master Nelson! Flee before the bubbles burst!” urged Miser, but Nelson just stood there as the bubbles popped, each releasing a cloud of purple gas.
It was Stan who took control of the situation by charging at Nelson like a bull.
Blam! He crashed into Nelson’s stomach, knocking every ounce of air from his lungs. Crush had already reached the front door and flung it open.
“What on earth is going on?” exclaimed Uncle Pogo, as he looked up to see his nephew flying out the front door, which slammed shut of its own accord behind him. But before he could say anything, the smelly purple gas found its way up his nose, overpowered his brain, and switched him off like a light. Uncle Pogo’s eyes rolled back as if he was looking at the ceiling and the fork fell from his hand.
“Uh-oh! Dat bubble fart gone right up da man’s nose!” cried Nosh as Uncle Pogo tipped forward and collapsed into his plate, sending fish-and-chips flying in all directions.