Showdown
‘Has everyone done it?’ yelled Alice. ‘Has everyone changed a watch?’
‘I’ve changed four!’ shouted Grenville.
‘I’ve changed six!’ said Venk.
‘PPPs are distributed!’ yelled Elliot.
‘Which ones are PPPs again?’ asked Clover, confused. ‘Are they like the PPPs or more like the PPPs?’
The thunder of hooves was getting louder and louder and LOUDER.
Alice looked up at the sky full of fireworks.
‘I hope Buster realises,’ she said, almost under her breath.
‘Buster is smart,’ said Hamish, reassuring her. ‘Buster will realise we had to change plans. He’ll see that the fireworks have stopped in mid-air. He’ll work out that the Pause has started. I guarantee it!’
Across town, by the clock, Buster was staring up at the little light on the rollercoaster and scrunching up his nose.
That was weird. Why wasn’t it on?
It should be on by now, he thought.
He looked up at the clock. Yes. That little red light should definitely be on by now.
Buster yawned.
Oh, he thought, absent-mindedly. Look at the pretty fireworks.
‘They’re nearly here!’ shouted Hamish, as the noise of the approaching horde grew. ‘Adopt your PPs!’
‘What are our PPs again?’ whispered Clover. ‘Our Pretty Pickles? Our Picnic Pimples?’
‘Your Pause Pose!’ said Venk. ‘Do your Pause Pose!’
And as Venk froze like a statue, staring up at the fireworks and grinning an enormous, joyful grin . . . the smell wafted into them, around them, through them.
That putrid, rancid, unbearable stench, like a cloud of foul and rotten damp. Each and every Pausewalker noticed their nostrils flare as it hit them. Some held their breath. Others breathed it in and felt their eyes well up.
The thundering had stopped.
You might think that was a good thing.
But that was not a good thing.
That meant they were here. Creeping in from the shadows, sneaking in and taking stock . . .
Hamish felt one before he saw one.
It was behind him, trailing one bony finger from the small of his back to the nape of his neck, its nail just strong enough to break a little of his skin.
He could feel he wanted to shiver.
But he mustn’t.
He mustn’t.
The Terrible moved around him now, until it was facing him.
It towered above him and, as it began to move its face down towards his, Hamish could sense dozens more moving into the fairground.
Finally, the beast was at eye level.
His heart lurched as Hamish twigged something . . . He recognised it.
It was the very same Terrible that had been at his window that night.
And the Terrible obviously recognised him too. That was why it had tried to make him shiver. It wanted to prove that Hamish was a Pausewalker.
It raised one finger into the air, then did the most awful thing it possibly could.
It started to slowly slide it into Hamish’s nostril . . .
Back at the clock, Buster definitely thought something was wrong.
That little red light had not come on. It was just sitting there, doing nothing, high up on that rollercoaster, under all those pretty fireworks.
Those fireworks that were just hanging there.
Like fireworks do.
Buster yawned again. Man, The Beast needs feeding, he thought, tapping his tummy.
Wait – fireworks? Hanging?
That’s not what fireworks do!
Oh, dear.
Oh, dear me.
It’s the last Pause!
Buster scrambled for the clock.
Hamish counted all the ways that this was absolutely, definitely the most disgusting thing that had ever happened to him as the Terrible’s finger slithered out of one nostril and started to slide painfully up the other.
There were about a thousand ways that this was absolutely, definitely the most disgusting thing that had ever happened to him.
He could feel that cold, smooth finger now behind his eyes, feeling for his brain.
And yet, somehow, Hamish remained absolutely still.
Still, because he had to.
For Mum.
For Jimmy.
For Starkley.
For his dad.
The Terrible cocked its head and moved its dreadful face closer to his. Hamish could see his own reflection in its enormous bug eyes, the way you might see your own when you look into an old scratched spoon.
He could also see Alice, off to one side, lit by the fireworks, and not moving a muscle.
Other Terribles were having the time of their lives. They were playing catch with some grown-ups, tossing them back and forth, while another used a cat as a hat and giggled.
By the dodgems, poor Robin had to stand completely still while one particular Terrible began to drape worms across his head, like a sort of worm-wig. Robin’s eyes were as wide as they could get – because worms! – but that boy did not move. Even when the Terrible began to squish the worms down and rub them in, all the while smiling a Terrible smile. Robin could feel their wet little bodies slippering and slathering around on his skull. He had to fight with everything inside him not to whimper and flee.
Come on, thought Hamish, desperate to get on with this, desperate to stop these things from treating his friend that way. Come on!
And then . . .
Stomp . . . Stomp . . . STOMP. . .
This was it.
The WorldStoppers were arriving.
But Hamish was not prepared for this.
Two giant WorldStoppers strode into the fairground and began to laugh a deep, guttural, spine-jangling laugh . . .
They looked at the entire population of Starkley, together in one place, and they could not believe their luck. They clapped their hands together, palm juice splittering and splattering everywhere, and they cried out in glee.
And a moment later, perhaps summoned by the joy . . .
STOMP.
STOMP.
STOMP.
The Terribles turned to face the noise. Some of them kneeled to welcome it.
Hamish quickly looked at Dexter, who looked back at him and nodded, scared.
The WorldStopper General was coming.
Two enormous trees bent sideways as a beast the size of three buses crashed its way into the fair. Its huge hands were the size of cars and it flung an entire Super Swinging Viking Boat out of its way to make room. A throng of angry, wet Requines galloped in behind it and circled the frozen people of Starkley. They stood, sinister and muscular, and whinnied.
‘GOOOOOOD,’ it roared, the noise vibrating through the town.
‘THESE CHILLENS BE GIVING ME A MINDGRAIN.
YOU GEDDUM.’
Hamish’s heart was in his mouth. He had never – ever – imagined the WorldStopper General to be so . . . grenormous!
So . . . enormassive!
So . . . big.
Vast glumps of spittle flew through the air, whistling past the kids and splattering on the rides and stopped-still grown-ups.
‘ALL OV THE CHILLENS!
AND YOU GEDDUM!’
Whatever it had said, it was clear that the Terribles were about to obey.
Hamish looked at Alice. She winked at him.
‘PAUSEWALKERS!’ he shouted. ‘NOW!’