Pencil of Doom! (11 page)

Mr Grunt leaned out the driver's side window.

‘Stand back, boys,' he said, ‘and I'll show you something special!'

The boys all did as he suggested.

Mr Grunt pumped the accelerator again, filling
the car park with exhaust fumes. Then he reversed out of his parking space at high speed.

I shut my eyes and listened as hard as I could for the crushing of the pencil above the noise of the car's engine.

But I couldn't hear any crushing. All I could hear was a weird scraping noise. A weird scraping noise that was getting louder . . . and louder . . . and louder!

I opened my eyes. To my horror, Mr Grunt's Hummer was skidding out of control . . . straight towards the bush I was hiding in!

I leaped from the bush just in time.

The Hummer flattened not just the bush I had been hiding in, but the entire row of bushes! It took out a fire hydrant, and a flowerbed, and didn't stop until it smashed into the side of a small green hatchback.

Now of all the small green hatchbacks that you could smash into, this was the very one that you definitely would
not
want to smash into, because this small green hatchback belonged to Mrs Cross. And Mrs Cross could get very cross indeed.

The door of the hatchback opened and Mrs Cross got out.

Not surprisingly, she looked cross. Very cross.

‘Grunt!' she said. ‘Look what you've done!'

Mr Grunt's fan club took fright at the sight of Mrs Cross being cross and ran away.

Mr Grunt probably would have
liked
to run
away but he couldn't run. He seemed quite dazed and very unsteady on his feet as he climbed down from his Hummer. ‘I'm so sorry, Mrs Cross,' he said. ‘I don't know what happened!'

‘You were driving too fast!' said Mrs Cross. ‘That's what happened! You are
always
driving too fast! It makes me very cross! We're not driving dodgem cars, you know!'

‘No, Mrs Cross,' said Mr Grunt. ‘I know that . . . and I'm very sorry. It's just that I completely lost control . . .'

‘Yes, because you were
driving too fast
!' repeated Mrs Cross.

‘Perhaps, but that's not why I lost control,' said Mr Grunt. ‘One of my back wheels—I think it was the left—seemed to lose contact with the ground.'

‘Well,' said Mrs Cross, ‘when you're driving as fast as you do that's bound to happen, you silly man.'

Mr Grunt bent down to examine his tyre. ‘It felt like something was stuck in it . . . a stick, or something like a stick, perhaps . . .'

Suddenly I understood what must have happened.

The pencil had not been crushed. It had sabotaged Mr Grunt's tyre! And he was about to find it, and when he did find it he'd see my name on it, and then . . . well, to tell you the truth, I
didn't want to think about ‘and then'. I had to get that pencil before he did.

Luckily, Mrs Cross wasn't through with Mr Grunt yet. ‘Now listen to me, Grunt,' she said. ‘And have the good manners to look at a person when she is speaking to you. There's nothing wrong with your back tyre. I know that and you know that. We both know why you crashed, don't we? Because you are an irresponsible, selfish, self-centred driver with no regard for the rights of others on the road—or anywhere else as far as I can see!'

Mrs Cross was really letting him have it.

While she did, I managed to crawl under the car, grab my pencil and then get out of there without either of them seeing me. As I ran I could still hear Mrs Cross.

‘And another thing, Grunt . . .' she was saying.

I almost felt sorry for Mr Grunt. I had plenty of problems of my own, including a killer pencil that had it in for me and my friends, but I sure wouldn't have traded places with Mr Grunt at that moment for anything!

That night I had another bad dream. This time it was about Hummers with pencil teeth and spiky pencil wheels chasing me around the schoolyard.

I awoke on the floor again, dripping with sweat and shaking.

I had to get rid of that pencil . . . but how?

The next day, Principal Greenbeard called a special school assembly.

We all gathered in the school hall, the teachers arranged at strategic points around the room.

Everyone was there.

The grade teachers: Mr Naughtychair, Miss Sweet, Mr Highfive, Mrs Spectacles, Mr Brainfright and Mrs Cross.

All the specialist teachers: Mrs Rainbow the art teacher, Mr Shush the librarian and Mr Grunt the show-off . . . I mean, sports teacher. (Mr Grunt appeared to have recovered from Mrs Cross's
dressing-down yesterday afternoon, although she still shot him the occasional cross glance across the stage.)

And speaking of cross glances, Mrs Rosethorn was there as well, glowering at the audience. I don't think she approved of assemblies. She probably thought they were a waste of time. And I'd have to agree that, in this instance, she was right.

Mrs Bandaid was there, clutching a handful of bandaids. Although the risk of physical injury during school assemblies was fairly low, I guess there was always the danger of a student—or teacher—passing out during one of Principal Greenbeard's longer speeches and hitting their head on the floor.

Even Mr Spade, the school gardener, was there, looking much more relaxed than the last time I'd seen him. He'd been very upset about all the hole-digging that went on when practically every student in the school was looking for Greenbeard's treasure. He became so upset, in fact, that he'd had to go on stress leave. Which—as it eventually turned out—was the main reason for the assembly.

Principal Greenbeard, resplendent in a brilliant white naval uniform, was droning on and on about how the school was like a big ship and how he saw himself as the captain of that ship and how it was
his responsibility to guide us all safely through the unpredictable and sometimes very dangerous sea of life and how it was our responsibility to all pull together, to hoist the sails and man the paddles and plug the leaks and all hands on deck and yo ho ho three bottles of rum on a dead man's chest . . . Well, I may have drifted off a little bit there, though as far as I could make out, that was the general gist of it. But before it got to the point where I passed out and hit my head on the floor, he got to the ‘main item on the agenda', which was to welcome Mr Spade back aboard after his ‘shore leave'.

‘And just to show you how much we appreciate your work aboard the good ship
Northwest Southeast Central
, we're delighted that the school's recent “build your own boat” fund-raising effort has allowed us to buy the new Mighty Boy Garbage Compactor you always wanted!'

Principal Greenbeard motioned for Mr Spade to come up on stage.

There was a round of applause as Mr Spade walked up to the podium. He was clearly overwhelmed by Principal Greenbeard's thoughtfulness and was wiping away tears as he and Principal Greenbeard warmly saluted one another.

‘On behalf of the whole crew of the good
ship
Northwest Southeast Central
,' said Principal Greenbeard, ‘I hereby welcome you back and officially present you with the instruction manual for the Mighty Boy Garbage Compactor!' He put a book the size of a telephone directory into Mr Spade's hand.

Jack, who was sitting beside me, tapped my arm. He was back at school, even though he was still suffering from amnesia. The doctors thought that the best chance for him to recover his memory was to be in familiar surroundings with familiar people.

‘Who's that?' he whispered.

‘Mr Spade,' I said. ‘He's the gardener.'

Mr Spade shuffled to the microphone. ‘I'd like to thank you all for your very kind gesture,' he said. ‘It's great to be back and the Mighty Boy's five hundred thousand kilos of brute garbage-compacting force will help me to get the school grounds into tip-top shape as fast as possible!'

There was another round of applause.

I was fully awake now.

Five hundred thousand kilos of brute garbage-compacting force?

I could use that!

As if reading my mind, Principal Greenbeard chose that moment to remind us all that Mr Spade's shed—and the Mighty Boy Garbage
Compactor—was strictly out of bounds. ‘Any scurvy dogs breaking this rule will be thrown into the brig and will go without food and water for a week. Do I make myself clear?'

We all nodded.

‘I'd also like to take this opportunity to welcome Fred and Clive Durkin back to school after their recent accident. We wish you both a speedy recovery.'

I turned around.

Sure enough, Fred and Clive were sitting a few rows behind me. Clive had his leg in plaster, and Fred had his arm in a sling.

There was a round of applause to welcome them back, but I didn't join in.

Jenny elbowed me. ‘Henry!' she said. ‘You're not being very nice!'

‘They've never been very nice to me,' I pointed out.

Jenny sighed.

‘Who are Clive and Fred?' asked Jack.

‘They're not very nice,' I explained.

‘Henry!' said Jenny.

I shrugged.

‘Now we shall all sing the school song,' said Principal Greenbeard.

Now this was something we
did
like.

We all joined in a rousing version of ‘The
Good Ship Lollipop', except that when we got to the word ‘lollipop' we sang ‘Northwest Southeast Central' instead.

It was pretty crazy, but we all enjoyed it. In fact, it was definitely the best thing about school assemblies.

I patted the pencil in my pocket.

‘We're going on a little trip, you and me,' I said.

As we left the hall, I overheard Principal Greenbeard inviting Mr Spade back to his office for a cup of tea.

This was my chance. I had to act fast.

I nudged Jenny.

‘What is it?' she asked.

‘I'll be a little late back to class,' I said.

‘Why?' said Jenny.

‘I've got an errand to do,' I said.

‘What sort of errand?' said Jenny.

‘Can't say,' I said.

Jenny noticed me looking at Mr Spade's shed.

She shook her head. ‘I know exactly what you're going to do,' she said. ‘And it's completely against the school rules! You heard Principal Greenbeard. If you get caught in there, your life won't be worth living!'

I told her about how I'd almost been run over
by Mr Grunt's Hummer. When I finished, Jenny nodded.

‘All right,' she said, perhaps remembering her own experience with the pencil's evil sense of humour. ‘But I'm coming with you.'

‘Jenny!' I said. ‘No! I need you to cover for me in class. Besides, it's too dangerous.'

‘Yeah,' said Jenny, ‘too dangerous for you to do it alone. I'm coming with you and that's that. We'll just chuck the pencil in, turn on the compactor, and be back in class before anyone has even noticed that we're missing.'