The Day the World Went Loki (3 page)

Once they had dismantled the barricade Greg slowly opened the door. He looked back to see Lewis loading some books into his backpack.

“Come on!” he said.

Lewis had been nurturing a slim hope that reality would reassert itself while they were hiding, but the leprechaun picture on the wall and the other unspeakable decorations were all still present. He sighed and steeled himself to follow Greg downstairs.

They were tiptoeing through the front hall when Mum appeared. Greg and Lewis grabbed hold of each other but managed not to scream.

“Since you didn’t eat any breakfast,” the seven-foot abomination said in Mum’s most patient voice, “I’ve made you each a sandwich.”

She handed them each something vaguely square shaped that was wrapped in a ragged cloth. Against his better judgement Lewis unwrapped the package and stared at the contents. Two mouldy slices of dry bread with shreds of some unidentifiable leaf drooping from the corners. Something was wriggling in the middle of the sandwich.

A fat, crimson spider poked its head out from between the slices of bread then began to descend towards the floor on a slender thread. Lewis shook the
sandwich rapidly and watched the spider fall.

Mum gave him a suspicious glare. “You haven’t become a vegetarian have you?”

Lewis gulped. “I only eat spiders on Tuesday, Mum.”

Upstairs a door opened and a chillingly familiar voice shouted out, “Do you have any herbal tea, Adele?”

Mum called back, “Yes, Vivien, I’ll brew some nettles for you.”

“I’ll be right down!” Aunt Vivien trilled.

Lewis was rooted to the spot in horror until Greg shook him out of it.

“We’ve got to go, Mum!” Greg said urgently.

“Yes, right
now!”
Lewis blurted out.

They raced down the hallway, barely pausing to throw open the door before tumbling out into the street.

“That was close!” Greg gasped.

“Do you think it’s okay to leave Mum alone with Aunt Vivien?” Lewis asked.

“In her present condition, I think she can take care of herself,” Greg assured him.

A snuffling noise drew their attention to their left, where a large green dinosaur was curled up asleep on the driveway. There were no dice hanging over its nose, but there was no doubt that this slumbering beast had been Aunt Vivien’s car.

All at once Lewis realised he was still holding the sandwich. Reflexively he flung it away.

Greg looked at his own package, holding it away from him at arm’s length. Before he could decide what to do with it, a voice somewhere above them said, “Greg, you want that?”

They looked up.

Then they looked up some more.

The Chiz had to be at least twelve feet tall. He was covered in thick orange fur and his red beanie was so far off you’d have needed binoculars to see it properly. He’d have made a pretty fair Abominable Snowman.

Eventually Greg was able to say, “Hi, Chiz,” without his voice breaking.

“Nice to see you, Chiz,” Lewis added by way of support.

The Chiz was eyeing Greg’s sandwich. A big red tongue slid out and moistened his thick lips.

“Oh, sure, Chiz, it’s all yours,” Greg said, offering the package.

The Chiz lifted it out of his hand with fingers the size of bananas. Without unwrapping it, he popped it straight into his mouth, chewed it three or four times and swallowed.

“Walk to school with you guys,” Chiz rumbled. It sounded more like an edict than a suggestion.

“We’ve, uh…” Greg began.

“We need to go somewhere else first,” Lewis finished for him.

“That’s right, we’ve got an errand to run for Mum,” Greg said.

“Can’t miss school today, Greg. It’s Lokiday.”

“Right, Chiz.”

Greg was just starting to walk away when one of the Chiz’s immense, furry paws descended and clamped itself onto his shoulder. He squirmed manfully but could not get free. He felt himself being turned around and directed down the street towards school. It was either walk beside the Chiz or be dragged along, ruining the toes of his new trainers.

“Lokiday, eh. So I don’t expect there’ll be a test today, Chiz?”

The Chiz laughed like he’d made a really funny joke.

Lewis fidgeted nervously for a few seconds then he hurried after them. He was afraid that if he let Greg out of his sight, he would turn into something abominable as well.

“He seems even more spaced out than usual,” Lewis observed to Greg in an undertone.

“The air’s probably a little thin up there,” Greg said.

Through the slatted fence of the Larkins’ garden they caught an indistinct glimpse of something huge
and hairy. It ripped a sapling out of the ground and tossed it high into the air. The animal looked like it wanted to play fetch, but they couldn’t see whether there was anyone around with the strength or the courage to oblige. As they passed, it barked crazily, putting an extra spring in their step.

For the most part, the buildings along the street were only slightly altered. Some of them now had crooked chimneys giving off streamers of noxious green smoke, and they all looked a little dilapidated, as though they had aged overnight. Here and there a thatched roof or a turret had been added to a building, but the streets themselves appeared to follow the same pattern as before.

What was most noticeable was the complete lack of cars or bikes. There wasn’t even the sound of an engine. Occasionally somebody would ride by on horseback or stroll past leading a mule. But there were bigger surprises than that in store in the transportation department.

On the spot where they usually passed Canny Dan’s Snack Van, somebody had parked a wagon load of manure. It didn’t smell any better. While they were pinching their noses, Darren Poole overtook them, not on his racing bike, but on a huge, loping lizard. Even with a mane of wild black hair and a set of fangs,
Darren was still recognisable.

At the corner of Pipeland Road the lizard swerved aside to avoid a head-on crash with a colossal frog. The frog was hauling a carriage with Mr Arbuthnot, the bank manager, and his wife inside.

The boys spotted other familiar faces along the way, although on this particular day they were a little less familiar than usual. Lewis was relieved to see that not everyone had increased in size. The Brewster twins, for example, had become a pair of identical gnomes, with red beards and long, sharp noses. Susie Spinetti waved hello from across the street and seemed friendly enough, in spite of the fact she was dressed in goat skin and carrying a spear.

A hot-air balloon drifted overhead, manned by half a dozen rat-faced creatures who squealed in alarm as a dragon swooped out of the clouds and shot past them.

The Chiz had released his vice-like grip on Greg’s shoulder by now, but neither brother felt inclined to wander far from him. The Chiz might have turned into a yeti, but he was still their friend, and provided a comforting sense of protection in the midst of the giant frogs and flying dragons. There could be little doubt left that Lokiday had transformed the whole population of St Andrews and that Lewis and Greg were the only ones left who were aware that things had changed.

As they approached the school, they saw it was surrounded by a high spiked fence decorated with shields and animal skulls. The school building had sprouted two crenellated towers, and a row of ugly grey statues leered down from the roof. The din in the playground was almost deafening as leprechauns, dwarfs, elves, fairies, trolls, ogres and other misshapen creatures growled, squabbled, howled and sang.

“We’re not seriously going in there, are we?” Lewis quailed.

“I don’t know,” Greg shrugged. “Frankly, it’s not much worse than it is on a normal day.”

Seeing them hesitate, the Chiz pressed his palms against their backs and herded them through the gate. They were plunged into the midst of the prancing, lumbering creatures who, the previous day, had been their schoolmates.

A figure in black armour came clanking out of the school and set about a crowd of gibbering gremlins with a whip, driving them ruthlessly indoors. The face below the upraised visor still resembled that of Mr Hawkins, the headmaster, even though it had taken on the appearance of a grinning skull.

Inside one of the new Gothic towers a bell tolled, causing an immediate uproar. A set of double doors swung open like the entrance to a Transylvanian castle
and the whole mob poured inside. Greg and Lewis were swept along helplessly, like fleas in bathwater spiralling down a plughole.

In the turmoil Lewis was buffeted this way and that. He realised to his dismay that he had lost sight of Greg and the Chiz. “Greg!” he called. But his voice was drowned in the hubbub.

Soon most of the pupils had found their way to a classroom and only the occasional scampering subhuman still whizzed past him, chattering excitedly to itself. Muffled roars, yelps and ragged choruses of disapproval could be heard booming behind the closed doors. Numbed by the excitement, Lewis discovered that he had made his way instinctively to his own classroom. He crouched low and sneaked up to the door. Raising his eyes over the edge of the glass window, he peeked inside.

A sphinx-like creature who had formerly been Mr Guthrie, the history teacher, was scrawling a series of bizarre hieroglyphics on the board and Lewis’ classmates were copying them onto the slates they had on their desks. Lewis was almost tempted to take his place and try to blend in. But no, he had to find Greg and, if possible, work out a way to stop this nightmare.

He fell into a crouch and padded over to the stairs then sprinted up to Mrs Witherspoon’s class where
Greg would be. When he peeked through the glass his jaw dropped.

Greg’s wrists were bound together with a length of rope that was looped over a hook on the wall, so that he dangled there with the toes of his trainers barely touching the floor. The imps, ogres and other mythological creatures who had been his classmates were lined up with a variety of weapons in their hands.

Off to one side stood Mrs Witherspoon. She looked like the witch from
The Wizard of Oz
– black dress and pointed hat, even the green skin. “You first, Malcolm,” she said. “And try to do your best.”

The satyr who had been Malcolm Strachan stepped forward on his goat’s hooves and lifted the javelin he held in his right hand. His horns swayed from side to side while he tested the weight of the weapon.

“Remember,” Mrs Witherspoon reminded him, “that you have to hit as close as you can without actually drawing blood. If Greg suffers a wound then you’ll lose points.”

Malcolm pawed the floor with one hoof then drew back his arm and threw. The javelin sliced through the air and stabbed into the wall under Greg’s armpit.

“Cut it out, you creeps!” Greg burst out. There was an edge of panic in his voice. “This isn’t funny!”

Lewis clenched his fists so tight his fingernails dug
into his palms. Greg had said Mrs Witherspoon would like to use him for target practice, and now she was. She even looked like she was enjoying it.

The teacher waved forward Charlotte Gilmour, who was decked out in the garb of an ancient huntress, complete with bow and a quiver of arrows.

“You don’t want to get on my bad side,” Greg warned her, struggling with his bonds. “My dad plays golf with policemen and lawyers. Hundreds of them.”

Charlotte fitted an arrow to her bow and raised it to fire. Before Lewis could make a move to interfere, she loosed off the shot. Greg yelped as the arrow thudded into the wall right by his left ear.

“Arthur, I believe you’re next,” said Mrs Witherspoon as she scribbled a note on the clipboard she was holding.

The Chiz lurched forward with a double-headed throwing axe in his paws. Lewis’ heart sank and Greg tugged furiously at the rope. The Chiz couldn’t hit the Great Wall of China if his nose was stuck to it, so if he was trying to miss, the result was certain doom for Greg.

“Chiz, maybe you’d like to pass on this,” Greg pleaded. Even from a distance Lewis could see the cold sweat dotting his brow.

“Quiet, Gregory, or I’ll have to gag you!” Mrs Witherspoon snapped. The idea obviously appealed to
her, as it had to Lewis on more than one occasion.

The Chiz lifted the axe clumsily and puffed his cheeks in and out as he always did when he was on the brink of wrecking something.

Lewis burst into the room with a desperate cry of, “Stop!”

All eyes turned to him, and thankfully the Chiz lowered his axe.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mrs Witherspoon demanded.

“You, uh, have to let him go,” Lewis said
unconvincingly
.

“You are interrupting my class,” said Mrs Witherspoon, bristling with displeasure.

Lewis swallowed hard. He had an awful premonition that he was about to be transformed into a frog. “He has to report to the headmaster,” he improvised.

Seeing that Mrs Witherspoon was unswayed, Greg put on an imploring voice, “The headmaster! No, anything but that!”

“Mr Hawkins is tired of him messing around in class,” said Lewis. “I think he’s going to boil him in oil or something.”

“That’s right, probably something worse,” Greg added.

Mrs Witherspoon raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Well, under the circumstances, I suppose I shall have to let him go.”

She pulled a jagged knife out of the folds of her black robe and cut Greg down. “But mind you don’t miss your anatomy class!” she warned him.

“Right,” Greg grunted warily.

He followed Lewis out of the room without breaking into a run, but only just.

Behind the door they heard Mrs Witherspoon call out, “Right, now we need a volunteer!”

“I thought school was rough before!” Greg exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

“At least there wasn’t a test,” said Lewis pointedly.

“That’s funny,” Greg frowned. “You should start a career as a comedian.”

“If I hadn’t come along when I did,” Lewis reminded him, “they’d be peeling you off the wall with tweezers.”

“I can’t believe the Chiz was really going to throw that thing,” Greg wondered. “After all the times I let him borrow my skateboard.”

“You know, if you don’t stop thanking me,” Lewis cut in, “I’m going to start blushing.”

Greg gave a terse nod and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You did just fine. Really fine.”