Hamish and the Terrible, Terrible Christmas, Page 2

  6

  Silent Night

  As Hamish and his dad clambered back into the car the three giant windmills that now surrounded Starkley were blowing the heat right across town, so that while the rest of the country was getting a blizzard, in Starkley there was an absolute downpour as the snow in the air melted into rain.

  ‘What do they want with our clock?’ asked Hamish, shivering from the cold water as the rain battered the windshield.

  ‘I only know one thing,’ said his dad, starting the car. ‘HMS CARRAS is an anagram. I didn’t realise at first. But now I see that if you rearrange the letters. . . it spells SCARMARSH.’

  Hamish frowned. What did that mean?

  ‘Scarmarsh is pure evil. He is working on a way to stop time itself.’

  ‘Stop time?’

  That seemed insane! Who’d believe that?

  ‘He must think there’s something special about the town clock.’

  As they got closer to town, Hamish suddenly had a thought.

  ‘Dad . . . what if they’re at home when we get there? What if there’s . . . a Terrible in my room?’

  His dad smiled, gently.

  ‘They hate water. There’s no way they’ll come to Starkley while all this rain is coming. They’ll stand behind the heaters, where it’s still snowing. For now, we go home and pretend like nothing’s happened.’

  Hamish felt a little better. Until his dad turned to him, and said, very seriously . . .

  ‘It’s when the rain stops that we have to worry.’

  Hamish didn’t sleep at all well that night. The sound of the rain falling heavily over Starkley was both a comfort and a concern.

  Sometime around six am, he felt an arm on his shoulder and jolted from his sleep.

  A Terrible! A TERRIBLE!

  AAAAAARRRRGH!

  Hamish grabbed the small foam baseball bat he’d put next to his bed and swung it wildly around.

  YES! A DIRECT HIT!

  ‘OW!’ shouted Jimmy, clutching his head. ‘WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?’

  Whoops.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Jimmy,’ said Hamish, pretending he’d just acted in a completely normal way. ‘Just thought I’d bop you on the head.’

  ‘You blinkin’ NOODLEBEAR!’ shouted his brother. ‘I was only blinkin’ WAKING YOU UP!’

  And then Hamish realised something with horror.

  Apart from Jimmy going ‘ow’ and hopping around and then saying words he really should not be saying, Starkley was silent.

  Heart-stoppingly, brain-bruisingly silent.

  The rain had stopped.

  7

  Morning is Broken

  For the first year since Hamish could remember, no one had to wait for Dad to get up at quarter to eight and have a pee so long you might as well call it a peeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

  He was already in the living room, sitting on an armchair, facing the door.

  He winked at Hamish as he walked in. He’d been sitting up all night, just in case.

  He probably really needed the bog.

  Hamish glanced out of the window. The weather was as dull as could be. There was no snow, there was no rain. The heaters in the forests around town were drying the clouds and chasing the puddles away.

  It was just another grey, grey, boring Christmas day in Starkley.

  From upstairs, Mum blew her whistle.

  ‘PRESENTS!’ shouted Jimmy, throwing himself into the pile and starting to rip.

  Hamish stood closer to his dad.

  ‘I’ve worked it out,’ said his dad, quietly. ‘Just before lunch. That’s when every resident of Starkley will be in the school hall singing the Starkley song. The Terribles won’t want to be seen. So that must be when they’ll steal the clock.’

  Hamish took a deep breath and nodded. He felt a little more relaxed now that he knew a Terrible wasn’t about to burst through the door.

  ‘Now go and open some presents and act like a kid,’ said his dad, smiling, and Hamish suddenly felt the excitement that every kid should feel on Christmas day.

  He dived in after Jimmy and started to rip the presents open.

  ‘Happy Christmas, nitwits!’ said his mum, carrying in two cups of tea and some Musn’tgrumbles on a tray filled with holly. ‘Hamish, did we ever tell you that if you’d been born a girl, we would have called you Holly?’

  Jimmy rolled his eyes and smiled at his brother. Their mum said that every year.

  For the rest of that Christmas morning, while Mum got ready, Hamish and Jimmy just carried on like everything was normal. They read their new Captain Beetlebottom annuals and gorged on Chomps. Hamish was always gorging on Chomps. So much so that even though he brushed his teeth every morning and night, Dad had booked him an appointment at The Tooth Hurts. It wasn’t for months, but he’d said: ‘prevention’s as good as the cure, Hamish! Always be prepared!’

  Despite all the chocolate, Hamish couldn’t enjoy the morning. He kept one eye on the clock.

  ‘Right!’ said his mum, wearing her best coat. ‘It’s time! Let’s make this a Christmas to remember!’

  Hamish looked at his dad.

  Oh, it would be that, all right.

  8

  Snow Joke

  Hamish opened the front door of his house and cast a beady eye around.

  He looked at the bushes. And at the bins. And at the end of the garden.

  There were no Terribles to be seen.

  ‘Come on, then, let’s start walking!’ said his mum, and the little family walked from their house on Lovelock Close, past the Post Office, to the town square. They passed Mr Slackjaw, who was outside Slackjaw’s Motors using the unusually warm weather to wash all his shiny mopeds with his enormous red hosepipe.

  People were already milling excitedly around near the town’s big Christmas tree. Some of the kids were staring up at the sky, sadly holding new sleds they’d hoped to use.

  Buster, who Hamish had seen around school, zoomed past on a new scooter. He’d only had it two hours but he’d already added the engine from an old lawnmower to the back and now it did nearly forty miles an hour. A kid called Elliot must have been given a new science set, because he was wandering around wearing goggles, poking things with a long metal prodder.

  Hamish’s friend Robin had a new football, because he always managed to lose his somehow. Just inside Lord of the Fries, some fierce-looking girl with a golden stripe through her hair was spending her Christmas money on fishburgers. And everyone seemed to be carrying a brand new Christmas sweet from lovely old Madame Cous Cous, who let everybody eat for free on Christmas Day.

  ‘So far so normal,’ said Hamish.

  ‘Right,’ said his mum, sighing. ‘Let’s go and sing this extremely long song.’

  But as they joined the mass of people all heading to the Winterbourne School Hall, Hamish’s dad placed his hand on Hamish’s shoulder.

  ‘Oh, no!’ he said.

  Hamish immediately froze.

  ‘What is it?’ said his mum.

  ‘I forgot to buy batteries!’ replied Dad. ‘Hamish, will you come with me? I don’t want to go to a garage on my own on Christmas Day again!’

  ‘But you’ll miss the extremely long song!’ said Mum, sadly. ‘The one that’s just the same over and over and over again!’

  Hamish’s dad smiled, cheekily. That didn’t sound so bad when she said it out loud, did it?

  ‘Go on then!’ she said. ‘Me and Jimmy will just sing twice as loud!’

  Jimmy was furious. How come Hamish got to go to a 24-hour garage to buy batteries on Christmas Day and he didn’t?

  Actually, he thought, that sounds even worse.

  Hamish and his dad waited until they were out of sight, and then waited a little longer until every other resident of Starkley – from Frau Fussbundler to horrible school bully Grenville Bile to rat-nosed Scratch Tuft and rat-eared Mole Stunk – had followed them in.

  As he passed, Grenville made a face at Hamish, and grunted ‘Merry Christmas,
Smellerby.’

  He always picked on Hamish.

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ said his dad, as the doors of the school closed. ‘We’ve got some Terribles to stop!’

  9

  All Creatures Great and Terrible

  Hamish and his dad hid round the back of the post office where they could keep a really good eye on the town clock.

  They’d dashed back home really quickly to get their Belasko suits and now they looked the business. Hamish’s dad had insisted Hamish put on his balaclava again too.

  From a distance, they could hear the sounds of Madame Cous Cous playing the organ drift over town. That meant the Terribles could too. Any second now. . .

  ‘Dad,’ said Hamish. ‘Even though we’re probably about to come face to face with a horde of marauding monsters who want to destroy our entire way of life, I’m still really pleased I’m not in that hall singing that song.’

  His dad laughed.

  And he was about to reply, when the noise began.

  A skittery, skattery noise. A hum that rose in volume and intensity. A smell that seemed to come from nowhere. The smell of old eggs and damp carpet and dog’s bottoms.

  They still couldn’t see any Terribles.

  Suddenly, an old metal bin flew past the town clock, crashing into a wall and flinging old fish bones and stale coffee all over the pavement. Now the noise grew LOUDER, and Hamish could see them . . .

  TERRIBLES.

  Stalking into town, carrying their hooks, which they’d painted red and white to look like enormous Christmas candy canes!

  They were wearing little elf hats and the most awful Christmas jumpers Hamish had ever seen. Jumpers that must have been knitted by someone’s colour-blind aunt. A colour-blind aunt that couldn’t actually knit and had also lost the use of her fingers.

  One of the Terribles dropped the wooden create Hamish had seen marked EXPLOSIVES. It used its hook to prise the lid off, and brought out massive black Christmas crackers. But not normal Christmas crackers. These must be Christmas crackers that really explode!

  Another Terrible scampered and clawed its way to the top of the town Christmas tree, replacing all the baubles with spiky black conkers. It knocked the star off the top and put a little silver Terrible that was spitting sharp silver stars in its place.

  Two more Terribles clacked up the tree after the first one, tugging and ripping all the tinsel down and replacing it with nasty barbed wire.

  Another one replaced all the mince pies in Madame Cous Cous’s shop window with mice pies, then swapped all the gingerbread men for gingerbread Terribles – made with so much ginger they made your eyes go tiny, your nostrils flare and your ears make a P F F F F F F sound.

  They all began to cackle and hoot. Oh, they were ruining Christmas, all right!

  Now they opened a fresh crate. Inside was every tool you could ever imagine. Lump hammers, saws, the lot. They were going to knock the clock down and take it away on a trolley!

  ‘What do we do?’ said Hamish, as his dad’s mind raced.

  The people of Starkley were already on their third verse. Or was it their fourth? That was the problem with this song, no one really knew when it was coming to an end. The only clue you had was. . .

  WHEN EVERYONE SANG THE LAST LINE, SLOOOOOOWWWW-LYYYYY

  ‘Dad?’ said Hamish.

  ‘Maybe we should call for back up,’ he said.

  ‘There isn’t time!’ said Hamish. ‘Look!’

  The Terribles had started bashing at the bottom of the town clock with their lump hammers. They were doing it in time with the song, so it sounded like a drum beat and no one would notice.

  They were sweating now. Hamish watched a bead of sweat snake down a Terrible’s back then fall to the ground, where it fizzed on the concrete.

  ‘Wait!’ said Hamish. ‘It’s snowing everywhere in the country except Starkley, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said his dad. ‘There’s a dome of heat over town. The heaters are now so hot they’re keeping all the weather out.’

  ‘So what happens if we turn the heaters off? Will it start snowing again?’

  ‘Yes,’ said his dad. ‘It’ll get much colder very quickly. But how does that help?’

  ‘You said the Terribles hate water,’ said Hamish, thinking.

  ‘But the water will turn to ice . . .’ said his dad, and then he stopped in his tracks. ‘Hamish, I think you’re onto something!’

  10

  Let’s Go!

  This had to work!

  Hamish’s dad raced as quickly as he could back to the Vectra, jumped in, flipped his sun visor down, and hit TURBO.

  The Terribles saw the car bolt away but carried on, regardless. Time was of the essence, and what did one witness matter now?

  THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! went the lump hammers.

  Dusts of cloud blew from the top of the old clock as they weakened it.

  Hamish looked at his wrist. His dad had handed him his watch before he left.

  ‘Take the Explorer,’ he’d said. ‘When the heaters are off, I’ll send you a signal. You’ll know what it is.’

  Hamish took a deep breath.

  Hamish grew scared. There couldn’t be much time left. He’d heard those words dozens of times now. He stared at his dad’s watch.

  And then something amazing happened. It glowed green. The hands of the watch began to spin crazily round. The signal! Hamish looked up at the sky. It was like it was turning from light blue to ice white. It hurt just to look at it, it was so bright.

  Quickly, he dashed to Slackjaw’s Motors and picked up the heavy old red hosepipe with the brass nozzle. Mr Slackjaw had bought it second-hand from Frinkley Fire Station. He dragged it as close to the Terribles as he could without being seen, and ran back to the tap. But when should he turn it on?

  And then Hamish noticed one, single, solitary snowflake falling to earth.

  It landed on the ground. It didn’t melt.

  Another came.

  And another.

  A Terrible looked up at the sky, confused. It barked something at the others, who stopped bashing at the clock, and stared upwards.

  Now thousands of snowflakes began to fall. The air became chilled. Even under his balaclava, Hamish felt the ice-cold sting in his cheeks.

  NOW, he thought, and tried to turn on the water. But the tap was stuck and he hadn’t noticed how cold and useless his hands had become. Desperately, he blew on them, and wrenched at the tap, but still it wouldn’t budge!

  ‘B U U U U U U U U U U U U U L A A A A A A S S S S S K O O O O O O O!’ came a voice from somewhere behind him. He turned to see a Terrible across the street, pointing a weathered, bony finger at him. ‘BUULLLLAAAASSSSKOOOO!’

  Hamish had been spotted! And they thought he was a proper agent! Not a ten-year-old boy!

  Quickly, he thought. One last go!

  And he kicked at the tap. It moved. Wait! He should try the Crab Kick his dad taught him!

  YES!

  The sheer power of water suddenly rushing through the pipe made it rise high in the air, like an angry snake. Water shot from it by the gallon. The Terribles backed away, shrieking and cowering and putting limp hands over dreadful faces. Hamish grabbed the hose and tried to control it. It was so powerful that all he could do was hold on. But the Terribles were getting soaked!

  They tried to run, but as they did so the cold set in. It was very cold now. Hamish realised that his dad hadn’t just turned off the heaters – he’d put them in reverse! Starkley was becoming like the Arctic!

  They should rename it The Starktic!

  The twelve fleeing, panicked Terribles couldn’t get away. They were sloooooooowing down as they ran, their bodies covered by a thin layer of creeping ice that now spread right across their skin, their scales, their nooks and their crannies until all they could do . . .

  . . . was just stand there.

  Hamish blinked.

  He had frozen the Terribles!

  Seconds later, the Vect
ra skidded to a halt, flinging fresh snow everywhere.

  ‘You did it, Hamish!’ Dad.

  Just as, across the whole town, the song reached its crescendo . . .

  BUT THE POINT IIIIIS THAAAAAT IIIIIIT’S . . . CHRIIIIISTMAAAAAS!

  11

  Let It Snow

  As the townsfolk of Starkley all walked back to the main square from the school hall, it was clear that something had changed.

  ‘It’s SNOWING!’ yelled one of the kids.

  ‘It’s a White Christmas!’ screamed Mr Longblather in joy, which was weird, because no one had ever seen Mr Longblather happy about anything.

  Everybody cheered. Every rooftop and pavement was thick with snow. They’d get to use their new sleds after all!

  But as the people of Starkley got closer to the square, Hamish held his breath.

  Would they notice?

  ‘Who on earth was in charge of the nativity scene this year?’ asked Madame Cous Cous, tapping her stick on the ground.

  Everyone stood around and stared at it. No one had paid it much attention before, but now that they did, it looked rather . . . odd.

  ‘What’s happened to the wise men?’ asked Frau Fussbundler. ‘They don’t exactly look very wise. They look like they’ve got constipation.’

  Hamish and his dad played it casual.

  ‘I think it’s just a very unusual take on a classic Christmas scene,’ said Hamish’s dad. ‘I like it.’

  Twelve Terribles stood completely frozen, dressed up in whatever the two Ellerbys had managed to find from the charity shop at extremely short notice.

  ‘There’s Jesus,’ said Madame Cous Cous, walking down the line. ‘And there’s Mary. And there’s a Manchester United Player. And a Samurai. I understand all that, because it’s very Christmassey. But why is there one just dressed as a kitten in a bowler hat? Why is there a wasp with a trombone?’