Horrible Horace and the Slug

Horrible Horace and the Slug

  Gerrard Wilson

  Copyright 2015 by Gerrard Wilson

  Horrible Horace and the Slug

  Freedom!

  One wonderfully damp and drizzly cold morning, a slug called Reilly wandered away from the confines, the safety of his garden. Sliming his way under the garden gate, he pointed his stalked eyes, one in each direction, along the busy street outside, wondering which way to go. "This is indeed a fine place to begin my travels," he said to himself. "To think I might have spent the rest of my life, all seventy-five weeks of it, in that dull and ever so boring old garden."

  Being left-handed, Reilly decided to turn left (yes, slugs can be left-handed, despite their shortage of appendages). Sliming his way happily along the path, he believed the world was his oyster. Soon, gate and garden were far behind him.

  "I had better be careful," said the adventurous slug, "I don't want to end up like uncle Myles. He wandered off across the road, and a camper van ran over him. I must be careful to avoid such a terrible fate."

  Hugging the wall running alongside the path, Reilly slimed his way further along it. Spotting a child, a boy, coming towards him, he hunched down low in the hope he might pass without spotting him. The boy, however, making a beeline for Reilly, reached down and grabbed hold of him. "Hey, a slug and a huge one at that!" he chirped. "I will take it to school and show it about, and play a fine trick on teacher, no doubt!" With that, he popped the unfortunate creature into his satchel. Trotting merrily away, he whistled Tiptoe Through the Tulips.

  When he arrived at school, the boy, his name was Horrible Horace, wasted no time in showing the slug to his friends. "Hey, Barmy Bernard," he said. "Look what I found on my way to school!"

  Curiously eying the satchel, his Barmy best friend asked, "What is it?"

  Delving a hand into the satchel, Horrible Horace searched for the slug. "It's in here, somewhere," he said. "Give me a second..."

  Losing interest, thinking Horrible Horace was just messing about, Barmy Bernard said, "You can show it to me, later, if you really do have something in there."

  "Gotcha!" chirped Horrible Horace. "So, you thought you could hide inside my pencil case, did ya?" he said, teasing the slug gently out of the case.

  His interest returning, his Barmy friend asked, "What is it?"

  With a mischievous grin, Horrible Horace said, "Slime."

  "Slime? What do you mean, slime?"

  "It's a clue, you berk!"

  "Oh," he replied, "I knew that..."

  "If you are so brainy, then tell me what it is?"

  Poking an ear, and then rubbing his chin, his Barmy friend said, "Slime, you say?"

  Horrible Horace nodded a yes.

  Barmy Bernard thought and thought and thought some more, about what his friend had secreted within his satchel, but he was unable to work out what it could be. Then, just as he was about to give up, he worked it all out (at least he thought so). Pointing to the satchel, he said, "I know what it is, Horrible, it's a snail!"

  "Wrong!"

  "Wrong? Are you sure?"

  "Wrong means wrong, try again."

  Although a slug is quite similar to a snail, Barmy Bernard never considered that slime-covered creature. At a loss as to what it might be, he said, "Sorry, but I have absolutely no idea what it is."

  "Hmm," said his Horrible friend, "I suppose that's why they call you Barmy."

  "What do you mean?" he asked, feeling very un-barmy.

  "Nothing, skip it," Horrible Horace replied. Withdrawing his hand from the satchel, smiling, he showed his friend what he had found.

  "A slug, it's a slug," Barmy Bernard gasped. "Now why didn't it think of that?"

  "Because you're barmy?"

  Evading the question, preferring to shy away from the subject of whether or not he was barmy, he asked if he could hold it.

  "No, no you cannot!" Horace Horribly snapped, pulling it away.

  "What have you got there?" asked Tinkering Tommy, casually sauntering up to his friends.

  "Don't ask if you can hold it," Barmy Bernard advised.

  "Why not?"

  "You don't even know what it is," Horrible Horace hissed, "yet you are already wondering why you can't hold it!"

  Sneaking a peak into the satchel, Tinkering Tommy said, "It's a slug! Can I hold it?"

  "No you cannot!"

  "I told you so!" said Barmy Bernard.

  "What are you boys up to?" asked Lousy Linda, pushing her way through to the ringleader, Horrible Horace.

  Returning the slug to his satchel, Horrible Horace tried to cover his tracks. Bluffing it, he said, "I have absolutely no idea what you can possibly mean."

  "No idea?" she asked, inspecting his slime covered hands, with interest. He tried to hide them behind his back. "And it's no use you doing that!" she harked. "I know what you're up to!"

  "You do?" the three boys said together.

  "Yes, of course I do," she insisted. "You are planning to play another prank on teacher, Miss Battle-Scars!"

  "You are?" Tinkering Tommy and Barmy Bernard asked, their eyes lighting up with excitement.

  Closing his satchel, wiping the slime off his hands, onto his jacket, Horrible Horace rebuffed Lousy Linda's accusations, saying, "I would never consider perpetrating such a thing on our dear teacher."

  "You wouldn't?" asked Tinkering Tommy, his spirits falling as fast as they had risen.

  "Nice teacher?" asked Barmy Bernard, thinking his friend barmier than he.

  Having palmed off his Lousy schoolmate (she walked away from them, disgusted), Horrible Horace turned his attention to his Barmy best friend and his Tinkering accomplice. "Where do you think you two are going?" he asked.

  "Into school, of course," Barmy Bernard replied, disappointed that he prank was off.

  "I was looking forward to playing a prank on Miss Battle-Scars?" said Tinkering Tommy, his head lowered.

  "And so you will," Horrible Horace answered, "now that Lousy Linda has gone."

  Beaming with delight, his friends said, "It's on?"

  "Yes, of course it is. Now into school with you, old Battle-Scars is ringing the bell."

  "Into your lines" Miss Battle-Scars ordered. "That also means you, Tommy Tilbert!" All eyes diverted to the unfortunate boy suffering the Battle-Scars treatment. "To show you that I mean business," she continued, "you will stay after school, Tommy Tilbert, and write one hundred times 'I will get into line as fast as is humanly possible.' Is that clear?" she asked.

  The unfortunate pupil nodded his head.

  "I asked you a question," she boomed.

  "Yes," he meekly replied.

  "Yes what?" she boomed again.

  "Yes, Miss Battle -Scars."

  "That's better. And if there is anyone else who wants to stay after school, I shall be only too happy to oblige." After a brief inspection of the lines, she said, "Eyes front, then file into your classrooms!"

  A few minutes later, after all of the children had filed past Miss battle-Scars, and into their respective classrooms, Barmy Bernard, leaning across to his best friend, said, "Hey, Horrible!"

  "Not so loud," Horrible Horace whispered in reply. "Do you want old Battle-Scars to hear?" You see, Miss Battle-Scars was their teacher. Because she was on the warpath, Horrible Horace was determined to be on his best behaviour, at least until he had organised the prank he wanted to play on her, with the big, fat, slimy old slug.

  "Oh, sorry, I forgot."

  "What do you want, anyway?" he asked.

  "I was wondering..."

  "Wondering what?"

  "When you are going to do it, the dastardly deed?"

  "Stop talking, Bernard!" Miss Battle-Scars warned, throw
ing a piece a chalk at him.

  The chalk struck the talkative pupil squarely on the forehead.

  "OW! That hurt!" he yelped.

  "It will hurt even more if I throw the blackboard duster at you!" she warned.

  Having no other option other than remaining silent, listening to their boring old teacher telling them boring old stories about even more boring old people who had died long, long ago, during their boring old history lesson, the three friends waited patiently for the school bell to ring.

  Ring a ling a ling, ring a ling a ling, the bell finally rang out, signalling the start of their midmorning break.

  "Hurray!" the children sang, charging out from the school building and into the playground.

  "Hurray!" they cried out again, enjoying their games of hopscotch, red rover and it.

  "Oh no!" they sobbed when the bell rang again, signalling the end to their play.

  "Boo!" their bemoaned, when Miss Battle-Scars ordered them back into their classrooms.

  Although the break had gone fast, Horrible Horace had enough time to tell Barmy Bernard and Tinkering Tommy what he planned to do with the slug.

  "Wow, do you really think you can do it?" Barmy Bernard asked, when he heard what he intended to do with it.

  "And without old Battle-Scars suspecting a thing?" Tinkering Tommy added.

  A Terribly Unjust Punishment

  Later on, in class,