Laugh Your Head Off Again and Again, Page 3

  You grit your teeth and climb on. But the mast is slippery and you’re getting tired. The swaying makes you dizzy and you realise you’re in imminent danger of crashing to the deck far below, and breaking every bone in your body.

  If you get to the top, go to chapter 9. If you fall, go to chapter 10.

  CHAPTER 6

  They grab Captain Cook, and chuck him off the bridge. He splashes into the ocean. There is a sudden boiling of water and blood and you see a whole bunch of sharks swimming away in different directions. They all have bits of Captain Cook in their mouths.

  ‘What have you done?’ you yell at the crew. ‘Morons! Turn the boat around. We’ll have to go home. We can’t discover Australia now.’

  ‘Why not?’ they ask, looking disappointed.

  ‘Haven’t you read the history books?’ you ask them. ‘Without Captain Cook, the indigenous people get to keep Australia. We’re stuck with life in England. Rain, traffic jams, cricket matches, Marmite! Good on you guys!’

  THE END

  CHAPTER 7

  They grab you and hurl you into the ocean. And the bad news is that there is no police-rescue helicopter. You thrash around, trying to remember whether you can swim or not. In the distance you see the fins of sharks. The fins are as big as the sails on the ship. These sharks have been following the ship for weeks. It could be because of all the food you threw overboard. The food that the crew would not eat.

  If you stay in the water with the sharks, go to chapter 8. If you get back on the ship, go to chapter 11.

  CHAPTER 8

  Dear reader, you are a very sick person. I know you only chose this option because you wanted lots of blood and gore as the sharks tear you to pieces. You wanted a sickening description of torn limbs, shredded intestines, bleeding eyeballs, minced limbs, and severed fingers. Horrified screams, followed by blood gurgling in your throat as you feel your body ripped apart. A decapitated head bobbing around in the waves . . .

  Well, I am not going to pander to your grotesque tastes. You’ve been watching too many Simpsons Halloween episodes. This is going to be a happy ending.

  You see the sharks swimming towards you. You expect the worst. You’re sweating so much that the ocean rises around you, with the extra water. The sharks reach you.

  They’re smiling! Their huge white teeth gleam at you. ‘Loved those chicken nuggets,’ they say. ‘Any more of those?’

  ‘Sorry, we’re fresh out of rats,’ you say. ‘But I can do a nice fish finger. Just bring me some fish. Or some fingers. Or sea slugs will do. Anything really.’

  They take you away with them to their ocean kingdom, where you live happily ever after, preparing delicious meals for your new family.

  THE END

  CHAPTER 9

  With arms and legs trembling and your brain feeling like melted butter you make it to the top. Rather than risk that again, you stay there for the rest of the trip. Luckily, the chef agrees to send your meals up to you. As for going to the toilet . . . Well, we won’t go into that, except to say that people on the deck below soon learn to carry umbrellas.

  At last comes the memorable day when you see a dark shape on the horizon, and this time you know it’s not a cloud bank.

  ‘Australia!’ you shout excitedly to Boatswain Sydney Codswallop and Captain Cook and everybody else.

  They run to the bow and stare. Then they walk away again.

  ‘You ludicrous excuse for a lookout’s tapeworm! Clean your glasses,’ the boatswain yells at you. Embarrassed, you take off your sunnies, clean them, then put them back on again. The dark shape on the horizon has disappeared. Amazing what a smudge on your glasses can do.

  However, three weeks later, you see an even bigger shape, and this time there’s no mistake. Excitement mounts as the ship gets closer. The crew has a competition to name the place you’re approaching. The boatswain agrees to be judge. The winner is the acting deputy assistant junior flag-folder, who has a bit of spare time, and comes up with the answer of Sydney. By a strange coincidence, that’s the boatswain’s name.

  Soon you’re there, sailing past the Opera House and under the Harbour Bridge. You look at everything, trying to take it all in. Just think, in about 160 years, cars will start driving across that bridge, and 40 years after that someone will be singing Waltzing Matilda in the Opera House.

  Well, now that you’ve discovered Australia, it’s off to the airport to fly home. You say farewell to Captain Cook, warning him never to go near the Sandwich Islands, especially in 1779, because he might just get a spear through his brisket. He doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, though. You wave goodbye to the crew and set off to the airport. You’re looking forward to a good choice of movies on the plane.

  THE END

  CHAPTER 10

  Your shoulders are hurting and your arms are aching. Somehow, no matter how hard you try and how much you sweat, you can’t make any progress. In the last two or three minutes you’ve only gained 50 centimetres. Then you lose your grip and in an instant you’re plummeting through space. Way below, Boatswain Codswallop stands looking up at you. His mouth is open in shock and horror. Your life flashes before your eyes. Being chased by the boa constrictor that escaped from the zoo, cleaning your teeth with your brother’s shaving cream, lying on the road after the gelato van ran you over, struggling to beat your Chupa Chups addiction, returning your overdue copy of Hop on Pop to the fearsome Ms Burroughs in the library . . . Wow, it’s a wonder you got to live this long! You’ve had nine lives already!

  You hit the deck so hard you smash straight through it. You keep going, through the galley. The chef waves to you. Hey, you could have had that job. You smash on through Captain Cook’s cabin, through the cargo hold, through the bottom of the boat. Boy, that was some fall. At last, you hit the ocean floor. You look around. Right next to you is a huge shape, overgrown with barnacles and crawling with crabs. You recognise it. It’s the Titanic! Wait a minute! The Titanic sailed in 1912. And Captain Cook sailed in 1770. What’s going on here? How can you be looking at the Titanic 142 years before it sinks?

  You thought life was weird. But death’s even weirder. Interesting.

  THE END

  CHAPTER 11

  The sight of the sharks motivates you, and you suddenly remember that you won the 100-metre freestyle bronze medal at the last Olympics. You get to the ship in a personal best of 52.4 seconds. The crew are so impressed they let you back on board.

  You take a bit more care with the food. From now on, you serve French fries to everyone. Luckily the supply of French lasts until you get to Australia.

  At last you reach Port Jackson. You get off the ship into a lifeboat, and row ashore. You get quite a shock when you land. There’s a whole bunch of Aboriginal people standing there looking at you.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ they ask.

  ‘We’re finding Australia,’ you explain.

  ‘You idiots! We never lost it in the first place!’ they tell you.

  You feel really stupid. ‘Sorry,’ you say.

  They sigh. ‘Now you say sorry?’ one of them says. They all turn and walk away.

  Captain Cook appears on your left. ‘Check this out!’ he calls excitedly.

  You go over to him. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘I’ve found the perfect place for a multi-storey car park. We’ll just chop down a couple of thousand gum trees, get rid of the koalas and wombats and start building. Let’s go!’

  He picks up an axe. You stand there thinking, Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  THE END

  THE

  HALLOWEEN

  CHICKEN

  by

  Alex

  Ratt

  Tracey woke up in a bad mood. The next day was Halloween, and she knew from previous Halloweens that until it was over her life would be a misery.

  Stanley Blotson, who sat behind her at school, had been playing pranks all week, trying to scare her so he could say: ‘What are you, a chicken? Yes! Th
at’s exactly what you are!’

  And: ‘Tracey’s a chicken!’

  Then he’d bray with laughter: ‘Hee haw! Hee haw! Hee haw!’

  Tracey pulled on her school uniform and stomped down the stairs to the kitchen. Her dad was standing by the bench with a slice of toast.

  ‘Hey there, chickadee,’ he said.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ she said.

  ‘You’re looking glum,’ he noted. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Not really,’ Tracey began. ‘Everyone’s making fun of me because—’

  But before Tracey could finish, her dad’s phone began to cluck like a chicken.

  Her dad laughed delightedly. ‘Isn’t my new ringtone great?’

  Tracey groaned.

  ‘Sorry, Trace—work call. Got to take this.’ He pressed a button then put the phone to his ear. ‘Charlie Chicken’s Plumbing Repairs. Charlie Chicken speaking.’

  He listened for a few moments then said, ‘A blocked toilet? No worries. We Chickens aren’t afraid of getting our hands dirty. Chickens aren’t afraid—get it?’ He winked at Tracey.

  Tracey groaned again. There was no point complaining to her dad about how she was being tormented at school because of her surname. He thought being a Chicken was great!

  As Tracey filled her bowl with cereal, her dad started telling stories about the things he’d found blocking toilets. It was a relief when he said, ‘Hang on, I’ll check my appointment book,’ and left the kitchen; his stories were putting Tracey off her breakfast.

  As her dad exited, Tracey’s big sister Stacey entered.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ said Stacey before Tracey could say a word.

  ‘I’m glad you asked,’ said Tracey. Surely her sister would sympathise. She was probably going through the same thing herself. ‘It’s Stanley Blotson. He’s been scaring me with stupid Halloween pranks all week, just so he can call me a chicken when I scream.’

  Stacey rolled her eyes. ‘Number one,’ she said, ‘when I asked what your problem was I didn’t really want an answer. What I meant was: get out of my way, numbskull.’ She pushed Tracey aside and headed for the fridge. ‘And number two, primary school is so childish. I’m sure your little friend will grow out of it when he gets to high school.’ Ever since she’d started high school herself, Stacey had been acting like she was ten years older than Tracey instead of two.

  ‘Stanley Blotson is not my friend,’ Tracey muttered as Stacey took an apple from the crisper.

  When her sister was gone, Tracey poured milk over her Crispy Crunchy Crackles and carried the bowl to the table. She’d just sat down when her mum rushed in. ‘Didn’t you have a form for me to sign about that excursion next week?’ she asked. ‘I have to leave for work in 20 seconds so if you want it signed now’s the time.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ Tracey ran upstairs to look for the form at the bottom of her schoolbag, but it must have taken her longer than 20 seconds to find it, because when she returned her mum was gone.

  And so was all the milk from her cereal bowl. There was just a heap of Not-So-Crispy Crunchy Crackles.

  ‘Who took my milk?’ Tracey called.

  There was no answer.

  ‘That’s a pretty childish prank, Stacey.’

  Still no answer.

  Great, she thought. Now she had to worry about pranks at home as well as school.

  As she walked through the school gate that morning, Tracey was hoping that Stanley Blotson was away sick that day. But she was out of luck, because as she walked towards the classroom he came running over. ‘Hey, are you excited about Halloween tomorrow? Oh no, that’s right, I forgot: you’re a chicken! Hee haw!’

  The day was every bit as bad as Tracey had anticipated.

  When she pulled her maths book from under her desk an enormous spider fell into her lap.

  ‘Eek!’ Tracey shrieked.

  ‘Hee haw!’ brayed Stanley. ‘It’s only a fake spider! You’re such a chicken, Chicken!’

  When Tracey reached for the orange paint during art class, Stanley snatched it from her hand.

  ‘Hey, give that back,’ said Tracey.

  She turned around to take it from him and saw to her horror that Stanley’s face had started to melt.

  ‘Eek!’ said Tracey.

  ‘Hee haw!’ brayed Stanley. ‘It’s only a mask. What a chicken!’

  And when Tracey sat down at her desk after lunch she let out a big long paaaaaaaaarrrrrrp.

  Stanley had put a whoopee cushion on her seat.

  ‘That wasn’t even scary,’ she snapped as everyone laughed.

  ‘It was for the people sitting behind you!’ said Stanley. ‘Hee haw! Hee haw!’

  As they walked towards the school gate at the end of the day, Stanley said, ‘Just you wait, Chicken; tomorrow will be even more fun.’

  Even more fun . . . Tracey walked home from school dreading the thought of what the next day would bring.

  ‘Hard day at school?’ her mum said sympathetically when Tracey entered the kitchen. She was sitting at the table with a steaming pot of tea.

  ‘The worst,’ said Tracey. Then she remembered Stanley’s warning. ‘Or maybe only the second-worst,’ she said gloomily.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said her mum. She picked up the milk jug and started to pour, but nothing came out. ‘Hey,’ she said, peering into the jug. ‘Where did my milk go?’

  ‘Ask Stacey,’ Tracey said, and she went upstairs to change.

  Tracey was tense that evening. She felt nervous about what Stanley had planned for the next day. When her dad said after dinner, ‘Come on, Trace— let’s watch scary movies to get ourselves in the Halloween spirit,’ Tracey shook her head.

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m already dreading tomorrow. I’m going to my room to read.’

  ‘Aw, Trace, don’t be such a chicken,’ her dad said, then laughed. ‘Get it? Don’t be a chicken . . . you are a Chicken!’

  ‘Yeah, Dad, I get it.’

  ‘How about some dessert?’ her mum offered. ‘It’s pumpkin pie. Because nothing says “Halloween” like pumpkins, right?’

  Tracey wasn’t interested in anything that said ‘Halloween’. ‘I’m just going to have some cereal,’ she said, and fixed herself a big bowl of Crispy Crunchy Crackles.

  Sitting up in bed with her bowl of cereal and a comic book, Tracey finally began to relax.

  She had reached a particularly exciting scene, in which Amazing Alice was about to battle a giant serpent, when she found the pages of her comic were stuck together.

  Tracey put her cereal bowl on the floor and prised the pages apart, then reached down to pick up the bowl again.

  Still reading, she lifted the spoon to her mouth, then looked down at the bowl. There was no milk left. Weird. There was no way Stacey could have done it . . . unless she was hiding under the bed!

  Leaning over the side of the mattress, Tracey thrust her arm under the bed and flailed it about, hoping to strike her sister. ‘I know you’re there,’ she said.

  Then: ‘Ow!’

  Yanking her hand back, she stared in disbelief at the two small punctures on her finger. Something had bitten her! Something with . . . fangs. And while Stacey was a snake, she didn’t have fangs.

  Suddenly it all fell into place. It wasn’t Stacey who had been causing the milk to disappear—it WAS a snake! Snakes loved milk. Snakes had fangs. There was a snake in the house! And not just in the house—under her bed!

  Could Stanley have let a snake loose in her bedroom?

  Heart pounding, she peered over the edge of the bed.

  There she saw the glint of black beady eyes.

  ‘Snake!’ Tracey scooted backwards until she was pressed against the wall. ‘Mum!’ she squeaked.

  A peal of laughter rose from downstairs. Clearly the movie was not that scary.

  ‘Dad!’

  Chortles and snorts wafted up.

  ‘Stacey!’

  A series of high-pitched giggles.

  Brilliant.
While her family was downstairs watching a so-called scary movie, she was living a real-life horror film, trapped in her room with a snake.

  There was a rustling, and then something began to emerge from beneath the bed. Too scared even to cry out, Tracey watched in terror.

  First, a twitching nose.

  (Do snakes even have noses? Tracey wondered.)

  Then a cute little furry face.

  (What kind of snake has a cute little furry face?)

  And then a round spiky body.

  (A round spiky—?)

  ‘Hang on!’ Tracey said aloud. ‘You’re not a snake.’

  The creature turned to look at her. ‘Of course I am not a snake,’ it said. ‘I am Count Hedgehogula!’

  ‘You’re what?’ said Tracey.

  ‘Count Hedgehogula,’ it repeated.

  ‘So you’re a hedgehog?’

  ‘I am a vampire!’ said the creature.

  ‘You look more like a hedgehog.’

  ‘Have you ever seen a hedgehog with teeth like this?’ The hedgehog grimaced and Tracey yelped at the sight of its gleaming fangs.

  ‘Okay, you really are a vampire. Do you . . . do you want to drink my blood now?’

  ‘Blood?’ said the vampire hedgehog. ‘No! Yuck. I want to drink your milk.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Tracey asked. ‘Did Stanley Blotson have something to do with it? Are you some kind of Halloween prank?’

  ‘How dare you!’ sputtered the hedgehog. ‘I am no “prank”. I come from a noble family with a castle in Transylvania.’

  ‘Like Count Dracula?’

  The hedgehog frowned. ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘But how did you get here?’ Tracey asked.

  The hedgehog thought for a minute. ‘I can’t remember. I think I stowed away.’

  ‘Are you lost?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said the hedgehog vaguely.

  ‘I’ll help you find your way home tomorrow,’ said Tracey. ‘It’s bedtime now.’