Bug Eyed Monsters Read online

  Mr Trout hesitated. He seemed to be fighting some kind of inner battle.

  ‘That’s mostly what they’d come for, isn’t it, sir? If their own world starts dying, and they need to find somewhere else. Kind of checking the place out, see if it’s suitable.’

  Weakly, Mr Trout said, ‘That is one theory.’

  ‘Are there others, sir?’

  Mr Trout waved a hand.

  ‘Don’t see how they can be up to any good,’ said Joe. ‘Not invading someone else’s world.’

  That was the point at which Mr Trout lost his battle.

  ‘Well, now,’ he said. He took off his spectacles and polished them and put them back on. ‘This is where it becomes interesting. Let us suppose, just for a moment, that these superior beings – for superior they undoubtedly are – have come here purely and simply as visitors. Tourists, if you will. Meaning us no harm. No evil intent. Simply here to see the sights.’

  ‘You mean, like, on holiday, sir?’

  ‘Precisely! Much as we would jump on a plane and fly to America, they jump on a spaceship and fly to earth.’

  Mr Trout sat back in triumph. This was one of his pet theories.

  There was a silence; then Bal said, ‘Is that very likely, sir?’

  ‘I see no reason why not. Imagine,’ said Mr Trout, vigorously polishing his spectacles again, ‘they could even have special tours. Journey to Planet Earth! See a primitive species in their natural environment! Live amongst the natives, study their ways! Some,’ said Mr Trout, getting a bit carried away, ‘might even choose to settle here.’

  ‘Sir!’ Bal’s hand was up yet again, quivering in the air. ‘When you say here, sir… they might even settle in this actual school, sir?’

  ‘Might be some here right now, sir!’

  ‘Do you think there could be, sir?’

  ‘Here at St Bede’s?’ Mr Trout stroked his chin. It was an idea he had often toyed with. Certain members of staff… but no! He would not allow himself to be led up that path. Not with Year 6. They were far too easily inflamed.

  ‘Let us not enter the realms of science fiction,’ he said. ‘Let us instead open our b— ’

  ‘Sir, sir!’ Bal was almost falling off his chair. ‘You know Mr Potts, sir?’

  ‘Mr Potts?’ What had Mr Potts to do with anything?

  ‘D’you reckon he was the one you saw, sir? Getting into the spaceship, sir?’

  ‘D’you think he was being abducted, sir?’

  ‘You don’t think, sir, that maybe he was just going off on holiday, sir?’

  ‘With the aliens, sir?’

  ‘With his luggage, sir?’

  ‘Did he have any luggage, sir?’

  ‘Sir, sir, when the aliens come, do they bring luggage with them, sir?’

  Mr Trout’s face was growing slowly purple. He was beginning to have the uncomfortable feeling that he had been manipulated. And by Year 6, of all people!

  ‘Enough!’ He peeled himself away from his desk. ‘No more delay! Open your books and get to work.’

  ‘But, sir, sir – ’

  ‘I said OPEN YOUR BOOKS!’ thundered Mr Trout.

  ‘But, sir,’ cried Ryan, ‘that was the bell, sir!’

  Mr Trout breathed, very deeply. His chest heaved.

  ‘Do not think you have escaped!’ He forced the words out through clenched teeth. ‘You have merely postponed the inevitable. The maths test,’ said Mr Trout, ‘will take place tomorrow.’

  ‘Sir!’ Bal waved his hand. ‘We can’t tomorrow, sir!’

  ‘And why not, pray?’

  ‘You promised we were going to do fractions, sir.’

  ‘Fractions!’ A joyous clattering and hooting broke out. Earnestly, Bal said, ‘Wouldn’t want to miss fractions, sir.’

  ‘Fractions,’ hissed Mr Trout, ‘will have to wait.’

  ‘But, sir, you promised, sir!’

  Eighteen pairs of eyes stared, accusingly.

  ‘You gave us your word, sir!’

  Mr Trout sighed. He knew when he was beaten.

  ‘Ah, Miss Beam!’ He held open the door. ‘Do come in.’

  Miss Beam walked smiling into the room. Beautiful Miss Beam! She wasn’t soft and squishy, like Mrs Jellaby. Miss Beam was perfection. She wore crisp white shirts with stand-up collars, and smart black trousers, very tight. Her hair was dark and curly, her eyes large and brown, and her teeth as gleamingly, dazzlingly white as an advertisement for toothpaste.

  The whole school was in love with Miss Beam. She taught English and had come as a replacement for Mr Potts. People naturally felt sorry for poor old Pudgy, having his nervous breakdown (or being abducted by aliens). On the whole, he had been quite popular. As Joe said, Pudgy was one of the good guys. But Miss Beam – beautiful Miss Beam! – was everybody’s favourite.

  Brightly, she greeted them. ‘Good morning, Year 6!’

  ‘Good morning, Miss Beam.’ Year 6 chanted it politely in chorus. They didn’t honk or clatter. Not with Miss Beam.

  ‘You look as if you’ve been enjoying yourselves! I believe you were due to have a maths test?’

  ‘Didn’t have it, miss.’ Joe announced it, proudly. ‘Talked about UFOs, instead.’

  ‘Did you, indeed?’ said Miss Beam.

  ‘All about aliens, miss, and how they come here for their holidays.’

  Miss Beam raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Some of ‘em, miss, actually stay here.’

  ‘Really?’ said Miss Beam.

  ‘Maybe in this very school, miss.’

  Miss Beam gave a tinkling laugh. ‘You mean, I could be sitting next to one without even realising?’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Harry. ‘You just wouldn’t know.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ Miss Beam seemed secretly amused.

  ‘Have to keep your eyes peeled,’ said Joe. ‘Watch for the signs.’

  ‘Absolutely!’ said Miss Beam. ‘Watch for the signs. Who knows what you might see?’

  ‘Fangs, miss!’

  ‘Fangs, certainly,’ agreed Miss Beam. ‘Webbed feet as well, I shouldn’t be surprised. Not to mention ears like satellite dishes.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Joe punched the air.

  ‘In the meantime, however – ’ Miss Beam gave one of her sweetest smiles. ‘Let us take out our literacy papers and get started. Shall we?’

  She didn’t need to ask twice. Beautiful Miss Beam had a way with her. Nobody ever misbehaved in one of her classes.

  As they filed out at the end of the lesson, Harry, in hopeful tones, said, ‘You do believe in UFOs, don’t you, miss?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Miss Beam, kindly. ‘You just keep your eyes peeled – and watch out for those fangs!’

  Chapter Three

  Red Eye

  ‘Well, anyway,’ said Harry, when they were in the dorm that night, after lights out, ‘Miss Beam believes in UFOs. I asked her. I said, “You do believe in UFOs, don’t you, miss?” and she said yes, of course she did. She wasn’t being funny,’ Harry assured them. ‘She was serious!’

  They lay there, thinking about it. The Fish was just a joke. Even the staff laughed at poor old Fish. But Miss Beam…

  ‘She said to keep our eyes peeled,’ said Harry.

  ‘Keep a look out.’ Joe agreed. ‘Start with the Snitch. He’s the one to watch.’

  Mr Snitcher was their house master. Strange to think that only two doors away, along the corridor, an alien being could be lying in bed, hatching his alien plots.

  Harry snuggled down, beneath the duvet. He heard Ryan thumping his pillow, and Joe scrabbling about in his bedside locker.

  It had seemed strange, when he had first arrived, sleeping in a room with other boys. He had never wanted to come to boarding school, but with his mum and dad abroad for so much of the time it had either been that or living with his gran and granddad, who believed – or at any rate, his gran did – in Early Bedtime and Church on Sunday, not to mention Good Table Manners and Only-One-Hour-of-Television-a
-Night-and-Certainly-Not-in-Your-Bedroom. As it turned out, the Head shared those beliefs, but at least Harry didn’t have to suffer alone.

  On the whole, boarding school wasn’t so bad. He’d been hoping for midnight feasts of sardines and chocolate cake, like he’d read about, but it seemed that sardines and chocolate cake only happened in books. Joe had once smuggled a tin of condensed milk back with him after the half-term break, but he’d forgotten to bring a tin opener so Bal had had to climb out of the window and find a sharp piece of stone, which they’d spent ages bashing into the tin with a cricket bat. They’d finally managed to make a hole, and happily glugged condensed milk into their mouths and over their chins and on to their pyjamas. Unfortunately, the hole had been jagged and they’d all ended up with torn lips and had to go to Matron to have tetanus jabs.

  It was probably, thought Harry, going to be more fun hunting for aliens.

  He pulled the duvet up round his ears. It was only a game, of course; they didn’t really believe in UFOs and space ships and all that stuff. They weren’t nutters like the poor old Fish.

  ‘Hey!’ Ryan’s voice suddenly honked in the darkness. ‘D’you reckon he uncloaks every night?’

  ‘Who?’ Harry snaked his way eagerly back out of the duvet. ‘The Snitch?’

  ‘Yeah! Like maybe if he tried staying human too long he’d start to break down, kind of thing?’

  ‘That’s how you’d catch ‘em,’ said Joe. ‘When bits of their real selves start showing through.’

  ‘Whoosh!’ Bal flailed excitedly. ‘Now I’m human, now I’m a monster! Now I’m – ow!’

  There was a loud thud, followed by a thump, followed by a strangulated cry, as Bal overbalanced and bounced off his locker on to the floor.

  Almost immediately, footsteps could be heard, thudding down the passage. The door flew open. Just for a second, before the light was switched on, a pair of what looked to be red golf balls hovered in the air.

  ‘What,’ demanded Mr Snitcher, in a high-pitched screech, ‘is going on?’

  Four pairs of eyes blinked nervously in the light. The golf balls quivered. Bright red!

  ‘Baljit Singh,’ screeched Mr Snitcher, ‘what are you doing on the floor?’

  Bal scrambled hastily to his feet. ‘Fell out of bed, sir.’

  ‘Then fall back in and make sure you stay there!’

  The golf balls disappeared, along with Mr Snitcher. The door slammed shut. There was a long silence, broken at last by Joe.

  ‘Did the Snitch always have red eyes?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ said Harry.

  Certainly not ones that glowed in the dark…

  * * *

  As well as being house master, Mr Snitcher was also Head of Year 6. This meant he had to eat breakfast with them. It was not an experience he enjoyed. Watching Year 6 eat was like watching a feeding frenzy. There was no escaping the snapping of jaws, the chomping of mouths, the spraying of crumbs. For the most part, Mr Snitcher kept his head well down over his modest bowl of sunflower seeds, which was all he ever ate. Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to blot out the noise as boys slurped on their porridge and chewed on their toast.

  Harry and Joe slurped as noisily as anyone. Ryan and Bal chobbled and chewed. From time to time a foot would kick out beneath the table and a head urgently nod in Mr Snitcher’s direction. If the Snitch would just look up now and again! But Mr Snitcher bent determinedly over his bowl, picking up sunflower seeds one by one and nibbling on them like a rabbit.

  In the end, Joe could stand it no longer.

  ‘Sir?’ he said. ‘Sir?’

  ‘What, what? What is it?’

  Mr Snitcher’s head jerked up. Had one of the wretched boys managed to choke himself or set the place on fire?

  The wretched boys stared, their mouths hanging open.

  The eyes which had glowed red in the night were now a dull sludge brown.

  ‘Well?’ said Mr Snitcher.

  Joe said, ‘Erm…’

  He looked round, rather desperately, at the others. But Harry was sitting frozen, a spoonful of porridge suspended in mid air, while marmalade dribbled and dripped off Ryan’s knife and Bal, never usually at a loss for words, seemed suddenly to have been struck dumb.

  ‘Speak, boy!’ said Mr Snitcher.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Joe gulped. ‘Sorry, sir. Slip of the tongue, sir.’

  Mr Snitcher placed a single sunflower seed in his mouth and stared wonderingly at Joe out of his sludge-coloured eyes. Was it his imagination, or was there something not quite right about some of these boys?

  ‘Sorry, sir. Didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Mr Snitcher. Definitely something not right.

  ‘The plot thickens,’ hissed Bal, as they left the hall.

  * * *

  First class that day was English with Miss Beam. Beautiful Miss Beam!

  ‘I thought this morning,’ said Miss Beam, ‘we would write short essays on the subject of What I think I know about Unidentified Flying Objects, since it seems to be something which is of great interest to you.’

  Yesss! Year 6 liked that idea. They snatched up their pens and set to.

  Harry scribbled furiously. Miss Beam’s last suggestion for an essay had been What I did over the Holiday. Harry had spent his holiday with Gran and Granddad and had done almost nothing at all. He had managed to squeeze out just half a page in extra BIG handwriting. This was more like it!

  He was pleased, at the end of class, when Miss Beam picked him to read his essay out loud.

  ‘You were the one who asked me if I believed in UFOs, so you be the one to convince me! Pretend,’ said Miss Beam, ‘that I am not a believer. Let us hear how persuasive you are.’

  Harry cleared his throat.

  What I think I know about Unidentified Flying Objects (otherwise known as UFOs)

  1. I know for A FACT that they exist. This is because lots of people have seen them and sometimes have even taken photographs, which the government says are just secret spy planes and the like, but they only say this so as not to frighten the popless.

  (Harry wasn’t quite sure about this word. Later, in red ink, Miss Beam wrote, ‘Populace. Excellent vocabulary!’)

  2. Because of what people report we know probably for a fact that UFOs are spaceships coming from other planets. What we don’t know are which planets.

  3. Also from what people report we know that these spaceships contain alien beings, also known as extra-terrestrials, meaning they come from outside Earth. That is to say, other planets.

  4. What we do not know is what these alien beings look like in their natural state as nobody as far as I am aware has ever seen them in their natural state.

  5. It is a distinct possibility that they use some kind of cloaking device to make themselves resemble human beings. These would be necessary if they are going to land on Earth and mingle with us. We know for A FACT that they do land on Earth as people have seen this happen.

  6. It is not so far known why they come here but there are two theeries.

  (‘Theories,’ wrote Miss Beam.)

  One theery is that they want to take over, if their own world is dying, for instance, or they are after world domination. The other theery is that they simply come here as tourists to see the sights and watch the primitive people on Earth.

  7. It is known that we must be primitive compared to them as they are able to travel through space and we are not, or at least not as far. Just because they are superior, however, it does not mean they have to be hostyle.

  (‘Hostile,’ wrote Miss Beam. ‘A very good point!’)

  8. Something else which is not known, or if it is, it is not known to me, is how they come to speak our language. It is possible, with the advanced technology they have, they can tune in to our radio and TV programmes and learn the language before they come here. Or maybe, being so superior, their brains are able to pick it up immediately they get here. I am not sure about this.

  9. Something
else I wonder about, and that is food. Would our food be suitable for an alien fizeek?

  (‘Physique,’ wrote Miss Beam. ‘Good thinking!’)

  10. To conclude, all that I have written is what I think I know about UFOs except what I said at the beginning. I know for A FACT that they exist. It is not reasonable to suppose that so many people, all over the world, would have reported seeing them if they had not, no matter what the Government says.

  ‘Bravo!’ Miss Beam clapped her hands. ‘Excellent work, Harry! That would certainly be enough to convince me. I do just have to take you up on one small point … this question of language. Surely if these beings are so superior they would have universal translators?’

  ‘Oh! Yeah.’ Harry’s face lit up. ‘I never thought of that!’

  ‘You mean,’ said Joe, ‘they’d speak in their own language but it’d come out in human language, kind of thing?’

  ‘And when we spoke in our language, it’d automatically be translated for them?’

  ‘Well, that is what I would think,’ agreed Miss Beam.

  Bal wrinkled his brow. ‘How would they do it, miss?’

  Miss Beam laughed. ‘That’s something you would have to ask them!’

  Joe said, ‘I would, if I could find one.’

  ‘Ah, well, that’s the difficulty, isn’t it? Finding one, when they look just the same as everyone else! Ryan, would you collect all the essays for me? Yes, Harry! Did you want to ask something?’

  ‘What d’you think about the food, miss? D’you reckon they could eat our stuff?’

  ‘I’m sure some of them,’ said Miss Beam, ‘would have no difficulty tucking into a big bowl of chips!’

  Year 6 appreciated this. They honked happily. Miss Beam was known to be very fond of her chips.

  ‘There might even be those from some planets,’ she said, ‘who would consider chips a rare delicacy.’

  ‘Like when people go to France and eat snails,’ suggested Ryan.

  ‘Well, yes, maybe.’ Miss Beam didn’t sound quite so sure about snails. ‘For my part, I think I’ll stick to chips!’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Ryan. ‘I’d eat chips all the time if they’d let us. Which they don’t. Unfortunately.’

  ‘Ah, well, you’re not an alien!’ said Miss Beam, collecting up her books. ‘Well done again on that essay, Harry!’