Charlie and the Karaoke Cockroaches Read online

  ‘Why do we need The Lurker?’ I said.

  ‘You swore to protect those cockroaches,’ said Hils.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ I said. ‘I swore to protect the box the cockroaches were in.’

  ‘You swore.’

  ‘No – okay, yes, I did.’

  ‘A dangerous hostile is pursuing them. We need to find them a safe haven,’ said Hils. ‘The Lurker will be able to find them a safe haven.’

  ‘We don’t need The Lurker. I can find them a safe haven.’

  ‘No, you can’t, Duncan,’ said The Lurker.

  He was standing right next to me.

  I jumped.

  I hated that he made me jump.

  ‘How long have you been standing there!?’ I said.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, Duncan?’ said The Lurker.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t like to know,’ I said.

  ‘Then why did you ask me?’ said The Lurker.

  ‘Because you’re dumb,’ I said.

  ‘Maintain radio silence,’ said Hils.

  (I was glad Hils had interrupted me. ‘Because you’re dumb’ was not a good answer. The thing I hated most about The Lurker was that hating him made me say dumb things. That made me hate him even more and that made me say even dumber things.)

  ‘I have a mission for you, Leon,’ said Hils to The Lurker.

  The Lurker blushed.

  He likes Hils.

  I think Hils likes him as well. (Just a bit.)

  Right now I didn’t like either of them. (Just a lot.)

  ‘Intelligence suggests,’ Hils said to The Lurker, ‘that the enemy combatant who tried to break into Charlie’s house last night was trying to abduct three singing cockroaches. Charlie managed to evac (army talk = escape) with the cockroaches and now we need to find them somewhere safe to live.’

  ‘Don’t tell The Lurker about the cockroaches,’ I said to Hils.

  ‘I know all about your stupid cockroaches, Duncan,’ said The Lurker. ‘I’ve been here since before you arrived.’

  That means Hils and The Lurker had been alone in Hils’s caravan. I did not think that was a good idea.

  ‘You don’t know anything,’ I said to The Lurker.

  ‘I know more than you,’ said The Lurker.

  ‘Yesterday I found a mouldy old apple core with maggots all over it and that knew more than you do,’ I said.

  ‘Leon,’ said Hils before he could reply. ‘I need to brief you on your mission objectives.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said The Lurker.

  ‘She’s not a “ma’am”,’ I said.

  ‘Silence in the briefing room. Both of you. Leon, I need you to find a safe haven for these three cockroaches and I need you to find it ASAP.’

  ASAP = fast.

  ‘Hey, Leon,’ I said. ‘Good luck.’

  I slapped The Lurker on the back in a good-luck kind of way.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ said The Lurker.

  ‘Okay,’ I said to him. Well, I would have said it to him but he wasn’t there. He’d disappeared.

  ‘Permission to leave the caravan,’ I said to Hils.

  ‘Permission granted.’

  I left the caravan.

  50

  THE PURSUIT

  When I had said ‘good luck’ and slapped The Lurker on the back, I hadn’t actually slapped him on the back to wish him good luck. I’d slapped him on the back to stick a small, red, flashing light to him. (I found the small, red, flashing light on the table in the caravan. Hils always has things like that just lying around.) I’d stuck a small, red, flashing light to him so I could follow him. I was going to follow him so I could find a safe haven for the cockroaches before he did and then I’d tell Hils about it and she’d think I was better at finding things than The Lurker and then she’d realise that she didn’t need The Lurker and I wouldn’t ever have to see him again and if I didn’t ever have to see him again I wouldn’t have to hate him and say dumb things when he was around.

  It was a good plan.

  I was proud of it.

  I stood outside Hils’s caravan.

  In the distance I could see a small, red, flashing light.

  It was The Lurker.

  I started following him.

  I was following him in disguise.

  I was wearing a hat. A bright, pink, woolly beanie with a large, green pom-pom on it. (I also found the beanie in the caravan.)

  It was the perfect disguise because I never wear hats.

  The Lurker would never recognise me.

  I followed The Lurker through street after street for what seemed like hours. After a while each street I trailed him down had fewer and fewer houses and fewer and fewer streetlights.

  Soon there were hardly any houses and no streetlights. Soon there weren’t even any houses, there was just a rocky, winding path.

  A rocky, winding path lit only by the light of a half-moon.

  Suddenly the small, red, flashing light I had attached to The Lurker’s back stopped.

  Then it disappeared.

  I ran over to where The Lurker had stopped.

  It was in front of a low fence.

  The fence was covered in signs.

  Behind the fence was a steep drop.

  At the bottom of the drop someone had dumped a huge pile of rubbish.

  I caught a glimpse of the red light as The Lurker disappeared behind the pile.

  I climbed the fence and slid down the hill.

  (The climbing the fence and the sliding down the hill went remarkably well even though I am really, very, super bad at climbing fences and sliding down hills.)

  When I got to the bottom of the hill I realised the pile of rubbish was really, very, super huge. A lot of people had ignored the signs and dumped their rubbish here.

  I walked quickly around the pile and saw The Lurker’s light again. Then it disappeared again. I ran towards the place where it had disappeared again. There was a large, arched hole in the side of the pile of rubbish. It looked a lot like a doorway. I peered into the looked-a-lot-like-a-doorway and saw the small, red, flashing light I had stuck to The Lurker bobbing up and down in the distance.

  It looked a lot like a doorway because it was a doorway.

  I walked through the doorway and into the really, very, super big pile of rubbish.

  I WONDER?

  I wonder if the same people who made the signs on Vivien’s house made the signs on the fence? I wonder if there is a company that specialises in writing threatening signs? I must ask the school guidance counsellor about it because I think writing threatening signs about antelopes, cannons and not-dumping things would be an interesting and satisfying job.

  51

  THE WORMS

  The doorway led into a low, thin tunnel. Moonlight lit the first few metres of the tunnel but after that it was pitch-black. I walked very slowly with one hand out in front of me and the other against the wall.

  The wall was really, very, super uneven with all sorts of rubbish sticking out of it. I tried not to think of all the germs I was probably touching. I didn’t succeed in not thinking about all the germs I was probably touching. I decided it was all right to think about all the germs I was probably touching as long as I didn’t think about all the diseases I would probably get from those germs and that one of those diseases was sure to be a flesh-eating disease and that flesh-eating diseases like to actually eat flesh and that the flesh they would be eating would be mine.

  I didn’t succeed in not thinking about how all my flesh was going to be eaten off because of all the germs I was probably touching.

  Time flies when you’re worrying about your flesh being eaten. Before I knew it the tunnel had ended and I was standing in an enormous cavern.

  The walls of the cavern reached up high, ending in a wide, curved ceiling.

  This wide, curved ceiling was covered in thousands and thousands of tiny, greeny-yellowy lights.

  Glow-worms.

  I had never seen glow-worms be
fore – I had only read about them – and I had always wanted to see them.

  Even though this cavern was built entirely of rubbish, the light from the glow-worms made it beautiful. It made every crumpled milk carton, every broken jam jar, every wet wipe with something really, very, super disgusting on it glimmer like a happy star.

  I stared at the glow-worms.

  Then they started to move.

  Like I said, I had read about glow-worms, but I had never read that they move.

  They kept on moving. Moving and forming shapes. Shapes that looked a lot like letters.

  They were forming letters!

  The glow-worms were forming letters.

  And those letters were forming words.

  I stared up at the glow-worm’s greeting.

  ‘What is this place?’ I said to myself.

  ‘A place you’re never going to get out of, Duncan,’ said The Lurker.

  52

  THE JUMP

  The Lurker was standing right next to me.

  He made me jump.

  ‘I HATE IT WHEN YOU MAKE ME JUMP!’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ said The Lurker, smiling.

  ‘STOP MAKING ME JUMP!’

  ‘Stop following me then, Duncan.’

  ‘I wasn’t following you,’ I said.

  ‘Then what’s this?’ said The Lurker, holding up the small, red, flashing light I had attached to his back.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Is it a dumb alarm and did you just set it off?’

  ‘I knew you were following me, Duncan,’ said The Lurker. ‘Ever since the caravan.’

  ‘But I was wearing a hat,’ I said.

  ‘I knew it was you straight away, Duncan. You never wear hats.’

  ‘That was why it was a good disguise. Anyway, I didn’t need a disguise because I wasn’t following you. I was following something much smarter and more interesting than you – a skateboard covered in really old, white dog poo.’

  ‘Say whatever you like, Duncan,’ said The Lurker. ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll say whatever I like. Hairy bottom paddleboard peg basket. That is whatever I like.’

  ‘You only found your way here because of me,’ said The Lurker. ‘And you’ll never find your way back out without me.’

  ‘I don’t need you,’ I said to The Lurker.

  Well, I would have said it to The Lurker if he’d still been there.

  He’d gone.

  ‘I DON’T NEED YOU,’ I said again as I looked around for the tunnel out of the cavern.

  I couldn’t see the tunnel. I couldn’t see the tunnel anywhere.

  ‘Maybe I do need you,’ I said quietly.

  53

  THE COMMERCIALS

  I looked up at the glow-worms.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘I need to get out of here. I was wondering whether you could help me?’

  The glow-worms started to move. They started to form new letters. New words. They must have heard me. They were going to help me.

  Maybe the glow-worms hadn’t heard me. Maybe they weren’t going to help me.

  The glow-worms certainly weren’t going to help me. They were too busy advertising things.

  The glow-worms started to move again.

  I was lost inside a huge pile of rubbish. I might be stuck here forever.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ I said to the glow-worms.

  ‘TALK TO YOUR HAT!’ said my hat.

  54

  THE HAT

  I took my hat off my head.

  ‘Hello,’ I said to my hat.

  ‘Hello,’ said my hat.

  ‘You weren’t a very good disguise,’ I said to my hat.

  ‘I WHISPER AT POM-POMS,’ said my hat.

  My hat’s voice sounded familiar.

  ‘Are you really a talking hat?’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said my not-really-a-talking-hat.

  ‘Are you really a talking cockroach?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I looked inside the hat and there was the smallest cockroach.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  ‘Hello,’ said the smallest cockroach. ‘I’m Colin. I CHAT WITH BONNETS. Welcome to the Flea Market.’

  55

  THE MARKET

  ‘The Flea Market?’ I said. ‘I’ve been to a flea market. At the school fete.’

  ‘This is a different sort of flea market,’ said Colin. ‘This flea market is organised and run by fleas. It’s where insects come to buy stuff they need. I KISS FEDORAS!’

  ‘How do we get out?’ I said.

  ‘Through the market,’ said Colin. ‘I NATTER WITH TRILBIES. I’ll show you the way.’

  Colin and I walked to the opposite side of the cavern. There was another arched doorway leading into another tunnel.

  As soon as we entered the tunnel I saw a light at the far end. A bright light.

  ‘Is that the Flea Market?’ I said to Colin.

  ‘I CHINWAG WITH CAPS.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ I said.

  The light got brighter and brighter as Colin and I got closer and closer. I also started to hear a noise, a low humming that grew louder as the light grew brighter.

  Colin and I popped out the other end of the tunnel and we were standing in the Flea Market.

  The first thing I saw was a huge billboard hanging on ropes from the ceiling. (The ceiling of the Flea Market was hugely high and curved like the ceiling of the glow-worm cavern.)

  The Flea Market was huge. It was lit by bunches of glow-worms sitting on top of thick brass poles. Like living streetlights.

  There were different stalls everywhere. Just like a human flea market. These stalls were all different shapes and sizes. Some were like little houses and had roofs or awnings. Others were carts. One was a wheelbarrow. Many were just a collection of wooden boxes teetering on top of each other.

  Every species of insect was at the Flea Market. Selling. Buying. Standing around chatting. (I didn’t know that insects chatted. It seemed, from what I could see, that they do. A lot.)

  ‘The exit’s that way,’ said Colin, pointing ahead of us. ‘Over by the mosquito swimming pool.’

  ‘The mosquito swimming pool?’ I said.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ said Colin. ‘I MUTTER TO BEANIES.’

  Colin and I walked past a stall whose sign declared:

  . . . and we avoided the long line outside . . .

  . . . then we were shouted at by a flea holding up a sign:

  . . . until we finally arrived at the mosquito swimming pool.

  It looked like a really, very, super small-sized version of a normal swimming pool. It even had a water slide. There was only one main difference.

  ‘The water is all red,’ I said to Colin.

  ‘It’s not water,’ said Colin. ‘I SHOUT AT HELMETS. It’s blood.’

  ‘Yuck.’

  ‘Mosquitos don’t think so,’ said Colin.

  I had to stop thinking about a swimming pool full of blood. It was making me feel a bit sick. A lota-bit sick.

  ‘There’s the exit,’ said Colin.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘We can’t leave yet.’

  56

  THE HELPING

  ‘I followed The Lurker here so I could help you,’ I said to Colin. ‘So I could find you somewhere safe to live. Somewhere where no one will try to kill you. There must be someone here who can help us.’

  ‘We could try the information desk,’ said Colin. ‘I HOLLER AT HARD HATS.’

  ‘There’s an information desk?’

  ‘Of course. All markets have an information desk.’

  57

  THE DESK

  ‘Yeah? Whaddaya want?’ said the very grumpy beetle who was manning – or should that be beetling? – the Flea Market information desk.

  I’m not very good with grumpy people. I quickly discovered that I’m also not very good with grumpy beetles. Grumpy people (and beetles) always make me feel like I’ve done something to upset t
hem even though I know I haven’t done anything to upset them. This gets me very flustered.

  ‘Ummmm . . . hello . . . I was . . . ummmm . . . ’ I said.

  ‘Speak up or shut up, willya,’ said the grumpy beetle.

  I hate it when someone (some-beetle) tells me to shut up.

  It gets me very un-flustered.

  ‘Please don’t speak to me like that, okay?’ I said.

  That’ll teach him a lesson, I thought.

  ‘Put a cork in it, kid. I couldn’t give two puffs about whatya think,’ said the very grumpy beetle.

  That didn’t teach him a lesson at all.

  I got flustered again.

  ‘Ummmm . . . well . . . I . . . ummmm . . . ’

  Colin leapt out of my hat and landed right in front of the very grumpy beetle. Colin was a lot smaller than the beetle.

  ‘LISTEN TO ME, YOU BUM HAT!’ said Colin. ‘UNLESS YOU WANT AN AKUBRA RAMMED HALFWAY DOWN YOUR THORAX, YOU’LL TELL MY HUMAN FRIEND HERE WHAT HE WANTS TO KNOW.’

  The beetle stared at Colin. Then he smiled.

  ‘Nice to meetya, pal. Whatsya friend want to know?’

  ‘Ummmm . . . yes . . . I want to know if the Flea Market has a safe place where three singing cockroaches might be able to go if, say, for instance, an Exterminator who had vowed to kill them was trying to . . . well . . . kill them?’

  ‘Kill them, eh?’ said the very grumpy beetle. ‘Let’s see.’

  The very grumpy beetle started tapping away on his computer.

  ‘He’s got a computer,’ I said to Colin.

  ‘All information desks have a computer,’ said Colin.

  ‘Well, whata we got here?’ said the beetle as he started to read off his monitor. ‘We’ve got snail assertiveness classes . . . the slater aquatic centre . . . grasshopper prosthetics clinic . . . the insect orchestra . . . ’