Bug Eyed Monsters (2 page)

‘OK,' said Joe. ‘We'll do it!'

Mr Trout was happy: he was going to give Year 6 a maths test. Mr Trout enjoyed giving maths tests. It meant that while the boys were wrestling with problems – how many gallons of water would it take to fill a leaky tank? How many rolls of wallpaper would be needed to paper a room of a certain size? – Mr Trout could sit back and dream about UFOs.

Mr Trout spent most of his day dreaming about UFOs. Ones that he had seen, ones that other people had seen: ones that he had heard about, ones that he had read about. Unidentified flying objects were fast taking
over Mr Trout's life. He
knew
they existed; why didn't anyone believe him?

Year 6 came surging into class, clattering and banging and making loud honking noises which passed for human speech. Mr Trout reflected, not for the first time, that teaching Year 6 was like teaching a horde of animals.

‘Boys!' He clapped his hands. ‘Settle down! Andrew Bicknell, what are you eating? Whatever it is, kindly swallow it at once. Ryan Daley, I saw what you just did!'

Ryan looked hurt. ‘Me, sir? I didn't do anything, sir.'

‘I distinctly saw you punch another boy!'

‘It was only Bal, sir. We punch each other all the time.'

A zoo, thought Mr Trout, bitterly. He was teaching in a zoo. The sooner they got started on their maths test, the better.

‘Baljit Singh,' he said, ‘just because you have been punched it does not mean that you have to punch back. Sit, the pair of you. Everyone! Just be silent. Your behaviour
appals me! I dread to think what a superior race of beings would make of you all. A very poor advertisement for humanity! Now, open your text books, please, at page 120. Questions 1 to – '

‘Sir, sir!' Joe was windmilling with both arms.

‘Yes?'
said Mr Trout. He tried not to lose patience with the boys, but they really could be extraordinarily tiresome.

‘Sir, when you talk about superior beings, sir, do you mean aliens, sir?'

‘You may choose to call them aliens,' said Mr Trout. ‘Personally I prefer to use the term extra-terrestrials. Now – '

‘Do you really believe they exist, sir?'

‘You know that I do,' said Mr Trout, simply. ‘Now, if you – '

‘Sir, what do you think they look like, sir?'

‘They wouldn't look like us, would they, sir?'

‘D'you reckon they'd have bug eyes, sir?'

‘Do you reckon, sir?'

‘That would very much depend,' said Mr Trout, ‘on which planet they came from. What the conditions were. What sort of atmosphere.'

‘But they would look different from us, sir, wouldn't they?'

‘I would say that is a fair assumption. Now, if you would kindly open your b— '

‘So, if they look different from us, sir, how come we don't notice them? I mean, if they're here with us, sir?'

‘Are
they here with us, sir?'

‘Sir, are they?'

‘Sir?'

‘Well…' Mr Trout cleared his throat. Eighteen pairs of eyes fixed themselves anxiously upon him. For a moment Mr Trout seemed undecided. His hand still lingered over
Key Stage 2 Mathematics.
Then slowly, very slowly, he sank down on the edge of his desk. Year 6 breathed a sigh of happy relief.

‘That,' said Mr Trout, ‘is a good question. Are they actually here with us?'

Year 6 waited, expectantly.

‘My own feelings,' said Mr Trout, ‘for what they are worth – ' He paused, and knitted his fingers together. ‘My own feelings are that we do indeed have extra-terrestrials amongst us. How many, of course, one cannot begin to speculate. But I would imagine a fair number.'

‘In that case, sir – sir!' Ryan waved his hand like a flag. ‘How come we don't recognise them, sir?'

Joe was quick with the answer: ‘They'd use cloaking devices, wouldn't they, sir?'

‘That is a distinct possibility,' agreed Mr Trout.

‘Cos their technology would be way beyond ours, wouldn't it, sir?'

‘It would, indeed! Way beyond.'

‘What would a cloaking device look like, do you think, sir? Would it be like a little black box, kind of thing?'

‘Strapped on their belt, or something?'

‘It could be.' Mr Trout nodded. ‘It could well be.'

‘So that'd mean they could just press a button and – whoosh! Change in an instant.'

‘And when they'd had enough – ' Bal rocketed up out of his desk – ‘they could just press it again and go back to being monsters! Now I'm a human, now I'm a monster! Now I'm a human – '

It was all Year 6 needed. Within seconds, the entire room was on its feet, pressing buttons and turning into monsters. All the monsters honked and grunted and fell about, coarsely laughing, amongst the desks.

That, reflected Mr Trout wearily, was the trouble with boys. You tried to discuss something intelligent with them and they just grew over-excited and silly.

Mr Trout reached for his ruler and rapped, loudly.

‘Enough! Be seated!'

Honking and panting, Year 6 clattered jubilantly back to their desks.

‘Very well,' said Mr Trout. ‘Let us get on! Kindly take out your – '

‘Sir!' Harry's hand was up in the air. ‘D'you reckon that's how it would work, sir? They could make themselves look just like us?'

‘As to that,' said Mr Trout, ‘I really could not say for certain. We have no knowledge of how these devices might function. Now if you would just – '

‘Could work on batteries, sir. Have to be recharged.'

‘Yeah!' Joe liked that idea. ‘Then if they couldn't recharge ‘em in time, bits of their real selves would start showing through. Fangs, and claws, and stuff.'

‘Cos otherwise, how would you ever be able to recognise them, sir?'

‘One has to face the possibility,' said Mr Trout, ‘that we are
not
able to recognise them. Now, if you would j— '

‘Are you saying, sir – ' Bal sounded incredulous – ‘there could be loads of ‘em just walking around all over the place and nobody knowing?'

‘Why not?' said Mr Trout. He smiled and laced his fingers together. That would give them something to think about!

‘I dunno.' Joe sounded doubtful. ‘I reckon sooner or later they'd give themselves away.
People always do.'

‘Yeah,' cried Ryan, ‘'cept these ain't people!'

‘Aren't
people,' said Mr Trout.

‘'s what I'm saying, sir. They ain't human!'

Mr Trout raised his eyes heavenwards.

‘Sir!' Bal's hand was back up. ‘What d'you think they're doing here, sir? D'you reckon they want to take over, sir?'

‘World domination!' shouted Joe.

‘D'you reckon, sir?'

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.'