Just Crazy (18 page)

It has a sort of lunar feel — everything is covered in some kind of white powder. It's all over me. I brush myself down and sniff my
fingers. I know that smell. It's sherbet! Judging by how much of it is down here, Danny must live on the stuff.

There's a big lake in front of me. I have to be careful. That could be Danny's stomach juices. I crouch down for a closer look. It doesn't look like stomach juices though. It's sparkling and full of bubbles, like lemonade. I put my finger in and taste a bit. It
is
lemonade!

On the other side of the lemonade lake there appears to be a snow-capped mountain range. It's not like a normal mountain range though — it's pink and white and brown. As I peer closely I can see that it's actually ice-cream. And next to it there looks like hundreds — possibly thousands — of donuts. All sitting around in huge piles like stacks of old tyres at a car wreckers.

No wonder Danny is acting so strangely.

He lives on a diet of pure sugar.

Except for the occasional human, that is.

But how am I going to get out?

I look up. There's no way I can climb back up the walls of Danny's throat. They're too slippery. Besides, the opening I fell through must be more than a hundred metres above me. I couldn't reach it even if I tried.

I look all around me.

I see something flashing in the lemonade lake. Something that glitters.

I move towards it.

It's Goldie!

I reach down and pick her up.

‘Don't worry, Goldie,' I say, slipping her into my pyjama pocket. ‘I'll get us out of here!'

I hear a long low noise in the distance.

It sounds like a foghorn.

I look up. In front of me I can see a tunnel sloping downwards.

That could be a way out.

I start running as fast as I can, but as I run further along the tunnel it gets darker, the smell gets worse and the foghorn gets louder.

Uh-oh.

If that's the only way out, then I'd rather stay in.

I run back the way I came.

Perhaps being in Danny's stomach is not so bad after all. At least there's ice-cream. And donuts. And sherbet. And all that lemonade. No wonder Danny burps so much.

Actually, that gives me an idea.

When you mix sherbet and ice-cream and
lemonade together it bubbles and froths. If I stirred all this stuff up together in Danny's stomach maybe I could create enough gas to make him burp it — and me — up and out of here.

It's worth a try.

I scrape the sherbet into a big pile and push it into the lemonade. The lake starts frothing and bubbling.

Good, but no sign of a burp yet.

I grab enormous handfuls of ice-cream and add them to the lake.

Better — the froth is building — but still I need more.

I scrape more sherbet and hurl more ice-cream.

Eventually the froth starts to overflow the lake. The whole spitting, popping, bubbling mess is out of control. It's all around me.

Suddenly the stomach is filled with a low rumbling noise. The spongy floor wobbles like jelly. I put my arms out and try to stop myself from falling, but I trip and stumble backwards.

I lose my balance, but I don't fall. Instead, I'm swept up in a tornado of burp gas and sucked back up the way I came.

I shoot up the throat at an amazing speed.

I'm going so fast that I miss the turn-off to Danny's mouth and go hurtling up into his nose.

This is very bad.

If I come flying out at this speed I could be killed.

But hang on!

I'm flying headfirst into a forest of nostril hairs.

I grab one. Some nostril hair! It's as thick as a piece of rope.

I swing up, hit the wall of Danny's nose and swing back again. This is even more fun than swinging on the clothesline. I swing back and forth a few times before slowing down and stopping.

Okay, I've avoided death by splattering. Now to get out of Danny's nose safely.

But just as I'm about to let go of the nostril hair, I see a new danger.

Danny's finger!

He's picking his nose!

I climb the nostril hair as far up as I can to try and get out of the giant finger's way, but it's no use. The finger is filling the entire nostril. It's like an enormous battering ram.
It's pushing me up against these big rubbery beanbags.

Except they're not beanbags.

And they're not made of rubber.

Erggh. That's disgusting! I'd rather die any other way than this.

I'm being pushed deeper and deeper into them. It's getting hard to breathe.

Suddenly I'm being rocketed forward again — attached to the end of Danny's finger.

I blink as I emerge into the light.

Danny points his finger towards his eyes and studies the end of it. He sees me.

He starts to laugh.

The overpowering stench of his breath makes me almost lose consciousness.

What's he going to do with me?

He's got to let me go now.

Surely he's made me suffer enough.

He moves his finger towards his mouth.

Oh no.

That's disgusting.

I don't mind admitting that I've picked my nose occasionally — well, more than occasionally, practically every day if you want to know the truth — but I've never, ever eaten it. Not on purpose, anyhow. I have my standards.

This is it. I've had all I can take.

I'm going to pinch myself.

Maybe things could get worse. But then again, it's hard to imagine anything worse than being covered in snot and eaten by a giant.

I pinch my arm as hard as I can.

I wake up in my bed.

I check the ceiling.

It's completely intact.

I check the floor.

No mini-Dannys.

So far so good.

Everything appears to be normal.

I check the goldfish bowl to see if Goldie is there. I can see something swimming in it. I suppose that's Goldie but I can't tell exactly. My vision is all blurry. And my eyes are burning.

I focus as hard as I can but what I'm seeing doesn't make sense.

It's not Goldie . . . it's . . . it's . . . it's me!

A tiny me swimming around and around the bowl.

But that can't be me . . . because I'm here . . . at least I think I'm here . . .

I look down at my body.

But I'm not me.

I'm a giant goldfish.

Wait! I'm obviously still dreaming . . . I've got to pinch myself again . . . but how do I pinch myself without arms or fingers? All I've got is a couple of useless fins!

I start flipping and flopping and flapping.

Crash!

I fall off the bed onto the floor.

There is a knock on the door.

‘Help!' I yell. ‘Help!'

But nothing comes out.

I can't talk. I can only open and close my mouth.

There is another knock.

‘Andy?' says Mum. ‘Are you awake yet?'

That's a very good question. I wish I knew.

The door opens.

Mum walks in.

‘Why are you lying on the floor, you silly boy?' she says.