Pencil of Doom! (14 page)

Everybody nodded.

I entered the library.

Mr Shush was sitting at the desk. He looked up when I came in and put his finger to his lips. ‘Shush,' he said.

I nodded, and sneaked across to the shelf behind where Clive was sitting.

Gretel was next, followed by Newton, and then Jenny.

Clive was so involved in his drawing that he didn't look up the whole time.

He didn't even look up when Penny and Gina got told off by Mr Shush for riding Jack around the study tables.

‘This is a library, not a racetrack,' he reminded the girls for about the one million, five hundred and sixty-first time.

Penny and Gina nodded solemnly and went to ride Jack at the end of the row of shelves where Mr Shush couldn't see them.

Meanwhile, we were all assembled behind the shelf nearest to Clive's table.

‘Shush,' I said to the group. ‘Nobody make a sound!'

I pushed a couple of books aside to get a peek at Clive's cartoon.

It was worse than I could possibly have imagined.

Clive had drawn a four-frame cartoon called, ‘AVALANCHE! Starring Henry McThrottle, Jack Japes, Gretel Armstrong, Newton Hooton and Jenny Friendly'.

 

Frame 1:
Me, Jack, Gretel, Newton and Jenny are all sitting on a rug having a picnic at the bottom of a snow-capped mountain.

Frame 2:
The cap of the snow-capped mountain breaks off.

Frame 3:
We are all buried underneath the cap of the snow-capped mountain.

Frame 4:
Five tombstones in a ring on the snow—a tombstone for each one of us!

I motioned everybody to crouch down.

‘We're doomed!' said Newton.

‘Only if we think like that,' I said. ‘We've got to do something!'

‘I say we charge Clive, grab the cartoon and rip it to pieces!' whispered Gretel.

‘It's too late for that,' I said. ‘He's already drawn it.'

‘Perhaps if we were to ask him nicely to erase it?' said Jenny.

‘This is Clive Durkin we're dealing with,' I hissed. ‘He doesn't even know the meaning of the word “nice”.'

Then, just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse than they already were, they did!

Fred Durkin came into the library and walked up to Clive's table.

‘Hi, Clive,' he said. ‘How come you're in here? It's lunchtime!'

‘Yeah, I know,' said Clive. ‘But I stole this pencil off McThrottle.'

Fred chuckled. ‘You stole a
pencil
? Why?'

‘It's no ordinary pencil,' said Clive. ‘It's got magic powers. Whatever you draw with it comes true!'

‘Oh, a
magic
pencil,' said Fred. ‘Well that explains it. Can I just ask one question?'

‘What?' said Clive.

‘You sure you didn't land on your head when you fell off the roof?'

‘No!' said Clive. ‘I know it sounds crazy but it's true. And our accident was no accident, either.'

‘I know that,' said Fred. ‘It was all
your
fault.'

‘No,' said Clive. ‘It wasn't my fault at all. It was the pencil's. I overheard them talking. Apparently Jack Japes used this pencil to draw that cartoon of us parachuting and landing on top of each other, and that's why we had the accident.'

Fred laughed. ‘I think they're having you on, little brother,' he said. ‘That's just coincidence.'

‘No, it's true, Fred!' said Clive. ‘So, to get revenge, I stole the pencil and drew this cartoon of them getting buried in an avalanche.'

Fred took the cartoon off Clive and examined it.

‘That's a pretty good drawing,' he said. ‘I didn't
know you could draw
that
well.'

‘I can't!' said Clive. ‘That's what I'm trying to tell you! It's the pencil. It's like it does the drawing itself!'

‘Oooooh, spooky!' Fred waved the pencil in front of Clive's face.

‘Yeah, it is spooky,' said Clive, missing Fred's sarcasm. ‘They're all terrified of it!'

‘Oh, so
that's
why they're all hiding behind the shelf,' said Fred.

We froze.

Darn! He knew we were here!

None of us said anything, as if by being really quiet he would just forget all about us.

‘I know you're there,' said Fred, coming and standing at the end of the shelf.

‘I'm scared!' whispered Newton.

‘We all are!' I whispered back.

‘Is this what you're scared of?' said Fred, waving the pencil at us. ‘This spooky-wooky little pencil? With its scary little skull eraser? Oooooohhhhhh!'

‘It's no joke, Fred,' I said. ‘You don't know what you're messing with!'

‘Is that a fact?' Fred taunted. ‘Well you didn't know who
you
were messing with when you drew that cartoon of me and Clive.'

‘I swear we didn't know the power of the pencil when Jack drew that!' I said.

‘Too bad,' said Fred. ‘You shouldn't have been drawing disrespectful cartoons of me in the first place. I've got feelings too, you know.'

‘Really?' Gretel asked.

‘Nah, just kidding,' said Fred, laughing at his little joke.

But not as much as Clive, who was practically killing himself laughing. ‘You crack me up, Fred!' he guffawed.

‘I'll crack you up if you don't stop laughing,' said Fred, the smile completely faded from
his face. ‘It's not
that
funny!'

‘SHUSH!' said Mr Shush.

‘Sorry, Mr Shush!' said Fred. ‘I'm just having a word with them now.'

‘Thank you, Frederick,' said Mr Shush.

Mr Shush, like all the other teachers in the school, was under the mistaken impression that Fred Durkin was a model student.

Suddenly there was a huge crash.

Followed by another huge crash.

And another.

And another!

Fred gasped, dropped the pencil and jumped backwards.

There was another huge crash and then the shelf on our right began to tip towards us, dropping all its books on top of us and all around us before crashing into the shelf on our left and pushing it over as well.

Everything went dark.

I blinked.

It was dark.

I blinked again.

It was still dark.

Dark was bad.

But blinking was good.

It meant I was still alive.

But was anybody else?

It appeared that we were trapped underneath the combined weight of eight bookshelves and all the books that had been on them.

I desperately wanted to call out, but the weight of books crushing down on me was making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone speak. Of course, there was also the fact that we were in the library and that calling out was strictly against Mr Shush's rules. Even so, though, it was the not-being-able-to-breathe
that was the main thing stopping me from calling out.

I tried to move my legs, but they were pinned tight.

My arms were too, except for the fingers on my right hand.

I wiggled my fingers, desperately trying to free up enough space to move my hand.

Eventually I managed to do that, and then I worked on freeing up enough space to move my arm.

I was panting and gasping with the effort, but I had no choice. I had to keep going. I wasn't going to let the pencil win.

After what seemed like minutes of painstaking effort I got my arm free, and was able to make relatively fast progress removing the books around me to form a small but substantial space to move in.

‘Hello?' said a voice.

It was Newton.

‘Newton!' I said. ‘Where are you?'

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Where are you?'

‘Here,' I said.

‘Where's here?' said Newton.

I could hear Newton's voice coming from just in front of me. I pulled some books out of the way and there he was.

By now my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could make out his sad, scared little face.

‘Are you all right?' I asked.

‘I think so,' Newton replied. ‘What happened?'

‘It was an avalanche!' I said. ‘Of books.'

Clive's cartoon of us being buried in an avalanche had come true.

It just hadn't come about in quite the way he'd intended.

‘I'm scared,' said Newton.

‘At least you're alive,' I told him.

‘Yes,' he said, ‘but is anybody else?'

‘I am!' said Gretel, removing a stack of books and pushing her head into our space.

‘But where's Jenny?'

‘Jenny!' I called.

There was still no response.

‘JENNY!'

‘Here I am,' she said cheerily, her head emerging from under a pile of books.

‘Shush in there!' said Mr Shush's voice from somewhere above us.

‘Mr Shush!' yelled Newton. ‘Help us! Please! We're trapped!'

‘Shush!' said Mr Shush.

‘But we're trapped!'

‘I'm well aware of that,' said Mr Shush. ‘Penny and Gina rode Jack into the end shelf and knocked
it over. It created a domino effect, the unfortunate result of which is that eight shelves of books are now completely out of order.'

‘Not to mention that we're
trapped
!' said Gretel.

‘All right, all right,' said Mr Shush. ‘Calm down. And be quiet. I'm working on getting you out.'

‘What's taking so long?' I asked.

‘Well I can't just remove the books willy-nilly,' Mr Shush replied. ‘I have to do it systematically. In alphabetical order. This is a library, you know, not a garage sale. It'll take me a few seconds.'