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Authors: Andy Griffiths

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BOOK: Pencil of Doom!
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When I'd finished, Jack looked at my drawing and laughed.

‘What's so funny?' I said.

‘You are,' he said. ‘All of you. Believing that you've got a magic pencil. Next you'll be telling me fairies are real.'

‘What do you mean?' said Newton, looking alarmed. ‘Fairies
are
real, aren't they?'

‘Of course they are, Newton,' said Jenny, patting his shoulder and frowning at Jack. ‘Of course they are!'

‘Nobody said it was
magic
,' I said. ‘We're just doing an experiment, that's all. Are you going to be in it?'

‘I don't think so,' said Jack. ‘I live in the
real
world.'

‘What have you got to lose?' I said. ‘If it doesn't work you haven't lost anything. If it does work you can have anything you want.'

‘I guess you're right,' said Jack. ‘Now that you put it like that . . . a million dollars would be nice.'

I handed him the pencil. ‘Draw it then,' I said. Jack shrugged. ‘Okay,' he said. ‘This is me with a million dollars.' And he drew a picture of himself with his head sticking out from under a huge pile of money.

16
The finished pictures

When Jack had finished he offered the pencil to Newton, but Newton just shook his head. He was too frightened to wish for anything. And if we'd known then what we know now, we would have been too.

If we'd known then what we know now we would have ripped those pictures to shreds, set fire to the pieces and then pounded the ashes into dust and pounded the dust into atoms and the atoms into protons and the protons into quarks, which are the smallest particles of matter that exist and can't hurt anyone, not even a flea.

But we didn't.

None of us had any idea of the forces of chaos that we had just unwittingly unleashed.

17
Chase!

We didn't have to wait long.

In fact, Jack hardly had to wait at all.

That lunchtime, as usual, we were all sitting out in the yard underneath the trees next to the basketball court.

Jack was picking gherkins out of his sandwich and flicking them onto the grass, as usual.

Newton was getting scared, as usual, but before Jenny could ask Jack not to flick gherkins, as she usually did, we heard a siren in the distance.

‘What's that?' Newton asked.

‘A police siren!' Jack told him, jumping up and leaning over the fence to look down the road and get a glimpse of the police car.

‘Yikes!' said Newton. ‘I'm scared of police!'

‘Don't worry about it,' said Jack. ‘You haven't done anything wrong, have you?'

‘No,' said Newton. ‘But other people might have.'

Newton didn't know how true his words were.

The siren was getting louder. It was definitely coming towards us. We all got up and joined Jack at the fence.

A black car was speeding up the road.

‘That's strange,' said Gretel. ‘It doesn't
look
like a police car.'

‘That's because it's
not
a police car,' said Jack. ‘It's a getaway car! The police are chasing it!'

‘Oh dear,' said Jenny. ‘That's dangerous. I hope nobody gets hurt!'

As the black car roared past us, one of the doors opened and a large bag was thrown out.

The bag flew through the air, across the road and over the fence. It hit Jack square in the chest, knocking him onto his back. Then the bag burst open and Jack disappeared underneath a small mountain of hundred-dollar notes.

‘Wow!' Newton gasped. ‘There must be at least a
million dollars
there!'

I thought about the picture Jack had drawn with the pencil.

‘You know what, Newton?' I said. ‘I'd say there's
exactly
a million dollars here.'

Jack's picture was identical to the scene in front of us: Jack lying on his back underneath a million dollars' worth of cash. The only difference was that I was pretty sure Jack hadn't intended his
million dollars to be flung at him from a speeding car.

‘Are you all right, Jack?' said Jenny, shaking his shoulder.

Jack opened his eyes. ‘I think so,' he said. ‘What happened?'

‘You're a millionaire!' I said. ‘Congratulations!'

The sirens were loud now.

There were two police cars.

One car roared past in hot pursuit of the black car.

The other police car pulled up beside us. Two burly officers jumped out, leaped over the fence and pulled Jack out from under the money and onto his feet.

‘You're under arrest,' said one of them, clicking handcuffs around his wrists.

‘What for?' said Jack, blinking and still dazed.

‘For aiding and abetting a bank robbery,' said the other officer. ‘You're in big trouble, kid!'

‘But he didn't have anything to do with it!' said Gretel, moving to help Jack. ‘Take those off him!'

‘Step back!' commanded the first officer. ‘Or you'll be charged with helping a suspect to resist arrest!'

At that, Newton fell to the ground with the shock of it all. Jenny kneeled down to help him.

I felt something in my hand.

It was the pencil. I had no idea how I came to be holding it, but there it was. And the eyes on the skull were definitely flashing.

Newton wasn't the only one who was scared.

‘What's wrong with him?' said the second officer, pointing at Newton.

‘You're scaring him,' said Jenny.

‘He should be happy!' said the first officer. ‘We're the good guys!'

‘If you're the good guys, I'd hate to see the bad guys!' said Mr Brainfright, who had just arrived. ‘Uncuff that boy this instant!' he said.

‘Sorry,' said the first officer. ‘I can't do it. The Northwest Bank was robbed this morning. We have reason to believe that this boy is part of the gang that did it.'

‘Part of the gang?' said Mr Brainfright. ‘Why that's preposterous!'

‘We caught him red-handed with the loot!' said the second officer.

‘That boy is no bank robber!' said Mr Brainfright. ‘And I should know! His name is Jack Japes. He's in my grade five class. He's been at school all morning. The bank robbers obviously discarded some of their stolen loot to distract you and slow you down. You should be chasing them instead of frightening innocent schoolboys.'

The officers looked at each other.

‘All right, then,' said the first officer. ‘We'll take your word for it.'

The second officer uncuffed Jack. ‘What your teacher is telling us might be true, but we'll be keeping an eye on you all the same, Jack Japes.'

They stuffed all the money back into the bag, jumped the fence and drove away.

‘Do you believe that the pencil has magic powers now?' I whispered to Jack.

‘No,' said Jack. ‘They took my million dollars away!'

18
The
Northwest Chronicle

At six-thirty that evening, I was standing in the Northwest town square with a couple of hundred other people waiting for the announcement of the winners of the junior section of the
Northwest Chronicle
short-story competition.

The Northwest brass band was doing its best to keep us entertained despite the cold gusts of wind that were blasting the crowd while we waited for the official ceremony to begin.

Many of the other students from Northwest Southeast Central School were there. Last year's winner, Fiona McBrain, was waiting at the front, near the stage. She was obviously expecting to win again. David Worthy, who won last year's second prize, was standing next to her.

I went and stood next to them, feeling a mixture of excitement and dread.

I had a good story, and a good chance of
winning. But after what had happened to Jack that afternoon, I was nervous.

I didn't trust that pencil.

Especially when I realised that it was in my pocket, even though I had not intended to bring it.

I pulled it out and looked at it.

The skull was grinning.

I shoved it back into my pocket.

At that moment, the mayor arrived. He was a tall man, with a big gold chain around his neck.

As the band finished, he strode confidently up the steps, followed by the editor of the
Northwest Chronicle
and a few other official-looking people, one of whom was carrying a giant cardboard cheque.

An official-looking man made a speech.

An official-looking woman made a speech.

The editor made a speech.

Finally, the mayor stood in front of the microphone holding two envelopes. ‘It is now my great pleasure to award second place to . . .' He paused to open the envelope. ‘Fiona McBrain, for her story “My Grandmother's House”.'

The crowd applauded. Fiona looked shocked as she walked up the stairs to collect her certificate. Fiona McBrain was not used to coming second.

‘And now,' said the mayor, ‘without further
ado, it is my even greater pleasure to award the first place in the
Northwest Chronicle
writing competition to . . .' He paused again while he opened the envelope. ‘Henry McThrottle, for his story “Treasure Fever”.'

I couldn't believe it. I'd done it! I'd won the writing competition I'd been trying to win ever since I was old enough to write! I walked up the stairs and shook the mayor's hand. He gave me my certificate and I stood there, basking in the crowd's applause. I could see my mother and father beaming.

‘Well done, Henry,' said the mayor. ‘But don't go yet—I think the editor of the
Northwest Chronicle
has a small gift for you.'

The crowd laughed.

There was nothing small about the enormous cardboard cheque that the editor was attempting to carry across the stage, his progress hampered by the strong wind.

Suddenly, the wind ripped it from his grasp and it flew across the stage towards me.

The next thing I knew I was lying on my back looking up at the sky.

There was blood everywhere.

My neck was stinging.

‘Somebody call an ambulance!' yelled the mayor.

19
Northwest Central Hospital

BOOK: Pencil of Doom!
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