Pencil of Doom! (8 page)

Reading the preceding chapter may have got you worried about lions getting into your classroom. Relax—it's probably not going to happen.

Nevertheless, after our lion attack Mr Brainfright came up with this handy guide to protecting yourself against lions.

We put it up in our classroom and I think it would be a good idea if you were to photocopy it and put it up in yours.

As Jenny's mother says, it's better to be safe than sorry.

 

That night I dreamed that I was running down an endless school corridor, being chased by a lion.

But it wasn't a normal lion—it was a pencil lion. Its mane wasn't made of hair, it was made of pencils. Its claws were not normal claws, but ultra-sharpened pencil lead.

I ran and ran, but no matter how fast I pushed myself the lion was always right on my heels. I could smell its breath. It smelled like pencil shavings.

As I ran, I saw frightened students watching me from the safety of their classrooms. But all the doors were locked. There was nowhere for me to hide.

Finally, as I began to tire, the lion pounced.

I turned around and looked up as the terrifying beast, every pencil on its mane trembling, opened its enormous jaws to reveal not a mouth full of
teeth, but rows and rows of sharpened pencils, going as far back down its throat as I could see.

I woke, dripping with perspiration.

That was one bad lion.

And one even badder pencil.

I awoke on the floor of my bedroom. There were pencil shavings all around me, but whether they had already been there before I went to bed or whether they were from the pencil lion I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that the pencil was bad news.

Mr Brainfright had almost choked to death and had fallen out the window.

Fred and Clive were in hospital.

Jack was lucky he wasn't in jail.

Gretel had broken her wrist, I'd almost lost my head and now Jenny had been cut in half and almost eaten by a lion. (Well, Jenny being cut in half wasn't technically the pencil's fault, but everything else sure was.)

What—or who—would be next?

I had to get rid of the pencil before anyone else was hurt. The problem was that I didn't have it. It
was in my pencil case on my desk at school—and knowing how attached to the pencil Jack was, I didn't think he'd take kindly to my plans to destroy it.

That meant I had to get to school and get rid of the pencil before Jack arrived.

I looked at the clock. It was 7.30 am. If I hurried I could make it.

I got up off the floor, kicked the pencil shavings under the bed, and ran out the door.

I returned to my room moments later, realising that I still had my pyjamas on.

I took my pyjamas off.

I put my school uniform on.

I had some breakfast.

I brushed my teeth.

And then I ran out the door and straight to school.

There were only a few students in the yard when I arrived at school.

I walked up the steps, down the corridor and into the 5B classroom.

It was still a bit messy after yesterday's lion attack. We hadn't had a chance to put the room back in order because Mr Brainfright had given us all the rest of the day off school (after he'd put Jenny back together again, of course).

My pencil case was sitting on top of the desk. I opened it carefully, but the pencil wasn't inside.

Then, on a hunch, I went over to Jack's desk.

I lifted the lid and, looking around to check that I was still alone, picked up Jack's pencil case. I closed the desk lid carefully and tugged at the zipper of the pencil case.

It didn't open.

I tugged again.

It still didn't open.

I tugged even harder.

This time it did open—spilling its content all over the floor with a loud clatter.

I looked up, hoping that Jack wasn't standing in the doorway. He wasn't. I still had the room to myself.

I kneeled and started scooping the pens and pencils back into Jack's pencil case. Pens, pencils, erasers, sharpeners, textas, rulers, staplers: I couldn't believe how much stuff he managed to fit into one pencil case.

There was only one thing missing . . . my pencil!

I stood up and put the pencil case back in Jack's desk. He must have guessed what I was going to do and had taken the pencil home for safekeeping. I clenched my fist and punched the desk. I was too late.

That's when I heard it—a faint sound on the far side of the room. It was the pencil, rolling towards the door!

I don't know if it was still rolling from the impact of being dropped or if it was trying to escape . . . but I did know that I had to stop it before it got out that door.

I leaped across the room in one bound and landed sprawling in front of the door, just ahead of the pencil.

I looked up.

It was rolling straight towards me, and probably would have rolled right over the top of me if I hadn't reached out and grabbed it just in time.

The pencil seemed to squirm in my grasp as if it were a living thing.

Well, it wouldn't be living for much longer.

I got up, ran down the corridor and out into the yard, looking for a suitable place to get rid of it. But before I could do so, I saw Jack and Jenny coming through the school gate on the other side of the yard.

‘Hi, Henry!' Jack called.

Oh no! I looked around. There was a rubbish bin a few metres away. I had no choice. I threw the pencil in, and walked across the yard to meet them.

‘Hi, Jack!' I said, as innocently as I could manage. ‘Hi Jenny! How are you?'

‘I'm all right,' said Jenny. ‘The real question is, how are you? You seem a little upset.'

‘I'm fine!' I said, perhaps a little too quickly.

‘Are you sure?' said Jack. ‘You don't look fine.'

‘Oh, you know,' I said. ‘I guess I'm still a bit rattled after what happened yesterday.'

Jack looked at me closely and nodded. ‘I guess we all are,' he said. ‘Just think about it. Of all the schools in Northwest the lion chose Northwest
Southeast Central, and of all the classrooms in the school it chose
ours
! Talk about bad luck!'

‘Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't,' I said.

‘What do you mean, Henry?' asked Jenny. ‘That it wasn't bad luck?'

‘Who can say?' I said. ‘And I guess it doesn't matter anyway. It's all over now.' I shrugged, suddenly feeling very light and free. The pencil was safely in the bin. It couldn't hurt anybody ever again.

Or so I thought . . .