Michael Broad spent much of his childhood gazing out of the window imagining he was somewhere more interesting.

Now he’s a grown-up Michael still spends a lot of time gazing out of the window imagining he’s somewhere more interesting – but now he writes and illustrates books as well.

Some of them are picture books, like Broken Bird and The Little Star Who Wished.

Books by Michael Broad

JAKE CAKE: THE ROBOT DINNER LADY
JAKE CAKE: THE SCHOOL DRAGON
JAKE CAKE: THE VISITING VAMPIRE
JAKE CAKE: THE WEREWOLF TEACHER

Jake Cake
The School Dragon

MICHAEL BROAD

PUFFIN

This book is dedicated to my friend Ann

PUFFIN BOOKS

Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
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(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

puffinbooks.com

First published 2007
1

Copyright © Michael Broad, 2007
All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Here are three UNBELIEVABLE stories about the times I met:

A Dragon

A Troll

And a Spook

A Dragon

Mrs Grump looked up from the register, craned her neck and scanned the classroom like a submarine periscope looking for enemy ships. She fixed her sights on me and immediately frowned. From the look on her face I could tell my teacher wanted to launch torpedoes at me from under her desk.

But I couldn’t be in trouble already – the register hadn’t even been called yet!

Mrs Grump’s frown quickly turned into a glare and then she began tapping herself angrily on the head! I was beginning to think my form teacher had gone a bit mad, when

she rolled her eyes, stormed across the classroom and plucked the woolly hat from my head.

‘Well?’ she growled.

‘Are you here or are you not here?’

‘Oh,’ I said, realizing I hadn’t heard my name being called because of the hat pulled over my ears. ‘I’m here!’ I added cheerily.

‘And you can take that off too!’ she snapped, pointing to the scarf wrapped snugly around my neck. ‘You’re not in the playground any more.’

‘But it’s freezing, Mrs Grump!’ I whined, and I wasn’t just whining for the fun of it. It was so cold in the classroom I was expecting to see polar bears and penguins shuffle in for the register!

Mrs Grump must have realized I had a point because she raised a curious eyebrow, licked her finger and waved it in the air.

‘Hmmm,’ she said, stepping over to the nearest radiator. Mrs Grump tapped the top cautiously and then pressed her hand firmly against it.

‘Hmmm,’ she said again, as though considering all the evidence.

Mrs Grump returned to my desk and shoved the woolly hat back on my head.

‘As you seem to be the most suitably dressed, you can run along to the basement and ask Mr Knight why we appear to be without heat this morning,’ she said firmly.

And she didn’t have to ask twice! I wasn’t going to miss a chance to escape lessons, so I legged it out of the classroom and down the corridor before Mrs Grump could change her mind.

I was also keen to see the basement because everyone said it was haunted!

I didn’t believe it was haunted. I suspected it was probably just full of mops and buckets and other boring caretaker things. But, opening the creaky old basement door and peering down the dark stone steps, I began to have second thoughts.

Especially when I heard a great big GROAN in the distance!

GULP!

Ghosts are well known for groaning – groaning and rattling chains (I once had an encounter with a ghost who liked rattling toilet chains, but I’ll tell you about that another time).

This time something told me the groan hadn’t come from a groaning ghost. It rumbled and made my teeth rattle, which meant whatever was groaning in the basement was something really, really BIG!

I suppose I could have legged it back to class, but then everyone would think I was scared of the haunted basement, and I couldn’t have them thinking that. So I carried on down the steps and hoped I’d find the caretaker before I found the mysterious BIG THING – and definitely before the mysterious BIG THING found me!

‘Mr Knight?’ I called, reaching the bottom step and peering into the gloomy basement.

The place was like a large underground cave with huge brick pillars (that were probably holding the school up), and stacks of old chairs and desks (that a BIG THING could easily hide behind!). So I kept my eyes peeled and crept along slowly, pausing whenever I thought I heard something.

The groaning seemed to have stopped – which meant I’d either imagined it or the BIG THING was hiding somewhere and waiting to pounce. So I was relieved when I finally found the caretaker’s office, even though it was empty. But at least I could go back to class and say

Mr Knight wasn’t there and no one would think I was a big scaredy cat!

PHEW!

GROOOOAAAAAN!

GULP!

The groan was right behind me. Which meant the BIG THING stood between me, and my only way out of the basement! I was trapped! Taking a deep breath I turned round slowly and stared into two huge yellow eyes.

The huge yellow eyes of a dragon!

You might be wondering how I could be certain it was a dragon, especially as I’d never seen one before. But when you see your first dragon there’s no doubting what it is. This one was big and red and scaly, it had wings on its back, massive claws and a spiky tail.

Oh, and it also had black smoke billowing from its nostrils!

DEFINITELY a dragon!

‘ARRRRRGGGGH!’ I screamed at the top of my voice.

Screaming at the top of your voice isn’t the most practical thing to do when confronted with a dragon, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

The dragon’s huge eyes suddenly grew wider, then it clasped its front feet over its ears and with a high-pitched yelp it thundered away, deeper into the basement!

PHEW!

Now the exit was clear I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, up the stone steps two at a time and out into the corridor. I was halfway back to Mrs Grump’s classroom when I stopped suddenly and skidded to a halt on the shiny wooden floor.

I scratched my head through the woolly hat.

Hmmm, I thought to myself.

Did I really want to go back and sit in a freezing classroom with Mrs Grump peering at me like a submarine? Or did I want to get a closer look at a real live dragon? A dragon who was obviously not very ferocious if it ran away from me, and it wasn’t even that big when I thought about it – not for a dragon anyway.

Hmmm, I thought again, considering all the evidence. Then I crept back down into the basement.

I immediately heard the groaning again, although now it was groaning and sniffing, which isn’t anywhere near as scary as just groaning. Following the sound, I eventually found the great red scaly heap shivering in the furthest corner of the basement.

The dragon was lying on a bed of straw that I noticed was a bit singed in places. Two sad yellow eyes peered out at me from the shadows like a frightened puppy (but obviously a massive puppy with huge scales instead of fur).

‘There, there,’ I whispered, moving slowly forward. ‘Good dragon.’

I reached out my hand to pat the dragon’s head when suddenly it leapt up without warning. The dragon arched its back and flicked open its massive wings, then it took a great lungful of air into its big scaly chest and with a tremendous ROAR…

SPLAT!

The force of the blast knocked me off my feet!

Lying on the floor I opened one eye and looked around. I expected to see fire or scorch marks, or at least feel my woolly hat in flames on top of my head.

But there was nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing. As I reached up to my hat I felt something warm and sticky and slimy!

‘URGH!’ I said, pulling the slimy hat off my head.

I looked up at the dragon. Its eyes were watering and more of the sticky goo was dribbling down its nostrils. It sniffed and looked very sorry for itself.

The dragon hadn’t tried to scorch me – it had SNEEZED!

Standing up I pulled off my scarf and wiped the dragon’s nose (I already had a slimy had so I thought I might as well have a slimy scarf to match). Then, with a great big sigh, the dragon sniffed and flopped into a heap again.

Suddenly I heard footsteps coming down the stone stairs and echoing through the basement. The dragon’s ears pricked up and its massive spiky tail started wagging excitedly.

‘Daddy’s home, Tinkerbell, and he’s brought you some…’ Mr Knight froze to the spot when he saw me standing next to the dragon and his mouth dropped open. He was obviously too shocked to speak so I thought I’d better say something.

‘Tinkerbell?’ I said with a smile. ‘Er, yes,’ said Mr Knight, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘She’s my, er, dog.’

‘Dog?’ I said, patting the dragon’s massive scaly belly. ‘Lizard would have been a bit more believable.’

‘L-lizard? Er, yes, exactly!’ he stammered. ‘She’s a lizard. A really big lizard.’

I frowned at Mr Knight.

Grown-ups always think kids are stupid and that we’ll believe anything they say just because they’re bigger than us. Well, Tinkerbell was bigger than any grown-up and much bigger than a lizard, which meant she was definitely a dragon.

‘Shouldn’t you be in class?’ the caretaker said quickly, trying to change the subject. ‘You could be in a lot of trouble for not being in class, you know…’

‘Mrs Grump sent me to find out why the heating isn’t on,’ I said. ‘But you weren’t here and I found your dragon instead. I think she’s got a cold.’

Mr Knight’s shoulders slumped.

‘OK she is a dragon, but she’s not dangerous. And I only left her to get some cough medicine.’ He sighed, holding up a carrier bag filled with small brown bottles. ‘It’s the reason there’s no heating. Tinkerbell usually fires up the furnace.’

‘The school is heated by dragon fire?’ I gasped.

The caretaker nodded guiltily.

‘COOL!’ I said.

‘Exactly! That’s the problem,’ said Mr Knight. ‘Now she’s caught a cold Tinkerbell can’t heat the furnace, so the boiler is cool. And if I can’t make her better people will come down here to investigate and…’ He looked sadly at the snivelling dragon.

‘Then we’d better make her better,’ I said.

‘We?’ said Mr Knight with obvious relief. ‘You mean you’re not going to tell Mrs Grump?’ ‘No way!’ I said. ‘Mrs Grump would probably torpedo Tinkerbell on sight!’

‘Torpedo?’ said the caretaker.

‘Oh, it’s a long story,’ I said.

Mr Knight gave Tinkerbell the medicine, while I filled a bowl with boiling water and put a towel over the dragon’s head so she could breathe in the steam. That’s what Mum does when I have a cold and it always works.

My cat Fatty had a cold once, but instead of being cute and helpless like Tinkerbell, he scratched anyone who came near him and deliberately blew his nose all over my duvet.

I’d definitely rather keep a dragon than a cat!

‘Where did she come from?’ I asked, half curious and half wondering where I could get a dragon of my own.

‘The egg was in the Knight family for generations. My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was a proper medieval knight in shining armour,’ said Mr Knight proudly. ‘Anyway, I left the egg by the boiler completely by accident – and a few weeks later it hatched and out popped Tinkerbell!’

‘Wow!’ I said, thinking that my boring ancestors probably just made cakes.

After the medicine and the steam Tinkerbell perked up straight away, her eyes brightened and she started flapping her wings enthusiastically. The dragon sat up and took a huge sniff through newly unblocked nostrils.

GRRRRROOOOOWWWWL! went the dragon’s belly.

Mr Knight’s eyes suddenly grew wide with panic.

‘Quick, we need to get her to the furnace NOW!’ he yelled, running behind Tinkerbell and trying to shove the big lump of dragon across the basement. I joined him and it took all of our strength to budge her.

‘What’s wrong?’ I panted, as Tinkerbell’s bottom finally started to slide along the floor towards the big school furnace.

‘Dragons must breathe fire every day or else the gas builds up and they explode!’ gasped Mr Knight. ‘That’s why I taught her to fire up the school furnace. It’s the only safe place to put all those flames.’

‘And she hasn’t breathed fire today?’ I said.

The caretaker shook his head gravely.

When we got Tinkerbell to the furnace Mr Knight leapt forward and threw the metal door open. He did it just in time.

ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!

went the dragon, as a massive jet of flames shot from her mouth. The furnace glowed red and the hot water immediately bubbled in the boiler, whooshing through the pipes that heated the school radiators.

That was one gassy dragon!

Tinkerbell sat back looking very pleased with herself. She burped a ring of black smoke and smiled.

When I got back to the classroom Mrs Grump wasn’t smiling, she was fuming (although no black smoke was coming out of her nostrils). She pointed to the clock on the wall and demanded to know where I’d been for over an hour.

‘I suppose you were wandering the corridors trying to avoid lessons?’ she said angrily.

‘No, I wasn’t! I was helping Mr Knight with his dra–’ I said, and stopped.

If I told Mrs Grump about the dragon she would definitely tell the head teacher, and the head teacher would definitely get rid of Tinkerbell because it’s probably a health hazard or something to have a fire-breathing dragon on school premises.

‘Well?’ Mrs Grump snapped.

‘I was wandering the corridors trying to avoid lessons,’ I sighed.

‘Just as I suspected!’ said Mrs Grump. ‘Well, you’ll make up for the time you’ve wasted during detention this evening.’

‘Yes, Mrs Grump,’ I said, and shuffled back to my desk.

I decided an hour of detention was worth it. Especially if it meant the dragon could stay in the basement with Mr Knight. Tinkerbell was obviously happy living under the school, firing up the furnace every day.

After school I was sitting in detention with Mrs Grump in the nice warm classroom when Mr Knight suddenly poked his head around the door.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Grump,’ said the caretaker, ‘Could I borrow one of your students? I have a particularly disgusting job that needs doing.’

The last time Mr Knight borrowed a student from detention they spent the whole hour scraping chewing gum from underneath the desks! Mrs Grump immediately swung her periscope-head in my direction.

‘Jake Cake,’ she said cheerily. ‘Will you follow Mr Knight, please?’

‘Yes, Mrs Grump,’ I mumbled.

Outside the classroom Mr Knight was already striding down the corridor and I had to hurry to catch up with him. I was thinking it was typical – you do a favour for a grown-up and then they forget all about it!

The caretaker stopped outside the basement.

‘Do I have to scrape chewing gum from underneath the desks?’ I groaned.

‘Hmmm,’ said Mr Knight, scratching his chin. ‘I suppose you can if you want. But I was thinking a better punishment for what you’ve done might be a game of Dragon Football!’

‘Uh?’ I said.

‘Well, when I heard you were in detention I thought I’d better help you out,’ said the caretaker, making his way down the stone steps. ‘And I know Tinkerbell wanted to say thank you for letting her stay.’

As I reached the bottom step the ground started shaking as the excited dragon came bounding up to me and licked my head with her big dragon tongue. Tinkerbell obviously wasn’t used to visitors – although she soon got used to seeing me whenever I got a chance to slip away from class.

Dragon Football is the coolest game!

The dragon is in goal and you have to boot paper balls into the net before the dragon can set fire to them! I wasn’t very good to begin with, but I still managed to get a few past Tinkerbell.

It was the BEST detention EVER!

A Troll

‘STOP RIGHT THERE, ANGEL CAKE!’

I was halfway through the garden gate when Mum’s voice boomed from inside the house. I froze to the spot. My first thought was that I was in trouble, which seemed likely because I usually am in trouble, but then I realized Mum doesn’t call me Angel Cake when I’m in trouble so I decided not to leg it.

Big mistake!

Still clutching the gate, I turned round as Mum appeared at the window. But she didn’t appear at just any old window; it was my bedroom window, which could mean only one thing.

‘You’re not going anywhere until you’ve tidied up this pigsty!’ Mum said. ‘It looks as though a bomb went off in here and it whiffs of smelly socks!’

Mum had been dragging rugs into the garden, pulling out furniture and emptying cupboards all morning.

Usually when she does a spring clean I slope away early before she can rope me in, but this time I’d ignored all the signs and she’d caught me.

There was no point in arguing, but I thought I’d give it a go anyway.

‘But…’ I said, while I tried to think up a believable excuse.

‘And no “buts” either,’ Mum snapped.

I frowned and considered legging it, which would mean loads of trouble later, but Mum was already one step ahead of me. She rummaged around in the pocket of her cleaning apron and pulled out a roll of black plastic bags.

‘Of course if you’re too busy I could always clean your room,’ Mum suggested casually.

Now you might think this was a good offer, Mum doing all the work and leaving me free to go out for the day.

But it doesn’t work like that – as I found out the last time she offered to clean my room. I came home to find six black bags being carted off by the binmen and half of my stuff missing!

Mum had won, so I sighed and slouched up to my room.

‘And I don’t want to see everything shoved under the bed!’ Mum said, handing me the black bags and a duster. ‘Not that there’s any room under there anyway.’

Mum nodded in the direction of my bed and when I looked I noticed something very strange. There was so much stuff under my bed that the legs weren’t even touching the floor.

I admit I’m not the tidiest person in the world, but I’ve never collected that much rubbish. And I was sure that my bed had all four legs on the floor when I got up that morning!

Our cat Fatty was lying on top of the bed hissing at me.

‘Shoo!’ I said, shaking the duster at him.

Fatty leapt on to the floor with a thud, swiped at my ankles with his claws and then sauntered out of the room. I wouldn’t be surprised if Fatty had made all the mess – he’d definitely enjoy getting me into trouble.

‘And I’ll be checking afterwards,’ Mum said, as she made her way downstairs. ‘So you might as well do it properly.’

I was still looking at the bed and wondering how it had got so full under there when I heard a small groan and saw the whole thing move – which made me jump backwards.

GULP!

Someone or something was lurking under my bed.

I suppose I could have called Mum back to investigate with me, but I didn’t want her thinking I was making a fuss about cleaning my room, because then she might send me out and do it herself.

So I moved closer to the bed and poked it cautiously.

The bed quivered and I heard a tiny whimper from whatever was hiding there. I decided a whimper was better than a growl or a roar, so I crouched down and peered underneath.

All I could see was a pile of books and clothes and stuff, nothing capable of making a tiny whimper. Then I looked closer and saw two large eyes peering out at me from behind the pile.

GULP!

But this time it wasn’t me who made the ‘GULP!’.

It came from the thing beneath the bed.

‘Hello?’ I said, thinking that the thing being afraid of me was much better than me being afraid of it . ‘My name’s Jake,’ I added. But it didn’t respond, so I leaned closer to get a better look.

Suddenly the bed jerked backwards and the pile of stuff avalanched down to reveal a small and very frightened-looking troll with my bed still balanced on its head!

I’ve dealt with trolls before and there are two kinds.

There are dwarf-trolls who are small and particularly nasty (you don’t want

to encounter a dwarf-troll if you can help it), and then there are bridge-trolls who are big and stupid. Bridge-trolls live under bridges (which is how they got their name), but apart from eating the odd goat, they’re pretty harmless.

This troll was about the size of a dwarf-troll, but it was definitely a bridge-troll because it had horns, and a very stupid look on its face. Then I noticed it was clinging to one of my old stuffed toys and I realized it had to be a baby (because fully grown ones are massive).

But how did a baby bridge-troll end up under my bed?

By the way, this wasn’t the first time I’d found something strange under my bed. A crocodile once set up home there, and I only discovered it when I caught it sneaking out in the night to drink out of the toilet. The crocodile nearly wrecked the house when I chased it out, and I got into loads of trouble (but I’ll tell you about that another time).

This time I wasn’t planning on getting into any trouble, so I backed slowly out of the room, closed the door, and went straight downstairs to get Mum. Because if Mum saw the troll for herself there was no way I could get the blame for whatever happened next.

Although she didn’t take the news as well as I’d hoped.

‘A TROLL?’ Mum yelled, switching off the vacuum cleaner angrily.

‘Yes, honestly,’ I pleaded, tugging her arm to make her come and see for herself. ‘It’s under my bed right now, in fact it’s wearing my bed for a hat!’

‘I’m far too busy today to listen to your stories,’ Mum protested as I led her reluctantly up the stairs and across the landing. ‘And if you think you can get out of cleaning your room by inventing monsters then you’ve got another think coming!’

I opened the door to my bedroom and nudged Mum inside.

‘ARRRRRGGGGGGHHH!’ she screamed.

I was feeling pretty pleased that I’d finally proved Mum wrong. But when I followed her in I noticed the troll wasn’t actually in the room any more, which meant she was screaming at something else.

Mum was screaming at the state of my room. The bed had been tipped over and the avalanche of stuff had been scattered all over the place as though something big and stupid had charged through at high speed.

‘You’ve been up here for less than five minutes and you’ve already managed to make it worse!’ Mum screamed. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

‘But it wasn’t me, it must have been the tr–’

‘And if you say “a troll did it” you’ll be in very big trouble!’ Mum growled.

There was nothing I could say to explain the blitzed bedroom that didn’t contain the word ‘troll’ so I just shrugged helplessly. Mum went back downstairs in a very bad mood and I was left with a room that looked like it had been turned upside down.

So much for staying out of trouble!

I checked under all the rubbish to make sure the troll had definitely gone when it occurred to me that it couldn’t have left the house without passing me on the stairs – which meant it was still hiding somewhere.

I tried the bathroom first (just to make sure it wasn’t getting a drink out of the toilet), and when I found it empty I was immediately struck with a terrible thought. If the troll wasn’t in my room, and it wasn’t in the bathroom, that only left one place.

Mum and Dad’s room!

I opened the door carefully and peered inside.

Mum and Dad’s bed was up in the air and there were two big troll feet sticking out of the bottom. Fatty was sitting on top of the bed again scowling at me, but I ignored him and leaned down to look underneath.

From beneath the bed two familiar frightened eyes peered out at me.

It was then that I realized the baby troll was probably looking for a bridge to hide under, because that’s what bridge- trolls do. And when it couldn’t find one I guessed it thought having a bed on its head was the next best thing.

I reached under the bed carefully and patted the troll’s hand to reassure it, which was pretty scary because even though it was only a baby, it was still well big enough to squash me.

The troll chuckled and started bouncing up and down, which made the floorboards creak and shake like an earthquake. I looked around the room at Mum’s perfume bottles and ornaments, holding my breath as they rocked backwards and forwards on the rattling dressing table.

The baby troll was a mess-making time bomb waiting to go off!

I had to get the troll out of Mum and Dad’s bedroom before it wrecked the place and, as the first perfume bottle toppled off the dressing table and smashed on the floor, I knew I had to do it fast.

My eyes fell on my old stuffed toy in its hand.

‘Here goes nothing!’ I whispered to myself.

Grabbing the toy, I legged it out of the room, on to the landing and down the stairs as fast as I could. I hadn’t gone far before I heard the smash of ornaments and perfume bottles, quickly followed by heavy footsteps charging across the landing and crashing down the stairs after me.

‘ARRRRRGGGGH!’ I yelled, because it was pretty scary.

You might wonder why Mum didn’t come to find out what the racket was, but she was still busy vacuuming downstairs and couldn’t hear because she was making quite a racket herself.

Without looking back I ran through the kitchen and out into the garden.

My plan to get the troll out of the house hadn’t really gone further than that. So when I turned and saw the

troll burst through the back door after me, I did the only thing that felt right.

I kept on running! I ran across the garden, jumped over the fence and into the woods at the back of the house, and kept on running through the trees. I glanced back again to see the troll still behind me with its hands outstretched.

I quickly lobbed the stuffed toy back over my head, hoping the big baby would stop chasing me, but the troll caught it and kept on running.

Eventually the trees thinned out and I ran down the hill towards the river.

I considered jumping in to get away, but then realized that if trolls live under bridges they’re probably used to water, and can most likely swim better than me. (I’d only just got my 100-metre badge – which wasn’t enough to race a bridge-troll!)

Then it hit me.

What does a baby bridge-troll want more than a stuffed toy, and more than the boy who ran off with the stuffed toy?

A bridge!

I ran along the riverbank until eventually I saw a bridge up ahead. I sprinted towards it, putting a bit of distance between me and the troll, and when I got there I stopped and tried to catch my breath.

I was so busy keeping my eye on the baby troll charging towards me that I didn’t notice a huge dark figure climbing out from beneath the bridge.

It was only when I saw a tall dark shadow stretched out before me that I turned and saw a fully grown adult troll looming over me, looking very, very angry.

I already mentioned that bridge-trolls are stupid and harmless (unless you’re a goat). But then it occurred to me that some bridge-trolls could be so stupid,

they wouldn’t know the difference between a goat and a person!

I glanced back along the bank and saw the baby troll was almost on top of me. Literally almost on top of me, because when it was just a few metres away it leapt into the air and launched itself in my direction.

I had nowhere to go, with one troll behind me and one almost on top of me. I covered my eyes and screamed at the top of my voice.

But nothing happened. I didn’t get squashed or squidged or splattered! The troll jumped right over my head!

After a few seconds I peeped out through one eye and saw the baby troll in the arms of the big troll. And looking closely I realized the big troll was female because she

was wearing lipstick (usually it’s hard to tell with trolls because they all pretty much look the same).

‘THANK YOU MUCH!’ boomed the big troll. ‘YOU BRING BACK!’

‘Uh?’ I said, looking up helplessly and trying my best not to look like a goat.

‘BABA GOT LOST CHASING FLUFFY IN WOODS,’ she added.

‘Oh!’ I said, suddenly realizing I’d led the troll home to its mum. ‘What’s a fluffy?’ I asked, although I probably should have been running away while I had the chance.

‘FLUFFY MEOW!’ boomed the troll, pointing to the stuffed cat in the baby troll’s hand.

Trolls have a very limited vocabulary, but now I knew exactly how the troll had ended up under my bed. Fatty had lured it there! Which definitely made me think he had probably lured the crocodile there too!

That cat really doesn’t like me!

The troll’s mum did look pleased to have her baby back, and as she made her way back under the bridge I remembered the chaos I’d left back home. I wondered what sort of welcome I’d get from my mum.

GULP!

I took my time going through the woods back towards the house, and as I climbed the fence back into the garden I caught an unmistakable whiff of bedroom. But it wasn’t the whiff of smelly socks from my room – it was the smell of smashed perfume bottles from Mum and Dad’s room.

GULP!

The smell grew stronger as I approached the house and I could already hear Mum yelling and making a fuss upstairs. But as I climbed the stairs and walked along the landing I heard another noise. A screeching, hissing, yowling noise, and it was coming from the bathroom.

I poked my head round the door and saw Mum leaning over the bathtub, covered in soapsuds, wrestling with

a very angry Fatty. Mum looked up and sighed at me.

‘Oh, good, you’re back,’ Mum sighed. ‘You’ll never guess what Fatty has been up to with my perfume bottles!’

‘What?’ I said innocently, as Mum lathered up the angry cat’s fur with shampoo.

‘He knocked them all over,’ said Mum. ‘And now he’s covered in the stuff!’

I couldn’t help laughing to myself as Fatty glared at me from the bathtub.

It didn’t take long to clear up my room, and when I finished there was nothing under my bed at all. And it stayed that way for a very long time, not least because Fatty ponged too much to lure any more monsters home.

And a Spook

Apparently the Victorians lived more than a hundred years ago. Mrs Marsh, our history teacher, had been droning on about them for so long it felt like another hundred years had passed!

‘Jake Cake!’ yelled Mrs Marsh. ‘Are we boring you?’

‘No, Mrs Marsh,’ I lied.

‘Then kindly take your head off the desk and sit up properly!’ she snapped, standing over me like an army sergeant inspecting her troops.

I pulled myself upright with a groan while Mrs Marsh gave me a big long lecture about how lucky I was to be able to come to school and learn lots of interesting things.

‘Only very fortunate children could go to school in Victorian times,’ she said. ‘The less fortunate ones were sent out to work, and a boy of your age could easily find himself stuffed up a chimney!’ I laughed because I thought she was joking, but Mrs Marsh got really angry.

‘Some of those poor chimney sweeps never came down again,’ she added gravely.

GULP!

I quickly sat up straight in my chair, in case Mrs Marsh decided the old school chimneys needed sweeping, when someone from behind tapped me on the shoulder and sniggered.

Now you’re probably thinking it was just one of my classmates mucking around. But I sit right at the back of the class, which means there is no one behind me!

I turned round and looked at the bare wall.

Hmmm, I thought, because I didn’t know what else to think.

I was still looking round when Mrs Marsh saw me and gave me a warning glare. And because I didn’t want to get into any more trouble – or shoved up a chimney – I quickly sat up straight again and tried to concentrate on the class.

I felt the tap, tap, tapping on my shoulder again, but harder this time.

‘Oi! Pack it in!’ I yelled, spinning round quickly to catch the tap, tap, tapper in the act. But there was no one there and no one could have run back to their seat that fast!

Suddenly Mrs Marsh was standing over me with a very cross look on her face.

‘What is it now?’ she demanded.

‘Someone tapped me on the shoulder,’ I said. But I probably should have made something up instead because the whole class was looking at me as if I’d gone mad.

‘And who do you suppose tapped you on the shoulder?’ Mrs Marsh asked, glancing at the empty space behind me. ‘The Invisible Man?’

The rest of the class giggled at her joke.

‘Or perhaps it was Mr Nobody?’ she said with a puzzled look on her face.

I shrugged helplessly and the class giggled even louder.

Mrs Marsh shook her head and began to make her way back to the front of the classroom when a very strange thing happened. The sharp pencil that was sitting on my desk floated up in the air, shot forward and jabbed my teacher firmly in the bottom!

‘OWWWWW!’ she yelped.

Mrs Marsh snapped round, spotted the sharp pencil that had dropped back down on my desk and her eyes slowly widened.

‘But…’ I said.

‘Not another word, Jake Cake!’ Mrs Marsh growled. ‘Take yourself to the head teacher’s office immediately and explain to Mr Barton exactly why I’ve sent you there!’ She snatched the pencil and held it up to eye level.

‘And I’ll be keeping this as evidence!’ she added.

There was no point in arguing. Even I would have thought I’d jabbed Mrs Marsh in the bottom – if I didn’t already know I hadn’t. So I left the classroom with my head hung low and made my way down the corridor to the head teacher’s office. And I took my time because I wasn’t in any hurry to get there.

‘He he,’ said a voice behind me.

I stopped and looked around the corridor but there was no one there.

‘He he,’ said the voice again, although closer this time.

‘Who’s there?’ I demanded.

A finger tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned round there was a

boy standing beside me, and he was grinning. The boy was about the same age as me but he was wearing very strange clothes.

‘ ’Ow d’ya do?’ said the boy.

‘How do I do what?’ I said, not knowing what he meant.

‘ ’Ow d’ya do?’ said the boy again.

I frowned and scratched my head.

‘I say “’Ow d’ya do?”,’ said the boy. ‘And then you say “’Ow d’ya do?” back.’

‘ ’Ow d’ya do?’ I said uncertainly.

‘Very well, thanks for askin’,’ he said, tipping his cap. ‘And y’self?’

I considered his question for a moment and then got very angry.

‘NOT VERY WELL THANKS TO YOU!’

I yelled – realizing this kid was somehow to blame for jabbing Mrs Marsh in the bottom with my pencil (although I still wasn’t sure exactly how he did it).

‘Aw, I was just ’avin’ a bit of fun!’ said the boy.

‘But how did you…’

I stopped because I suddenly noticed that, besides wearing strange clothes and talking in a funny way, the boy was also definitely a little bit see-through! I made a few quick calculations in my head and then, instead of carrying on with what I was saying, I said:

Because that’s what you’re meant to do when you realize you’re standing in an empty corridor having a conversation with a GHOST!

I’ve dealt with ghosts before and when you scream they usually disappear (or you disappear because you’ve legged it in the opposite direction). But instead of disappearing, the ghost boy just frowned at me.

‘’Ave you finished?’ he said calmly.

‘Uh?’ I said.

‘’Ave you finished screaming?’ said the ghost.

‘Um, yes,’ I said, feeling a bit silly because he wasn’t actually scary.

‘Good,’ said the ghost. ‘Well, at least you didn’t scarper. I don’t know why but most people usually scarper when I show m’self to ’em, which is very rude if you ask me.’

‘They probably scarper because you’re a ghost!’ I said. ‘You do know you’re a ghost?’ I added cautiously, because sometimes ghosts don’t even realize they’re ghosts, and that can get really confusing.

‘Of course I know!’ said the ghost. ‘How else could I poke a teacher in the bottom with a pencil without getting caught?’

‘But Mrs Marsh thinks I did it!’ I said angrily. ‘And now I’m in deep trouble!’

The ghost shrugged his shoulders in a way that meant he didn’t really care.

‘You can’t just get away with it!’ I said. ‘It’s not fair!’

‘I can do whatever I want,’ snapped the ghost. ‘And I will get away with it because I’ve been getting away with it for over a hundred years.’

‘Over a hundred years?’ I gasped. ‘Does that mean you’re a Victorian?’

The ghost thought about it for a moment.

‘Well, Queen Victoria was on the throne when I was alive,’ he said. ‘So yeah, I suppose I am.’

‘Were you a chimney sweep that never came down again?’ I asked, because he did look pretty scruffy.

‘No!’ said the ghost who seemed a bit offended. ‘I was a young gentleman!’

‘So you were one of the lucky Victorians who went to school?’ I asked, and thought that Mrs Marsh would be pleased that I’d remembered her lecture – or at least she would have been pleased if her bottom wasn’t so sore!

‘Lucky? I don’t think so!’ said the ghost. ‘This place was a lot stricter in those days!’

‘You went to this school?’ I gasped. I hadn’t realized it was so old.

The ghost nodded.

All of a sudden I heard footsteps coming down the corridor. The ghost boy heard them too because he winked mischievously and then vanished into thin air!

The footsteps belonged to Mrs Price, the head teacher’s secretary. She was heading towards me with a stack of grey folders.

‘Jake Cake!’ said Mrs Price, who knew me because I’ve been sent to the head teacher’s office loads of times – mostly for stuff that wasn’t my fault. ‘Why are you standing around in the corridor looking like you’ve seen a ghost?’

‘I’ve been sent to Mr Barton’s office,’ I sighed.

‘Oh, what luck!’ said Mrs Price, shoving the stack of folders into my arms. ‘Would you be an absolute dear and carry these for me? I do suffer terribly with my back.’

With an armful of folders I followed

Mrs Price, but I kept an eye out for the ghostly troublemaker. I thought he might jab Mrs Price in the bottom with a pencil or try to trip me up, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. I hoped he’d gone back to wherever he’d come from.

‘Just pop them down there,’ said Mrs Price, nodding to her desk. ‘And I’ll tell Mr Barton you’re here… again.’ She smiled and disappeared into the head teacher’s office.

I was about to put the folders down when the ghost boy suddenly appeared in front of Mrs Price’s desk. I suppose I could have just gone straight through him (he was a ghost after all). But that would have been too creepy so I stepped back and gasped instead.

The ghost looked at me.

Then he looked at the neat stack of folders in my arms.

Then he smiled, narrowed his eyes, and ran straight through me and out the other side in a WHOOSH of chilly wind that sent the stack of folders flying up in the air!

(By the way, having a ghost run straight through you is very creepy. The sudden chill takes your breath away like jumping into a very cold swimming pool. BRRRRR!)

I looked up and watched in slow motion as each grey folder fell open above my head – showering its contents all around the room in a swirling blizzard of bright white paper.

As the last pages fluttered to the ground I noticed two figures standing in the doorway,

staring at me with their mouths open.

But neither of them was the ghost boy. They were Mrs Price and Mr Barton.

GULP!

At this point I would usually take a deep breath and explain that none of it was my fault. But I was the only one standing outside the office and I’d been holding the folders. No one would believe a sneaky spook had run right through me, blasting the folders with a ghostly wind.

So I said nothing.

Mrs Price sank to her knees, gazed sadly at the fallen files and began slowly gathering them together in a pile.

In the meantime Mr Barton had grown very red in the face and looked like an angry tomato.

The head teacher must have been too angry to speak because he just lowered his head and pointed towards the door to his office.

I’ve seen the inside of the head teacher’s office many times, but I’d never seen Mr Barton looking so cross. He sat at his desk grinding his teeth together as though struggling to work out a big enough punishment for me.

Mrs Marsh was called to the office to give her account of The Jabbing (which is what they were calling it). And because there was nothing I could say that anyone would believe, I just stared helplessly at the carpet as my teacher waved the pencil in the air like a sword – eagerly demonstrating the jabbing motion.

The last time I was in the head teacher’s office was when a baby dinosaur chewed up my homework. Mr Barton had given me a big long lecture about making up stories that aren’t true (even though I didn’t make it up – it really happened, but I’ll tell you about that another time).

This time Mr Barton must have been thinking up a really long lecture because he didn’t say a word after Mrs Marsh left the room. He just grimaced at the pencil on the desk.

Around the walls of the office were loads of photographs of all the old head teachers and they were quite fun to look at because the old ones had freaky hair and weird-shaped moustaches – even the women!

The oldest one there was called Mr Cane and the picture was so old it was

a kind of brownish-yellowy colour. Mr Cane definitely had the dodgiest moustache and looked very fierce.

I was still looking around the room when a familiar figure suddenly appeared behind Mr Barton’s chair. It was the ghost boy and he was grinning and waving at me. He must have been in the room the whole time, probably enjoying how much trouble I was in.

‘Well, well, well,’ said Mr Barton, finally looking up from the dreaded pointy pencil. ‘Is there anything you would like to say about The Jabbing before I decide upon a suitable punishment?’

I shrugged my shoulders and tried to ignore the sniggering ghost boy – who was now making faces at me – when my eyes fell on the old portraits again. It was then that I noticed the dates at the bottom and suddenly had an idea.

It was a long shot, but a long shot is better than no shot at all!

‘I do have one thing to say,’ I said quickly, turning back to Mr Barton.

‘Yes?’ said the head teacher, raising his eyebrows. ‘Speak up, boy.’

It was just as well Mr Barton said ‘speak up’, because that was exactly what I planned to do. I took a massive deep breath and yelled at the very top of my voice.

‘MR CAAAAAAAAAANE!!!’

I have to say it was pretty loud, so loud that Mr Barton nearly fell off his chair.

Upon hearing the name the ghost boy immediately stopped making rude faces and made one with ‘GULP!’ written all over it. His eyes grew wide, his mouth fell open and his face went very pale – and ghosts are pretty pale to begin with.

Suddenly a tall dark figure appeared through the wall. He was wearing a long black cloak and a flat black hat with a tassel on the top. He stood behind the ghost boy and snorted through his nostrils!

It was Mr Cane, the ghost head teacher! ‘UH-OH!’ yelled the ghost boy. Then he legged it right through Mr Barton, through Mr Barton’s desk

and out through the door – immediately followed by Mr Cane and a great gush of ghostly wind that swept all the papers off the desk and up into the air.

It all happened really quickly, but while Mr Barton was busy watching his second paper blizzard of the day, I happened to look down – and saw that the pointy pencil had mysteriously vanished.

Hmmm, I thought to myself.

But the mystery of the missing pencil didn’t stay a mystery for long.

‘OWWWWW!’ yelped Mrs Marsh from the other side of the door. And I knew it was Mrs Marsh because I’d heard the exact same ‘OWWWWW!’ earlier, back in the classroom.

It was the unmistakable ‘OWWWWW!’ of a Jabbing!

As the papers fluttered down and settled on the office floor, the door creaked open and Mrs Marsh stepped in, looking very startled and rubbing her bottom. She glanced at me suspiciously, gave the head teacher a puzzled look, and then rubbed her bottom some more.

‘What–? How–?’ she stammered, trying to work it out.

‘So Jake couldn’t have…?’ added Mr Barton, scratching his head.

‘But then who…?’ said Mrs Marsh to no one in particular.

Obviously neither of my teachers knew what to make of the ghostly goings on, because grown-ups aren’t used to unbelievable stuff happening – which is probably why no one ever believes my unbelievable adventures.

So I decided to make a couple of suggestions.

‘Maybe it was the Invisible Man?’ I said to Mrs Marsh. ‘Or Mr Nobody?’