The Monster of Shiversands Cove (3 page)

BOOK: The Monster of Shiversands Cove
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Shocks in Store

Dad came running in. He saw me, shrieking at the window about something being out there. Something bigger than a whale, with a long neck, a sharp snout, a frilly thing round its head . . .

He saw Magnus, quivering and quaking, whimpering about how I was scaring him by talking about monsters.

Then, with a glare in my direction, Dad whisked Magnus away.

I could hear the two of them talking. Magnus, tucked up in Captain's Cabin, telling Dad all the things I had said. Dad telling Magnus that Fairy Fenella was right and that all the monsters were gone.

Dad stuck his head round the door once Magnus was asleep, and Dad was
not
happy. ‘Stan,' he said. ‘NO MORE TALK about monsters.'

Then, he stomped off downstairs.

Well, I was not happy either. What a
horrible
coincidence. Me scaring Magnus about monsters and then seeing the big whale thing leaping out there. The big whale thing that looked, well, a bit like the painting: the one in the sitting room, the painting of a sea monster.

No. No, no, no.

The whale thing was
not
a sea monster. Whatever it was, it was definitely
not
a sea monster. Of course it wasn't. Monsters weren't real, any more than fairies were.

All the same, I lay awake. So . . . what sort of whale
was
it then? What kind of whale had a huge long neck and a big snout and something frilly all round its head?

There was not one single whale like that as far as I knew. Whales didn't have long necks: none of them.

I had a thought. Maybe it was a new species. Maybe I had just made an astonishing discovery. Maybe it could be named after its discoverer. Me, Stanley Gubbins. The Gubbins whale.

Then, I had another thought.
Was
it even a whale or was it something else? Perhaps it was some kind of crossbreed: a mix, like some dogs are. Like dalmadoodles are part dalmation and part poodle, or like chugs are part chihuahua and part pug. Or like Bagel, who is a mix of . . . well, Rory isn't quite sure what. Whatever mix makes a dog with short legs, a long body, floppy ears and a curly golden coat.

Was that it? Was this a crossbreed? A mix of . . . what? Eel and whale? Part fish, part mammal, maybe even part lizard too? Because there's a lizard that has a frilly thing round its head, a big flapping frill that it spreads right out when it senses danger.

So . . . could it be part fish, part mammal and part reptile? Was that possible? Maybe it was even a
mutant
, a giant mutant. It could be. It could be some kind of freaky creature, caused by all the muck us humans keep dumping in the sea.

I just did
not
know. All I knew was this. Whatever it was, it was a
big
shock, seeing something that huge, that weird, leaping out of the water.

And next morning – more shocks were in store.

* * *

Next morning, Dad arranged for Magnus to do a morning's fairy taming with Claudia, then he set off across the beach with me. We were heading for an arrow-shaped signpost at the bottom of the cliff path, with writing on it which read:

TO LIGHTSANDS BAY

The cliff path was steep and rocky. It wound higher and higher and higher, round the side of our cove and up to the headland. I stared as we climbed. I stared left, right and far out to sea, but there was no sign of the whale thing. I couldn't see it anywhere. Shame. I wanted Dad to see it, to find out what he thought it was.

We puffed our way up to the top, then stopped. We looked all around us: at the big views, at Shiversands Cove behind us and at the island far below. It was a dark and craggy island with just one small building huddled on the rocks.

Tide Island,' said Dad, pointing. ‘We can walk to it across the sand at low tide.' Well, we couldn't walk to it now. The only way out to it was over the rickety bridge, stretching from the edge of
our cove. Apart from that, it was surrounded by water, completely cut off.

‘Tides are very big around here,' said Dad. ‘That end of Tide Island, the end nearest our cove, it'll all be sand at low tide.'

I know about tides. It's the moon that makes them happen. Twice every day, the moon slowly pushes the sea right up the beach and then slowly pushes it back down again. Right now, the moon had pushed the tide almost as high as it could go.

We walked on along the headland, and then, ahead of us, far below, there was Lightsands Bay. It was a much bigger bay than our cove with a long sandy beach, wide and curving, with a hilly sort of seaside town stretching up behind it.

There were steep winding streets, all cobbled and narrow, with houses squashed either side, painted pale seaside colours.

A promenade stretched above the beach, the whole way along it. On the promenade there was a lady dressed as a lobster, I have no idea why.

The lobster lady was handing out leaflets. ‘Join in the fun and festivities!' she said, pincers wobbling. Then, she gave Dad a leaflet.

Now, the lobster lady was peering closely at Dad, pincers wobbling even more.

Oh no. I knew what was about to happen.

It did.

‘Mr Wizzywoz!' she gasped.

Mr Wizzywoz is my dad. He's a kiddie entertainer, with his own show on tv and a
lot
of fans among the under-fives. He spends his time dancing about dressed in baggy green trousers, with a big red nose and a wizardy sort of hat. He
goes on wizardy adventures, sings wizardy songs, does magic tricks, acrobatics, unicycling, juggling, balloon animals . . . You name it, Dad does it.

When I was small, I liked Dad being Mr Wizzywoz but
not
now. I keep nagging Dad to get a normal job and be like other mums and dads: to get a grown-up job like a teacher or a doctor. But he never does.

Mum's just as bad. She does acting as her job and she was acting this week. She was being filmed for TV, running about in a big green costume pretending she was an alien and attacking other actors who were pretending they were time travellers.

Dad and the lobster lady got chatting and I had a horrible feeling I knew what would happen next.

It did.

The lobster lady asked Dad to do a turn as Mr Wizzywoz at the Lightsands Bay Festival, down on the beach, on Saturday. I felt my heart sink. Why did I have to have Mr Wizzywoz for a dad? It was just
embarrassing
. Still, at least no one here knew me.

That was when I saw a figure in the distance, standing on the promenade with a pair of
binoculars, staring out to sea. I squinted, shocked. No. No, no,
no
! Surely not, how could it be? It could
not
be. Not here, not on my holiday. It
couldn't
be.

But it was. There was no doubt. It was Pearl. Pearl Pankhurst.

Why oh why oh why? Why, of all the kids I knew in town, out of every single one, why did it have to be Pearl Pankhurst here? I ducked, panicking. I did
not
want to see Pearl Pankhurst, not at all.

* * *

Pearl Pankhurst was the girl who moved into Rory's house. I hung around the day Rory left, waiting to see who the new people were. I was hoping there'd be another boy, one who could help me put the final touches to the trap I was building with Rory.

There
wasn't
another boy. There was Pearl, with her mum.

I could see straight away that Pearl would be no use at all as a trap builder. She was spindly-looking and dainty, and wearing a spotty dress with pink trainers. She was definitely
not
a trap builder.

So I finished the trap on my own. It was a panther trap, because there was a headline in the local paper, which said:

PANTHER ESCAPES FROM ZOO
REWARD OFFERED

The reward was for spotting the panther, so the zoo could capture it but I had a better idea, one I told Rory. That, if there was a reward for spotting the panther, there might be a
bigger
reward for actually catching the panther. That maybe the panther was lurking in the woods behind our houses.

We spent three whole days building our trap. Then, I finished it off. Only it was Pearl, not the panther who fell into it.

I was in the Den, under a big willow tree by the river, when I heard a screech. I went running out, in case it was a panther screech.

It wasn't. It was Pearl. She yelled, right in my face, that I was an idiot building a trap right on the path, where someone could fall into it. So I yelled back. I yelled at her that
she
was the idiot for yelling at me, when she should be apologising for ruining my panther trap.

Then, two days later, I found her sitting in the Den, so I told her to get out, as the Den was private, Rory's and mine. She said no. She said under a willow tree was a public space and she had just as much right to sit in the Den as I did.

So I went home and got my water cannon and I ambushed her as she came out of the Den. She yelled at me again. She yelled that I was even more of an idiot than she first thought . . . and how was that possible?

We haven't spoken since. We just glare at each other.

And here she was now, right in front of me, two hundred and fifty miles away from home.

This holiday was turning into a
nightmare
. Then, it got worse.

 

Chapter Five

The Coastal Clipper

Lightsands Bay had a harbour at the far end. It was small and sheltered, tucked away behind a big stone wall, and full of boats. There were sailing boats, motor boats, big pleasure boats . . .

And, bobbing about at the end of a jetty, an old-style fishing boat. It was a trawler, the kind that drag big nets behind them, scooping up fish as they go. Only this one was painted bright colours and it had a big sign next to it that said:

COASTAL CLIPPER!
LIGHTSANDS BAY BOAT TRIPS!
EVERY TWO HOURS!

A boat trip! Maybe I could get a closer look at the whale thing and show it to Dad, to see what he thought it was.

‘Dad, can we do a boat trip?' I said.

Then, I noticed someone sitting in the chair next to the sign. He was a grown man but dressed as a pirate. He was wearing a big pirate hat and a patch over one eye. He had a fake parrot wobbling on one shoulder and he was brandishing a big plastic cutlass.

Oh no. First the lobster lady, now this.

‘Dad,' I said. ‘I've changed my . . .'

Too late. Dad was walking up to the pirate, wallet out. The pirate leapt up and twirled his big fake moustache. ‘I be Pirate Pete, arrrrrr,' he said.

I felt my teeth grind. Did he
have
to talk like that? And worse, look at me –
me
 – as if a boy my age would
enjoy
watching a grown-up pretending to be a pirate?

The pirate swept off his hat and gave a low bow. ‘Welcome aboard, me hearties,' he said, waving a hand at the boat. Dad was just as bad. He hopped on to the boat, talking to the pirate in
his
pirate voice. Going, ‘aharrrrr, me hearty, aharrrr . . .'

I slunk on to the boat behind Dad and slumped down on the long bench seat that stretched all round the sides. It was so unfair. I could have had any dad in the world, but I ended up with this one.

Other tourists started straggling over, all getting the pirate treatment. Once twelve of us were on board, all squashed up on the seats, off the Coastal Clipper chugged. Slowly, it chugged out of the harbour, round a big stone wall sticking right out to sea and then off towards Tide Island.

It was choppier outside the shelter of Lightsands Bay. The boat started bouncing about and the water looked darker: colder and deeper with little frothing white bits on some of the waves.

And Dad got recognised.
Again
. This time by a granny who was sitting right next to me. She sat there – grey hair, grey cardigan, squashy granny shoes – glinting at Dad sideways through her specs. Then, she leaned right over me and tapped Dad on his shoulder.

‘Excuse me,' she said, looking thrilled, ‘are you Mr Wizzywoz?'

It turned out there were a
lot
of grannies and grandpas on board, who all watched Dad on TV with their grandkids. So Dad sat there, signing
things, answering questions and singing bits of Mr Wizzywoz songs.

Then, he turned his attention to the baby.

There was only one baby on board, sitting opposite us, with its mum and its dad. It was a glum-looking thing, with a bald head and a fat face. It was sitting on the dad's lap, stuffed into a stripy onesie, and staring around – toes pointed – all solemn and still.

Dad tried to make the glum baby laugh. He pulled a Ping-Pong ball out of its ear. He sang it a sea shanty. He did a little jig.

Nothing. Not a flicker. The glum baby just stared at him.

Good on that baby!

I tried to ignore it all: Dad, the magic tricks and the sea shanties. Besides, I was busy. I was keeping a watch on the sea, clutching the binoculars, staring left, staring right, looking out for the whale thing.

Slowly, slowly, the boat chugged its way right around Tide Island and into a small creek, right opposite Shiversands Cove. The pirate tied the boat to a big metal ring. Then, we all hopped off the boat and on to a small jetty, all sheltered here from the open sea by the island itself.

BOOK: The Monster of Shiversands Cove
8.21Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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