Copyright

First published in hardback in Great Britain

by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2013 HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London, SE1 9GF

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

Text © David Walliams 2013

Illustrations © Tony Ross 2013

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Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

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Source ISBN:9780007453566

Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780007453597

Version: 2019-10-03

Dedication

For my tightly folded bud…

Thank yous:

A few very impootment* thankingyous*.

Firstness*, the greatportant* Tony Ross, for once again bringing my words to life with your fantmazingillicous* illustrawings*.

Thankingyou* too to the head of children’s books at HarperCollins, Ann-Janine Murtagh, for all your beliefmentness* in me and my boovels*.

The editor Ruth Alltimes must be thankinged *

too for her meticuliffilous* editnessment*.

Kate Clarke and Elorine Grant, thankingyou both for your incrediment* cover and text designyness*.

The publicimitiousness* for this boovel* was organmented* by Sam White and Geraldine Stroud, thankingyou* ladymen*.

Thankingyou* too to the desk editor Lily Morgan.

Finallingness*, a hugalumptious* thankingyou * to my agent Paul Stevens at Independent. You are the bestmentiousness*.

* Multiple made-up word and phrase ALERTS

BEWARE.

THIS IS A

HORROR STORY.

WITH QUITE

A LOT OF

MADE-UP WORDS.

Content

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

1. A Simple Case of Toothache

2. Believe

3. Whiter than White

4. Blacker than Black

5. Special Sweeties

6. The Intruder

7. Secrets

8. Teet

9. Tell No One

10. Urgent Police Business

11. The Plan

12. The Counterplan

13. Impro!

14. Balls

15. Bobsleighing Down the Stairs

16. A Beckoning Hand

17. Come to Mummy

18. Gurning Champion

19. Frozen Paper

20. Joke-shop Gnashers

21. Flying Tooth

22. A Gigantic Trifle

23. Jet-Powered Bottom

24. The Darkest Hour

25. Under the Pillow

26. Thick Brown Slime

27. A Case of the Willies

28. Out of the Fog

29. Asleep on the Toilet

30. Kneel Down Before Me

31. Swinging a Cat

32. The Lower Depths

33. A Cathedral of Teeth

34. Look to the Skies

35. Feasting on Bones

36. Drowning Out Screams

37. Skeletons on the March

38. Mummy’s Going to Eat You

39. One Final Breath

40. A Big Comfy Pillow

Epilogue

More from the World of David Walliams!

About the Publishers

Prologue

Darkness had come to the town. Strange things were happening in the dead of night. Children would put a tooth under their pillow at bedtime, excitedly waiting for the tooth fairy to leave a coin. In the morning they would wake up to find something unspeakable under there. A dead slug. A live spider. Hundreds and hundreds of earwigs creeping and crawling beneath their pillow. Or worse. Much worse…

Someone or something had come into their bedrooms in the hours of darkness, snatched the tooth and left a blood-curdling calling card behind.

Evil was at work.

But who or what was behind it?

How could they sneak into children’s bedrooms without being seen?

And what could they possibly want with all those teeth…?

Meet the characters in this story:

Alfie, a boy with rotten teeth

Dad, Alfie’s dad

Gabz, a little girl

Miss Root, a dentist

Fang, her cat

Miss Hare, a Science teacher

Winnie, a social worker

Raj, a newsagent

PC Plank, a policeman

Texting Boy, a boy who never stops texting

Mr Grey, a headmaster

Mr Snood, a Drama teacher

Mrs Morrissey, an old lady

1
A Simple Case of Toothache

Alfie hated going to the dentist. As a result the boy’s teeth were almost all yellow. The ones that weren’t yellow were brown. They bore the stains of all the goodies that children love, but dentists hate. Sweets, fizzy drinks, chocolate. The teeth that were neither yellow nor brown simply weren’t there any more. They had fallen out. One had bitten into a toffee and stayed there. Assorted fruit-flavoured chews had claimed others. This is what young Alfie looked like when he smiled…

That’s because this twelve-year-old boy hadn’t gone to the dentist since he was very little.

Alfie’s last visit was when he was around six. It was a simple case of toothache, but it ended in disaster. The dentist was an ancient man, Mr Erstwhile. Despite his good intentions, Mr Erstwhile should have retired many years before. The dentist looked like a tortoise, an old tortoise at that. He wore glasses so thick they made his eyes appear to be the size of tennis balls. Mr Erstwhile told Alfie the tooth in question was rotten, a filling wouldn’t save it and unfortunately he had no option but to take it out.

The dentist yanked and yanked and yanked with his huge steel forceps. But the tooth wouldn’t come. Mr Erstwhile even rested his foot up on the chair by Alfie’s head to lever himself against it to help wrench the wretched tooth out. Still it wouldn’t come.

The ancient dentist then enlisted the help of his even older dental nurse. Miss Prig was instructed to hold on to him and tug as hard as she could. Even then the tooth wouldn’t come.

Soon the hefty receptionist, Miss Veal, was asked to step into the room to help. Miss Veal weighed more than Mr Erstwhile and Miss Prig put together. But even with all her ballast, the tooth wouldn’t come.

Just then the dentist had an idea, and ordered Miss Prig to fetch some particularly thick dental floss. He carefully tied the floss around the forceps, and then looped it around Miss Veal’s ample frame. The dentist then instructed his rotund receptionist to leap out of the window on the count of three. But even with all of Miss Veal’s immense weight yanking on the boy’s tooth, it still wouldn’t come.

With poor young Alfie still lying in terror on the dentist’s chair, Mr Erstwhile stepped into his waiting room to request reinforcements. The growing crowd of patients waiting to be seen were all called upon to assist. Young and old, fat and thin, the elderly dentist needed all the help he could get.

Nevertheless, even with a lengthy human chain and an army of yankers*, the tooth stayed well and truly put.

*Made-up word ALERT

By this time poor little Alfie was in great distress. The pain of having his tooth pulled out was a hundred times worse than the toothache. However, Mr Erstwhile was determined to finish what he had started. Sweating profusely, the thirsty dentist took a large swig of mouthwash, and gripped on to the forceps as tightly as he could.

Finally, after what seemed like days, weeks, even months of yanking, Alfie heard a deafening…

The dentist had gripped so hard he had crushed the tooth. It exploded into thousands of tiny fragments inside Alfie’s mouth.

With the ordeal finally over, Mr Erstwhile and all his helpers were lying in a tangled heap on the surgery floor.

“Well done, everyone!” he announced, as his assistant Miss Prig helped him to his feet. “Oh, that tooth was a stubborn little blighter!”

Just then Alfie realised something. He still had toothache.

The dentist had taken out the wrong tooth!

2
Believe

Alfie ran out of the dental surgery as fast as his little legs would carry him. That fateful afternoon the boy vowed that he would never ever go to the dentist’s again. To this day he never had. Appointments had come and appointments had gone. Alfie had missed every single one. Over the years there had been a sackful of reminder letters from the dentist, but Alfie had hidden them all from his dad.

Alfie’s was a family of two. Just him and his father. The boy’s mother had died giving birth to him. He had never known her. Sometimes he felt sad, as if he missed his mother, but then he would tell himself, how could he miss someone he had never met?

To hide the appointment letters from the dentist, the boy would silently drag a stool across the kitchen floor. Alfie was short for his age. He was, in fact, the second shortest kid at his school. So he would have to balance on his tiptoes on the stool to reach the top of the larder where he would hide the letters. There must have been a hundred letters buried up there by now, and Alfie knew his father couldn’t reach them. That’s because for many years Dad had been unwell, and had of late become confined to a wheelchair.

Before ill health forced him out of work, Dad was a coal miner. A great big bear of a man, he had loved working down the pit and providing for his beloved son. However, all those years he spent down the mine took a terrible toll on his lungs. Dad was a proud man, and didn’t let on about his illness for many years. He worked harder and harder to dig more and more coal, even taking on extra shifts to help make ends meet. Meanwhile his breathing became shallower and shallower, until one afternoon he collapsed at the coalface. When Dad finally came round at the hospital the doctors told him he could never go down a mine again. Just one more lungful of coal dust could finish him off for good. As the years passed Dad’s breathing worsened. Getting another job became impossible, and even everyday tasks, something as simple as tying a shoelace, grew to be a struggle. Soon Dad could only get around in a wheelchair.

With no mum or brothers or sisters, Alfie had to care for his father alone. Besides having to go to school and do his homework, the boy would do all the shopping, all the cleaning, cook all the meals, and do all the washing up. Alfie never complained though. He loved his dad with all his heart.

Dad’s body may have been broken, but his spirit wasn’t. He had a great gift for telling stories. “Listen, pup…” he would begin.

Dad would often call his son that, which Alfie loved. The image it conjured up of a big soppy dog and a little puppy snuggling up together always made the boy feel safe and warm inside.

“Listen, pup…” Dad would say. “All you have to do is close your eyes, and believe…”

From their little bungalow Dad would take his son on all sorts of thrilling adventures. They would ride on magic carpets, dive under the oceans, even drive stakes through the hearts of vampires.

It was a multicoloured world of make-believe, a million miles away from their black-and-white existence.

“Take me to the haunted house again, Daddy!” the boy would beg.

“Perhaps today, my pup, we will take a journey to the old haunted castle…!” Dad would tease.

“Please, please, please…” Alfie would say. Father and son would close their eyes and meet in their daydreams. Together they:

• Went out fishing for the day in Scotland and caught the Loch Ness Monster.

• Climbed the Himalayan Mountains and came face to face with the Abominable Snowman.

• Slew a huge fire-breathing dragon.

• Hid aboard a pirate ship and were forced to walk the plank as stowaways, only to be saved by beautiful mermaids.

• Rubbed a magic lamp and met a genie who gave them three wishes each, although Dad gave all his wishes to his son.

• Rode on the back of Pegasus, the winged horse from Greek mythology.

• Climbed up a stalk to Giant Land and met an extremely hungry Cyclops whose perfect idea of a between-meals snack was a scrawny little twelve-year-old boy, so Dad had to save him.

• Became the first ever father and son team to successfully land on the moon in a home-made rocket.

• Were chased across the misty moors at night by a ferocious werewolf.

This was the world of the imagination. Anything was possible in Dad’s and Alfie’s adventures. Nothing could stop them. Nothing.

As Alfie grew older though, he found it harder and harder to see these things. As his dad spoke, the boy would open his eyes, become distracted, and begin to wish he could play computer games all night like the other kids at his new big school.

“Pup, just close your eyes and believe…” his dad would say. However, Alfie was beginning to think that now he was twelve, nearly thirteen, he was too old to believe in magic and myths and fantastical creatures.

He was about to find out how terribly wrong he was.

3
Whiter than White

The whole of the lower school was gathered in the hall. The few hundred children were sitting in rows of chairs awaiting the guest speaker. No one interesting ever visited Alfie’s school. On Prize-giving Day the guest of honour had been a man who made the cardboard for cornflake packets. The cornflake-cardboard man’s speech was so mind-numbingly boring, even he fell asleep delivering it.

Today there was a talk from the town’s new dentist. It was to be a lecture about looking after your teeth. Not wildly exciting, but at least it meant they were all out of lessons for a while, thought Alfie. Not liking dentists, Alfie sat himself right in the back row, in his bedraggled school uniform. His shirt was once white but had long since gone grey. His jumper was full of holes. His blazer was torn in several places. His trousers were too short for him. Nevertheless, Alfie’s father had taught him to wear his uniform with pride; the boy’s frayed tie was always knotted absolutely perfectly.

Slumped next to Alfie was the only kid in the school shorter than him. A very little girl called Gabz. Seemingly shy, no one had heard her speak, despite her having been at the school now for a whole term. Most of the time Gabz hid behind her curtain of dreadlocks, not making eye contact with anyone.

When all the kids had finally stopped monkeying around and sat down, the headmaster took to the stage. If there was ever a competition to find the man most completely unsuited to being a headmaster, Mr Grey would win first prize. Children scared him, teachers scared him, even his own reflection scared him. If his job didn’t suit Mr Grey, his surname definitely did. His shoes, his socks, his trousers, his belt, his shirt, his tie, his jacket, his hair, even his eyes were all shades of grey.

Mr Grey had the whole grey colour spectrum covered:

“C-c-c-come on now, settle d-d-d-down…”

Mr Grey stammered when he was nervous. Nothing made him more nervous than having to speak in front of the whole school. Legend had it that one day the school inspectors visited and they actually found him hiding under his desk pretending to be a footstool.

“I s-s-said, s-s-s-settle d-d-d-d-d-d-own…”

If anything, the hum of the kids became louder. Just then Gabz stood on her chair and shouted at the top of her voice…

It might not have been the most flattering choice of words, but the headmaster allowed himself a brief flicker of a smile as all the kids at last fell silent. Everyone looked at Gabz as she sat back down. After her outburst, the girl was now surrounded by the strange glow of celebrity.

“Good…” continued Mr Grey, in his grey monotonous voice. “A bit less of the old though, thank you, Gabriella. Now as a special treat for you, with a talk about looking after your teeth, here is the town’s new dentist. P-p-please give a huge school welcome to the lovely Miss R-R-Root…”

As the headmaster scuttled off, there was a short burst of applause. Soon this was drowned out by a discordant squeaking sound from the very back of the hall. One by one the kids turned around. A lady was pushing a shiny metal trolley down through the parted sea of chairs. One of the wheels was catching on the wooden floor, and the high-pitched squeal was so brain-aching, some of the children even put their fingers in their ears. The sound was like someone scratching their fingernails down a blackboard.

The first thing you noticed about Miss Root was her teeth. She had the most dazzling white smile. Whiter than white. Like a fluorescent light. Her teeth were absolutely flawless. So flawless they couldn’t possibly be real. The second thing you noticed about Miss Root was that she was impossibly tall. Her legs were so long and thin, it was like watching someone walk on stilts. She was dressed in a white laboratory coat, like the one a Science teacher wears when it’s time for an experiment. Underneath the coat, her white blouse was matched by a long white flowing skirt. As she passed, Alfie looked down and noticed a large splash of red on the toe of one of her shiny white high-heeled shoes.

Is it blood? thought Alfie.

Miss Root’s hair was white-blonde, and arranged in a perfectly lacquered ‘do’, usually only spotted on the heads of Queens or Prime Ministers. The ‘do’ was shaped much like a Mr Whippy ice cream, minus the flake, of course.

In a certain light she looked very old. Her features were narrow and pointy, and her skin pale as snow. However, the dentist had painstakingly painted on so much make-up that it was impossible to tell how old she really was.

50?

90?

900?

Finally Miss Root reached the front of the hall. She turned around, and smiled. The low winter sun shone through the high windows and bounced off her teeth, causing the front few rows to cover their eyes.

“Good morning, children…!” she said brightly. The dentist spoke in a singsong manner, as if she were recounting a nursery rhyme. There was a collective groan from the kids at being spoken to as if they were toddlers.

“I said, good morning, children…” repeated the dentist, and she fixed them all with a powerful stare. So powerful that soon a hush descended upon the room. Then in unison all the assembled pupils said:

“Good morning.”

“Let me introduce myself. I am your new dentist. My name is Miss Root, but I ask all my little patients like you to call me ‘Mummy’.”

Alfie and Gabz shared a look of disbelief.

“So can I hear a great big ‘Hello, Mummy’? After three! One, two, three…”

Miss Root mouthed the words silently as the children joined in.

“Hello, Mummy,” they murmured.

“Excellent! Now I came to this town when a very unfortunate, indeed fatal, accident befell Mr Erstwhile. The poor wretch must have fallen on to one of his own dental instruments. Oh, the irony! Of course there’s no need to go into all the gory details, but suffice it to say, Mr Erstwhile was found lying on the floor of his surgery in a huge pool of blood. The dental probe was embedded deep in his heart…”

A deafening silence descended on the hall. Alfie gulped. It was a horrifying image. Mr Erstwhile may have been old and doddery, but could he really have accidentally stabbed himself in the heart?

“Mummy would like you all to give one minute’s silence for Mr Erstwhile. Now close your eyes, children. All of you. No peeping!”

Alfie didn’t trust Miss Root enough to close his eyes. Nor did Gabz. Both screwed up their faces and squinted. From out of the tiny slits in his eyelids, Alfie spied something very strange. Instead of standing at the front with her own eyes closed, Miss Root tiptoed around the room inspecting all the children’s teeth. When she finally reached Alfie’s row at the back, the boy squeezed his eyes tightly shut for fear of getting into trouble. Miss Root must have lingered looking at his rotten set, as the boy could feel her cold breath on his face for a while before she tiptoed back to the front of the hall.

“And that’s one minute!” the dentist announced. “Thank you, children, you can open your eyes…”

Alfie and Gabz looked at each other again. They were the only two kids who had witnessed Miss Root’s peculiar behaviour…

4
Blacker than Black

“Of course, Mr Erstwhile will be sadly missed,” concluded Miss Root. “But as your new dentist I asked your wonderful headmaster if I could come here today. Mummy wanted to give you all a chance to get to know me, so I can welcome each and every one of you personally to my surgery. Now I am going to begin today’s little talk with an incy-wincy question. Children, how many of you hate going to the dentist?”

All but one kid put their hand up. No one actually enjoyed going to the dentist. At best it was tolerated. The one boy who didn’t put his hand up was too busy texting.

Alfie reached his hand in the air as high as he could.

“Oh! So many hands. Ha ha!” she laughed, though not in a way that suggested she found it funny. “So how many of you REALLY REALLY REALLY hate going to the dentist…?” incanted Miss Root in that singsong voice of hers.

Most of the hands stayed up, and Alfie actually rose out of his chair so his hand would be the highest. This boy was the king of really really really hating going to the dentist. After he had the wrong tooth pulled out, no one in the known universe hated going to the dentist more than Alfie.

“Ho ho ho!” said the dentist.

“Who on earth says ‘Ho ho ho’?” whispered Alfie to Gabz.

“So lame!” replied the little girl.

“Well, Mummy is here today to tell you there is absolutely nothing to be scared of…” The words danced in the air as she spoke. If her tone of voice was meant to sound reassuring, it didn’t. It sounded the opposite of reassuring. It was in fact decidedly unnonreassuring*.

*Made-up word ALERT

“Now I need a volunteer, hands up…!” said the dentist.

All those little hands that had been up were now well and truly down. To avoid any confusion, Alfie shot his hands down to his feet. Any lower and they would be underground. He wanted there to be a less than zero chance that he would be picked.

“Nobody…?” asked Miss Root.

Even the swots and show-offs kept deadly silent.

“Come on, children, I don’t bite!” The dentist smiled and flashed her blindingly white teeth.

“Who hasn’t been to the dentist for a very very long time…?” she purred.

The pupils started whispering to each other and looking around. Soon hundreds of pairs of eyes were glaring at Alfie. Everyone at school had at some point noticed his teeth. They were so bad, they might as well have been a tourist attraction. They could even have their own café and gift shop.

The dentist followed the children’s gaze and fixed her eyes on Alfie.

“Oh yes, I thought it might be you…” Miss Root’s long, thin, gnarled finger pointed straight at him. “You, boy. Come to Mummy…”

When Alfie’s shaking legs finally propelled him to the front of the hall, he looked into the dentist’s eyes for the first time. Miss Root’s eyes were black. Blacker than oil. Blacker than coal. Blacker than the blackest black.

In short, they were black.

The dentist stared long and hard at the boy, before uttering…

“Don’t be scared, child…”

There is nothing designed to scare a person more than being told not to be scared.

“Let Mummy have a little look at your teeth…”

Alfie kept his mouth firmly shut.

“Open wide, there’s a good boy…”

Suddenly Alfie felt as if he couldn’t help doing exactly what the dentist told him. He opened his mouth, and she peered inside.

“Oh…” moaned the woman in pleasure. “Your teeth are absolutely abhorrent…”

The whole of the lower school laughed at him.

Except two children – Gabz, who looked on with sadness at the cruelty, and Texting Boy, who was still texting and had missed everything.

“Oh dear, oh dear. What is your name, child…?” enquired the dentist.

“Alfie, M-M-Miss…” the boy spluttered.

“Call me Mummy…”

There was no way he was ever going to call anyone that, least of all her.

“Alfie what…?” continued Miss Root.

“Alfie Griffith.”

“Well, young Alfie Griffith, you simply must make an appointment to come and see me at my surgery very soon…”

Alfie shuddered at the thought. He had vowed never to go anywhere near another dentist as long as he lived.

“Do you like presents, child…?”

Like all kids, the boy loved presents.

“Y-y-yes…” he replied.

“Well, Mummy’s got a little present for you. For being such a good boy today, here – have a free tube of my own special brand of toothpaste…”

From the trolley, Miss Root picked up a thick white tube with the word ‘MUMMY’S’ emblazoned in big red letters on the side.

The slogan ‘Mummy loves your teeth’ was inscribed in smaller black letters under that.

“And one of my special toothbrushes. Do you prefer hard or soft bristles, Alfie Griffith…?”

The boy had had the same toothbrush all his life. He had no idea whether it once had been hard or soft. Right now there was only one lonely bristle left. It was virtually bristleless*.

*Made-up word ALERT

“I don’t mind…”

“I’ll give you a nice soft one, then…” announced Miss Root.

A gleaming white ‘MUMMY’S’ toothbrush was produced from the trolley. The bristles on the end were sharp and wiry. Alfie ran his finger along them and winced. It was like stroking a porcupine.

Holding the brush and tube in his hands, Alfie looked like a tearful child you might see at the zoo who has been made to face their fear of spiders by being given a huge, hairy, highly poisonous tarantula to hold.

“Alfie, we shall meet again…”

No, we won’t! thought Alfie.

“Oh yes we will…” she whispered. It was as if the dentist could hear his thoughts…

5
Special Sweeties

“Now be a good boy and pop back to your seat…!” ordered Miss Root. Alfie did what he was told. Not wanting to catch anyone’s eyes for fear of further humiliation, he put his head down as he trudged back to his seat.

“Now, children…” continued the lady, “who else would like a present? I have some free sweeties…?”

Hundreds of hands shot up, and soon the hall was humming with the chattering of excited children.

“But don’t sweets rot your teeth?” shouted out Gabz.

Miss Root glared at her, then smiled. “Oh, aren’t you a feisty one? What’s your name, child…?”

The girl hesitated, but eventually said, “Gabz…”

“Well, of course, young Gabriella is right. Normally sweeties do rot your teeth. But not these ones. No! Mummy’s sweeties are special. All my sweeties are completely sugar-free, so you can eat as many as you like…” From under the trolley she pulled out a tray, and whisked a white sheet off the top of it. Underneath was a huge pile of brightly coloured goodies. There were chocolates and chocolates and more chocolates. Toffees and fudge. Sucky sweets and chewy sweets. Fruity ones and minty ones. Melt in your mouth sweets. Crunchy sweets. Fizzy sweets. Explosive sweets.

“Come on, children. Don’t be scared. Come and help yourselves to Mummy’s special sweeties…”

In an instant, hundreds of children surged forward and started eagerly grabbing huge handfuls of sweets. As many as they grabbed, and the greedy little boys and girls were stuffing their faces and pockets, there seemed to be more. And more. And more.

“Take as many as you like!” Miss Root called over the din. “I can always magic up some more…!”

Alfie noticed Gabz was sitting stock-still in her seat.

“Are you not gonna get any?” asked Alfie.

Gabz shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Haven’t you ever heard the tale about the brother and sister who go into the woods and find the house made of sweets…?”

Alfie was surprised that the little girl’s imagination had run away with her like this. “Hansel and Gretel? Yes, of course, everyone has, but that’s just a stupid fairy story.”

Gabz turned her head and fixed him with a stare.

“It’s not stupid. And just because it’s a fairy story doesn’t mean it never happened…” she said, before turning her gaze back to the dentist who was smiling broadly with those impossibly white teeth of hers, as the kids filled all their pockets with sweets. Strangely, however many the children took, there were more and more and more filling the tray.

Along the rows, just one boy stayed glued to his chair. It was Texting Boy. He was still texting.

*

On his way home from school that afternoon, Alfie wanted to dispose of the presents Miss Root had given him as quickly as possible. He didn’t trust that lady one bit. There was something deeply disturbing about her. That splash of red on her shoe, the creep around the hall in the minute’s silence for the dead dentist, and those sugar-free sweets that never ran out were just too good to be true. So when Alfie crossed the bridge over the canal as he always did on his way to and from school, he stopped. He pulled the toothbrush and toothpaste out of his blazer pocket. He examined the label, ‘MUMMY’S’. It was such a comforting brand name. How could you not trust anything called ‘MUMMY’S’?

The boy unscrewed the lid of the tube. Immediately some sticky yellow gunk, the colour of pus, snaked out of the end. It smelt rank, like warm sick. A small glob of it fell to the ground. It hissed and fizzed as it bore its way through the stone bridge like acid. What is in that toothpaste? thought Alfie. Just then he noticed the paste was still oozing out of the tube. It was moving dangerously close to his fingers. A smidgen of it landed on his skin, and instantly he could feel it burning.

“Ow!” screamed the boy. He quickly threw the tube into the canal below. It plopped into the water, and he watched as the tube sank to the bottom, the paste still snaking out. Then Alfie noticed he still had the hard wire toothbrush Miss Root had given him in his other hand. The bristles looked like they would scratch your teeth away, rather than clean them. So he threw the brush in the canal too.

As Alfie took a couple of paces to continue on his journey home, a strange sound stopped him in his tracks. Looking back he saw that beneath the bridge, the water in the canal was boiling and bubbling. It was like a mini volcano erupting. The boy watched in horror as a school of dead fish plopped to the surface and floated there. As he peered down at the water, a gaggle of kids from his school passed him, laughing and joking, their mouths full of ‘MUMMY’S’ chocolates and toffees and fruit chews. Every single child looked like they couldn’t be happier, greedily munching and crunching and scrunching them.

If that’s what her toothpaste does, thought Alfie, what on earth is in those special sweets of hers…?

6
The Intruder

“You must be Alfred,” boomed a voice when he walked in the front door of his little bungalow, which squatted in an estate on the edge of town.

“Who are you?” demanded the boy. Alfie was very protective of his dad and didn’t like seeing strangers in the bungalow.

A flamboyantly dressed lady had plonked herself down in the living room with Dad. Her ample frame was taking up more than one place on the worn and torn sofa.

The riot of colour in her mismatched outfit (yellow scarf, pink stripy leggings, green top and electric-blue shiny plastic coat) looked decidedly out of place in the small, grey room. In fact, it would have looked out of place anywhere.

Dad was sitting in his wheelchair in the corner of the room where he always was, a frayed tartan blanket covering his knees. It was cold in the bungalow. The central heating had been cut off a few winters ago. In truth, their little home was falling to pieces. Since Dad had been confined to a wheelchair, the bungalow had fallen into a state of disrepair. Despite Alfie’s best efforts, water poured in through the roof when it rained. Cracks had appeared in most of the windows, and mould was creeping up the walls all the way to the ceiling.

“Oh, son, this is…” Dad took a loud shallow breath, “…Winnie. She’s a social worker.”

“A what?” asked Alfie, still staring rather rudely at the intruder.

“No need to be worried about me, young man, ha ha!” proclaimed the big jolly lady, as she plumped up a cushion and placed it behind Dad’s back. “I’m here from the council. Social workers like me just want to help…”

“We don’t need any help, thank you,” said Alfie. “I look after my father better than anyone else could, don’t I, Dad?”

Dad smiled at his son, but didn’t say anything.

“I am sure you do!” replied Winnie with a smile. “By the way, it’s very nice to meet you, young man,” she said, reaching out one of her podgy hands with fingers like bejewelled sausages. Alfie just stared at it.

“Shake her hand, son. Be a good boy…” implored Dad.

Alfie reluctantly let his little hand meet hers. The social worker gripped it tight and shook it so vigorously, the boy thought his poor arm would be yanked out of its socket. The multicoloured plastic bracelets that adorned her wrists rattled loudly as she did so.

“Now, young Alfred, could I trouble you for a cup of tea?” bellowed Winnie.

“Yes, a pot of tea would be lovely, thanks, son,” prompted Dad. “Then we can all sit down together and have a good talk.”

“I can’t have coffee, it goes right through me! Ha ha!” added the social worker.

Alfie stared at this intruder as he backed out of the living room to make the tea. Father and son always shared a pot of tea when Alfie returned home from school. He would lay out a tray with two cups. It had been just two cups for as long as he could remember.

One thing the boy had learned from his father was that however poor they were, they should still take great pride in life’s simple pleasures. So when Alfie made the tea he would try his hardest to make everything just so. As the kettle was boiling, he fetched a little chipped teapot with the lid missing and placed it on a tray he had liberated from the school cafeteria. Then he took two cups out of the cupboard. There were only two cups in the house, so Alfie had to think on his feet. Eventually he found an eggcup, and put it on the tray. That would do for his mouthful of tea. The milk jug was really a moonlighting gravy boat Alfie had bought in a charity-shop sale. Last but not least, the boy took out a cracked plate, and arranged three crumbling out-of-date chocolate biscuits on it. The local newsagent had given Alfie a free packet one day when the boy looked particularly hungry.

With a proud smile on his face Alfie entered the living room carrying the tray. Carefully he placed it down on the coffee table (well, it was really just an upturned cardboard box, but he and Dad called it the coffee table).

“I have heard so much about you from your father, young Alfred,” said Winnie, spraying biscuit crumbs all over the boy and the carpet and even as far away as the curtains as she spoke. She took a large and noisy slurp of her tea from her cup, and washed the remainder of the biscuit down her throat.

“Aah!” she sighed, smacking her bright-pink painted lips together. “That’s better. I am soooo looking forward to getting to know…”

As she spoke Alfie tried to smile, and sipped some tea from his eggcup, feeling somehow like a tiny giant. Winnie peered at the boy. She slid along the sofa, and her big fat face came close to his, like a hippopotamus inspecting a little bird that has landed on its nose. “Oh, my word! Look at the boy’s teet!”

“My what?” said Alfie.

“Teet!”

“My teet?” replied Alfie, confused.

“Yes, boy…” said the social worker in a frustrated tone. “YOUR TEET!”

“I think Winnie means your teeth…” ventured Dad.

“Yes, that’s what I said!” implored the lady. “TEET! T, E, E, T, H, TEET!”

“All right, all right. What about my teet, I mean teeth?” asked Alfie, before quickly closing his mouth to hide them. He knew he wasn’t going to be asked to star in a toothpaste advert anytime soon, but they hadn’t all fallen out. Yet.

“No no no, that won’t do. Oh, my word! That won’t do at all. As your social worker, the first thing I am going to do for you…”

“Yes…?” gulped the boy, guessing what might be coming.

“…is make you an appointment with the dentist!”

7
Secrets

Alfie gave his father a look, imploring him to throw this annoying lady out. Now. However, Dad turned to face her, squinting a little at the riot of colour. “I think that’s a very good idea, Winnie. I don’t want any more of his teeth falling out before his thirteenth birthday.”

“Ha ha! No!” laughed Winnie. “We don’t want that. A quick trip to the dentist will sort the boy out!”

Without asking, she helped herself to her third chocolate biscuit. It was the last one on the plate. Even though it had a hint of mould, Alfie had been eyeing up that biscuit for the last ten minutes. That was all he was going to eat this evening for his dinner. The woman wolfed it down whole, and took another deafening slurp of her tea.

“SSSSLLLLLLLUU UUUURRRRRPPPPPP!!!!”

She smacked her lips together again, and then let out another sigh.

“Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!!”

It was only the second time she had done the slurpyaah* routine in front of him, but Alfie couldn’t hide how deeply annoying he found it.

*Made-up word ALERT

Dad broke the uncomfortable silence. “Oh, it’s so nice to have a visitor, isn’t it, Alfie?”

The boy said nothing.

Winnie slurped and aahed again before enquiring, “Have you got any more of these yummy biscuits, ha ha?” She laughed at the end of her own sentences, in that irritating way jolly people often do.

“Yes,” said Dad. “We should have another biscuit in the tin, shouldn’t we, Alfie?”

Still the boy sat in silence, staring at this multicoloured munching machine.

“Well…?” prompted Dad. “Go and bring another biscuit for the nice lady.”

“Another chocolate one if you have it please, ha ha!” added Winnie brightly. “Naughty, I know! Have to watch my figure! But I do love choccy biccies!”

Slowly Alfie stood up and trudged to the kitchen. He knew there was one last chocolate biscuit in the tin, but he had been saving that for their dinner tomorrow night. Half each. As he passed the scratched and mottled mirror in the hall, Alfie paused for a moment. He needed to pluck the larger fragments of spit-sodden biscuit that had sprayed out of the social worker’s mouth from his hair.

“You must be very proud of him, Mr Griffit,” said Winnie. Alfie could hear them from the hall.

“It’s Griffith…”

“That’s what I said! Griffit.”

“Griffith…” repeated Dad.

“Yes!” said the woman in an exasperated tone. “G, R, I, F, F, I, T, H. Griffit!”

“Well, erm, yes of course I’m very proud of my pup,” wheezed Dad. Long sentences sometimes got the better of him.

“Your pup…?”

“Yes, that’s what I call him sometimes.”

“I see.”

“Over the years he’s looked after me so well. His whole life he has been looking after me. But…” Dad’s voice lowered to nearly a whisper now, “I didn’t tell him but I had a fall last week while he was at school. I didn’t want to worry him.”

“Mmm, yes. I can understand that.”

Alfie shifted his weight so he was standing nearer the door. The boy listened intently as the grown-ups talked.

“I became short of breath and I just blacked out. I fell out of my wheelchair. Smacked straight on to the bathroom floor. I was rushed to hospital in an ambulance. The doctors did a load of tests…”

“Oh, yes…?” Winnie sounded very worried now.

“Well, they um…” Dad was struggling to find the words.

“Take your time, Mr Griffit.”

“Well, the doctors told me my breathing was getting worse and worse. And fast…”

“Oh no!” gasped Winnie.

The boy could hear his dad crying. It was heartbreaking.

“Here, Mr Griffit, have a tissue…” said the social worker softly.

Alfie took a deep inhalation of breath. Hearing his dad cry made him want to cry. But the proud man was fighting it, and sniffing back up the tears.

“We Griffiths are strong. Always have been. I worked down that mine for twenty years. As my dad did before me, and his dad before him. But I am a very ill man. And my poor little pup can’t cope all on his own…”

“Very sensible of you, Mr Griffit,” replied Winnie. “I am glad you finally decided to call the council. I just wish you had sooner. And remember, I am here to help you, and your son…”

Alfie stood frozen to the spot. Dad had a habit of keeping bad news from him. The rising debts, the TV and the fridge being repossessed, Dad’s worsening health. Alfie felt he was always the last to know.

Indeed, despite their closeness, there were plenty of chapters in Alfie’s life that he kept from his father. The boy had his secrets too.

That the bigger boys would bully him at school for ‘dressing like a tramp’.

The detention Alfie received for not doing his homework when he had been too busy cleaning the bungalow the night before and hadn’t had time.

When he was caught ‘bunking off’ by the headmaster. Actually he had had to leave school early to make it to the next town before the shops closed to collect a new wheel for his father’s wheelchair.

Alfie felt his dad had more than enough things to worry about without worrying about him too.

But overhearing the conversation from the living room, try as he might not to, the boy finally had to give in to his tears. He was a Griffith too. Strong and proud. But his tears had beaten him. Warm, salty drops ran down the boy’s face. Despite everything, Alfie had always believed that one day his dad would get better. Now he had to face the truth.

8
Teet

“Alfie?” called Dad from the living room. “What about that biscuit for our new friend Winnie?”

Hastily, Alfie tiptoed back across the hall to the kitchen, and busied himself there. He had heard something he was never meant to hear. And now he had to hide it.

“I’ll go and check on him, Mr Griffit,” announced the lady.

“By the way, Winnie, it’s Griffith,” said Dad.

“That’s what I said,” corrected Winnie. “Griffit.”

She thundered down the hallway. Alfie didn’t want this stranger to see him cry. He hated anyone seeing him upset. Growing up without a mum, Alfie’s life had been touched with more sadness than most children’s. As a result, he had learned to hide his feelings. To bury them somewhere deep within where no one could see. His heart was a fortress.

Alfie hastily dabbed his eyes with the sleeve of his blazer, before attempting to wipe away the tears that had run down to the end of his nose.

“Now, young Alfred, have you found any more biscuits?” enquired Winnie. The boy had his back to her, and didn’t turn around. He hoped that in a few more moments all trace of his tears would be gone, and his red and blotchy face would have returned to normal.

Winnie could sense something was wrong. “Alfred? Alfred? Are you all right, young man?”

The boy hastily grabbed the scratched-up old biscuit tin from the larder. Still not turning to face her, he passed it over roughly.

“There you go. Eat the last one, why don’t you?!”

Winnie slowly shook her head, then her eyes were drawn to the mountain of letters on top of the larder behind Alfie.

“And what are all these…?” she asked.

“All what?” replied the boy. Alfie turned round, and in a panic realised she meant all the dental appointment letters he had been hiding from his father for the past few years.

“That’s just rubbish,” he lied.

“Well, if it’s just rubbish, let me help you put it in the bin.” Winnie was a wise old bird. She reached up her hand to grab the letters. Before Alfie could say anything, her eyes started flickering through the pages. Soon his secret was out.

“Well, who would have thought it! They’re all letters from the dentist! Oh dear, Alfred, you haven’t been for years!” proclaimed the social worker. “Now I know a lot of children under my care are scared of the dentist, but trust me…”

Alfie snatched the letters out of her hand.

“Stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong!” he barked. “I love my dad and I look after him better than anyone else could. Better than you. Better than anyone. So why don’t you just walk out that door and never come back? Just leave us alone!”

Winnie looked at Alfie, waiting for his white-hot anger to cool. Slowly, her head tilted to one side. In her job as a social worker she had met many troubled children over the years, but none quite as spirited as this boy. She took a breath, before saying, “Please, Alfred, believe me, I am here to help you and your dad. I know it’s not going to be easy for you to accept that. I know you probably hate me right now…”

The boy’s silence was telling.

“But who knows, Alfred, in time you may come to like me. One day we might even be friends…”

Alfie scoffed at the thought.

“Now, young man, why don’t we sit down and have a little talk…?”

The boy couldn’t control his rage at this woman any longer.

“There is nothing to talk to YOU about!” he shouted, before pushing past her out of the cramped kitchen.

As he dashed along the hallway to his bedroom, Winnie called after him.

“Please, Alfred…” she implored.

But the boy simply ignored her, slammed his bedroom door shut behind him and locked it. Alfie slumped down on his bed. He shut his eyes tight in frustration. Just then he heard a gentle tapping on the door.

TAP TAP TAP.

Even the way she knocked on the door was annoying to him.

“Alfred?” she whispered. “It’s Winnie!”

Alfie said nothing.

“Just to say, I am off now,” said Winnie, pretending nothing was wrong. “But I will call the dentist first thing tomorrow morning about your teet. I’ve heard a very nice lady has just taken over, by the name of Miss Root. Bub-bye!”

Alfie gulped. Not Miss Root. Anyone but Miss Root…

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