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- Herausgeber: Little Tiger Press
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012
Join Stitch Head, a mad professor's forgotten creation, as he steps out of the shadows into the adventure of an almost-lifetime… The ghost of a villainous ne'er-do-well is haunting the corridors of Castle Grotteskew, gunning for Stitch Head's heart … and soul. Certain that his heart once belonged to the vicious rogue, Stitch Head's world is torn apart. Will he surrender to the evil ghost and agree to do his bidding…?
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Seitenzahl: 84
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To Ian’Cause I wrote this book in his flat. ~ GUY BASS
To Cath and Leni ~ PETE WILLIAMSON
CONTENTS
The Ballad of Mawley Crackbone
PROLOGUE
THE BARGAIN
(A timely end for Mawley Crackbone)
The moon was full over Grubbers Nubbin, the night Mawley Crackbone met his timely end.
The townsfolk gathered round the body in a circle, not quite able to believe what had happened.
“Is … is he really gone?”
“’Ard to know.”
“He ain’t movin’… Poke him to be sure.”
“You poke him.”
“Not a chance! I … I haven’t got a pokin’ stick.”
“Here – borrow mine.”
“If you’ve got a stick, why ain’t you pokin’ him?”
“I … I’ve been pokin’ stuff all day! My pokin’ arm’s tired.”
“No one’s poking anyone,” hissed a voice. The townsfolk parted. A tall, wiry man in a long, white coat slid into the centre of the circle like a snake and stood over the body of Mawley Crackbone.
“We have an arrangement,” the man said. “Mr Crackbone is no longer a problem for the people of Grubbers Nubbin … thanks to my particularly potent poison. Now I am here to collect what is mine.”
The townsfolk edged nervously away from the body. Then the mayor of Grubbers Nubbin straightened his tie and stepped forward.
“Of – of course, good sir. He’s all yours,” said the mayor. “But what do you intend to do with him?”
The man’s lizard eyes flashed in the moonlight.
“That’s my business,” he replied. “A deal’s a deal – no questions asked.”
“Of course,” said the mayor, retreating into the crowd. “And – thank you for your help … professor.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” said the man as he struggled to drag the body one-handed back up the hill. “You haven’t seen the last of Mawley Crackbone. Ah-HAHAHAHAHA!”
The First Chapter
“Ah-Haha-HAHA!”
Stitch Head opened his eyes as Professor Erasmus’s laugh rang through the dank, dimly lit corridors of Castle Grotteskew.
The castle had cast its sinister shadow over Grubbers Nubbin for slightly longer than anyone could remember. The castle was home to Mad Professor Erasmus, considered by most to be the maddest professor of all. He had spent a lifetime creating mad things, and each new creation was madder than the last. Though none of the creations had strayed as far as Grubbers Nubbin, the sound of the professor’s laugh often echoed far beyond the walls of the castle to the town below, striking fear into the hearts of the townsfolk.
“Professor…” began Stitch Head, sitting up. “He’s getting close.”
Stitch Head wasn’t scared, of course. Not yet, anyway. He knew the professor’s laugh better than anyone. He had heard it the moment he was brought to almost-life, when he was his master’s first and only creation. Stitch Head had never been happier than the early days… But that was hundreds of creations ago.
Not long now, he thought, before his newest creation is complete…
“Stitch Head, you’re meant to be DEAD!”
Stitch Head looked up to see the Creature stride towards him. It was a massively monstrous creation, a colossal combination of mismatched muscles and the odd terrifying tentacle. The Creature was one of the professor’s most recent experiments. It, like most of the professor’s creations, had been quite menacingly monstrous until Stitch Head had cured it with one of his creation-calming concoctions.
“We’ve TALKED about this,” continued the Creature. “I want you looking DEADER than COUNTRY DANCING…”
“Sorry, Creature,” replied Stitch Head.
“IF you’re going to be in the CASTLE GROTTESKEW CREATIVE CREATIONS COLLECTIVE AMATEUR DRAMATICS SOCIETY,” continued the Creature, flamboyantly flicking its brand-new director’s scarf over its shoulder, “you need to UNDERSTAND the rules of THEATRE…”
Stitch Head sighed. He had never wanted to be in the Creative Creations Collective Amateur Dramatics Society. The thought of being in a society, particularly a dramatic one, disturbed him no end. True, he had tired of hiding away, deep in the inky bowels of his dungeon home, and he was eager to see what almost-life had to offer – but appearing in a play in front of all the other creations was more attention that he had ever wanted.
The Creature, however, had made up its mind. It was “time to step OUT of the SHADOWS! Time to MINGLE!”
…Which was how Stitch Head found himself in one of the castle’s largest, brightest halls, on a ramshackle set of tables and chairs, and surrounded by an odd assortment of the professor’s creations – and, of course, the Creature.
“Now REMEMBER, Stitch Head, in this SCENE, you – I mean, your CHARACTER – is DEAD, so don’t move an INCH, OK?” continued the Creature. “GREAT! From the TOP, everybody!”
“But – but I’m dead in every scene,” sighed Stitch Head as the other creations busied themselves with props and positioning. “I lie here for the whole play. I feel so … exposed.”
“But you’ve got the BESTEST part! After ALL, what’s a MURDER MYSTERY without a DEAD body?”
“Quite so!” noted a three-eyed brain spider. “I daresay you’ll be reviewed favourably in the Grotteskew Gazette … as long as you can stay absolutely still for three and a half hours.”
“The reviews! Oh, Magnilda, don’t remind me – I’ve got butterflies in my stomachs already,” exclaimed a hulking hairball with coiled claws.
Stitch Head lay back down. He closed his eyes and thought of the professor, slowly bringing yet another creation to almost-life…
“What?” Stitch Head sat up again. The voice was loud and close – too close, as if it was right in his ear.
“STITCH Heeead…” sighed the Creature. “You’re MOVING again! You look LESS dead than EVER!”
“But you said my – I mean, someone said my name … didn’t they?” he said, looking around. The other creations stared at him in puzzlement and those of them that had heads shook them and shrugged.
“Let’s go from the bit where Stitch Head is DEAD,” tutted the Creature, wafting its scarf dramatically. Stitch Head lay back down on the ground. He could have sworn he heard someone say—
“Who said that?” said Stitch Head, scrambling to his feet. The voice was even louder than before.
“Who said WHAT?” asked the Creature.
“That! I mean, my name,” began Stitch Head. “I mean, I could have sworn I heard…”
“NOBODY said ANYTHING. Are you all RIGHT, Stitch Head?” asked the Creature gently. “Maybe you should take a BREAK –the PRESSURE of the PART could be GETTING to you.”
“But – you really didn’t hear anything?” asked Stitch Head. The Creature shook its head and patted Stitch Head on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to RECAST my BESTEST friend!” it said. “We can use an old CHAIR to stand in for you.”
“Uh, OK … I’ll – I’ll just go for a walk,” mumbled Stitch Head. He shuffled past the other creations to the end of the theatre and slunk through the door.
As he emerged into the corridor, Stitch Head heard the rumble of thunder. A storm was brewing in the distance. Out of a nearby window, he saw the dark clouds closing in, obscuring the bright morning sky.
The voice! It was closer than ever – so loud that it made his ears ring.
The Second Chapter
Stitch Head peered into the gloom of the corridor. At its far end, he could just make out a large, lumbering shape – a something, moving slowly towards him. Stitch Head would normally have thought nothing of it – the castle was filled with the professor’s strange creations, after all. But something about this something made Stitch Head’s borrowed blood run cold.
Stitch Head froze, a strange shiver of fear running down his spine. Was it the professor’s newest creation? He couldn’t have completed it already … and even if he had, how could it possibly know his name?
The something spoke again:
It moved closer, and Stitch Head heard the rattle of dry bones.
“Who – who’s there?” he replied. “Give what back?”
All at once, the something rushed towards Stitch Head with an almighty roar! Stitch Head screamed and turned on his heels, racing back into the theatre as fast as his legs could carry him.
“You’re BACK! GREAT!” cried the Creature, as Stitch Head slammed the door behind him. “Ready to be DEAD again? OK, let’s get RID of the CHAIR – its acting is a bit WOODEN anyway…” it said, fanning its scarf.
“There’s … there’s…” began a quaking Stitch Head, his heart pumping wildly. “There’s something out there!”
“Is it the professor’s newest CREATION on a MAD rampage?” asked the Creature, noticing fear in Stitch Head’s eyes. “Shall I fetch your POTIONS?”
“I don’t – I don’t know,” replied Stitch Head. He felt as if a great, cold hand had his heart in a vice-like grip.
“Don’t WORRY, Stitch Head, WE’LL protect you,” boomed the Creature, striding towards the door. “WHATEVER that thing is, it didn’t count on a ROOM full of ACTORS!”
“Creature, no, don’t!” cried Stitch Head as the Creature swung open the door.
“AAAAAAH!” screamed the Creature. It turned back to face Stitch Head, a look of horror upon its face.
“What? What is it?” shrieked Stitch Head.
