Bug Eyed Monsters
By Jean Ure
()
About this ebook
Nobody knew where the rumour came from. Most of the boys think it's a
joke. But the more Joe and Andy think about it, the weirder Mr Snitcher
starts to look. Is he really an alien? And how about the rest of the teachers?
Laugh-out-loud school story with a sci-fi twist.
Jean Ure
Jean Ure was born in Surrey and, when growing up, knew that she was going to be a writer or a ballet dancer. She began writing when she was six years old and had her first book published while she was still at school. Jean is a vegan and animal lover. She lives with her husband, seven dogs and four cats in a 300 year old house in Croydon.
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Book preview
Bug Eyed Monsters - Jean Ure
Contents
One A Staffroom Full of Aliens
Two Asking About Aliens
Three Red Eye
Four Blop
Five Not a Normal Human
Six Close Encounter
Seven If Not… Then Who?
Eight Mr Smith Gets His Chips
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Chapter One
A Staffroom Full of Aliens
‘Pass it on… Mr Snitcher isn’t human!’
‘Pst! Mr Snitcher isn’t human!’
‘Mr Snitcher… he’s not human!’
Nobody ever knew where the rumour first came from. Harry heard it from his best friend, Joe Fredericks. Joe heard it from Andy Bicknell, standing in the lunch queue. Andy got it from his cousin, who got it from a boy in Year 7, who got it from his brother, who was in Year 8. Andy didn’t say where the brother got it from. Not that it mattered. It was the second week of term, and people were ready for a good story.
‘Hear about the Snitch? He’s not human!’
It wasn’t the first time there had been rumours of extra-terrestrials at St Bede’s. Back in Year 4, when Harry had just started, Joe had solemnly informed him that there were aliens on the teaching staff.
‘Dunno who, exactly, but we reckon there could be a whole nest of ‘em.’
Looking at the teachers, Harry had been quite prepared to believe it. What a bunch! Any single one of them could have come from another planet.
There was Mr Bulstrode, the science teacher, who spat when he got excited. Splattered huge distances, right from the front of the lab to the back. Baljit Singh had once taken an umbrella in with him.
‘Don’t want to get wet, sir!’
Mr Bulstrode had stared up at the ceiling in surprise.
‘Have we sssprung a leak, then?’
Baljit said, ‘No, sir,’ (dodging spit), ‘it’s just a precaution, sir.’
‘Strange boy,’ mused Mr Bulstrode.
He thought Bal was strange? How about Mrs Jellaby, the art mistress, otherwise known as Mrs Jellybaby? Mrs Jellybaby looked like a jellybaby. She was immensely round, and soft, and squishy, and so strung about with great ropes of beads and bangles that when she went shopping she had to use the supermarket trolley to take some of the weight.
Fact! She had been seen, walking the aisles of the local Tesco, with her great jangling necklaces resting on top of a bunch of toilet rolls.
‘Reckon she’d have overbalanced, otherwise!’
Then there was Mr O’Hooligan, the PE teacher, who slept upside down every night, hanging off his bedroom door like a bat.
Also fact. Piers Allan, in Year 7, swore to it. Piers had actually been climbing up the drainpipe at the time, trying to sneak back into his dorm before anyone discovered he was missing, and had just happened to stop on the way and peer in at Mr O’Hooligan’s window.
‘Upside down, he was, like a bat!’
And how about Mr McNutter, the woodwork teacher, who stuck pencils in his ear and then forgot about them? Or Monsieur Tittinbot, who taught French and had a glass eye, which sometimes fell out when he grew agitated? Once when it fell out it had rolled across the floor, and Monsieur Tittinbot had screamed at the boys not to trample on it.
‘Attention, attention! Beware of the eye!’
Even the Head, Dr Dredge, a long thin man like a length of rubber tubing, was not above suspicion. Dr Dredge was so very long, and so very bendy, that he was able to twist his arms and legs into strange knots, all tangled up together, so that he looked as if he were made of elastic.
Furthermore, he could bend his thumbs back until they touched his wrists. He did this frequently, sitting there in morning assembly, in front of the whole school, bending his thumbs and twisting his legs, winding them round like strings of spaghetti.
What normal human being could do that?
Joe had a theory – Joe had theories about everything – that the entire staff was probably made up of extra-terrestrials, with Dr Dredge at the head.
‘He’ll be the mastermind… the one behind it all. World domination,’ said Joe, darkly. ‘That’s what they’re after.’
Rumours came, and rumours went. As one died down, another started up.
The next one, Harry remembered, had been about Mr Potts.
‘Hey! Guess what?’
Poor old Pudgy Potts had been abducted by aliens! They had come, and they had taken him.
Without a shadow of a doubt, Mr Potts had disappeared. There one day, gone the next. The official explanation was a nervous breakdown.
‘Caused, I do