Charlie Mace and the Big Stink

By Wendy Jackson

Sniff Street was the dirtiest, scruffiest street in Bogsley, and Miss Potts’ house was the most disgusting and revolting of all the disgusting and revolting houses in it. She seemed to take delight in surrounding the place with rubbish, bottles of rancid milk and maggot-infested garbage. And why did one of her eyes stick out like a glassy golf ball? No wonder eleven-year-old Charlie Mace did his best to keep away from the place.

But one day Charlie finds himself cornered by Miss Potts, and is roughly transported into a strange woodland world, a world in which he encounters a very odd collection of beings.

They all seem to live in dread of The Stink, a dark, smelly and noisome creature which haunts the forest. Charlie does his best to help his new friends fight back – and then he discovers the shocking link between the Stink and Miss Potts...

Charlie Mace and the Big Stink is a vivid, colourful and compelling story for youngsters aged 10-14.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mereo Books
• Release date: Feb 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781908223715

Wendy Jackson

Wendy Jackson has lived in Hertfordshire all her life and now spends much of her time in voluntary work, which has given her the opportunity to meet people of all ages and different cultures and helped her to develop her creativity. Having satisfied her passion for writing through poetry and songwriting, she has now turned to junior fiction. She says that Charlie Mace and the Big Stink, her first book, was written to give rein to the depths of what she calls ‘my crazy imagination’. The idea for the story came from a peculiar house she passed one day. In her imagination the scene grew into a different world, a world where big was small and small was big, where nothing was quite as it seemed and where a boy needed to be brave and resourceful to turn the tables on his enemies.

Book preview

Charlie Mace and the Big Stink

By

Wendy C. Jackson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright ©Wendy C Jackson, January 2012

MEMOIRS

Published by Memoirs

25 Market Place, Cirencester, Gloucestershire, GL7 2NX

[e-mail]

www.memoirspublishing.com

First published in England, January 2012

Book jacket design Ray Lipscombe

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of Memoirs.

Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure that the information in this book was correct when going to press, we do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause. The views expressed in this book are purely the author’s.

ISBN 978-1-908223-71-5

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Miss Potts

Chapter 2 The Discovery

Chapter 3 Itch

Chapter 4 Panic sets in

Chapter 5 Never trust a Yawling

Chapter 6 The Great Lady

Chapter 7 Pesky Draglets

Chapter 8 Charlie in trouble

Chapter 9 Trapped!

Chapter 10 The rescue

Chapter 11 A narrow escape

Chapter 12 Nutley turns up

Chapter 13 How to be Big

Chapter 14 Reunited

Chapter 15 The car wash

Chapter 16 Back to reality

Chapter 17 New rules in school

Chapter One

Miss Potts

Sniff Street had to be one of the scruffiest streets in the whole of Bogsley. Row upon row of small box-shaped houses filled the long narrow street. The paint on the doors and window frames was peeled and cracked to reveal rotten wood underneath. The front gardens, no more than the size of a postage stamp, had been neglected over the years. Neat shrubs had turned into grotesque, oversized monsters which sent out fat, thorny tubers in all directions. They wrapped themselves around neighbours’ plants and choked them to death. Broken down, rusty cars sat on the side of the road, next to bags of rubbish which were riddled with maggots.

The worst of all the houses was number 287. It was much larger than all the other houses, so it stood out above them. In fact, wherever you lived in Sniff Street, you couldn’t help seeing this house in all its revolting glory.

This was the house where Miss Potts lived. Newspapers dating back years were stacked up outside her front door. They reached almost to the top of the porch. Untidy piles sat in various parts of the garden. Left out summer and winter, the piles had turned into a slimy mulch and had become home for all types of creepy crawlies.

There were empty milk bottles everywhere, and sixty or more unopened ones sat outside the front porch. The milk had of course long since gone off. The summer heat had made it curdle and the pressure had pushed the silver tops off, leaving a thick smelly tower of brown cream on each of them. Flies swarmed around them in their dozens.

The old wooden front door and window frames had at some point been painted bright red, but large flakes of the paint had stripped off and been trampled underfoot, leaving red flakes everywhere. Most of the windows were broken or cracked and had torn nets that gave little privacy.

There were only ever two signs of life from Miss Potts’ house. One was the solitary light bulb she switched on every night in the front bedroom. The other was a very large white Ford Transit van which she kept in the driveway.

Charlie Mace lived at number 279. He had only ever met Miss Potts three times, which was three times too many. Once was when the postman had inadvertently delivered a package to Charlie’s house which had been meant for her. His mum had sent him over to the house with a note of apology. He shuddered at the memory. It was more the smell when she opened the door he remembered than anything else.

The second time had been a little more recent. It had been about seven-thirty on a Tuesday evening. One of his jobs was to put the rubbish out, and he was doing this when he spotted her open up the back of her van and pull something out of it. It looked very heavy, and Charlie was sure he saw it wriggling. She looked cautiously this way and that. When she had spotted Charlie looking her way, she had quickly shoved her load back into the van, slammed the door shut and shuffled into her house.

The third time he had seen her had been at precisely eight-thirty that morning. As he had shut the front door behind him, she had appeared out of her house.

She stood barely five feet tall. Her shoulders were bent over, though her back was straight as a ruler. Her belly protruded hugely under her tatty clothes. Her hair was short and uncombed. She walked with a slow clumsy step; one leg appeared to be a good inch or two shorter than the other.

Charlie watched as she threw a large sack into the back of the van, shut the door and started it up. As she drove past his house, she purposely slowed down to stare at him and snigger. Charlie shuddered. Her stare was strange. One eye was normal, but the right one was much larger. It bulged out of its socket like a golf ball. The van coughed and spluttered and belched out thick smoke. It made him cough as it hung in the still, foggy air.

It was a cold Monday morning. Charlie shivered. He zipped his new coat up to the chin and shoved his hands in pockets.

Charlie was a shy eleven-year-old. His skin was pale and unblemished and his striking blue eyes were the colour of a clear sky. His hair was blonde and perfectly straight; he kept it combed with a neat side parting.

‘Eh up, Beaver! three lads called out to him from behind. Charlie sighed. Almost every day since he’d moved into the street, Jack, Pete and Tom had made a point of picking on him. Jack was fat and ugly and his hair was greasy. His face was pudding shaped, and covered in spots. The remains of yesterday’s dinner clung to the tie that hung crooked round his large neck. His shoes were always covered in mud. Pete and Tom hung on Jack’s every word and were happy to do whatever he asked of them.

Gorranew jacket have yer, Beaver boy?

They called Charlie Beaver because of his front teeth. They didn’t protrude, but they were rather large. He walked briskly on, pretending he hadn’t heard them.

"Hey Beaver, did yer know yer wearing a girlie coat? Jack mocked him. Pete and Tom giggled like five-year-olds. They quickly caught up with Charlie and blocked his path. There was nowhere to go.

Jack put on a posh voice. Don’t go all shy on us, old chap. Has mummy made you some cookies for your lunchies then?

Charlie cringed. The boys loved to mimic the way he spoke. He had been brought up to speak politely and correctly, but it had made him a laughing stock among some of the local bullies.

Charlie was finding it hard to settle into Sprog Hall Comprehensive School. His father’s business had gone bust and they had lost almost everything. Cutting back expenses meant he could no longer attend Blackberry Mead private school. The family had moved to Sniff Street because it was the only street in Bogsley where houses were reasonably cheap to buy. They were only four houses away from where Miss Potts lived.

So come on Charlie, old chap. Wotcha gorrin yer lunch box for us? Jack persisted. He yanked the bag off Charlie’s shoulder and tipped the contents on the path.

Cor, gerra load of this boys! Jack squealed as he opened up the lunch box. Cheese ‘n cucumber sandwiches all cut into squares.

Give us it ‘ere then Pete snapped. Charlie looked at them in disgust as the three of them stuffed their mouths full of food.

Can I have my lunch back please? he asked.

Ah, come on boys, ‘e ain’t got much food left now. We don’t wanna be greedy do we? Best give it back eh? Jack beckoned for Pete and Tom to give the box to him. Reluctantly they agreed.

‘Ere yer go mate Jack grinned.

Thank you. But as Charlie went to take it, Jack deliberately tipped the box up. The bits of food that were left scattered and fell on to the wet mud.

Aw, look what yer done now, Beaver! Jack laughed. His fat belly bobbed up and down as he chuckled, Yer ain’t got NO lunch now ‘ave yer! Tom and Pete stamped their feet over the food and squashed it firmly into the mud.

Charlie took this moment of distraction as a means to escape. He slowly backed away and turned to walk on.

OI! where d’yer fink YOU’RE going? Jack’s tone was sharp and aggressive. Charlie felt his heart beat a little faster as they grabbed hold of him.

Please, will you just leave me alone. I don’t want to be late for school he begged.

Cor, lardy dah! Charlie don’t wanna be late for school, boys. What d’yer fink ‘bout that then?

Pete looked at Tom, struggling to think of something to say. Well I fink.. he paused hesitantly. I fink we don’t wanna be late neither, do we Jack? he said with an apologetic smirk on his face. What? Jack snapped back. I don’t care if I’m late! But if yer wanna be a goody two shoes like our mate Charlie ‘ere, He leaned heavily on Charlie’s shoulder. Then yer ain’t no mate o’ mine!

I didn’ mean nuffing by it Jack. We’re wiv ya, aren’t we Tom?

Yep was all Tom could think of to say.

What we gonna do wiv ‘im then, Jack?

I reckon we should be good mates wiv ‘im t’day, an’ ‘elp ‘im ter school Jack said as he shoved Charlie from behind.

But I fought ya said…

Shut yer cake ‘ole, and ‘elp! Jack hollered.

The three of them pushed and shoved Charlie all the way up to the top of the road. When a group of girls from the same school appeared from around the corner, the boys spun Charlie around twice and let go of him. He spiralled clumsily across the pavement, and fell right in front of them. They giggled and whispered to each other as they walked on by.

Bright red, Charlie quickly got up. The embarrassment was worse than the pain he felt in his left knee. But even that was not as bad as the anger he felt inside. If he was a football, I’d kick him so hard, he’d reach the moon and never, EVER come back he muttered under his breath, as he brushed down his coat, and ran his small spindly fingers over his hair to check it was back in place.

Jack, Pete and Tom caught up with him. They stood around him and laughed like a pack of hyenas. Scared as Charlie felt, he couldn’t run away. His feet felt like lumps of lead that had been superglued to the spot. So when Jack poked him he never budged. Again and again, Jack prodded him, and with each prod, Charlie’s face grew redder and redder.

When yer gonna fight me, chicken? Jack goaded. He drew up close to Charlie’s face, and sniffed. ‘E’s a pansy, boys, ‘cause ‘e sure smells like one!

The gormless twosome fell about laughing. Jack stood over Charlie, being slightly taller. He folded his arms and delivered a smug look to a passer-by. But then Charlie felt his lips move, and what came out of his mouth he’d never have thought possible.

"Well at least my mother isn’t a tart who… ‘

Before he could finish, Jack had him by the scruff of his neck. He hauled him up level to his face.

What d’yer say? What d’yer call me mum?

In sheer panic, Charlie punched Jack as hard as he could. SMACK! His fist caught Jack’s right cheek. Jack let go of him and squealed like a mouse.

Charlie made a run for it. Pete and Tom made a grab for him, but he was too fast for them.

You’re dead meat, Beaver! D’yer ‘ear me? Jack yelled. Charlie ran and ran. He dodged cars and people, dogs, cats and pushchairs. On and on he ran. Soon he was completely lost.

It was suddenly strangely quiet. The busy town was far behind him now. He stopped at the edge of a pathway. There were no more roads, no houses, and oddly, no people. All that lay in front of him were fields, and just beyond that, some very tall trees.

YOUR MOTHER IS A TART! he shouted at the top of his voice. He chuckled to himself. I can’t believe I actually said that. My dad will kill me if he finds out.

The thought of going back right now dampened Charlie’s spirit. I can’t go back there he thought. Not now. They’ll beat me up good and proper, that’s a fact.

He was suddenly distracted by the sound of footsteps behind him. The boys must have followed him, he thought. His heart banged hard against his chest. His palms were sweaty.

The footsteps stopped directly behind him. Then there was silence. No voices. He couldn’t even hear anyone breathing. He stood very still and waited, but there was nothing.

He dared to turn his head ever so slowly. The sight made him limp. Oh, Miss Potts! He