Charlie and the War Against the Grannies (4 page)

 

‘Hils,' I said into my walkie-talkie. ‘What if the paper deliverer is some sort of crazy person?'

‘Don't worry. I brought bandages,' said Hils.

‘How will bandages help if the paper deliverer is a crazy person?'

‘If they go crazy and bite your ear off, I will be able to stop the bleeding. At least for a while,' said Hils.

It hadn't occurred to me that the paper deliverer might try to bite my ear off. I wish it hadn't occurred to Hils. I hope it didn't occur to the crazy paper deliverer.

‘Do you really think the paper deliverer might bite my ear off?' I said.

Hils didn't say anything.

‘Hils?'

‘Maintain radio silence,' said Hils.

‘Maintain radio silence' is how the army says, ‘shut up'.

I maintained radio silence.

‘I see someone coming,' said Hils.

‘Do they look like an ear-biting crazy person?' I said.

‘Negative,' said Hils.

That was a relief. I'd never really thought much about my ears before but now I thought someone was going to bite one of them off I realised I really liked them.

‘There are two of them. They are delivering the papers,' said Hils.

‘Two? Why would you need two people to deliver a newspaper? Maybe one of them is a crazy person and the other one is there to try to stop them biting off people's ears?'

‘Shut up,' said Hils.

In the army ‘shut up' means ‘shut up'.

‘They've just finished delivering papers on the other side of the road and they're crossing towards me.'

I was starting to get a bit nervous.

‘They're closing in at twelve o'clock,' said Hils.

‘Twelve o'clock' is the army way of saying that they're straight ahead of you.

‘I can confirm there are two of them,' said Hils. ‘One is small and lumpy and the other is tall and thin.'

‘Do either of them look crazy?'

‘Negative,' said Hils. ‘They look like grannies.'

‘What?'

‘They are grannies. They are two old grannies.'

Why would grannies be delivering papers? They should be at home drinking tea and complaining. That's what my granny does.

‘They've just walked right past me and I can confirm that the paper deliverers are two grannies,' said Hils.

The two grannies would have had no idea Hils was hiding in the bush because Hils was wearing what she always wore: a girly, frilly sort of dress made out of camouflage material. She calls it her ‘safe and stylish' look.

‘They're fifteen paces away from you coming in at nine o'clock,' she said.

That meant they were close and coming from my left.

I stood up from behind the letterbox.

I wasn't nervous about asking about a paper round any more. I had nothing to be nervous about. They were just grannies.

There they were.

About ten paces away from me coming in at nine o'clock.

Two grannies.

The first was a regular short granny.

She was small and lumpy. Like a potato with legs.

She had thin grey hair that sat like mist on her head.

She wore a purple tracksuit decorated with big blue flowers.

The only not-regular-granny thing about her was her neck. She had the wrinkliest neck I had ever seen. It looked like she'd stolen the wrinkles from lots of other old, wrinkly people and stuck them all onto her own neck with special wrinkle-enhancing glue.

Walking beside her was a regular tall granny.

She was long and thin. Like a French fry with legs.

She had big thick glasses that made her eyes look bulgy.

She wore a green knitted cardigan with fluffy white sheep all over it.

The not-regular-granny thing about her was her really, very, super bright lipstick. She had some deep cracks in the skin on her face, which ran from her upper lip to her nose and from her lower lip down to her chin. Those cracks had filled up with her bright red lipstick and it looked like her lips were slowly exploding.

They were walking straight towards me and I was starting to feel more than a bit nervous about talking to these grannies. A lot more than a bit.

Don't worry
, I said to myself.
They are grannies. Grannies are nice
.

From somewhere inside her purple tracksuit the small granny pulled a tightly rolled-up newspaper. She handed it to the tall granny who put it in our box.

‘Good morning,' I said.

Neither granny replied.

It was very early. Maybe they weren't morning people.

‘My name is Charlie Ian Duncan. I see that you deliver my paper. Nice to meet you.'

Both the grannies stopped delivering the newspapers and stared at me.

‘I'm sorry to have stopped you in the middle of your paper round but I was wondering, since you obviously have a paper round, if you knew who I might talk to if
I
wanted to get a paper round?'

They kept staring at me. Silently staring at me.

I didn't know what to say.

What do grannies like to talk about?

I had an idea.

‘I once saw a zebra fight a giraffe,' I said. ‘I think it was over some hay but perhaps they just didn't like each other.'

They kept staring. Silently. (Grannies don't like to talk about zebras fighting giraffes. Good to know.)

Then the tall granny pulled something out from under her green, sheep-covered cardigan. It wasn't a newspaper so I presumed it was a card with the name of the person I should talk to if I wanted a paper round.

I was wrong. It wasn't the name of the person I should talk to if I wanted a paper round.

It was really, very, super NOT the name of the person I should talk to if I wanted a paper round.

IT WAS A GUN!

And the tall, skinny granny was POINTING IT AT ME!

Even though no one had ever pointed a gun at me before – especially a granny – I knew exactly what to do.

I panicked.

Then I tried to run away. But I couldn't run away. I just stood there. The running away part of me was so busy panicking that it had forgotten how to run away.

Then the tall, skinny granny squeezed the trigger of the gun.

 

BANG!

I was dead.

I had to be.

I'd just been shot.

By a heavily armed granny.

Yes. I was dead.

My eyes were stinging.

I'd never thought that when you died your eyes would sting. I'd read that after you died your hair and fingernails kept growing. Maybe, after you died, your eyeballs
started
growing. Maybe that was why my eyes were stinging. Maybe my eyeballs had started growing. Really fast. Maybe they were going to grow and grow until they were so enormous they'd explode.

That would have worried me if I was alive, but I was dead so the idea of my eyeballs exploding was pretty cool. Maybe that was why coffins had lids so that when a dead person's eyeballs exploded the eyeball gunge didn't get all over everyone's black funeral clothes.

I wondered how many people would go to
my
funeral?

Everything was red.

That was strange.

I thought everything would be black. Or maybe white. Just not red.

Was I going to Hell? Is that why everything was red?

I bet Hell would be really awful. Like school. But worse. I didn't want to go to Hell! I'm too young!

Oh no. Hils. She would be so sad. She probably saw it happen. She'll be scarred for life.

Oh no. Again. Hils is dressed in camouflage. She loves the army. The police would probably think she did it.

What has happened to my body?

Was it just lying on the footpath outside my house? Rotting? Maybe it wasn't outside my house. Maybe the grannies had taken it. Would they bury me so my body would never be found? I hoped so. I wanted my body never to be found so there would always be rumours that I didn't die. That I was still alive and living in Antarctica training penguins to pole vault. (Training penguins to pole vault would be hard. They don't have arms.)

My body was probably just lying on the footpath.

Hils was probably crouched next to me crying. She doesn't cry much. She was probably sobbing. Sobbing on the inside.

Oh no.

What if Hils has just realised that she is secretly in love with me and now she will never be able to tell me because I am dead? That'll make her pretty mad. She'll vow revenge on the grannies. She'll track them down even if it takes her entire life. Actually, she'll probably want to get her revenge pretty quickly. Those grannies are old. They'll die soon. It's never good when someone dies before you can kill them. That just leads to bitterness.

Hils will probably organise a twenty-one gun salute at my funeral.

I wonder if my parents will come to my funeral?

I wonder if they'll even notice that I've been murdered out the front of the house by armed grannies?

They'll probably watch a live stream of the funeral on the internet.