id="u53ab86b6-74a0-5e63-b741-c4a68a963dbb">
For Betty Woons, and all who tread on her
Contents
Chapter 0 - A Village of Idiots
Chapter 1 - The Odd One Out
Chapter 2 - Lamp Flannigan
Chapter 3 - Meet the Candlewackses
Chapter 3.5 - All the That Exist About Coriander.
Chapter 4 - What Casper Saw
Chapter 5 - The Coriander Catastrophe
Chapter 6 - Race Day
Chapter 7 - Curseon the Kobb
Chapter 8 - Laying the Blame
Chapter 9 - The Bubbel Buggy
Chapter 10 - Another Village of Idiots
Chapter 10.1 - Murder in the Marquee
Chapter 11 - Telling Tiramisu
Chapter 12 - Bubbles?
Chapter 13 - Under the Bubbles
Chapter 14 - The Broken Buggy
Chapter 15 - Do Not Feed the Pigeons
Epilogue
Acknowledgments:
Copyright
Chapter 0
A Village of Idiots
Most villages have an idiot. The village of Corne-on-the-Kobb has hundreds. I’m not just saying that; it really is full of them. I can’t explain why; it’s not as if there’s a humungous sign as you enter saying
ONLY IDIOTS WELCOME HERE!
It’s not as if there’s anything particularly idiotic in the village that attracts them there, apart from other idiots, of course. It’s just a fact: there is a higher concentration of idiots in Corne-on-the-Kobb than in other, less idiotically populated areas.
“But,” you might ask, “what exactly is an idiot?” Well, the answer is as simple as the idiots themselves. An idiot is someone who talks at the people on the telly and wonders why they don’t respond; someone who thinks the world’s gone all dark every time they close their eyes; someone who thinks Shepherd’s Pie is made of real shepherds. You get the idea. But shepherds and their pies aside, Corne-on-the-Kobb isn’t exactly famous for its geniuses. Keep this fact safely stuffed inside your brain at all times when reading this tale – it might make the whole thing just that little bit easier to understand.
Of course, there is an exception to every rule, and in this case the exception’s name is Casper Candlewacks. He isn’t an idiot, which is really lucky because, by some strange stroke of fate, he turns out to be the hero of the story, and no one wants an idiot as their main character, do they? Well, they might, but their story would end rather soon, with the hero glued to the ceiling or dangling off a cliff, and that wouldn’t make for a very good book.
Chapter 1
The Odd One Out
This was it. His moment.
“Casper.”
He stood, rapier blade in hand, face to face with the vile beast. Their eyes locked; the air around them fell still.
“Casper?”It bared its savage teeth, tail flickering menacingly, but Casper was ready. And then, it pounced.
“Casper Candlewacks,
Casper awoke with a snort and shot upright, losing his balance and sending books and pens flying across the classroom as he tipped too far backward and clattered, along with his chair, to the floor. The rest of Class 6 exploded with riotous laughter, but Mrs Snagg was less than amused.
“How dare you sleep in my classroom!” yelled Casper’s teacher, her spiky hair bristling threateningly.
“I’m awake, miss!”
“Well, stay awake, boy,” shouted Mrs Snagg, “or I’ll glue your eyelids open myself.”
“Sorry, miss.” Casper was too embarrassed to want to get up ever again. The class giggled and someone threw a rubber at him.
Mrs Snagg snarled. “Now pick yourself up and get back to your desk!” Casper did as he was told, blushing like an embarrassed plum and wishing he were still asleep. He plonked himself at his desk as his classmates sniggered and pointed, and slumped his head in his hands. He was awake again: back in the boring old world full of idiots, homework and falling off chairs.
Casper Candlewacks was an eleven-year-old boy with a wild imagination and a scruffy crop of wild blond hair in which many pencils and woodland creatures had been lost. He liked log flumes, goblins and helicopter gunships. He didn’t like girls, geography, or killer robots. His favourite food was spaghetti bolognese with chips, and his favourite animal was an ocelot. In other words, he was a pretty ordinary boy by our standards. But that was the problem. In a village where ordinary was thinking that eggs came from eggplants, Casper Candlewacks was far from ordinary. The people of Corne-on-the-Kobb didn’t like Casper because he was different. He could do joined-up handwriting, he knew his times tables, he even understood French. Those things scared the villagers, and so they either ignored Casper or blamed him for things.
Casper twizzled a finger in his hair and looked out of the window. It was the dawn of summer: the sun was out, the flowers were in bloom and the little lambs were frolicking in faraway grassy meadows like tiny frolicking flumps of wool in a massive salad. But Thursday afternoons meant double geography, and so summer would have to wait.
“Now, class,” squawked Mrs Snagg, rapping the board rubber loudly on her desk, making a bang so shocking that little Teresa Louncher let out a terrified squeak. Casper watched his teacher, Mrs Snagg, as she surveyed the classroom. She reminded Casper of a hedgehog in a flowery dress. She had little black beady eyes that were always watching you when you thought they weren’t, and a voice like a fire alarm. Not even one of those new soothing fire alarms that play nice relaxing ditties about how great it’ll be once you escape