Alfie the Werewolf 5: The Evil Triplets Read online

  www.hodderchildrens.co.uk

  Copyright © 2005 Paul van Loon

  Illustrations copyright © 2005 Hugo van Look

  English language translation © 2010 David Colmer

  First published in The Netherlands under the title Weerwoivenbos

  by Uitgeverij Leopold in 2005

  Published by arrangement with Rights People, London

  First published in Great Britain in 2011 by Hodder Children’s Books

  This ebook edition published in 2011

  The right of Paul van Loon and Hugo van Look to be identified as the Author and Illustrator of the Work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  The publishers are grateful for the support of the Dutch Foundation for Literature.

  All rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means with prior permission in writing from the publishers or in the case of reprographic production in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency and may not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 44490 505 2

  Typeset in Weiss by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford on Avon, Warwickshire

  Hodder Children’s Books

  a division of Hachette Children’s Books

  338 Euston Road, London NW1 3BH

  An Hachette UK Company

  www.hachette.co.uk

  For Hadjidja

  1

  Cackle, cackle

  ‘Wrow, what a beautiful moon.’

  Alfie the Werewolf walked out of the garden and on to the street, swishing his tail with longing. It was midnight and everyone was asleep. The light of the full moon reflected off his glasses.

  ‘Wrow, fantastic,’ Alfie growled. ‘I get to be a wolf again. For three nights in a row.’ He howled happily at the moon – ‘Wrow-a-woo’ – then ran round the corner.

  Suddenly he was in a dark alley where there was no moonlight and no streetlights.

  ‘Hey, werewolf!’ A strange voice came out of the darkness. Eyes gleamed.

  ‘Wrow, who’s that?’

  No reply.

  In the darkness something moved, something very big. Alfie stayed where he was.

  ‘C-come out,’ he growled. ‘If you d-d-dare.’

  The voice gave a cackling laugh. ‘Are you scared? You chicken killer.’

  Alfie took a step back.

  ‘I-I’m not scared. I’m a w-w-werewolf. Very dangerous. Listen, wrow.’

  The growl that came out of his throat was very quiet. It was the growl of a mouse. Not much more than a squeak.

  Quickly he took another step back, then another, until he was in the moonlight again. That felt safer.

  Slowly, something emerged from the dark alley. Alfie’s jaw dropped. It was white. And it had feathers, cold eyes and a beak. And big, clawed yellow feet.

  Alfie gulped when its shadow fell over him. He rubbed his eyes with his paws.

  Standing in front of him was a chicken, but no ordinary chicken. It was enormous. It was gigantic. Even bigger than Alfie’s werewolf cousin, Leo. It was definitely the biggest chicken in the world. A dream come true for a fast-food restaurant.

  It stalked forward menacingly.

  ‘I’ll get you,’ the chicken cackled. ‘I’ll peck you. I’ll squash you. I’ll mash you to mush.’

  Alfie flinched back. ‘N-no,’ he shouted. ‘Don’t. I never hurt chickens. It’s been ages. I hardly even think of chicken these days.’

  The chicken gave another cackling laugh. ‘Broark, you’re lying, wolf. What about Mrs Chalker’s chickens?’

  ‘That was a long time ago!’ Alfie exclaimed.

  ‘Fibber!’

  The sharp beak swung down like an axe at Alfie, who dived out of the way just in time.

  Crack! The beak smashed a hole in the pavement.

  ‘Stop,’ Alfie shouted. ‘This is impossible. Chickens can’t talk.’

  ‘Huh, look who’s talking,’ the chicken cluttered. ‘Nothing unusual about a talking wolf, I suppose.’

  Again it chopped at Alfie.

  Quickly Alfie threw himself forward. The swinging beak brushed his ear.

  Crack! Another broken paving stone.

  ‘That’s enough,’ growled Alfie, looking up to where the full moon was smiling at him.

  ‘Come on, you’re not a wimp, are you?’ the moon said.

  A growl rose up in Alfie’s throat. ‘Wrow!’

  His blood surged through his veins. He turned and stared at the chicken. ‘Wrow, I’m sick of this,’ he growled in a rasping voice.

  The chicken’s beak flashed in the moonlight. Suddenly it had a skinny face and a thin, hooked nose. Mrs Chalker’s face.

  The Chalker chicken cackled with delight.

  Alfie leapt forward. His teeth were sharp. His claws were curved. He growled and hurled himself at the chicken.

  Feathers flew up in the air as the growling and cackling grew even louder. Then Alfie heard voices. They were singing a strange song.

  ‘Rub, rub, rub away,

  Here and all about,

  Rubbedy, rubbedy, rubbedy, rubbedy,

  Rub the last one out.’

  2

  Shadows

  Alfie shot up. What was that song? Who were those voices?

  He looked round in a daze. He was on the floor and the moon was shining into his bedroom. White feathers were scattered everywhere.

  Oh no, thought Alfie. I really did fight that chicken. I must have torn it apart. What a …

  Then he saw his duvet and pillow ripped open on the floor next to him. He looked at his hands. They were white and hairy, and his fingers ended in claws. His arms were covered with shaggy white fur.

  Alfie sighed with relief. Suddenly he understood. He’d had a chicken nightmare. That was all.

  Plus the full moon, of course. He’d turned into a werewolf in his sleep and ripped open his duvet and pillow. He sighed. Being able to suddenly grow claws wasn’t always easy.

  Then the voices reached his bedroom again.

  They’re real, thought Alfie, because I’m awake now.

  He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and walked over to the window. The voices sounded even louder now. They were shrill, like shrieking witches’ voices.

  ‘Rub, rub, rub away,

  Rub the last one out.

  Rubbedy, rubbedy, rubbedy, rubbedy,

  Gone without a doubt.’

  It was a very strange song. Ominous. It sent shivers down Alfie’s spine, even though he didn’t understand it at all.

  Cautiously he slid aside the curtain to look out. He saw the garden and the street and the houses across the road. Everything looked very different in the night-time. The houses were quiet and sleeping and full of dark shadows. Down the street was the house where Mrs Chalker used to live. Now it was as empty and dark as a haunted house.

  Why on earth did I dream about Mrs Chalker? thought Alfie. Could that mean something?

  He looked out over the rooftops for a moment longer. The street led off into the distance like a winding black ribbon. Somewhere beyond those roofs was Noura’s house. That was a comforting thought.

  Above the houses the full moon smiled at him. It was time to go out on
an adventure.

  Suddenly his thoughts came back to earth. Two figures were moving in the street below. Dark shadows in the moonlight. They looked like they’d been cut out of a sheet of black paper.

  Skinny, both of them. Funny hats, both of them. Umbrellas, both of them. There was something familiar about them, something familiar about both of them.

  Alfie rubbed his eyes. That hat. That umbrella.

  No, he thought. It can’t be true! It looks like …

  He shook his head. Impossible!

  It can’t be her. She was always alone. There are two of this one.

  What’s more, she is locked up at the RCUPA. The Reception Centre for Unusual People and Animals.

  I must be sleepwalking, he thought. There’s no other explanation.

  For a moment Alfie hesitated. What do I do now? Then suddenly he knew.

  I’ll just sleepwalk right back to bed. And then tomorrow it will all have been a bad dream. Good plan!

  He turned round, walked over to his bed, flopped down on it and fell asleep straightaway.

  Outside the voices started again.

  ‘Rub, rub, rub them out,

  Rub the last one out …’

  3

  An Enormous Creature?

  The yowling was deafening. Alfie shot up in bed with his hair standing on end. The noise reverberated in his stomach. It jangled through his body.

  The morning sun was shining through his window. He was an ordinary boy again without fur and without claws. His duvet and pillow were lying on the floor in pieces. Mum wasn’t going to be happy.

  Again the hideous noise echoed through the house. It was coming from downstairs. Alfie had never heard anything like it. He rubbed his eyes, got out of bed and walked over to the door.

  Tim was out on the landing, his eyes big and dark in his pale face.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ he whispered.

  Alfie nodded. ‘What is it?’

  Tim shrugged. ‘It sounds like … a wounded dragon or something.’

  A rattling sigh came from downstairs.

  ‘See?’ Tim whispered. ‘Like an enormous creature gasping for breath.’

  ‘Or a ginormous one farting,’ Alfie said. ‘We’d better go and have a look.’

  They stood motionless at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Shouldn’t we warn Mum and Dad?’ Alfie asked.

  Tim shook his head. ‘I already checked their bedroom. They’re not there.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Alfie. ‘Maybe they already went to look …’

  Tim nodded. ‘Come on, they might be in danger.’

  Together they sneaked downstairs, the yowling getting louder with every step they took. A heavy, squeaking sigh was coming from behind the living-room door. They exchanged glances and Tim nodded.

  ‘OK,’ Alfie said. ‘I’ll count to three. One, two … three.’ Cautiously he nudged the door open. The howling blared out at them through the crack.

  ‘You see anything?’ Tim whispered.

  Alfie shook his head. ‘It won’t open any further. Someone’s in front of it.’

  Suddenly it was quiet.

  ‘Don’t,’ a voice pleaded. ‘Please, stop.’

  Horrified, Tim looked at Alfie. ‘That’s Mum! She’s in danger.’

  Alfie gave a big nod. ‘Come on, let’s knock the door down.’

  Together they backed away for a run-up.

  ‘Ready?’ Tim said.

  ‘Ready.’

  They charged at the door and rammed into it together. WHAM! The door flew open …

  4

  The Green Monster

  Tim and Alfie fell into the room and rolled over the floor, coming to a stop under the coffee table with Tim on top of Alfie.

  ‘Hi, boys,’ said a cheerful voice. ‘Now that is what I call an entrance. Really unusual.’

  Two familiar faces peered under the table at Tim and Alfie.

  ‘Look who we have here,’ Tim’s mother said. ‘Our sons.’

  ‘Yes, I recognized them too,’ said Dad.

  Tim and Alfie crawled out from under the table. They looked left. They looked right. There were no wounded dragons or any other creatures anywhere in sight. Mum looked healthy and Dad seemed to be OK too. He did have an upside-down watering can on his head. That was a bit strange. Usually he wore a tea cosy shaped like an elephant or sometimes a flowerpot. The watering can was new. He also had something strange hanging on his chest. A big green stretchy thing with lots of shiny buttons.

  ‘What’s that?’ Alfie asked. ‘It looks like a giant caterpillar with a control panel.’

  Dad smiled at Alfie. ‘How do you like my accordion? I call it the Green Monster because it’s such a beautiful shade of dark green.’ He stroked the instrument lovingly.

  ‘Oh no,’ Tim whispered. ‘Dad’s discovered music. Now I know what that howling was …’

  ‘These two are real characters,’ Dad said. ‘They don’t just walk in, they dive under the table, the jokers. That’s a lot different to coming in normally. I’m going to turn it into a song. A sad song, full of woe and sorrow. A real tearjerker.’

  Using both hands, he pulled the accordion out as far as it would go, then pushed it back in. A deep sigh came out of it. Dad started singing loudly. And very badly.

  ‘There were two little boys,

  Poor, lonely and alone,

  No one to care about them,

  No home to call their own …’

  His voice was as out of tune as the Green Monster. Tim and Alfie were stunned. He was singing at the top of his lungs and a tear was trickling down his cheek.

  ‘They were so very hungry,

  Like hungry children in a fable,

  They had no beds, they had no roof,

  They lived under a table.

  And …’

  The accordion was making a constant yowling sound. Tim and Alfie covered their ears with their hands.

  ‘William, stop!’ Mum shouted. ‘Don’t …’

  Dad stopped playing and looked up with surprise. The tear splashed down on the accordion.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you think it’s beautiful and touching? Even I’m moved.’

  Tim and Alfie looked at each other. They didn’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings.

  Mum coughed. ‘Hmm, sweetheart, look, it’s like this … Playing the accordion is an art and so is singing. It takes a lot of practice.’

  Dad nodded. ‘I know that, dear. I’ll practise on my Green Monster every day. For hours! I promise.’

  ‘Every day?’ Tim groaned. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Ugh!’ said Alfie.

  Dad looked at them and raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s the matter, boys? Have you got stomach ache or something?’

  Before Tim and Alfie could answer, they heard three loud bangs in the hall. SMACK! FLOTCH! SPLAT!

  All four of them turned their heads towards the front door. Mum had gone pale.

  ‘What was that?’ she asked.

  5

  Egg Attack

  They all ran into the hall and Tim pulled open the front door. There was no one in sight, but three splattered eggs were slowly dripping down the front door, leaving three long yellow stripes. And R.O.W. Club had been painted on the door in ugly black letters.

  For a few minutes they stared at it in astonishment.

  ‘What’s the Row Club?’ Tim asked finally.

  Alfie shrugged. ‘Never heard of it. Maybe a club that likes to pick rows with people?’

  ‘Shall I write a song about it?’ Dad asked.

  ‘No, maybe not,’ Mum said quickly. ‘Maybe they heard your accordion, dear. You were making quite a row.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tim said. ‘That must be why they threw the eggs. They think this is a row club.’

  ‘Oh,’ Dad said, looking gloomy for a moment and scratching his head under the watering can. Then his face cleared up.

  ‘You mean … You think they don’t like beautiful music?’

  Tim,
Alfie and Mum looked at each other. Mum shook her head, so slightly it was almost imperceptible.

  ‘It was probably just some kids messing around,’ she said. ‘Oh! That reminds me.’

  ‘What of, sweetheart?’ Dad asked.

  Mum raised a finger in the air. ‘I have to buy a new broom. A very good one.’

  Alfie raised a finger too. ‘Um, I need a new duvet. And a new pillow too. They’re a bit torn. I had some pretty wild dreams last night.’

  Mum smiled at him. ‘I bet it was a wild werewolf dream, huh, son?’

  ‘Ohhh,’ Dad let out a jealous groan. ‘If only I had wild werewolf dreams and ripped my pillow open.’

  Tim rolled his eyes. ‘OK, this is all very interesting, but are we going to have breakfast or not? Alfie and I have to go to school.’

  Dad nodded. ‘It’s a shame though. The Row Club song would have been something special.’ He shrugged. ‘I’d better repaint the front door. And then I’ll go and find a street corner to play my songs on.’

  He went back inside and laid his accordion on the floor under the new coat rack. It was an elk-antler coat rack he’d bought at a car-boot sale. After staring at it thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes lit up. Generally that meant he’d had a brilliant idea.

  ‘Hey, what if I had antlers on my head?’ he said. ‘That would be fantastic and really different. No one has antlers on their head.’ He sighed. ‘It would be almost as fantastic as being a werewolf. But I’ll never be one of them either. I just don’t have a wild existence in store for me.’