Jim Smith - Future Ratboy and the Quest for the Missing Thingy

Jamjar did her little cough again. ‘Actually that was Norman who cut the ribbon,’ she said all seriously.

‘Who’s Norman?’ I asked, and Not Bird shouted ‘NOT!’ again.

‘Norman is Mayor Goodhair’s pet pair of hover-scissors!’ said Twoface. ‘You really should know this stuff if you want to be a real superhero like me, Future Ratbums!’

Jamjar ignored Twoface and turned to me. ‘It’s a well-known fact that hover-scissors can’t hold themselves back if there’s something that needs snipping!’ she said.

‘Fascinating,’ yawned Twoface, and Not Bird sniggled.

Not that I had time for that to annoy me, because the Shnozville Town Square clock had just struck seven billion.

A shiny black UFO appeared from behind a bright green cloud and a hatch in its bum slid open. A rainbow-coloured beam shot out of the hole and Mayor Goodhair floated down the middle of it.

‘Good mornkeels, fellow Shnozvillians!’ he boomed, landing on a little stage next to the draped-over statue. ‘How does my hair look today?’

‘GOOD!’cried the crowd.

Mayor Goodhair was wearing bright white trainers and a sparkly blue suit. Perched on top of his perfect hair sat a red cap with ‘MAYOR’ written on it. Next to him floated his pet pair of hover-scissors, Norman.

‘How nice of you to turn out like this for my nine hundred and seventy-twelfth birthday!’ he smiled. ‘I hope you’re enjoying the free food and drink?’

‘That’s a point,’ I whispered to Jamjar. ‘Where’s the grub?’

Jamjar twizzled her eyes up at the sky. Loads of tiny different-coloured clouds that I hadn’t noticed before were floating around like pillows.

‘What in the name of unkeelness are THOSE?’ I said.

‘Call one over and find out!’ smiled Jamjar.

I scratched my bum, feeling a bit stupid about the idea of talking to a cloud. ‘Erm . . . here, Cloudy!’ I said, and a little pink cloud drifted over and floated just above my head. ‘Now what?’

‘NOT!’chirped Not Bird, and Twoface chuckled.

‘Open your mouth!’ said Jamjar, so I opened my mouth and the cloud started to rain.

‘Pink Lemonade – my favourite!’ I gurgled, as fizzy pink raindrops pitter-pattered down my throat.

‘How about a snack?’ said Splorg, and he whistled. ‘Here boy!’ he called, and I spotted a hot dog galloping towards me. It stopped at my feet and barked.

‘I can’t eat him, he’s way too cute!’ I said.

‘It’s just a hot dog, Ratfingers!’ said Twoface, picking it up and slotting it into his mouth. ‘Mmm, good doggy!’ he smiled, and a muffled woof echoed inside his tummy.

I ignored Twoface and did a whistle. Another hot dog ran over and I lifted it up to my mouth and bit it in half. It really was delicious, even though I felt a bit guilty.

‘And now for my favourite part!’ boomed Mayor Goodhair, pointing at the giant presents. ‘The Grand Unwrapping!’

‘Who buys all these statues for him?’ I spluttered.

‘Nobody,’ said Bunny. ‘Mayor Goodhair’s so rich he buys his own presents!’

Mayor Goodhair clicked his fingers and Norman, his pet pair of hover-scissors, floated up to the bright red ribbon that was tied around the yellow sheet covering the statue.

‘Ooh a ribbon,’ squeaked Norman, swishing his blades open. ‘I just can’t resist!’

He swished his blades shut, snipping the ribbon in half, and the sheet flopped to the floor revealing a concrete Mayor Goodhair standing on top of a pillar.

‘Another statue of me – just what I’ve always wanted!’ beamed the mayor, and the crowd cheered.

Norman flew down towards one of the mayor’s trouser pockets and slid himself into it. ‘Hover-scissors get extremely tired after snipping a ribbon,’ explained Jamjar. ‘He’ll need a nice nap now.’

‘O-K . . .’ I said, thinking how ridikeelous the future could be sometimes.

Mayor Goodhair turned to the floating pink parcel. ‘And who bought me this great big one?’ he asked.

‘I thought you said he bought his own pressies?’ I whispered to Bunny.

‘Must be from a secret admirer!’ she giggled.

A humungazoid label was hanging off the pink parcel. ‘Somebody flip that tag round so I can read it, would you?’ smiled Mayor Goodhair.

Not Bird flew up to the label and turned it over with his beak. ‘Happy bday!’ said the mayor, reading out what was written on it. Underneath the writing was a big black ‘X’ for a kiss.

‘Ahh, that’s nice!’ smiled Splorg, as the mayor began to frown.

‘Hmmm, there’s something about that handwriting that rings a bell . . .’ he mumbled, as the ground shook beneath me and the crowd started to scream.

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