Jack Jackson
vs
The Midnight Army
Emlyn Hall
For Boyston 1 & Ganoosh
Little Bottombump
Jack Jackson was a 10-year-old boy. To be a little more precise, Jack was a skinny little 10-year-old boy. He was in fact so skinny that if he were to take off his T-shirt, you would be able to see all of his ribs.
Jack lived in a tiny village called Little Bottombump. Little Bottombump was a particularly tiny village. In the village there were just five houses, a shop (which was also a post office), a bakery and a pub.
The village was arranged either side of the main road that ran through it. If you were driving on that road, there is a very real chance that you would not even notice that you were passing through a village at all; it was that small.
On one side of the road there were three large houses next to each other, all identical except for the colour of their front doors. A blue door, a red door and a green door. Next to the house with the green door was the shop (which was also a post office).
On the opposite side of the road was another identical house (but this time with a yellow door), the bakery, the pub and Jack's house.
Jack's house was not identical. It was however, an enormous house - an enormous old house, to be more accurate. Whereas all the other houses in the village had four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a lounge, a kitchen and a garage, Jack's house had fourteen bedrooms, four lounges, three kitchens and two garages. The house was five storeys high and looked as if it could fall down at any moment. The house was covered from top to bottom in cobwebs, and people who lived in the village used to laugh and say that it was only the cobwebs that held it together!
Jack loved Little Bottombump but he hated his house. He lived in the enormous house with his dad. His mum had passed away after she fell sick giving birth to him, so it was just him and dad. No brothers or sisters, just him and his dad. This would have all been fine, but he never really saw his dad as he spent every minute of his waking time fixing the old enormous house.
One day his dad would be up on the roof fixing some tiles, another day he would be in the basement trying to stop the damp from rising. Jack's dad did not have a job, the constant need to repair the house meant that he did not have time for a job. Because Jack's dad didn't have a job, this meant that they didn't have any money and what money they did have was always spent on nails, paint, wood or other things needed to fix the house.
That was why Jack was skinny. That was why Jack hated his house. It stopped him from being with his dad. He loved his dad more than anything in the whole world and if he had his way, he would spend every waking moment with his dad, playing games and listening to his silly stories.
Jack's dad was also called Jack, although Jack's real name was actually Jackson, he chose to shorten it to Jack as Jackson Jackson was just silly! His dad sometimes just called him Junior, Jack liked being called Junior, but only by his dad.
Jack was a friendly, clever and well-liked boy, everybody in the village loved him. He was a little short for his age, which was probably due to the fact that he didn't eat very much. Jack had lots of scruffy black hair which grew out of his head at all manner of strange angles and gave him a very unique hairstyle. Jack always had a dirty face and the clothes he wore were always second-hand and full of holes. Jack was quite a sad little boy, he loved his village and all of the people that lived there but none of them were children. In fact, the youngest person in the village (apart from Jack) was his dad, and he was forty-four. Some of the other people in the village did have children, but they were all grown up and had all moved away.
In the house with the blue door lived a lovely old couple called Trevor and Heather Evans. They had a son called Evan, that's right - Evan Evans. He was thirty-two and now lived in London where he worked in a bike shop.
In the house with the red door lived another couple called Boris and Doris Phillips. They too had a son, his name was Phillip, that's right - Phillip Phillips. He was also thirty-two and also lived in London where he made household electrical items.
In the house with the green door lived a little old lady called Mavis Davis. She was 103 years old but looked brilliant for her age. Jack would wave to her every morning as she jogged past his enormous old house on her daily seven mile run.
In the house with the yellow door lived an old man called David Davies. David was 102 years old and the brother of Mavis. Even though he was a whole year younger than his sister, he looked a lot older. Jack never saw him go jogging like his sister, but he did see him speed past the house every evening on his very expensive racing bike.
The shop (which was also a post office) was owned and run by a couple called Matt and Pat Nicolson. They worked in the shop during the daytime, seven days a week and lived in the flat above it. They had a daughter called Nicola, that's right - Nicola Nicolson. Nicola was at drama school training to be an actress.
The bakery was owned by a couple called Bill and Jill Perman. They worked in the bakery during the daytime, seven days a week and lived in the flat above it. They too had a daughter, her name was Sue, that's right - Sue Perman. Sue lived in London and worked as a fire fighter, an ambulance driver and at weekends would travel to the Lake District where she would help the mountain rescue service to save people.
The pub's landlord was a fifty-three-year-old man who lived their alone, his name was Brian Watkins, he was new to the area.
Penny's Penny
Every morning, Jack would wait outside the front of his old, enormous house and wait patiently for the school bus to arrive. Jack was always the first to be picked up by the school bus as he lived so far away. It took Jack over an hour to get to school and the bus driver was desperately unhappy about having to go so far out of his way every morning.
Once the bus arrived, Jack would shout out a "goodbye!" to his dad, who would either poke his head out of a window, appear over the roof or lean off of a ladder to wave goodbye.
Each morning, Jack would step up on to the empty bus under the menacing stare of the driver, Mr Grimson.
"Good morning, Mr Grimson," Jack said every morning, doing his best to try and sound jolly.
"Huh, sit down, do up your belt and no talking," was the standard grumpy reply. Mr Grimson was indeed, as his name suggested, very grim.
Jack sat in the same seat every morning, just behind Mr Grimson. He loved to sit there as he could see clearly out of the big front windscreen and pretend that he was the driver. It took Jack and Mr Grimson a good half an hour before they reached the next bus stop, in another little village called Penny Downhill. Jack's dad had once told him that the village was called Penny Downhill because once upon a time a wealthy and eccentric landowner staged a competition on the top of the steepest and highest hill in his land. He placed a single penny in an old empty beer barrel and announced:
"The first person to catch the barrel, break it open and return it to me will win a large plot of my land!" With that he kicked the barrel down the hill. People had travelled from far and wide to try and win the land.
Down the barrel rolled, faster and faster. The huge crowd of people followed. The hill was so steep and slippery that everyone soon fell over. It must have looked like an avalanche of arms and legs. Men and women, boys and girls all fell, and spun and tumbled and fell some more.
Arms broke, noses bled, fingers crunched and still the barrel tumbled away from them, faster and faster. Then all of a sudden, out of the wailing spinning mass of people a little girl emerged, running faster than the wind, her legs a complete blur as she zoomed after the barrel.
The barrel reached the bottom of th
e hill and began to slow down, but the girl ran faster and faster. The barrel stopped, the girl tried to slow herself down, but could not, she was running just too fast. She closed her eyes, raised her hands across her face, screamed and ran straight through the barrel. The barrel splintered into a thousand pieces. She pulled her hands away from her eyes and began to circle the barrel as tightly as she could in search of the penny. 'It isn't here!' She thought to herself.
Certain that there was no penny inside, she turned a big U-turn and began back up the hill as fast as she could go, dodging the falling crowd of people as she went. She arrived at the top of the hill and stopped in front of the wealthy, eccentric landowner and fell to her knees in sheer exhaustion.
Then she began to cough. Little coughs at first, followed by larger hacking coughs, followed by enormous gut shaking rasps.
There was a huge plopping sound and the coughing stopped. The penny that moments before had been stuck in the back of the young girl's throat was now sitting in the middle of her cupped hands, covered in saliva. The young girl smiled and held her hands upwards towards the landowner.
The landowner reached forwards, retrieved the penny, wiped the saliva from it and held it up high in the air.
"I proclaim that this young girl is the winner!" He stooped low to whisper to the young girl. "What is your name, dear?" he asked in a friendly voice.
The young girl was breathing very heavily indeed. It was fair to say that the combination of running like the wind and coughing up the coin had clearly taken a lot out of her. A minute passed and her breathing had slowed enough for her to speak.
"Penny," she panted.
Penny went on to form the village of Penny Downhill from the land she was given, where she still lives to this very day at the ripe old age of 112. But saying her name at the top of the hill was the last time she ever spoke.
Jack had heard his dad tell the story many times, but never believed a word of it.
Unless somebody was unwell, thirteen children got on board the bus at Penny Downhill. Not one of them ever sat next to Jack.
Another ten minutes of driving they stopped at another little village called Bumblebee Farm. Five children got on board here, again not one of them ever sat next to Jack.
Another four villages and another twenty-two children. Not one of them ever sat next to Jack.
It was fair to say that Jack was a bit of a loner. It was also fair to say that Jack was a little bit lonely too.
Jack's Abseiling Dad
Jack's alarm clock rang out so loudly that it even woke up Mrs Nicolson in the shop (which was also a post office) and Mr Watkins in the pub.
It was a warm Monday morning; Jack's window was wide open. The breeze was cooling as it rolled in. The sound coming from the two very large bells on the top of Jack's alarm clock was deafening as it rolled out.
Jack instinctively rolled away from the clock, placed a pillow over his head and continued to snore away happily. Jack was a very heavy sleeper.
In many ways, Jack was quite aware that the alarm was ringing out, but he was having such a nice dream about playing in the anti-gravity, football World Cup Final that he wasn't really interested in waking up just yet.
The ringing stopped. Jack's dad, who had been painting the window frames of Jack's bedroom, leaned in and silenced the clock.
"Oi!!" Jack's dad shouted. "Wake up, sleepy head!!"
Jack's eyes sprang open immediately and he turned to see the rather surprising sight of his dad dangling through his open window by a length of old and frayed blue rope. Jack smiled at the sight although he was not completely surprised; his dad had a habit of dangling from bits of rope all over the house.
His dad was a particularly funny sight this morning. A paint brush and tin of paint in one hand, paint all over his face and hair and his blue work trousers halfway down his legs revealing a pair of bright yellow pants.
"Good morning, Dad," said Jack, half speaking and half laughing at the same time. "You do realise that you are showing your pants to the world don't you?"
Jack's dad turned his head around and looked at his yellow pants, turned back and nodded with a guilty smile.
"They fell down a few minutes ago, but my hands are too full to pull them back up. Wrong day to wear the yellow perils, eh Jackson!" Jack's dad didn't often call him Jackson but when he did it usually meant he was being silly.
"To be honest, Dad, I don't think there is ever a right day to wear those horrific pants!" laughed Jack.
Jack's dad laughed. "That's enough insulting my underwear for one day, you need to get yourself up, dressed and off to school, the bus will be here in twenty minutes."
Jack nodded and swung his tired legs over the bed and on to the floor. At the precise moment his feet hit the floor a loud crashing of breaking glass rang out from the back of the house. Jack looked up at his dad.
"Oops, better go. That sounded like the bathroom window. Have a good day in school," said Jack's dad as he disappeared back out of his window.
Jack pulled on his uniform and walked across the large corridor outside his bedroom to the bathroom, he paused for a moment at the sink to pull out a long splinter from his foot and began to brush his teeth. Sure enough, the window had indeed fallen out.
"Have a great day!" shouted Jack's dad as he abseiled past the window on his old blue rope.
Jack finished up in the bathroom and walked carefully down the old rickety stairs, avoiding the big hole halfway down and making sure that he did not put his hand on the recently lacquered banister (complete with missing spindles).
He packed his school bag with his books, pencil case and lunchbox (complete with his dad's painted handprint) and strode out of the front door to wait for the school bus.
Mr Grimson pulled up outside of Jack's house at 7:20am. The smell of dust, paint and lacquer became fainter as Jack walked away from his enormous old house and it was replaced by the delicious smell of freshly baked bread from Mr and Mrs Perman's bakery. Jack closed his eyes and breathed it in deep as he did every morning.
"Good morning, Mr Grimson," said Jack, doing his best to try and sound jolly.
"Huh, sit down, do up your belt and no talking," came the usual grumpy reply.
Jack sat quietly on the bus and stared out of the front window as usual. The bus filled up slowly with the usual children from the other usual villages.
As usual, the bus arrived at Jack's school at 8:30, the school day began at 8:40. The other children would laugh and joke around for those ten minutes, Jack always went into school and sat at his desk alone and waited for the rest of the class to come in.
Jack's school was called The Merryman Community School. Jack liked his school, but he never really found it to be a merry place and he certainly didn't feel part of the community.
Jack's teacher was called Mrs Snuggles; she was a huge jolly lady in her late fifties. Mrs Snuggles always wore pink suits that didn't quite fit her and she spoke in the poshest and highest pitch voice you could possibly imagine.
Jack really liked Mrs Snuggles, sure she was a little odd and sure she had an incredibly funny name, but she was always nice to Jack and the only person in the school that ever spoke to him.
"Why, gooood morning, my dear boy!" said Mrs Snuggles loudly as she walked into the classroom. "And how are you this fine morning?" she asked.
"I'm fine, Miss, thank you for asking. How are you?" replied Jack.
"That's good to hear, Jack my dear child, I am absolutely peachy, absolutely peachy," replied Mrs Snuggles, she often repeated the last thing she said, but at a slightly higher pitch.
As usual, the school day seemed to happen around Jack. Registration, maths, story writing, break time, art, science, lunch, reading, geography and then it was time to go home.
"Good afternoon, Mr Grimson," said Jack, doing his best to try and sound jolly.
"Urggn," came the reply.
Jack sat in his usual seat, the bus filled up with the usual children and then t
hey set off on what would prove to be a most unusual journey home.
The Refreshing Breakdown
The school bus pulled into the bus stop in Penny Downhill a little after 4:30pm and the thirteen particularly noisy children that lived in the village got off.
Jack was, as usual, the last passenger left on the bus. Jack looked out of the window as the children laughed and joked with each other as they made their way home, Jack felt a little sad and wished (not for the first time) that he too had some friends. It didn't even need to be friends, just one friend would do.
He was deep in thought about what his ideal friend would look like when a tremendous growling and clunking noise jolted him back to reality. The bus shook violently, more growling followed, then more clunking and finally a little bit of spluttering before the sound stopped and the bus returned to being silent and still? very still!
Jack, who was sitting in his usual seat, looked out of the front window, smoke was bellowing out of the bonnet. Thick, dark, black smoke. A little of the smoke wafted into the bus and made Jack begin to cough; it really wasn't a very pleasant smell at all.
Mr Grimson unclipped his seat belt, stood up and faced the back of the bus.
"Right, that's it, everybody off the bus!" he shouted.
"Umm, Mr Grimson, it's just me on the bus, sir," said Jack with a rather puzzled look on his face. Jack was now in year six of primary school and had been catching Mr Grimson's bus since year one. 'How could he not know that I'm the last person on the bus?' Thought Jack. Am I really that forgettable?