‘I have eaten fire,’ said Peter. ‘While walking on fire.’

  ‘You must be afraid of ghosts?’

  ‘I have eaten lunch with a ghost.’

  That must have been a lie. Though when Peter said it, it didn’t sound like a lie.

  ‘Are you afraid of heights?’ I said.

  ‘Never. I have stood on top of the world’s highest mountain. On tippy-toes. While eating flaming snakes and spiders.’

  ‘Would you be afraid if you saw a giant spider riding an elephant and the elephant had a gigantic rattlesnake for a trunk which could shoot lightning out of its fangs?’ I said.

  ‘No. I would not be afraid of that,’ said Peter. ‘Ha ha. You make me smile. I like you.’

  I liked Peter too.

  ‘You are still afraid. Yes? What are you afraid of? Are you afraid you will always be a very short person like you are now?’

  Maybe I didn’t like Peter that much.

  ‘Are you afraid that you will always have hair that looks like a family of very untidy birds have made a nest on the top of your head?’

  No. I didn’t like Peter.

  ‘Are you afraid that you will always have one leg that is much, much hairier than the other?’

  No. I really didn’t like Peter. Not one little bit. (I am three centimetres taller than Umesh who is the shortest kid in our class; a budgie once landed on my head but it did not try to build a nest, but one of my legs is a lot hairier than the other. I am a bit afraid I will always have unevenly hairy legs.)

  ‘Whatever you are afraid of you should not be afraid of it,’ said Peter.

  Even though I didn’t like Peter any more he was right about not being afraid.

  ‘Peter, I would like to get a paper round,’ I said. ‘Please.’

  All of a sudden Peter’s eyes went from being happy to being scared. Then his eyebrows went from being angry to being scared. Then the whole of Peter went from being not afraid of anything to being really afraid of something.

  Peter stared at me. I stared at Peter. Peter was silent. I was silent.

  Then Peter screamed. A really terrified scream. A really loud terrified scream.

  Then he ran out the door of the newsagents. Screaming.

  I watched him run off down the street. Screaming all the way.

  Soon I couldn’t see him but I could still hear him screaming.

  After school I went back to see Peter and check that he was all right.

  The newsagents was closed. There was a sign on the door.

  9

  THE PLAN

  It was five o’clock in the morning. I was hiding behind my letterbox. My best friend Hils was hiding in a bush.

  I had a plan.

  What happened with Peter had freaked me out a bit. Actually a lot. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me getting a paper round. So I thought up a plan.

  It was a simple plan. I would wait for our paper to be delivered and then ask the paper deliverer how to get a paper round.

  Peter running off screaming had made me nervous about talking to people about paper rounds, so I had asked Hils to come along and help me out.

  ‘Hils, can you see anyone coming?’ I said into my walkie-talkie.

  Hils had brought her walkie-talkies.

  ‘Negative,’ said Hils into her walkie-talkie.

  Hils says ‘negative’ instead of ‘no’ because that’s what they say in the army. Hils really wants to join the army. She acts like she is already in the army.

  WHY HILS WANTS TO JOIN THE ARMY

  On careers day at school we all took a quiz on the computer: What Job Is Best For You? You just put in your three favourite hobbies and the quiz told you your perfect job.

  Hils put in her three favourite hobbies: shouting orders, setting ambushes and blowing up suspicious objects.

  The quiz told her she should join the army.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ I said.

  ‘Affirmative,’ said Hils.

  In the army they say ‘affirmative’ instead of ‘yes’.

  ‘Why do you think Peter ran away screaming when I asked him if I could get a paper round?’

  ‘You farted,’ said Hils.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Your farts are really smelly. They would make anyone run away screaming.’

  ‘I did not fart.’

  ‘When you fart in my caravan I feel like running away.’

  ‘Then why don’t you wear your gas mask?’ I said.

  ‘Next time you fart I will,’ said Hils.

  Hils lives in a caravan on the front lawn of her mum’s house.

  Last year Hils built a flamethrower. While testing it she accidently set fire to the lounge, the kitchen, and the toilet. The next day Hils’s mum bought a caravan, put it on the front lawn and told Hils to go and live in it.

  In her caravan Hils keeps a gas mark. In case she is attacked with chemical weapons. I think it is sensible for Hils to have a gas mask. If anyone I knew was going to be attacked with chemical weapons it’d definitely be Hils.

  Hils was hiding in a bush down on the corner of my street (out the front of the café that sold the driest muffins in the world) so she could warn me when the paper deliverer was coming. That would give me time to work out exactly what to say to them.

  I was hiding behind the letterbox because I thought it might look a bit strange if I was standing in front of my letterbox at five o’clock in the morning. The paper deliverer might see me and get worried that I was some sort of crazy person.

  OTHER THINGS HILS HAS IN HER CARAVAN

  A helmet

  Flares

  A spade for digging traps and knocking the heads off the undead

  A compass

  Water purification tablets

  Lots of bandages

  Wire for making a trap

  37 My Little Ponies

  An enormous knife that her mum definitely doesn’t know she has

  ‘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.

  10

  THE 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!

  11

  THE END

  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.

  AAARCHOO!

  Wow! You keep sneezing after you die. That is an interesting fact. I wish I could tell Hils that but I can’t because I am dead.

  ‘Charlie? Charlie? Are you all right?’

  I could hear Hils’s voice.

  I could sneeze, my eyes stung (because soon they were going to explode), everything was red (because I was going to Hell) and I could hear Hils’s voice.

  Being dead was a lot different than I thought it would be.

  There was a lot more stuff going on.

  ‘Charlie. Charlie. Do you read me?’

  ‘Do you read me?’ is army-talk for, ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, Hils, I can hear you. Even though I am dead.’

  ‘You’re not dead.’

  Poor Hils. She was so sad that she would not accept that I was actually dead. That definitely meant she was secretly in love with me. Unfortunately, I was not secretly in love with her. I was not even un-secretly in love with her. I wasn’t in love with anyone. Actually, that was a bit sad. I had died without knowing love.

  ‘I am dead, Hils.’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘I am dead. Everything has gone red. I think that means I’m going to Hell.’

  ‘You are not going to Hell,’ said Hils. ‘Everything has gone red because one of the grannies shot you in the face with a water pistol filled with chilli sauce. My intelligence suggests it was the stuff with a picture of a rooster on the bottle.’

  That would explain why my eyes were stinging.

  ‘So my eyeballs haven’t started growing really, really fast until they explode and splatter everyone with eyeball gunge?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘So I’m not dead?’

  ‘Negative.’

  ‘I’ve just got rooster brand chilli sauce all over my face?’

  ‘Affirmative.’

  I was slightly disappointed that I wasn’t dead.

  ‘Don’t open your eyes,’ said Hils.

  I felt something wiping my face. Then I felt my eyes being flushed out with water.

  ‘Open your eyes,’ said Hils.

  I opened my eyes.

  There was Hils.

  Even though I wasn’t even the tiniest bit secretly in love with her I was very pleased to see her.

  I was slightly disappointed to see that she hadn’t been crying. Even a little bit.

  ‘Why did those two grannies shoot me with a water pistol full of rooster brand chilli sauce?’ I said.

  Hils didn’t answer.

  She was too busy striding off down the street.

  I jumped up and started to follow her.

  It was good to be alive.

  ‘Hils? Where are you going?’

  ‘To track the enemy assailants back to their HQ.’

  That’s army-speak for ‘follow the grannies’.

  ‘Wait for me,’ I said as I ran to catch up with her.