Eddy Stone and the Mean Genie's Curse

  When Eddy Stone accidentally releases a wizard from a magical lamp, everyone’s wishes start coming true…but going wrong.

  Tumbling into a land of genies, mad emperors and dancing camels, can Eddy find a way to reverse this curse?

  ABRACADABRA

  This genie will grab ya…

  “Wonderfully told adventures”

  Stephen Fry

  “Total silliness”

  Lenny Henry

  CONTENTS

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  1. A HEAD AND SOME TALES

  2. A LOT OF JUNK

  3. YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT

  4. YOU DON’T ALWAYS WANT WHAT YOU GET

  5. TOAST

  6. WISHES

  7. BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

  8. HEN

  9. BONKERS

  10. SENSIBLE SCIENCE

  11. COUNTING

  12. BEDTIME

  13. SHOES

  14. THE CODE

  15. TONGUE PUNISHMENT

  16. AN ALL-ROUND FUN GUY

  17. EVERYBODY NEEDS GOOD NEIGHBOURS

  18. SOMETHING GOES WRONG

  19. TRANSPORT PROBLEMS

  20. THE GANG

  21. THE ROAD TO GRIMGLOWER

  22. BEIGE IS NOT A COLOUR

  23. UN-OKAY

  24. NOTHING WORKS

  25. EDDY GETS HIS HANDS DIRTY

  26. OUT OF THE FRYING PAN

  27. AND RIGHT INTO THE FIRE

  28. WELL – BUT WORSE

  29. THE LAST WISH

  30. A PILE OF PANTS

  31. MAGIC RULES

  32. READY OR NOT

  33. MAGIC HOUR

  34. ON THE BEACH

  35. SOME HELPFUL ADVICE

  36. THE IDEA

  37. BUILDING WORKS

  38. QUITE A NICE PALACE

  39. THINGS GO OKAY

  40. BUT NOT FOR LONG

  41. AND THE WINNER IS…

  42. RIBBIT!

  MAP OF THE LAND THROUGH THE BED

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  READ MORE EDDY STONE ADVENTURES

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  “What an ugly face!” The man’s voice sounded behind Eddy Stone’s right ear.

  It was that face that started it all. None of the mess that followed would have happened if it hadn’t caught Eddy Stone’s eye on that Saturday afternoon.

  “Imagine having to look at someone so hideous every day,” the man continued.

  “Yes,” said his wife, sadly. “Just imagine.”

  Eddy was staring at the face in question. He didn’t think “ugly” was the right word for it. Unusual, yes. Striking, certainly. It was a life-sized sculpture of a head made of red clay. It had a short curved nose and a long curled moustache, sharp eyes and a pointed chin.

  It wore an expression that might have been a sly smile or a calculating frown – as though it had just come up with a clever joke, or a plan to get rid of an annoying insect.

  Eddy had been enjoying a sunny day with no school by riding his bike round the little seaside town of Tidemark Bay, where he lived with his mum and dad. Spring had sprung, and down by the harbour the shops and cafes were sprucing themselves up for the start of the tourist season. He had been watching the owners dusting floors and washing windows and touching up paintwork, when he had noticed a stream of people heading for the Community Centre and had gone to see what they were all doing.

  There was a sign outside.

  Tidemark Manor was a grand old house that stood proud on a hill above the bay. For the last few years it had stood proud and empty, and many people from the town had peered through the bars of the great iron gates at the end of its long tree-lined drive, wondering what was inside its walls. So there was quite a crowd in the Community Centre taking this opportunity to find out.

  The Manor’s last owner, Lady Madeleine Montagu, had been a famous traveller in her youth – which was now the best part of a hundred years ago. Souvenirs of her journeys were stacked on tables all around. There were dragon-shaped vases from China and tribal masks from Africa and delicate tea sets from Japan and rich silks from India and a large pink plastic prawn waving a flag with the words “A Present From The British Seaside” on it.

  Lady Madeleine Montagu hadn’t just been a famous traveller, she’d been a famously eccentric one. No challenge was too bold for her, no plan too wild. Not for nothing had her chums called her Mad Monty. Eddy spotted a stack of old books in tattered covers. These were the tales of some of her wackiest journeys – Through Russia by Rollerskate, A Madagascan Monocycle, Pedalo on the Limpopo and A Pogo Stick in Peru.

  Eddy flicked open the last one. There was a brown and white photo: in front of a tangle of plants a young woman on a spring-loaded contraption, hair and skirt flying, was bouncing out of the side of the picture in a blur.

  Eddy would have liked to buy the books. He would have liked to buy loads of other stuff, too. But the one thing he really craved, more than any other, was the red clay head.

  It was as though it was talking to him.

  “Come on. You know you want me.”

  It would look great sitting on the shelf in his bedroom, Eddy thought. He wondered if he would be able to afford it. All he had was this week’s pocket money.

  He saw a man in a smart blazer with a badge on his lapel standing nearby. He must be something to do with the sale.

  “Excuse me,” he asked the man. “Can you tell me the price of this head?”

  “Not yet, I can’t,” said the man. “This is an auction sale. It will be sold to the person who puts in the highest bid. You see the number on the card in front of it?”

  Eddy did – 49.

  “That means it is lot number 49. You’ll have to wait till we’ve sold the first 48 lots, and then you can try to buy it. Though if I were you, I’d have a look round for something that’s not quite as ugly.”

  “I won’t change my mind,” said Eddy. “That’s the one for me.”

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.” A man in a grey suit was standing behind a tall desk. His voice cut through the chatter in the room. “Welcome to this sale of the contents of Tidemark Manor. We’ll begin with Lot 1 – a fine example of an antique mahogany pogo stick. Who will start the bidding? Do I have two hundred?”

  He did. Someone raised their hand and the auction began. Lot by lot, paintings and pottery and paraphernalia were snapped up by eager buyers. And then, at last, the auctioneer cried out, “Lot 49. Any offers?”

  If only Eddy had known what Lot 49 really was.

  Then he would have realized how much trouble it was going to cause.

  Then he would have decided he did not want to take it home with him after all.

  Then he would not have raised his hand to bid.

  But he didn’t.

  So he didn’t.

  So he didn’t.

  So he did.

  Eddy plonked a large cardboard box down on the kitchen table. The head peered out of the top of it.

  “What is that ugly old thing?” his mum asked. “And what is it doing on my table?”

  “I don’t know why everybody thinks he’s ugly,” said Eddy. “But I’m glad they do, because it means that no one else wanted to buy him. So I got him really cheap.”

  “You paid money for him?” His mother sounded as though she thought that was not a good idea.

  “There was a sale of stuff from Tidemark Manor. He was Lot 49. I know why they call them lots, now. It’s because there was lots of other stuff that came with him. This whole boxful. I think they must have just pulled it out of a cupboard and put it on sale. I asked if
I could just take the head and leave the rest, but they told me it was all mine now and I had to take it away. I had to balance the box on my handlebars and wheel my bike home.”

  “I want you to take it away, too,” said his mum. “Upstairs and into your room. Then wash your hands and come straight back down. Dad will be home from work any minute and dinner’s nearly ready. And be nice to him. Sit and chat. He’s got a lot on his plate right now trying to sort out the astronaut problem.”

  Eddy’s mum and dad ran a business selling fancy dress outfits for pets. They were getting lots of complaints about their new astronaut set for dogs. Customers had found that dog breath steamed up the helmets, so their pets couldn’t see and kept bumping into things.

  Over dinner, Eddy’s dad had a lot to say about how he was trying to find a way to fix the problem, so it wasn’t until much later that Eddy was able to sit on his bed and take a proper look through the cardboard box. He put the head up on his bookshelf and started to pull out the rest of Lot 49.

  There was a faded cook’s apron, with a pattern of pink roses. And a pair of large green wellington boots.

  So far, so useless. Then a layer of newspaper that had been used as packing. It was yellow and brittle and crumbled in his hand. There was something else underneath, something that had been rolled in a cloth and then tied securely with string. Eddy wondered what was inside. Someone must have thought it needed wrapping up to stop it getting damaged. Maybe it was valuable? The knots were tight, but he managed to work them loose.

  He eagerly unrolled the cloth.

  And was instantly disappointed.

  It was a table lamp. A really hideous old-fashioned table lamp made of bright orange pottery, topped by a shade of purple silk with lime-green tassels. The colours shrieked at each other. It would have walked away with first prize in an ugly competition.

  Eddy was just wondering what to do with it when it slipped from his grip, almost like it had jumped away from him. He clutched thin air as the lamp clattered to the floor with a crunch. The pottery base cracked and broke into pieces.

  There was a faint fug and a strange smell in the air. It was ripe and rank and sweaty, and made him feel a bit dizzy.

  He wrapped the pieces in the cloth and put them in his wastepaper basket.

  Was that it then? Everything out of the cardboard box?

  No. There was an old toothbrush, its bristles bent and brown. Ugh! Straight into the wastepaper basket with that, too.

  Apart from the head, it looked like Lot 49 was just a lot of junk. But there was one more thing, right in the bottom of the box. Its outside was dark leather, carved with a scrolling pattern and dotted with metal studs. It was fastened with a metal clasp. It took him a moment to realize that it was a book.

  Perhaps this was something special. Something that would make the effort of carrying the cardboard box all the way home worthwhile.

  Eddy snapped the clasp open. There was a note on the inside of the cover, in neat, elegant handwriting.

  “A souvenir,” it read, “of my last and strangest journey. As if I could ever forget one moment of it. MM.”

  MM. Madeleine Montagu. Eddy wondered what weird and wonderful trip she had been on. It would take quite something to make it her strangest one.

  He turned the page. A sheet of loose paper fluttered out. There was more of Madeleine Montagu’s writing on it. Was this the story of her amazing adventure?

  “Skirts – 2,” he read. “Blouses – 3. Sun hat.”

  No, it wasn’t. It was a laundry list.

  “Boots – 2 pairs. Stick (stout).”

  No, not laundry. It must be things to pack for her trip. But it still wasn’t interesting.

  He looked through the book. This was more like it.

  It was full of beautiful coloured drawings. A palace with high walls. A man dressed in red and gold sitting on a throne. A cave full of treasure. Someone wearing artificial wings jumping from a tall tree. And – Eddy took a sharp breath in surprise – a tall figure in a black cloak whose face was just like the red clay head that he had brought home.

  Who was he? And what was the book about? Eddy couldn’t work it out. The writing underneath the pictures was like nothing he had seen before – curves and curls and squiggles that he couldn’t make head or tail of.

  It was so frustrating not to be able to follow the story.

  “I wish I could read the words in this book,” Eddy said, “instead of that boring list of clothes that fell out of it.”

  The strange smell hit his nose again. And then his eyesight went funny.

  The whole room seemed to ripple as though he was looking at a reflection in a pond and someone had just thrown a stone into the middle of it.

  Was it the stink that did it? Maybe he was just getting tired. It was late. He had better put the book down and go to sleep.

  But he didn’t do that.

  Because when he looked at the book again, something very strange had happened. The curves and curls and squiggles on the pages in front of him suddenly made sense, just as if they were perfectly ordinary letters. He went back to the start and began to read.

  This, thought Eddy, sounds good. And he carried on with the story of the Emperor, and the beautiful palace that he had built, and the exotic treasures that he filled it with. And when Eddy came to the picture of the figure in the black cloak whose face looked just like the red clay head, he gasped again as he discovered that this was a mighty genie who performed great feats of magic at the Emperor’s command.

  It was all too fantastic to be true, but it was a fabulous tale. Eddy read and read until his eyelids drooped and sleep got the better of him.

  He had barely nodded off when the statue on his shelf shivered. One eye popped open, and scanned the room. The lips turned briefly upwards in a smile, and the eye closed again.

  While Eddy was reading his book, it was Saturday evening in Tidemark Bay. Of course, it was Saturday evening in lots of other places as well, because that’s how Saturday evening works. But in Tidemark Bay, Saturday evening got far more interesting than it did anywhere else.

  Jeremy Grubb, for example, was getting ready to go out to the Tidemark Bay Over-50s Shepherd’s Pie and Disco Evening. His bald head shone in the bathroom mirror as he checked that his shirt collar was neatly tucked into his jumper. He sighed. How he wished that he had all his hair again.

  He clutched hold of the basin, feeling a little dizzy as his eyesight wobbled. When his eyes cleared again, he could see some sort of pale fuzz, like babies have, all over the top of his head. He blinked and looked again. Not only was the fuzz there, but it was getting longer. And thicker. And darker.

  Within seconds there was hair hanging down over his ears. And then his neck. And then tumbling over his shoulders. Soon it reached all the way to the floor. And still it carried on, until Jeremy Grubb was standing in a pool of his own hair that reached halfway up to his knees and spread out across the bathroom floor.

  Then, at last, it stopped.

  Jeremy Grubb scrabbled in the bathroom cabinet and pulled out a pair of nail scissors.

  He snipped at a strand of hair.

  The locks parted and then, to his astonishment, joined together again where he had cut them.

  All his hair was back. All his hairs, that is. Every centimetre of every single one that had grown on his head in his entire life. And they were back to stay.

  Eight-year-old Sophie Pinkerton was already in her bed at Harbour View Cottage. Her mum had sent her upstairs with no pudding as punishment for feeding her sprouts to the new puppy underneath the dinner table. But Sophie was still wide awake. And still fuming. It was so unfair. How could she have guessed that the puppy would like sprouts so much that he jumped up on the table to eat them off everyone else’s plates? Or that they would all come back up just as fast as he had gobbled them down?

  It wasn’t her fault. If anyone should be punished it was the puppy. Or whoever invented sprouts in the first place. They had no excus
e.

  It was strawberry ice cream for pudding. She loved strawberry ice cream. She wished she had some now.

  In fact, she wished she had the biggest bowl of strawberry ice cream in the world.

  A couple of streets away, Sharon Dibble was all dressed up and about to leave for a night out with some friends. She was staring into the cupboard where she kept her shoes. They all looked old and drab. Not right for tonight. She wished she had some really, really nice shoes.

  A strange feeling washed over her. She shook her head to try and clear it. There was a pair of smart, shiny black high heels on her shoe rack. She was sure they hadn’t been there a minute ago. But they were exactly the shoes she wanted. She slipped them on. They were a perfect fit.

  She headed for the front door.

  “Lovely carpet,” said a small voice.

  “And I like the colour of these walls,” said another. “Very soothing.”

  Sharon stood stock-still.

  “You’ve got very shapely feet,” said the first voice.

  “And nicely trimmed toenails,” added the second.

  Sharon thought she was probably losing her mind. It sounded like her shoes were talking.

  She bent down towards them.

  “Is that you?” she asked in a trembling voice.

  “I’m sorry,” said the first shoe. “Did we startle you?”

  “We’d never want to do that,” said the second.

  Sharon decided that she wasn’t going to go out that night. She would ring and tell her friends that she was feeling a bit odd.

  She went into the front room, sat down and turned the TV on.

  “This programme looks good,” said the first shoe.

  “Yes, super,” said the second.

  And they carried on like that all night. Both shoes, being nice about everything.

  Really, really nice shoes.

  At number 26 Culvert Avenue, Mrs Daphne Venables switched on her TV to watch the draw for the Mega Lottery. She wished, just like she did every week, that the numbers on her ticket would match the six balls that were about to pop out of the machine.