Bug Eyed Monsters by Jean Ure Page B

even have been the same one you saw.’
    â€˜Had this strange glow, sir — ’
    â€˜Kind of greenish.’
    â€˜And this sort of opening, in the side.’
    â€˜Like a curtain.’
    â€˜Curtain of light, sir. Like in the paper.’
    â€˜And this one person that went in, and this – this
thing
that came out.’
    â€˜It was like a horror film, sir! Like a monster.’
    â€˜Had these big bug eyes – ’
    â€˜And fur – ’
    â€˜All covered in it!’
    â€˜All gingery!’
    â€˜And a beak, sir! It had a beak!’
    Mr Trout smiled a tight little smile. ‘And no doubt claws and fangs and eyes like Catherine wheels?’
    â€˜They were, sir! They were! That’s exactly what they were like!’
    â€˜Your imagination,’ said Mr Trout, ‘knows no bounds. But I fear your effortsare wasted. I do not fall for the same trick twice.’
    â€˜But, sir!’ protested Bal.
    â€˜It hurts, doesn’t it,’ said Mr Trout, ‘when people don’t believe you?’
    â€˜We believed you, sir!’
    â€˜We always believed you!’
    â€˜Really?’ said Mr Trout. Plainly not convinced.
    â€˜Honestly, sir! That’s why we’ve come to you.’
    â€˜And what, precisely, would you expect me to do?’
    â€˜Thought maybe you could… go to the newspaper, sir?’
    â€˜And tell them what? That another spaceship has landed?’
    â€˜Only this time, sir, you could say about the aliens… how one went in and one came out.’
    â€˜Cos last time, sir, you weren’t sure. You didn’t know they were aliens.’
    â€˜Do you take me for a fool?’ said Mr Trout. ‘I have already been made a laughingstock once! You wish me now to tell the world that the staff of St Bede’s is infested with extra-terrestrials?’
    â€˜Only one, sir. As far as we know. And they’ve gone, now, sir.’
    â€˜To Australia, boy! To Australia! A family emergency. Do you doubt the Head Master’s words?’
    â€˜Reckon he might have been hoodwinked, sir.’
    â€˜In that case,’ said Mr Trout, ‘I suggest you go and tell him yourself! In the meanwhile, just be seated along with the rest of the class and take out your books. Page 121!’
    â€˜But, sir,’ bleated Harry.
    â€˜No more!’ thundered Mr Trout.
    Defeated, they went to their desks.
    Harry took out his maths book. Mechanically, he opened it at page 121. A jumble of words and figures danced before his glazed eyes. All he could think about was Miss Beam. Beautiful Miss Beam!
    Who could ever have guessed that she of all people would turn out to be an alien? Not Mr Bulstrode. Not Mrs Jellybaby. Not the McNutter, not the O’Hooligan, not the Head Master. Not even Monsieur Tittinbot, with his dodgy eye. But beautiful Miss Beam! The last person anyone would have suspected.
    Or was she?
    Something stirred at the back of Harry’s mind. Something that had been nagging at him. It was the very thing that had kept him awake. The thing that had sent him down the corridor at dead of night, past the room where the Snitch lurked in his red contact lenses…
    Of course! He sat up, with a jolt, banging his knee against the desk. Now he remembered! It was obvious. They should have spotted it. He
had
spotted it. He just hadn’t quite got around to putting two and two together. And even if he had…
    Even if he had, he wasn’t sure he would have believed it. Not Miss Beam! BeautifulMiss Beam! But Miss Beam had gone. Just as Mr Potts had gone. And Mr Hodge, before him. The evidence spoke for itself.
    At the front of the class, Mr Trout droned on. Harry could hardly contain his impatience. The minute the bell rang, almost before Mr Trout had even left the room, the words came tumbling out of him.
    â€˜I’ve got it!’
    â€˜Got what?’ said Joe.
    â€˜It was the chips!
The chips
… they all had