Mark Robson and myself have been allowed out this Saturday, 31st October, to sign books and draw ghouly ‘things’ like this fella. In fact, with a bit of luck you can win this very drawing as part of a prize, together with a signed set of books from one of Mark’s fantastic series. This chap is a Windy Nibbler and swoops in for an appearance in my new book Ghost Goblins.

To find out more why not pop along to The Bookstore, 15 Bury Street, Abingdon, from 10.00am. We should be there for most of the day, or until “they” drag us back down to the dark Pit of Despair.

Still, happy days.

Have you ever watched passers-by in Halloween costumes? Have you ever wondered whether any of the people you’re seeing might actually be monsters? Perhaps they’re using this holiday as the perfect chance to go about their dark and nefarious purposes in full view of the human public. Because if they /are/ monsters, how would you know?

Dear reader, as our first Halloween since we TBM authors were consigned to monster captivity approaches, I can exclusively confirm: IT’S ALL TRUE. Shaken (and stirred), I have just been forcibly returned to the caves from this special TBM Halloween Event. Some one hundred and fifty awesome young people were there, from no less than thirty different schools… and monsters walked among us. I mean, check out these disreputable characters…

Sadly, in a last-minute decision by our captors, Tommy and Andy were kept back at the caves. Lately the monsters have been using them as lab test subjects for some new and interesting diseases they’ve invented: unfortunately both these benighted souls were deemed too dangerous, unstable and, frankly, [ew], sticky to travel.

Joe and I were there, though, and we had a fantastic time. A monstrous thank you to everyone we met and spoke to!

Mark was there, too – or so we thought. See for yourself:

This guy claimed to be Mark Robson wearing a Death mask. Hah! I knew the truth: it was something else, and whenever it pretended to doff its disguise, this nameless horror was wearing a Mark Robson mask.

Mark? Mark! What have they done to you?

Another day, another great story cooked up by the young people of Northamptonshire. Today I visited the libraries in Thrapston, Rushden and Irthlingborough. I gave the first group the option of carrying on the story started by the young people in the group of libraries I visited on Monday, or starting a fresh one of their own. They chose to do a new story. Once again, they’ve done a fantastic job. They’ve called it:

SHADOW PORTAL

As soon as Elaine entered the trees she could feel her anger begin to drain away. The crisp greenness of the leaves swallowed her in a sea of calm, and the damp, earthy smell of the forest made the day to day trivia of being a princess seem a world away.

Riding on Erillion made her feel truly alive. The rhythm of his footfall, the smell of his sweat rising from his strong back and the sense of freedom that she felt when on his back all combined to make riding him her favourite pastime. Even though the sun had set and the shadows were lengthening, the warm Spring evening tempted her to be just a little reckless. Heedless of her father’s warnings about the forest, Elaine pressed on, delighting in the growing distance between her and the castle.

Erillion danced nervously as he weaved between the trees. Reaching down, Elaine patted his neck.

‘It’s OK, boy,’ she said, her voice soft and calming. ‘Don’t be scared.’

Something moved ahead, flitting and fluttering in and out of the branches. A sudden High-pitched screech split the air. Startled, Elaine eased back on the reins, slowing Erillion almost to a halt.

‘Oh it’s only a bat,’ she whispered, chiding herself as much as the horse. ‘Let’s not get spooked over nothing.’

A path seemed to be opening up ahead. Elaine steered Erillion along it, drawn by the bubbling sound of water in the distance ahead. Just the sound of the stream made her mouth feel dry and, glancing down, she could see that her horse had foam around his lips. A drink would be more than welcome, she thought.

With a gentle kick to encourage him, Erillion broke into a trot and they threaded through the trees faster, looking ahead for the water they could hear so clearly. The trees to either side of the path thinned, opening into a wide clearing. The stream was at the far side, but as they moved to cross the open space, Elaine sensed something in the air that made her hesitate.

She didn’t see it at first, for it was not very big. A strange shimmer, distorting the air like a heat haze. But this was no illusion. The blur was little bigger than her fist. It was hovering in the air at about chest height and constantly moving in a slow, vertical circle.

‘What’s that?’ she wondered, curiosity pulling at her mind with as strong a pull as the reins she used to guide her mount. The anomaly was irresistable. Thirsty though she was, she could not help herself. If she went for a drink first, it might disappear, never to be seen again.

Flipping her right leg over the saddle to join her left, she slid down Erillion’s side and ran to investigate. Erillion wandered on alone towards the stream. The blurry haze continued its slow circle as Elaine approached cautiously. She reached out to touch it, pausing just short as a sudden wave of icy fear raced through her body. Her hands began to tremble and uncontrollable shivers ran up and down her spine.

‘What IS that thing?’ she whispered aloud. ‘And why am I feeling so scared?’ She reached out again, but even as her fingertips approached the surface, the blur suddenly expanded and a hideous dragon-like head burst out from it, knocking her from her feet.

The creatures’s head was almost skeletal. It looked to be all scales, bone and horns. It’s scales were a deep crimson and its horns were twisted. A vicious row of spikes ran up its neck and a collar of spikes, joined by a thick membrane flared out from the back of its head. Elaine instinctively reached for her silver dagger, but she had no time to draw it as the dragon lunged towards her again.

For the briefest instant, Elaine felt sure she would be torn apart by the wicked teeth that filled the creatures mouth, but to her surprise, the creature did not strike. Instead it stopped a mere fingertip’s width from her, it’s eyes glowing with hypnotic power. Inside her head a whispering voice began to call her name over and over again.

‘Elaine … Elaine … Elaine. Follow me … follow me … follow me now!’

With the words still going round and round in her mind, the creature began to withdraw back into the strange portal. To her horror, Elaine suddenly discovered she had no choice but to follow. Her body was no longer hers to control. With slow, jerking movements she regained her feet and moved forwards. One step. Another. As she did so, the shimmer in the air expanded to meet her.

She felt empty inside, as if the creature had sucked all of her emotions from her body. No sooner had the haze swallowed her than it was as if the earth had been pulled from under her feet. Her stomach lurched up towards her throat as she fell, spinning out of control into a hazy void.

With a thud, she landed on hot, dust-covered rock and promptly vomited. She couldn’t help herself. The fall and the sudden overwhelming smell of dead, rotting animals combined with the stench of rotten eggs turned her stomach.

Dust and hot ash filled the air. She wiped her lips with the back of her sleeve smearing the mucky mix of vomit and gritty dust across the soft material.

‘Where am I?’ she breathed, coughing as the dusty air began to tickle and burn at the back of her throat.

The landscape was bizarre, and unlike anything she had ever imagined in her wildest dreams. Gone was the forest of green and the cool stream. Now she was sitting on the side of a volcano with a large cave looming behind her like a gigantic open mouth. Thoughts of the dragon creature and its strange, hypnotic call suddenly filled her mind. Why was she here? Why had the creature not killed her instantly?

A distant roar made her heart leap. Further down the rocky slope, two enormous skeletal beasts were facing up for a fight. One had great plates of boney armour all over its body, with what looked like great random shaped sheets of bone sticking up in a line along its back. The other stood tall on enormous hind legs. It was hard to get a sense of scale at this distance, but both creatures looked to be at least five times the size of Erillion …

The young people at Daventry Library decided to add a bit more to this story today, but it would be great to see an ending or two for this story. Have a go and send one. I’d love to see your ending.

No, this is not a post about where to buy a Stephen King film/story. The picture just sort of fitted the story that came from a series of writing workshops I did today in Libraries around Northampton. Children came to Wootton Fields, Kingsthorpe and Weston Favell Libraries today to take part in ‘Monster Workshops’ with me. The idea was to promote the ‘Questseekers’ summer reading campaign and to spread the word further about our plight here in the cave.

The children in Wootton Library began the following story and other groups added to it through the day. I’ve posted it here for you to read, and asked the children to send in suitable endings. Here’s what they’ve written so far:

‘What was that?’ Maria whispered.
‘How would I know,’ Jensen replied with a shrug. ‘Come on. We’ve given mum and dad the run around for long enough. Let’s get out of here.’

He crept out from the doorway into the silent main hall of the Grosvenor Centre. It was getting quite dark now and nobody else was around. His footsteps rang, sounding strangely loud and echoing in the hallway. A sudden hissing sound raced along the pipes overhead and a cloud of mist began to descend from the vents up near the ceiling. The lights in the shop windows began to flicker.

Jensen’s eyes went wide. He could feel his heart beginning to pound faster and faster.

‘Maria?’ he said, his voice sounding tight and shaky.

‘What’s the matter, Jensen?’ she replied. ‘It’s only a bit of mist.’

Her words sounded brave, but her stomach felt as though it was twisting inside out. She stepped out of the doorway and marched confidently towards the main entrance. Jensen followed along behind, looking around nervously. Where had everyone gone? Was it really so late? A cold shiver ran down his spine as misty shadows moved in the corners of his vision.

‘Uh oh!’ Maria exclaimed as she reached the doors.

‘What’s the matter, Maria?’

‘The doors are locked,’ she replied, sounding shocked and slightly scared now.

‘We’re trapped,’ Jensen breathed.

They turned together. The mist was swirling thicker and thicker. It was billowing out of the vents in great clouds now, but it didn’t smell hot or acrid like smoke. In fact, it didn’t smell of anything at all. Was that a face appearing? They froze as a shape began to resolve and the longer they watched, the more solid the shape became.

Huge, fiery red eyes opened in the mist, blinking and glaring with burning malice. The ouline of the misty creature was so huge it almost filled the hallway. Black arms burst from the misty body, growing at an alarming rate from the pillar of mist that served as the monster’s body. Vicious claws erupted from the ends of the shadowy fingers, stretching towards them with such reach that it seemed there could be no escape.

Maria jumped in front of her younger brother and screamed at the creature. ‘Leave us alone you foul thing!’

It didn’t respond. Instead it grabbed her in its misty claws, freezing her solid in an instant.

Jensen couldn’t believe his eyes. Ice crystals filled his sister’s hair and shimmered like snow all across her clothing. He was so scared, he was beyond panic. His head spun with dizziness and a deep sense of shame burned inside him. Maria had been so brave and here he was, shaking and unable to move.

The mist creature growled. Its voice, filled with triumph, was so low and powerful that the windows rattled and the floor shook. To Jensen it felt almost like an earthquake.

Realising that this might be his one chance, Jensen forced his legs into a run whilst the monster was distracted by its joy at freezing Maria. Dodging to the right of the misty creature he sprinted past the Millies Cookie Store so fast that he couldn’t keep his balance. His body overtook his legs and he fell, tumbling, rolling and sliding across the cold floor.

The stone felt like solid ice as Jensen scrambled back to his feet. A glance behind showed the monster turning in through itself to face him again. It was as if it was turning inside out. Jensen shivered, goosebumps rising along his arms as he realised that it was very much intending to freeze him next.

He ran again. Faster and faster. Skidding as he turned left around the corner and headed for WH Smiths he was running so fast his throat was burning and he could taste the metallic tang of blood on the back of his tongue.

No matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t run fast enough. The thing poured along the hallway after him. There was no escape. It was catching up fast.

Suddenly Jensen spotted a security guard ahead. ‘HELP!’ he screamed, his voice cracking with the effort. ‘It’s after me!’

The guard took one look at the huge shadowy shape racing towards him and he was off. Jensen’s one thought was that the guard could run surprisingly fast given his bulk. Following the guard as best he could, the boy was delighted to see the man smash the fire alarm casing with his torch as he passed. Instantly a high-pitched intermittent siren split the air.

‘That should draw some attention,’ he thought. ‘I just hope it’s not too late…’

Just had this great picture through from George, who was at the first workshop yesterday. Thanks, George … I think you’ve caught the image of the myst monster really well.

I can’t wait to find out what happens next!

I was up at about 6 this morning so I could go on the telly again. Not my usual routine, especially when there’s a Test Match on (when I usually have the alarm set for 10.46am, allowing just enough time to get breakfast before catching the last few minutes of the build-up to the start of play). But the monsters kindly let me out this time (with a chaperone, obviously) so I could be on the BBC.

My appearance on BBC Breakfast seemed to go OK. It was all very quick again, but I hope in those few seconds I didn’t offend anybody too much. My stance is still that I’m more than happy to be vetted in order to carry on visiting schools.

Interesting feedback from various people.

Some seem to be bristling about the cost. I expect most authors will probably split the cost (£64) and spread it across several schools. I think if I spread it over the events I’ve got coming up in the next 12 months it’ll work out at about £2 per school. (Obviously this method doesn’t help people like dinner ladies or low paid workers who can’t name their own fee, but I’m not claiming to comment for them. I’m just responding to the fuss that a few ‘esteemed’ authors have kicked up.)

A few times I’ve heard the ‘Where will it end?’ argument, otherwise known as ‘the thin end of the wedge’. This goes, roughly, something like this: we shouldn’t have to vet authors, because that implies we should have to vet everybody who works with children, or even lives near children, or has children, or can spell ‘children’.

Well, I like ‘wedge’ arguments. Usually a good response is simply to say that the first thing does not imply the second. Or, if it does, quite often the second thing is also a good thing to be doing, so the implication means we should do the first thing, then look into doing the second as well. It’s a mixture of both in this case:

Yes, it does imply that we should vet everybody who works with children. That’s a good thing. It’s the point of the scheme.

No, it does not imply that we should be paranoid about everybody who lives anywhere near a school (though now I think about it, what’s wrong with a bit of healthy caution?).

The strangest argument is the one I’ve heard from Messrs Morpurgo and Pullman – that vetting authors destroys the trust between author and young reader.

Is that so different from the trust between pupil and teacher, fan and popstar or, dare I say it, child and school caretaker? Well, I suppose it is different from the pupil/teacher relationship because a reader’s trust in the author isn’t borne out of getting to know the person, it’s a judgement of character based on the author’s work. Lovely that that trust exists. But surely it’s all the more reason to vet the author – let’s make sure the trust can’t be abused. (Barry put this very well in his comment on my previous post.)

And will vetting the author really threaten that trust? I struggle to see how. Vetting will be a process between the author and the Independent Safeguarding Authority. The teacher organising the visit might get involved to check that the author is ISA registered, but it doesn’t need to go beyond that, does it?

To be honest, most kids probably assume that everybody working with them has been checked out anyway. They’re not idiots. A lot of them might be surprised to find out that children’s authors have been allowed to go into schools for so long without being vetted.

The biggest shame is to hear that these few authors are going to be boycotting schools. Get over yourselves. Get registered and get on with inspiring kids to love reading and writing. It’s a fun job.

I have a long story to tell you about what happened when I was finally fully digested and ejected by the monster that ate me, but I’m going to save that for now because…

I escaped from the cave! Only temporarily. I’m back now.

I snuck out (in a cab) and found myself at BBC TV Centre. You’d have thought that I might use my appearance on BBC News 24 to decry the plight of all the authors in this cave and make a plea for our rescue, but I didn’t. Didn’t think of it. Oops.

Instead, I ranted and raved (a little bit) about this story.

A handful of very eminent children’s author have got themselves all worked up about authors having to be registered and vetted before we can visit schools. They’ve even decided to boycott schools from now on.

Isn’t that a shame?

Seems like a bit of an over-reaction to me, and I said so on the telly tonight. I will say so again on the telly tomorrow morning. I might also say some other things, such as:

Yes, it’s extremely rare for an author to be left alone with a child in a school, and in theory it should NEVER happen. So perhaps vetting authors seems unnecessary. But even when I’ve addressed a hall of 300 kids from a stage, and everything is supervised by staff, there are still moments, especially during the signing afterwards, when staff are so occupied marshalling the crowd that they have no way of monitoring what I’m saying or doing with kids at the front of the queue. Then I always stay in touch with kids I’ve addressed at schools afterwards, online – on websites like this one, and my pages on facebook and bebo.

I might also say other things, depending on how the mood strikes me, what I have for breakfast beforehand and how late I get to bed tonight.

We’ll see…

Oh, so here’s the ‘important announcement’ bit, in big, clear letters:

BBC BREAKFAST NEWS, 7.45am TOMORROW! Watch me! (But if you’re of a nervous disposition, vet me first. Just in case…)

The monsters allowed Andy Briggs and myself out for the day on Tuesday to give creative writing workshops at the Renaissance Learning event in Leeds – and a great time was had by all…

…but especially by Andy, who was asked to pose as a model for the brilliant writing tool, the NEO II – and he totally immersed himself in the task, offering pose after pose, as you can see here…

Thankfully, I would NEVER do anything as embarrassing as that!

Tommy

Now we know Joe has internet access, I thought I’d encourage him on his harrowing passage through the monster’s intestinal tract by posting some good news here, for a change.

Yesterday I was allowed out of the caves to do my stuff at a brilliant event, the Leicester Teen Read Expo. Check my blog to hear how it went (possibly! ;p) But while I was there I also discovered that both Joe’s Jimmy Coates: Survival and my own Tim, Defender of the Earth have been selected as part of… this:

This is a terrific list of books, and we’re in some truly stellar company. So chin up, Joe! And take that, monster jailers! We may be trapped in here, but our books are out there and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Except that. And those. And… ow, please don’t do that. No, put those fondue forks down – AIIIEEEE!

Straight after the Trapped By Monsters event in Abingdon on Saturday, I donned my pyjamas and dashed off with my monster jailer to a cub and beaver camp in Northampton to take part in the Giant Sleepover.

I’d been asked to read a spooky story to the assembled campers before they settled down for the night and helped raise money for some great causes. But I wanted to go one better, and so I wrote an exclusive Scream Street short story called Sweet Screams.

After meeting up with some of my fellow ready-for-bedders (and being interviewed by ITN!), I stepped out into the evening sunshine to run some gruesome games, and then read the terrifying tale to what we learned was the biggest sleepover on the planet that night!

Sleepers at other events around the country were treated to the story on video and – for those of you who couldn’t make it to your local lie-in – here’s what they saw…

Now, if you will excuse me, I’m off for 40 winks…

Tommy

What do you see here?

A humble bottle of sauce? Or what’s soon to become the most feared literary harbinger of doom since The Black Spot in Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island?

In addition to Tommy’s horrifying post below, further distressing details of Saturday’s dark doings may be discerned at the Mostly Books blog, here.