For James

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgment

Prologue

Chapter 1 - Mr Fuzzby Bixington

Chapter 2 - Milkshake Mayhem

Chapter 3 - When Cakes Attack!

Chapter 4 - Monsterchef

Copyright

About the Publisher

Acknowledgement

Thanks to Alex Milway, Sarah McIntyre and

Jodie Marsh for help and cakes

Did you know that there are

places where our ordinary world

rubs against strange, magical

worlds? When this happens holes

sometimes get worn between

the two, creating doorways.

It can happen anywhere.

Perhaps on a street near you.

An ordinary-looking door will

appear, so ordinary that you might not

even notice it. Like the door of a diner –

just a place that sells burgers and chips.

But there might be a very special diner

on the other side of that door, with very

special customers…

Joe had been sent on a perilous quest – to get chips for dinner. Mum had given him some magic tokens, or “money”, as she liked to call it, and ordered him to find the finest chips in the land or die in the process. Now Joe the Fearless faced the stronghold of McGreasy’s takeaway, the treasure of golden fried potato almost within his grasp. But alas! What monstrous horror blocked our hero’s path?

“Oh look, it’s that squirming little bum-toot, Joe Shoe!” sneered Grotty Grace, the school bully, snapping Joe out of his heroic daydream.

Grotty Grace was one of McGreasy’s best customers, and had the body to prove it. Even a fire-breathing dragon with fearsome teeth and mighty jaws would have had trouble digesting Grotty Grace. She was standing in front of the takeaway door, munching messily on a McGreasy burger with extra everything.

Joe attempted to slide past her, but Grotty Grace pressed her spotty face up close to his so that her smelly burger-breath swept up his nose and poked his brain like stinky fingers.

“Let me get past, Grace!” said Joe. “I’m fetching some chips for my mum.”

He tried to sound like Joe the Fearless, but with his nose screwed up he sounded more like a posh duck.

Grotty Grace laughed, her chins wobbling like angry jelly.

“Say that you’re nothing but a squirming little bum-toot and I’ll let you pass,” said Grace, with a menacing growl. “And if you let me have some of your chips I might not thump you.”

Joe needed a plan. He didn’t want to get thumped but he wasn’t going to give Grace any of his chips. He had to get her away from the door to the takeaway.

Then Joe remembered that there was a little alley at the end of the street. It looked a bit spooky but he could hide there until Grace had finished devouring her burger and gone home.

“The advantage of being a bum-toot,” said Joe, summoning Joe the Fearless once more, “is that they are both lethal and invisible. Like ninjas. So I’m quite proud to say that I am a squirming little bum-toot. In fact, I thank you for the compliment.”

Grotty Grace looked puzzled. She had not expected this. No one had ever thanked her before. She opened her mouth to give Joe another insult. But Joe had already gone.

“That’s two thumpings you’ll get now!” Grace yelled after him.

The alley lay ahead, narrow and dark. Tall, rickety buildings loomed over it and filled it with shadow. Joe sped down its twisting path, searching for somewhere to hide. He was sure Grace would soon leave the takeaway and then he could get his chips.

But – disaster! Grotty Grace had followed him, sniffing about like a hungry wolf after a rabbit. “I know you’re down there, bum-toot!” he heard her bellow. There was no escape – the alley ended in a high wall. The heavy footsteps of doom grew louder. Grace wasn’t giving up. Joe was in a panic – what could he do?

Then he noticed a door he hadn’t seen before, even though he must have gone past it. On the door was a sign that said: FUZZBY’S DINER. Underneath that it said: TRY OUR FAMOUS CHIPS!

Chips! He’d be safe in the diner with people around AND get chips to take back home. All his problems solved in one go.

Joe pulled open the door and dashed inside.

He ran straight into a pair of long, thick legs. Legs wearing green, furry trousers. Was this the latest fashion? He didn’t think much of it.

“Sorry,” Joe said, looking up at the owner of the legs. “I didn’t—Eerrk!” The words died in his throat with a little shriek.

There, in front of him, stood a huge, terrifying, green, hair-covered creature with fangs and claws, and menacing yellow eyes. It blinked and lowered its face towards him, drool dripping from its terrible teeth.

“Oh, hello,” said the monster, in a friendly voice. “Have you come about the job?”

said Joe, which seemed the right thing to say at a time like this.

The monster blinked at him again. “You are here to apply for the job?” he said uncertainly. “Like it says on the sign?” The creature tapped a claw on a piece of card stuck to the door. It had the words ‘Help Wanted’ written on it in scrawly handwriting. “You’ll only have to work an hour or so, during the busy times,” he continued chattily. “And I hope you like chips. We make a lot here. Do you like them with salt and vinegar? Or curry sauce? Or perhaps with ketchup?”

The monster peered down at Joe, examining him closely.

“Wh-what?” squeaked Joe, shaking.

“A boy. A child. Hoo-man.” The monster said the word as if he didn’t use it very often. “We don’t get many hoomans in here but I’m sure they like ketchup.” The monster looked at Joe again. “My name’s Fuzzby, by the way,” he said. “Fuzzby Bixington.”

“Fuzzby?” Joe said, still slightly squeakily. “That’s the name of the diner.”

“Yes,” said the monster proudly. “It’s my diner – a monster diner! But hooman children like chips and things too, don’t they?”

“Everyone likes chips,” said Joe, feeling a little more sure of himself and a bit less squeaky.

“Course they do!” said Fuzzby Bixington. “This interview has got off to a good start. Let’s not stand in the doorway – come on in!”

Joe hesitated. Just then, a growl from around the corner reminded him that Grotty Grace was still on his trail.

Right now, being interviewed for a job in a monster’s diner seemed a better idea than a double thumping. It was one type of monster or another. Joe stepped into the diner and quickly shut the door behind him.

“You’ve picked the right time to come, Joe,” said Fuzzby. “My customers will be here soon and then I’ll be very busy.”

Customers? What kind of creatures were they?

“Have a look around,” said Fuzzby. “I’m just going to put the chip fat in the fryer to warm up.”

Joe cautiously wandered about the diner as the monster busied himself behind the counter. There was no one else there, hooman or otherwise. It was exactly like any other diner he had been in before. There was a counter with a till, and behind that he could see a kitchen where the chips and other things would be made. It was just an ordinary diner. An ordinary diner with a large, dangerous, green monster in it.

But Joe soon realised there were plenty of clues to the diner’s monsterish goings-on. Along the wall were several pictures, with a sign over them saying: “Just some of the happy customers of Fuzzby’s Diner”.

Joe was intrigued. They were photos of Fuzzby with the strangest assortment of creatures, some more scary-looking than Fuzzby himself. There was a monster that had one huge, round eye and a mouth filled with hundreds of little sharp teeth. He and Fuzzby were grinning for the camera and holding a large plate of chips. There was Fuzzby with what looked like Godzilla’s smaller, friendlier brother. There was Fuzzby with some rocks that appeared to have eyes and legs, Fuzzby with a well-dressed yeti, Fuzzby with a walking rhubarb plant, and many more. All looking cheerful, friendly and well-fed, thought Joe.

But fed on what?

“Have you cooked anything before, Joe?” asked Fuzzby from the kitchen. “What can you make?”

Joe thought for a second. “I can make sandwiches and toast,” he said. “And I’ve made some cakes with my mum.”

Joe always enjoyed helping to cook at home. Working in a monster diner could be fun.

“That’s a great start,” said Fuzzby. “Good, wholesome home-cooking, just like we do here. I expect you’ll know some of these recipes, then.”

The monster pointed to a sign stuck to the wall. It said:

Yuck! Joe was relieved to see there was no mention of ‘hoomans’ on the menu, though most of the dishes were still a mystery.

But just imagine if he could learn to make frog fritters! Grotty Grace could be in for a few surprises next time she tried to pinch his school dinner.

In the kitchen behind Fuzzby, large pots bubbled and burped with purple ooze, or had brown slime dripping down their sides. A saucepan lid rose as a tentacle gingerly reached out from inside, but it shut with a clank after a quick rap from Fuzzby’s ladle.

The kitchen shelves were equally astonishing. There were jars and tins and packets labelled with ingredients that Joe could not imagine eating. Not without them seeing daylight again pretty quickly afterwards. Pickled lizard livers. Nose broccoli. Parp tarts. Dried wartberries. A glass jar of stinky toad eyeballs blinked at him and made him jump back with a yelp.

“Watch where you’re treading!” said a deep, gruff voice. “That was almost my foot.”

“Don’t mind the cat,” said Fuzzby as a wriggling black blob with tentacles and four eyes slithered out from behind Joe. “Barry is very friendly. Usually.”

Joe backed away from the blob nervously. “That’s not a cat,” he said. “Not like any I’ve ever seen.”

“I am a cat,” Barry said, insulted. “Listen: meow. See? That’s what cats say, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t disagree if I were you,” whispered Fuzzby as Barry nuzzled Joe’s leg.

“Purr,” said Barry unconvincingly. “Purr.”

“Now for some questions,” said Fuzzby, pointing towards a chair. Joe sat down and the big green monster sat in front of him with an official-looking clipboard. “Firstly,” said the monster, “what is your name?”

“I’m Joe Shoe,” said Joe.

“Correct,” said Fuzzby, scribbling something on the clipboard with the stub of a viciously chewed pencil. “You’re obviously a bright lad. Second question: how many hands do you have?”

Joe checked. “Two?” he said, feeling a bit unsure.

“I suppose that will have to do,” said Fuzzby, with more scribbling on the clipboard. “A spare pair is always useful in the busy times, so you might want to think about growing some more. And an extra couple of legs might be handy, while I think about it.”

“Why?” asked Joe.

“You might need to outrun some of the ingredients,” the monster said matter-of-factly. “They can get a little… frisky.”

Before Joe could respond, Fuzzby continued the questions.

“If I gave you a bowl of uglyfish fins, floating in a soup of warm squitwater and lightly dusted with grated chinwarts, what would you have?”

“A dodgy tummy,” said Joe. He felt green just hearing about it.

“It’s called Splotch Broth,” said Fuzzby. “But you’re technically correct,” he added quietly. “Now, do you know the spell to summon the purple fire of flatulent vengeance that was belched from the giant vampire mega-toad of Urgztl?”

“No,” said Joe. He was sure about that question.

“We’ll have to teach you that so you can make the gravy,” said Fuzzby, scribbling. “Next question: what are the twelve different kinds of sick in Surprise Stew?”

Joe didn’t know but suspected his gran did, judging from her cooking. “I might need some training,” he said. “But I’m willing to learn.” He was warming to the idea of a job in a monster diner. And the extra pocket money would be very handy.

“Good answer,” said Fuzzby. “I like a bit of ambition.”

Barry sneered, “He’s not so clever. How about this one: how do you get the little bubbles inside Rotten Egg Delight?”

This was obviously meant to be a hard question, so Joe decided to make up something monsterishly disgusting.

“With a good helping of baked beans and a small funnel,” he said. It was worth a try.

Fuzzby and Barry looked at each other, surprised.

“Correct,” beamed Fuzzby.

“Are you sure you’ve not been here before?” Barry said to Joe a little suspiciously.

“Last question,” said Fuzzby. “What is THAT crawling up your leg?”

Joe nervously looked down, half-expecting to see the creature of his worst nightmare clamped to his ankle. When he saw what it really was he let out a huge sigh of relief.

“It’s only a spider,” he said.

A little spider must have attached itself while he was outside and it was scuttling up towards his knee.

With a yelp, Fuzzby immediately leapt up on to a table. Barry sprang after him, a look of terror in all four of his eyes. He perched trembling on top of the bigger monster’s head.

“It’s alright,” said Joe. “Look.” He scooped the little creature from his leg and carried it to a half-open window, gently letting it go on the window ledge.

Fuzzby and Barry stared in amazement.

“Did you see that, Fuzzby?” gasped Barry. “He touched it! He’s saved us all!”

“You’ve got the job, Joe – if you want it!” said Fuzzby, climbing down from the table, peeling Barry off his head and giving Joe a handshake that lifted the boy off the floor. “We’ll ignore your almost total lack of any cooking knowledge or qualifications whatsoever. If you can handle terrifying and hideous creatures with bravery like that, then you can handle anything!”

Joe didn’t need to think twice. There was adventure to be had here – adventure, monsters AND food – and Joe the Fearless was ready for it. “I’ll take the job!” he said. “Bring on the vampire mega-toads!”

“Congratulations!” said Fuzzby, obviously very pleased. He lurched behind the counter again. “How about we celebrate with some chips? You can have some to take away, Joe.”

Exactly what Mum had sent Joe to fetch! He’d almost forgotten.

Fuzzby hummed happily to himself as he chopped up some potatoes using his huge claws instead of a knife.

He didn’t seem scary to Joe any more, especially with an apron on. Joe wondered if he was the first hooman to work in a monster diner. He imagined himself in the kitchen wearing a chef’s hat, chopping up weird things at eye-blurring speed, with loads of strange creatures applauding his excellent cooking. By the time the delicious smell of frying chips wafted over the counter, Joe felt quite at home.

“All ready!” said Fuzzby suddenly.

His big green claws tipped a pan of golden, crispy-looking chips on to some paper. Joe couldn’t help drooling. They looked perfectly cooked and just the right sort of greasy. And most importantly, they were MONSTER-sized.

“Nice big dollop of ketchup and you’ll have a feast that would please a greedy bellyhog on the rampage,” said the monster.

“Thanks, Fuzzby! Those look amazing,” said Joe.

He took the wrapped-up chip parcel and tucked it under his arm. Then he remembered.

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