First published in Great Britain 2017 by Egmont UK Ltd, The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text and illustration copyright © Jim Smith 2017 The moral rights of the author-illustrator have been asserted.

ISBN 978 1 4052 8398 4 eISBN 978 1 7803 1835 6

www.futureratboy.com www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

Printed and bound in Great Britain by the CPI Group

63323/1

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Hello, my name is Colin Lamppost. At least it used to be. Then one day me and my cuddly toy bird were inside a wheelie bin when it got hit by lightning.

We were zapped from our home town of Shnozville millions of years into the future and I was transformed into a half boy, half rat, half TV.

Future Ratboy was born.

Now I’ve got aerials sticking out of my head, a telly on my belly, a cape made out of a bin bag and a plug-tail hanging off my bum.

Oh yeah, and my cuddly toy bird got turned into a real-life bird.

He shouts ‘NOT!’ after everything I say.

That’s why I call him Not Bird.

Now we live with

Bunny

,

the owner of Bunny Deli, the keelest burger shop in Future-Shnozville.

(‘Keel’ is how we say ‘cool’ in the future, by the way.)

Bunny Deli is also a sort of orphanage for children whose mums and dads aren’t around.

Like Jamjar whose mum and dad shrunk themselves to the size of full stops during a science experiment once.

Jamjar’s got five arms and is really brainy.

,

Then there’s Twoface, who thinks he’s a superhero like me.

His parents are too busy being real-life superheroes to look after him.

And Splorg the blue-skinned alien.

Splorg’s parents were eaten by a black hole when they went out to dinner one night.

This is Mr X.

He’s the evil baddy who wants to take over Shnozville.

I’ve promised my friends I won’t zap myself back home to the olden days until he’s defeated.

And this is Wheelie, the bin I got zapped here inside.

Mr X fitted him with a speech module and gave him some arms and dressed him in a waiter’s suit.

But that’s another story.

At the end of the last episode, Mr X kidnapped our friend,

and we haven’t seen either of them since.

Something tells me that’s all about to change though . . .

The Wise Old Vending Machine

,

I’ve been here in the future for a while now, but I’m still not completely used to it. Like the other day for example. It was the forty-ninth of Socktober and me and the gang were strolling into town for a very important occasion.

‘Ahh, don’t you just love Socktober!’ smiled Splorg. ‘All the leaves on the trees turning into socks – nature truly is a wonderful thing!’

I looked up at the tree we were walking past and gasped. Hundreds of multi- coloured socks were dangling from the ends of its branches like, erm . . . socks.

‘Sometimes I wonder if this whole being-in-the-future thing is all a weird dream!’ I said. ‘I mean – socks growing on trees? That’s just ridikeelous!’

‘NOT!’ squawked Not Bird, flying over my head and perching on a branch. The whole thing swayed and a sock fell off, landing on Twoface’s left face.

‘What’s so ridikeelous about it, Future RatLOSER?’ said Twoface out of one of his mouths. He peeled the sock off his head and threw it on the pavement outside Dr Smell’s perfume shop.

‘Yeah Future RatBUM, it’s just a plain old sock tree!’ he said out of his other mouth.

Twoface has been calling me names like that ever since I won the Shnozville Superhero of the Month award for helping an old granny cross a road.

I know that doesn’t sound like much, but the road was seventeen miles wide. And the granny was a ninety-four- year-old elephant. And I had to carry her. With one hand.

I think Twoface is just jealous because he reckons he’s a better superhero than me.

The door to Dr Smell’s perfume shop opened and Dr Smell stepped out. He sniffed the air then glanced down at the leaf sock Twoface had just thrown on the floor.

‘Hey, I only just swept that hover- pavement!’ he frowned. ‘Blooming socks everywhere,’ he said, picking the sock up and throwing it in a clear plastic hover-bin bag filled with eight trillion other leaf socks.

Jamjar pointed at the hover-bin bag and pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘One of the keel things about living here in the future,’ she said to me, ‘is that nobody has to buy socks any more!’

‘Amazekeels,’ I said, even though I didn’t have to buy socks when I lived in the olden days either, because my mum and dad always bought them for me.

‘Heading into town are you, gang?’ said Dr Smell, waggling his nostrils. ‘I can smell excitement in the air!’

That’s how good Dr Smell’s sense of smell is – he can even smell excitement.

Wheelie flapped his lid open and shut, and Dr Smell stuck two of his fingers up his nostrils to stop the bin stink floating up them.

‘OOH YES,’ bleeped Wheelie in his posh new computery voice, and I thought how weird it was that my normal old bin from home could now speak. ‘TODAY IS A MOST IMPORTANT DAY!’

‘What’s happening?’ asked Dr Smell, and Wheelie rolled the bits of his lid where his eyes would’ve been if he’d had eyes, because he couldn’t believe Dr Smell didn’t know.

burped Wheelie.

Dr Smell knocked on his head like it was a front door.

‘Blistering bogazoids, I’d completely forgotten!’ he said. ‘Ratboy, isn’t YOUR birthday coming up soon too?’

‘Next week,’ I said.

squawked Not Bird, even though my birthday really was next week.

‘Got anything planned?’ asked Dr Smell.

‘No,’ I mumbled, imagining my mum and dad and little sister back home in the olden days, hanging bunting and crossing their fingers I’d turn up again one day at their front door.

‘What, no party?’ said Dr Smell, and I shook my head.

Twoface’s two faces smiled to themselves. ‘Old RatNOSE here is scared his bday bash wouldn’t be as good as Mayor Goodhair’s,’ he sneered.

‘No I’m not,’ I said, and Not Bird squawked,

‘It’s true, the mayor’s parties are hard to beat,’ said Splorg. ‘Free food and drink for everybody – plus he’s unveiling a brand new statue of himself today at seven billion o’clock on the dot!’

Dr Smell twitched his nose. ‘ANOTHER Mayor Goodhair statue?’ he said. ‘That’s the 57th one this year!’

‘You know Mayor Goodhair – he loves a statue of himself!’ chuckled Jamjar, and I put my hand up, like I was in school.

‘Erm, I don’t want to sound stupid or anything, but can anyone tell me who Mayor Goodhair is exactly?’ I asked.

‘Mayor Goodhair is the mayor of Shnozville,’ said Jamjar.

‘Obviouskeely,’ chuckled Twoface, and Not Bird did a sniggle.

Jamjar ignored Twoface. ‘You know how Mr X goes round town blowing things up and causing trouble?’ she said, and I nodded. ‘Well the mayor is sort of the opposite of that – he replaces hover-pavements when they’re broken and makes sure everything’s clean and tidy.’

‘And why is he called “Mayor GOODHAIR”? I asked.

Jamjar pointed across the road at a statue of a man with an extremely good head of hair. Underneath his head was a little brass plaque with writing on it.

I Future- Ratboy- zoomed my eyes in and read the words ‘Mayor Goodhair’.

‘Because he’s got the keelest hair in the whole of Shnozville!’ chuckled Dr Smell.

said Twoface, as we waved goodbye to Dr Smell and carried on walking towards Shnozville Town Square. ‘Ever since he kidnapped The Wise Old Vending Machine he’s completely disappeared off the face of Shnozville!’

‘Maybe I scared him off,’ I smiled, pointing to myself. ‘I am the Shnozville Superhero of the Month, after all!’

‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird, and Twoface cackled.

Not Bird squawks ‘NOT’ after everything I say, in case you haven’t noticed. And it’s been really getting on my nerves recently.

‘You do realise you’re my sidekick, don’t you, Not Bird?’ I asked. ‘That means you’re sposed to be on my side.’

‘NOT!’ squawked Not Bird again, and I picked up a leaf sock off the pavement and thought about stuffing it into his mouth, just to shut him up.

Jamjar did her serious face. ‘I wish Mr X WOULD disappear off the face of Shnozville,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a feeling he’ll turn up again sooner or later, though.’

I dropped my leaf sock and put my arm round Jamjar. ‘Don’t worry, Jamjar. Future Ratboy will protect you from the evil Mr X!’ I said in my keelest superhero voice.

‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird for the seven trillionth time that morning. He high-fived Twoface with his wing and I felt the TV on my belly fizzle like a shaken-up can of Hedgehog Cola.

‘I tell you what, Not Bird,’ I snapped. ‘Why don’t you just be Twoface’s sidekick? Because it’s pretty obvious you don’t want to be mine!’

‘NOT!’ screeched Not Bird, snuggling into Twoface’s neck.

‘NOT YOURSELF!’ I shouted back.

‘Ratboy! Not Bird!’ cooed a familikeels voice, and Bunny appeared behind us, wobbling along the pavement to catch up. ‘Stop bickering, you two!’

Splorg looked at Bunny like he’d never seen her outside of Bunny Deli before. ‘What are YOU doing here?’ he asked.

‘I couldn’t miss Mayor Goodhair’s birthday party, could I?’ smiled Bunny, looking round at us all. ‘Ooh, you are a bunch of adorable little weirdos!’ she giggled, giving us a cuddle each, which didn’t take that long seeing as she’s got ten arms.

I glanced over at Splorg with his shiny bald blue head, Jamjar with her five arms and Twoface with his two stupid faces.

They were definitely the strangest- looking friends I’d ever had.

‘I wonder what Mayor Goodhair’s gonna get for his birthday!’ said Splorg, and I thought about my mum and dad again, wrapping up my present for next week.

Maybe, if I was lucky, Mr X really would disappear off the face of Shnozville. Then my work here in the future would be done and I could zap myself home in time for my birthday.

It wasn’t like I didn’t have friends back in the old days. They just weren’t quite as keel as these ones.

‘What you looking so serious about, Ratbogies?’ asked Twoface, snapping me out of my thought bubble.

‘Nothing,’ I said, as we turned the corner into Shnozville Town Square.

Slap bang in the middle of Shnozville Town Square stood what looked like a statue with a ginormous yellow sheet draped over it. Around it was tied a red ribbon.

Next to it hovered a parcel five times the height of a sock tree, wrapped in pink wrapping paper. Around this one was tied a yellow ribbon.

There were five other statues of Mayor Goodhair dotted round the square that I hadn’t noticed before.

‘You weren’t kidding, Jamjar,’ I said. ‘Mayor Goodhair really does like a statue of himself!’

‘NOT!’ squawked Not Bird, but slightly quieter than usual, probably so Bunny wouldn’t hear.

I looked at the giant presents. A massive crowd had gathered round them and hover-cameras zigzagged through the air, filming for Shnozville News.

‘Good mornkeels and welcome to Shnozville News!’ boomed a wrinkly old man on a huge hover-screen floating above my head. ‘I’m Bill Aardvark and this is my co-host, Cecelia Twizzlefrump!’

The camera panned across to a blonde lady with three noses. ‘We’re live at the scene of Mayor Goodhair’s nine hundred and seventy-twelfth birthday party!’ she yakked, and a photo of Mayor Goodhair popped up behind her on the screen.

I Future-Ratboy-zoomed my eyes in on the photo. Dr Smell was right, Mayor Goodhair had the shiniest, bounciest hair I’d ever seen.

‘You’ve got to love him, haven’t you?’ said Splorg, staring up at the screen. ‘I mean, look at his hair. It’s just so . . . GOOD!’

‘Ooh, he’s the greatest mayor Shnozville has ever had!’ cooed Bunny. ‘I remember when he cut the ribbon at the opening of Bunny Deli. His hair couldn’t have looked better!’

Jamjar did her little cough again. ‘Actually that was Norman who cut the ribbon,’ she said all seriously.

‘Who’s Norman?’ I asked, and Not Bird shouted ‘NOT!’ again.

‘Norman is Mayor Goodhair’s pet pair of hover-scissors!’ said Twoface. ‘You really should know this stuff if you want to be a real superhero like me, Future Ratbums!’

Jamjar ignored Twoface and turned to me. ‘It’s a well-known fact that hover-scissors can’t hold themselves back if there’s something that needs snipping!’ she said.

‘Fascinating,’ yawned Twoface, and Not Bird sniggled.

Not that I had time for that to annoy me, because the Shnozville Town Square clock had just struck seven billion.

A shiny black UFO appeared from behind a bright green cloud and a hatch in its bum slid open. A rainbow- coloured beam shot out of the hole and Mayor Goodhair floated down the middle of it.

‘Good mornkeels, fellow Shnozvillians!’ he boomed, landing on a little stage next to the draped-over statue. ‘How does my hair look today?’

‘GOOD!’ cried the crowd.

Mayor Goodhair was wearing bright white trainers and a sparkly blue suit. Perched on top of his perfect hair sat a red cap with ‘MAYOR’ written on it. Next to him floated his pet pair of hover-scissors, Norman.

‘How nice of you to turn out like this for my nine hundred and seventy-twelfth birthday!’ he smiled. ‘I hope you’re enjoying the free food and drink?’

‘That’s a point,’ I whispered to Jamjar. ‘Where’s the grub?’

Jamjar twizzled her eyes up at the sky. Loads of tiny different-coloured clouds that I hadn’t noticed before were floating around like pillows.

‘What in the name of unkeelness are THOSE?’ I said.

‘Call one over and find out!’ smiled Jamjar.

I scratched my bum, feeling a bit stupid about the idea of talking to a cloud. ‘Erm . . . here, Cloudy!’ I said, and a little pink cloud drifted over and floated just above my head. ‘Now what?’

‘NOT!’

‘Open your mouth!’ said Jamjar, so I opened my mouth and the cloud started to rain.

‘Pink Lemonade – my favourite!’ I gurgled, as fizzy pink raindrops pitter-pattered down my throat.

chirped Not Bird,

and Twoface chuckled.

‘How about a snack?’ said Splorg, and he whistled. ‘Here boy!’ he called, and I spotted a hot dog galloping towards me. It stopped at my feet and barked.

‘I can’t eat him, he’s way too cute!’ I said.

‘It’s just a hot dog, Ratfingers!’ said Twoface, picking it up and slotting it into his mouth. ‘Mmm, good doggy!’ he smiled, and a muffled woof echoed inside his tummy.

I ignored Twoface and did a whistle. Another hot dog ran over and I lifted it up to my mouth and bit it in half. It really was delicious, even though I felt a bit guilty.

‘And now for my favourite part!’ boomed Mayor Goodhair, pointing at the giant presents. ‘The Grand Unwrapping!’

‘Who buys all these statues for him?’ I spluttered.

‘Nobody,’ said Bunny. ‘Mayor Goodhair’s so rich he buys his own presents!’

Mayor Goodhair clicked his fingers and Norman, his pet pair of hover-scissors, floated up to the bright red ribbon that was tied around the yellow sheet covering the statue.

‘Ooh a ribbon,’ squeaked Norman, swishing his blades open. ‘I just can’t resist!’

He swished his blades shut, snipping the ribbon in half, and the sheet flopped to the floor revealing a concrete Mayor Goodhair standing on top of a pillar.

‘Another statue of me – just what I’ve always wanted!’ beamed the mayor, and the crowd cheered.

Norman flew down towards one of the mayor’s trouser pockets and slid himself into it. ‘Hover-scissors get extremely tired after snipping a ribbon,’ explained Jamjar. ‘He’ll need a nice nap now.’

‘O-K . . .’ I said, thinking how ridikeelous the future could be sometimes.

Mayor Goodhair turned to the floating pink parcel. ‘And who bought me this great big one?’ he asked.

‘I thought you said he bought his own pressies?’ I whispered to Bunny.

‘Must be from a secret admirer!’ she giggled.

A humungazoid label was hanging off the pink parcel. ‘Somebody flip that tag round so I can read it, would you?’ smiled Mayor Goodhair.

Not Bird flew up to the label and turned it over with his beak. ‘Happy bday!’ said the mayor, reading out what was written on it. Underneath the writing was a big black ‘X’ for a kiss.

‘Ahh, that’s nice!’ smiled Splorg, as the mayor began to frown.

‘Hmmm, there’s something about that handwriting that rings a bell . . .’ he mumbled, as the ground shook beneath me and the crowd started to scream.

I turned round to see a giant metal scorpion appear from between two skyscrapers. I peered into the cockpit and gasped.

‘It’s Mr X!’

Mr X grimaced down at the crowd, his teeth jaggedy like a dinosaur’s. ‘How nice of you all to turn out like this for Mayor Goodhair’s birthday!’ he boomed.

Bill Aardvark narrowed his eyes on the hover-screen above our heads. ‘Something tells me Mr X didn’t really mean that,’ he said, and Cecelia rolled her eyes.

Mayor Goodhair peered up at the label hanging off the floating pink parcel and snapped his fingers. ‘That “X” isn’t a kiss, it’s Mr X’s signature!’ he cried.

‘Got it in one, Mr Mayor!’ cackled Mr X. ‘Happy birthday, old pal!’

Jamjar pulled her Triangulator out of her pocket. She pointed it at the ginormous floating parcel and pressed a button.

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