Buried Alive! Read online

  ‘Biscuits, please! Don’t mess about.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’

  ‘Ah. That’s me. Silly,’ said Biscuits. ‘Only I’m not the one stuck up to my neck in sand. You are. Even though you’re so clever.’

  ‘Oh, Biscuits. Don’t be like that. Look, get me out. It’s stopped being a joke. It’s not funny at all.’

  ‘I think it’s ever so funny. Bye, Tim!’ said Biscuits, and he started a lumbering run towards the rocks.

  ‘Biscuits! Look, you’re not frightening me. It’s just your stupid joke. It’s very very boring. So let’s get it over with, right?’

  Biscuits didn’t seem to be listening. He started clambering over the rocks.

  ‘I don’t care a bit,’ I said. ‘I know you just want me to shout after you.’

  He didn’t turn round.

  He climbed to the top and then started going down the other side. Then he dropped down. And disappeared.

  ‘Biscuits!’ I shouted.

  A gull screamed back at me overhead.

  Biscuits had gone. I was all on my own. Stuck up to my neck on a deserted beach. My heart went bang bang bang inside my chest. The gull cried again, swooping low, so that I could see its cruel yellow beak.

  I shut my eyes quick.

  ‘Go away!’ I said.

  It was meant to be a shout but it came out as a feeble whisper.

  I waited. My eyes were getting watery behind their lids. When I dared open them tears spilled down my cheeks. I blinked hard. I didn’t want Biscuits to catch me crying when he came back.

  If he came back.

  Of course he’d come back. Or Mum and Dad would come looking for me. Eventually.

  There was nothing to cry about. The gull had flown away. It hadn’t mistaken me for a juicy fish. I was fine. I couldn’t come to any harm even though I was trapped.

  I tried to calm myself by staring out to sea. Then I watched the waves. Was the tide coming in or out? I couldn’t remember! What if the tide was coming in – rapidly? Suppose it started lapping right around my sand prison, the waves splashing over my head?

  I tried kicking madly and thrusting my arms up but the sand was set too hard. It wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t even make the tiniest crack in it now.

  ‘Oh Biscuits, come back!’ I cried. ‘Please! It’s not a joke any more! I’m frightened.’

  Then I heard noises up above me, from right up on the clifftop. I tried to peer round to see who was there but my neck was so packed with sand that I couldn’t even swivel my head properly. I heard bumps and thumps. It sounded as if someone was climbing down the cliffs.

  ‘Is that you, Biscuits?’ I shouted.

  Was this all part of his joke? I couldn’t believe he could have scooted up the path to the clifftop so quickly. And surely old Biscuits wouldn’t risk his neck climbing down the sheer cliff face? (Though he had been pretty good at abseiling.)

  ‘Biscuits?’ I yelled, as the sliding and slithering progressed downwards behind me.

  Then I saw a head bob up from behind the rocks. It was munching on a chocolate bar.

  ‘Ha ha! I really got you worried, didn’t I?’ he yelled. ‘I didn’t really leave you, I just hid behind the rocks.’

  ‘Biscuits?’ I said. ‘Then who . . .?’

  I tried to crane round again.

  I saw Biscuits stop and look behind me. His hand stopped in mid air, holding the chocolate. His mouth stayed open and empty.

  I knew it was seriously bad news for Biscuits to forget to eat. My heart was banging to bursting point now. I had a sudden terrible premonition.

  Someone started to give triumphant Tarzan whoops as he got nearer and nearer. I could feel my trapped skin erupting in goosebumps.

  Then I heard a thump thump as two very big boots jumped onto the sand.

  I saw Biscuits mouth one terrible word.

  Prickle-Head.

  ‘Aha! Who have we got here?’ he yelled triumphantly. ‘Fun time!’

  Biscuits was still standing statue-still. Then he moved. I wouldn’t have blamed him for one minute if he’d clambered back over the rocks to the other beach. I think I might have done. And he could always say he was rushing off to get my dad.

  But Biscuits didn’t run away and really abandon me. He started running towards me, spade at the ready, all set to dig me out and rescue me.

  But he didn’t have time. Prickle-Head got to me first.

  ‘What’s this weird little squashy thing in the sand?’ he said. ‘Is it a little jellyfish?’ He put his great boot right on top of my head, pressing down hard enough to hurt.

  ‘Get off!’ I said.

  ‘Oooh! The jellyfish can talk! Yuck, it really is a jellyfish, there’s slime and snot all over its face.’

  I sniffed desperately.

  ‘Oh my, it’s not a jellyfish at all, it’s the little Mummy’s boy. What’s happened to its weedy wimpy little body then? Someone’s chopped its head off. Well, it’s no use to anyone. Might as well use it as a football, eh?’ He took his boot off my head and took aim.

  ‘Don’t you dare kick him!’ Biscuits yelled, and he started whirling the spade in a threatening manner.

  But Prickle-Head was bigger and quicker. He dodged, pushed and grabbed.

  Biscuits ended up on his bottom.

  Prickle-Head ended up with the spade.

  ‘Aha! It’s my turn to play sandcastles now,’ said Prickle-Head. ‘Here’s a nice castle. Ready-made, couldn’t be better. Hey, look at my castle, Rick.’

  There was another thump on the sand behind me. Prickle-Head had reinforcements.

  Pinch-Face came running into my view. He laughed and aimed a kick at my head. He missed – but only just. I tried to dodge and jarred all down my back.

  ‘Yeah, I don’t like that wet blobby bit on top of the castle. Spoils it, doesn’t it? So shall I pat it smooth, eh?’ Prickle-Head held the spade high and then brought it down hard and fast.

  I screamed.

  Biscuits leapt up and tried to rugby tackle Prickle-Head. The spade swung and landed with a loud bang on the tightly-packed sand.

  ‘Get off, Fatboy,’ said Prickle-Head, and he punched Biscuits in the stomach.

  Biscuits made a sad little ‘oooof’ sound, and sank into the sand like a burst balloon.

  ‘Now, let’s play Hit the Head,’ said Prickle-Head, grabbing the spade again.

  ‘Sounds like fun, Boss,’ said Pinch-Face.

  ‘Look, if you really hit me with that you could easily kill me,’ I said desperately.

  ‘Ooooh! Mummy’s boy is getting really scared now. I bet he’s wetting his little panties,’ said Prickle-Head.

  ‘Why do you want to be so hateful? I haven’t done anything to you,’ I said, snuffling hard.

  ‘It’s fun,’ said Prickle-Head. ‘Right. I’ll take aim.’ He raised the spade high above my head. ‘And then I’m going to go WHACK!’

  ‘Hey, Boss,’ said Pinch-Face. ‘You’re not really going to?’

  ‘What? Are you chicken or something?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s just like the cissy said. You could really smash his head in,’ Pinch-Face said. ‘You’re just kidding, aren’t you?’

  ‘Am I?’ said Prickle-Head. ‘You just wait and see. Right. One, two, three . . .’

  He waved the spade above his head, his face contorted with effort. I stared up into his eyes. I didn’t know if he was really going to do it or not. Maybe he didn’t even know either.

  ‘Please don’t!’ I begged.

  But that just made him grin.

  ‘Ready steady GO!’

  ‘Hey! You! Stop that! Get away from my boy!’

  It was Dad, over at the rocks, scrambling down, the other spade in his hand.

  Prickle-Head waved the spade in mid-air.

  ‘Hey, Boss, we’d better scarper,’ said Pinch-Face.

  He started running.

  Prickle-Head whirled the spade one last time and th