The Moon King Read Online Free

jumped to his feet, looking quickly for the door of the room where he’d slept the night before. Quickly, quickly, quickly, his heart said. He threw himself at the door, slammed it shut once he’d got inside and slithered to the floor. Safe.
    Knock, knock.
    Spiderboy not home.
    Ricky slithered under the bed.
    Knock, knock, ‘Hello?’
    Lie flat, don’t breathe.
    Cre-eeak, said the door. Clump, clump, clump. A big person came into the room.
    ‘Ricky?’ This man had such a big, booming voice, like Santa Claus.
    Spiderboy fine here under this bed.
    Creeeeee-eeeak, said the bed, moaning.
    The Santa Claus person sat on the bed. Ricky could see his boots, big, big boots. Then he shut his eyes again and waited for the big man to go away.
    Don’t look, eyes tight. Spiderboy in this crack here.
    ‘Only, I was hoping you might be able to help me.’
    Help? Help? Spiderboy can’t help. Spiderboy sleeping now.
    ‘There’s this amazing heap of things in the hall. They didn’t look so much when they were spread out on the stairs, but when they all came tumbling down and landed in one big pile in the hall – you wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff there is.’
    Heaps? Stuff?
    ‘There’s cardigans and books and photographs and a doll with no head and somebody’s runners and a basket of dried flowers (spilt) and a few more books and a hairbrush and three packets of toothpaste (unopened) and what looks like my favourite mug that’s been missing for the past three weeks and could do with a wash, and I think I can see five socks, none of them with mates, and any number of bills, still in their envelopes, about forty-five assorted pens and pencils, bits of paper, drawings, seashells, computer disks (which is funny, because we haven’t got a computer), a bottle of wine (unopened, and more to the point, unbroken), half a Toblerone (that’s even better than the wine), one wellington boot, too small to fit anyone in this house except Billy and it’s too big for him, a bicycle bell, two lipsticks, a few more books, and a whole laundry basket full of clothes – clean, but not ironed (well, one out of two ain’t bad).’
    Ricky laughed.
    Oh, don’t laugh.
    ‘We could just get a big black plastic sack and fire the whole lot into it and no-one would be any the wiser.’
    Oh no, Ricky thought. You couldn’t pile all those nice clean clothes in with all that rubbish.
    ‘Except the Toblerone of course. And the wine. And the clean clothes, I suppose. Oh dear, decisions, decisions.’
    Creee-eeak, said the bed again. The boots moved.
    ‘I never could make decisions. Which is why this house is so full of stuff. Can’t make the decision to throw anything out. Unless it’s actually stinking.’
    Ricky laughed again.
    ‘So I was just wondering, Ricky, if you would come out for a minute and help me to sort this heap of stuff.’
    Ricky was thinking.
    ‘You wouldn’t have to do anything. You could just make the decisions, and I could do the actual physical part, throwing the stuff in the plastic sack or putting it wherever you suggest. And you needn’t worry. Anything we can’t decide about, we can just put it back on the stairs again. What d’you say?’
    Ricky thought he’d better open his eyes. But when he did, he got a shock. There was an upside-down face talking, hanging over the edge of the bed. It had hair on top and hair underneath. For a moment, Ricky thought hewas imagining things. Then he realised the face had a beard, a huge beard like a bush, no, like a forest. It really was Santa Claus!
    ‘I’m Tomo, by the way,’ the upside-down face was saying, the mouth where the eyes should be. ‘I’m the dad around here. Except everyone calls me Tomo. No respect!’
    The upside-down eyes twinkled, though. He didn’t look as if he cared much for respect.
    ‘And you must be Ricky, right?’ Tomo went on.
    Ricky nodded.
    ‘C’mon so. I’ll get the plastic sack. You start thinking, OK?’
    You go, Froggo. You help. Come