Stanley Brambles And The Pirate's Treasure

Stanley Brambles and the Pirate's Treasure

iUniverse, Inc.

Chapter One

Stanley Brambles awoke one fine morning to the sun blazing in through his bedroom window. The birds were singing in the trees outside, announcing the start of a new day. Stanley yawned hugely and rubbed his eyes, before dragging himself out of bed. Looking out the window, he could see all the way down Bubbletree Lane. He always looked out of his window in the morning, and he always half hoped that he might see something new beyond the glass—maybe a jungle, or a volcano, or an alien spaceship landing in Mr. Jones's front yard two doors down.

But the view from Stanley's bedroom window was always the same. The same old street with the same old houses, the same old trees, and the same old playground down on the corner. "Bubbletree Lane," Stanley murmured to himself. "The most boring street in the most boring neighbourhood of the most boring town in the whole entire world."

It wasn't that East Stodgerton (the town in which Stanley lived) was a bad town, or a nasty town, or even a dreary town; it was just so ordinary. People just got up and did the same old thing, day after day! They went to work, or school, or whatever, and then they went home for a while, just so they could get ready to do it all over again the next day. There seemed to be no end to the monotony, and Stanley was getting tired of it.

His mood improved substantially, though, as he remembered what day it was—it was the last day of school before the summer holidays. The summer holidays were one of his favourite things, even if he did have to spend them in boring old East Stodgerton.

Stanley went into the bathroom across the hall to do his morning business. As he washed his hands, he regarded himself in the mirror. He was an ordinary-looking kid, which, he supposed, was to be expected when one lived in an ordinary town like East Stodgerton. Kids in big cities had cool clothes, and wild hair with crazy colours, and weird piercings—like in their noses!

But no, none of that for Stanley Brambles. He was an ordinary kid; twelve years old (going on thirteen in July), with brown hair and blue eyes. He was fairly thin, of average height for his age, and possessed no remarkable features of any kind. Just one more kid from East Stodgerton.

As was his custom, Stanley stumbled downstairs skipping every second step, and thundered into the kitchen where Mrs. Brambles was bustling around trying to eat her breakfast, make Stanley's lunch, and stuff a stack of essays into a bulging briefcase. Mrs. Brambles was a professor at the local university. Stanley sometimes wondered how a rinky-dink little town like East Stodgerton had gotten itself a university; but then again, maybe universities were just extremely common.

"Morning, Stanley dear," said Mrs. Brambles with a smile as Stanley plunked himself down at the table. She shoved a plate of toast and an empty cereal bowl under his nose.

"Morning, Mom," said Stanley, pouring himself some Rice Krispies.

"All ready for the end of school?" Mrs. Brambles asked, tousling his hair.

"Um-hum" said Stanley, his mouth full of cereal. Mrs. Brambles smiled, then looked at her watch.

"Well, I've got to run, have a good day, love," she said, leaning over and kissing Stanley on the cheek.

"'Bye Mom," he called as she swept out of the room and down the hall, shoes clunk-clunk-clunking all the while. The door slammed shut and a moment later there was an "EGAD, LOOK AT THE TIME!" from the upper floor, followed by the sound of Stanley's father falling down the stairs in a mad rush. He poked his head into the kitchen and looked around uneasily.

"Morning, Stanley," he said breathlessly. "Was that Mom leaving just now?"

Stanley nodded. "Yeah, Dad, she just—"

"Can't talk now, son!" said Mr. Brambles as he ran down the hall and flung the front door open.

Stanley listened to his father shouting out the door.

"Rose! Wait!" Cried Mr. Brambles, and the next instant he was out the door. Stanley got up and hurried to the front window. The family car was halfway down the street, with Mr. Brambles running after it. He was still in his pyjamas. The car screeched to a halt, then sped back towards the house in reverse. Mrs. Brambles hadn't stopped to let Mr. Brambles in. He was now sprinting back up the street, arms flailing wildly. He stopped beside the now stationary vehicle, apparently listening to Mrs. Brambles shouting at him, then nodded vigorously and ran up the driveway. The door swung open and in bounded Mr. Brambles, followed closely by Mrs. Brambles' shouts.

"... HAVE TIME TO GET DRESSED!" she shrieked. "IMAGINE, RUNNING DOWN THE STREET IN YOUR BEST PYJAMAS! GET DRESSED, YOU RIDICULOUS MAN!"

"Everything all right, Dad?" said Stanley as his father leaped for the stairs. Mr. Brambles gave him the 'thumbs up', but he looked slightly shaken. Three minutes later, he was downstairs again, buttoning his shirt.

"I'll have to put this on in the car," he said sheepishly, holding up a hideous green and orange striped tie. "Well, g'bye again, Stanley," he said as he headed for the door.

"Dad, wait!" said Stanley.

"Sorry son, no time! See you tonight!"

And the door slammed shut. Stanley groaned; Mr. Brambles was still wearing his pyjama pants.

The ordeal finally ended when Stanley fetched his father's pants for him and flung them out the door as he came back to get them. Mr. Brambles barely had time to get back in the car before Mrs. Brambles hit the gas pedal and sped off down the street. Stanley saw his father's leg sticking out the window as the car turned the corner at an alarming angle.

"Whew," breathed Stanley as he sat back down to his breakfast. Bruno, the family dog padded into the kitchen and put his head on his lap. "That's the most excitement I've had all month." Bruno rolled his eyes.

Mr. Brambles was the curator of the East Stodgerton Museum of Natural History, and he hadn't been on time for work for the past twelve years. Luckily, all the other museum workers arrived an hour later than he did. Mr. Brambles blamed the buses for his lateness, saying that they never left at an appropriate time. He didn't seem to notice that having Mrs. Brambles drive him to work didn't help much, and if she suggested that he get up earlier, he would quickly change the subject.

Stanley finished his breakfast and took a quick look at the morning paper (mostly the comics), then picked up his backpack, said goodbye to Bruno, and headed out the door and down the street. He stopped on the corner and waited. Several minutes later, someone rounded a corner two blocks away, and, upon seeing Stanley, began to jog towards him. The someone was a tall, thin boy with dark hair and pale skin.

"Hey, Stanley," the pale boy said brightly as he skidded to a halt.

"Hey, Alabaster," Stanley replied.

"How's it going?" said the pale boy named Alabaster.

"Good," said Stanley. "You?"

"Good," said Alabaster. "Well, shall we go?" And with that, the two of them turned and began to walk down the street.

Alabaster Lancaster (for so the pale boy was named) was Stanley's best friend, and had been for as long as either of them could remember. Alabaster was probably the least ordinary person Stanley knew. He was always doing and saying funny things, and, frankly, he seemed a bit out of place in East Stodgerton. Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster were both archaeologists, and sometimes had to go away for a long time on a dig. During these times, Alabaster would stay with the Brambleses and cause Stanley's mother no end of grief. Mr. Brambles didn't seem to have a problem with Stanley's and Alabaster's hijinx; he said (out of their earshot, of course) that he found them very entertaining, and would reminisce about his boyhood days any time Mrs. Brambles scolded them.

* * * The last day of school before summer is often a fun and relaxing day for students. Often, but not always. Every teacher at Babblebrook Public School threw an end-of-the-year party for their class ... every teacher, that is, except for Mrs. Drabdale, the meanest teacher in the entire school, if not the world. She made her class write essays about their summer plans. As the report card marks had already been put into writing, nobody took this assignment very seriously. Alabaster, in fact, wrote something rather rude in his essay, concerning what he was going to leave on Mrs. Drabdale's front doorstep one night. When she read his essay, she flew into a fantastic rage, but Alabaster had already escaped by way of an open window. Mrs. Drabdale turned a violent shade of red, and stormed out of the classroom in a futile attempt to catch Alabaster before he got off school property. The rest of the students took this as an early dismissal, and minutes later had burst through the front doors of Babblebrook Public School, and into the waiting arms of summer.

Many of them simply threw their book bags aside and sprawled full-length on the front lawn. Stanley found Alabaster hiding in a bush, and congratulated him on his command of the written word. Alabaster laughed, and the two boys looked back at the school building, raised their arms to the heavens, and loudly recited that timeless end-of-school rhyme:

"NO MORE PENCILS, NO MORE BOOKS! NO MORE TEACHERS' DIRTY LOOKS! WHEN THE PRINCIPAL RINGS THE BELL, DROP YOUR BOOKS AND RUN LIKE—"

"Hello, boys," said a familiar voice, as a menacing shadow fell across the sidewalk.

It was Mrs. Drabdale, and a look of cold triumph burned in her eyes.

"Leaving so soon?" she inquired, smiling wickedly as she loomed over them like a gnarled old willow tree. Stanley and Alabaster took an uncertain step backward.

"Thought you'd make a nice joke out of my end-of-year assignment, hmm?" she said, her smile swiftly changing into a grimace, "Couldn't resist one last bit of tomfoolery?

"Well," she said, rolling up her sleeves, "Forgive me for saying so, but you two will not be leaving now. You will remain in class until the three o'clock dismissal bell, as you were meant to do. Come with me."

The situation was looking very bad to Stanley, and he could think of only one way out. He elbowed Alabaster, and said,

"On three?"

"On three!" said Alabaster.

"What?" said Mrs. Drabdale, her monstrous grimace faltering slightly.

"One," said Stanley.

"Two," said Alabaster.

"Enough foolishness!" is what Mrs. Drabdale would have said, but she was interrupted as both boys yelled, "THREE!" and ran off as fast as their legs could carry them.

Mrs. Drabdale made a noise of shock and disgust before bellowing, "COME BACK HERE, YOU HOODLUMS! I'M NOT AFRAID TO GIVE YOU A DETENTION—NOT EVEN TODAY!"

Then she did something most astonishing: she ran after them. The two boys were just starting to slow, when Alabaster glanced over his shoulder and gave a cry of dismay. Stanley looked back, too, only to see a red-faced Mrs. Drabdale bearing down on them like a bull.

"Faster!" Stanley shouted.

"Is she allowed to do this?" gasped Alabaster.

"Just keep running!"

They were almost to the fence that encircled the school grounds, but it was dishearteningly low. Stanley feared that at the pace Mrs. Drabdale was going, she would clear it in a single bound. The boys vaulted flawlessly over the fence and made a beeline for the ravine that lay beyond the school property.

There was a loud rip and thud, and Stanley risked a quick glance over his shoulder. His heart sank. Mrs. Drabdale had indeed cleared the fence, but she had ripped her skirt in the process. She was, however, not deterred. If anything, her fury over her ripped skirt gave her new vigor; she was catching up.

Stanley's chest was starting to hurt, his lungs begging him to stop. "Just a little further," he kept muttering. All of a sudden, Alabaster shouted "RIGHT!" and ran off into the shadowy ravine. Stanley followed unthinkingly. Alabaster leapt across the stream and ran alongside it. Stanley followed suit, and was very surprised when a thundering crash and splash rang out behind him. Mrs. Drabdale, who had been inches away from catching him, had slipped on the muddy bank at the last possible second, and was now writhing and spluttering in the shallow stream. Stanley might have laughed had he not been so terrified.

Finally he came to the stream's mouth, a smallish culvert which ran under Butter Street. He paused to catch his breath, wondering what had become of Alabaster. Suddenly, he was aware of a sound like a bear crashing through the trees. This was no bear, however. This was much worse. It was Mrs. Drabdale. She was soggy, she was muddy, and she was furious. With a howl of rage and triumph, she charged at Stanley, who backed up against the culvert and closed his eyes.

Just then, a hand reached out of the culvert mouth and dragged Stanley inside, just as Mrs. Drabdale reached the spot where he'd been standing. The hand, of course, belonged to Alabaster.

"You alright, Stanley?" he puffed.

"Yeah," said Stanley, giving Alabaster a high five.

Mrs. Drabdale, whose rage had exceeded all known human limits, was trying frantically to get at them, but she was just too large to squeeze in.

"Let's get out of here," said Stanley, casting a slightly fearful look at Mrs. Drabdale.

"Yes, let's!" wheezed Alabaster.

They crawled to the other end of the culvert, listening to Mrs. Drabdale's shouts and threats all the while.

"You just wait till next year!" She shrieked. "You two will rue the day you ever crossed my path!" And then she was gone.

Stanley and Alabaster hopped out of the culvert and looked around. They were behind the local supermarket, and the sounds of people walking and talking were very reassuring to both of them. Stanley flopped down on the ground, breathing heavily. Alabaster did the same.

"That," gasped Alabaster, "was the most frightening thing I've ever experienced." Stanley nodded.

The two boys lay there for a time, panting like dogs, until Stanley sat up and noted that they were both exceedingly filthy. He turned to Alabaster and said,

"Uh, maybe we should go home and get cleaned up."

Alabaster sat up and examined his white T-shirt, which was now brown. "I think I'm going to have to agree."

Chapter Two

When Stanley's mother and father came home that evening, they gave him a stern talking-to about his escapades of earlier on.

"Imagine!" said Mrs. Brambles, "Crawling through a culvert! I don't know what you were thinking ... and your clothes! Ruined!"

Stanley had been very careful not to mention why he and Alabaster had crawled through the culvert.

"Now now, Rose," said Mr. Brambles, "I'm sure he had a perfectly good reason for climbing through that filthy hole. It could have been worse!"

"Oh, I know, it's alright," said Mrs. Brambles in a softer tone. "At least you weren't hurt, Stanley, dear ... I do wish you'd be more careful though."

"I'll try, Mom," said Stanley, giving her a big hug.

"That's my boy," said Mr. Brambles, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now let's get dinner on, shall we?"

* * *

Stanley was just digging into his mashed potatoes and roast beef, when Mr. Brambles said,

"Son, there's something your mother and I have been meaning to talk to you about."

Stanley froze. Had Mrs. Drabdale called and told his parents what had happened earlier? She wouldn't ... not on the last day of school ... would she?

"Er, uh, what about, Dad?" said Stanley, trying to conceal the cold sweat which had broken out on his forehead.

"Well," said Mr. Brambles, not noticing Stanley's perspiration, "It's about the summer holidays."

Stanley's eyes widened as a horrible thought entered his mind. Mrs. Drabdale had told them everything, and now his parents were canceling his summer vacation. He would have to go back to school for the rest of the summer, to be taught by Mrs. Drabdale in a dark, dank, windowless classroom.

Stanley gripped the edge of the table, his fingernails digging into the polished wood surface. "Wh-what about the summer holidays?" he asked nervously.

"How would you like to spend a couple weeks at Uncle Jack's place?" said Mr. Brambles with a big smile.

Stanley, who had closed his eyes to prepare for the worst, was stunned for a moment and couldn't speak. Mr. Brambles' smile faltered.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Stanley Brambles and the Pirate's Treasure by Owen Spendlove Copyright © 2007 by Owen Spendlove. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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