The Christmas Pig Read online

  “You always found me in the end,” said the car, “and so, thank goodness, the Loser never got me.”

  “The who?” asked Jack.

  “The Loser,” the car repeated. “He rules the Land of the Lost. He’s the reason Things fall out of pockets when you thought they were secure. He’s the one who befuddles your mind so that you forget where you last put your pen. The Loser would like to suck every single Thing that belongs to humans down into his kingdom forever. He hates the living and he hates their Things, which he tortures and eats.”

  “The Loser’s going to eat DP?” whispered Jack in terror.

  “Not as long as DP abides by the laws of the Land of the Lost,” said the car. “It’s those who defy the law that the Loser’s allowed to catch and eat. Unfortunately, the Loser makes the laws, and he sometimes cheats.”

  “I’ve got to rescue DP!” said Jack at once. “How do I get to this Land of the Lost?”

  “You can’t—or at least not alone,” said the Christmas Pig. “You’re human, and it’s a land of Things. That’s how it usually works, anyway. But Christmas Eve is a night for miracles and lost causes. If you love DP enough to risk your life, then I’m ready to take you with me into the Land of the Lost, and we’ll see whether we can bring him home again.”

  “I do love him enough,” said Jack at once. “I love him enough for anything.”

  “All right, then,” said the Christmas Pig. “I’ll help you on one condition. After we’ve found DP and brought him home, I want you to return me to the girl who bought me.”

  “Why?” asked Jack.

  “Because I like her,” said the Christmas Pig. “She didn’t stamp on me.”

  The old Matchbox car began to say something, but the Christmas Pig threw him a nasty look and the car fell silent.

  “She won’t take me back unless she knows you’re happy with DP. So, do we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” said Jack at once. He didn’t like the Christmas Pig, but knew that he needed him.

  “You should put something on, instead of pajamas,” said the Christmas Pig, “and take your slippers.”

  But Jack wasn’t going to be bossed around by the new pig, and in any case, it felt too weird to put his feet in Things that were blinking at him, so he said, “I’m comfy as I am. Now take me to the Land of the Lost.”

  Chapter 14

  Shrunk

  The moment he spoke those words, Jack felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was as though he was traveling downward, fast, in a lift. At the same time, the bed and the sheets beneath him began to grow so rapidly that he lost sight of the floor. In a panic, he tried to stand up, but he tripped over a wrinkle in the sheet and fell flat on his face.

  Several seconds later, Jack realized that the bed hadn’t grown at all. He’d shrunk. When he succeeded in standing up again, he saw that the creases in the sheets seemed like giant snowdrifts. It was very scary to think you could shrink like this, just by saying a few words, and Jack was very glad that his duvet didn’t seem to have come alive, because it could have smothered him to death if it had wanted to.

  The Christmas Pig’s voice called up to him from the floor.

  “Slide down the corner of the duvet!” he said. “Come on, it’s quite easy!”

  This wasn’t true; however, Jack did his best, and after a frightening descent, which involved a big drop to the floor at the bottom, he finally landed beside the Christmas Pig. They were now exactly the same size: eight inches tall.

  “Well, goodbye, everybody,” said the Christmas Pig and he began to march toward Jack’s bedroom door. “Nice meeting you.”

  Some of the Things in the bedroom tried to call them back.

  “Think!” said a little plastic shark that Jack had bought at the Sea-Life Center, flapping its fins on the floor. “Think about what you’re doing, Pig!”

  “I have thought, thank you,” said the Christmas Pig, leaning against the bottom of the door, which bounced open.

  “No living child has ever entered the Land of the Lost!” wept a little robot Jack had once gotten free with a burger, and which he’d earlier thrown at the wall.

  “There’s a first time for everything,” said the Christmas Pig as he and Jack walked out onto the landing.

  “Jack, he’s not telling you the—” began a pair of pants that had fallen out of one of Jack’s drawers, but the Christmas Pig had placed his trotters beneath the door, where there was an inch of space, and tugged it shut again.

  “Very boring Things you have,” he told Jack. “Come on.”

  Thinking how rude the Christmas Pig was, and that he and Holly deserved each other, Jack followed the pig to the top of the stairs and copied him as he began lowering himself off each step onto the next. The bannisters were as tall as skyscrapers now that Jack was so small. They cast frightening shadows across the boy and the pig as they descended.

  “Why aren’t the stairs talking?” Jack asked, as he dropped from one to the next. “Why didn’t my duvet?”

  “Some Things aren’t awake enough to talk, even on Christmas Eve,” said the Christmas Pig. “Is your duvet new?”

  “Yes,” said Jack.

  “Then it won’t have had many of your feelings put into it yet. That’s what wakes Things up. Being used and absorbing human feelings. Things like stairs and walls are taken for granted by humans, so they hardly ever get wakened.”

  “But you’re new,” said Jack. “And you’re very awake.”

  A bit too awake, Jack thought privately, but he didn’t say that out loud.

  “I’m a special case,” said the Christmas Pig and Jack thought this sounded boastful, and not at all the kind of comment DP would make, because DP never showed off.

  “Now we need to decide where the best place to get lost is,” said the Christmas Pig. “It’s harder than you might think when you’re trying to do it on purpose. Any ideas?”

  “Is that all we have to do to get there?” asked Jack. “Get lost?”

  “Of course, but it’ll be hard, because I expect you know this house very well.”

  “It might be easier in the garden,” said Jack. “Especially now I’m small. We could drag a chair to the back door, climb up to the lock, and open it.”

  “Good idea,” said the Christmas Pig. They’d just reached the bottom of the stairs. “Which way?”

  Jack led the Christmas Pig down the dark hallway toward the kitchen. The hall seemed vast when you were only eight inches tall. One good thing was the big gap beneath the door into the kitchen. He and the Christmas Pig got down on their bellies and wriggled through.

  “Excellent,” said the Christmas Pig. “Now if we can just push the chair over to—”

  But he never finished the sentence. A gigantic four-legged beast had risen up in front of them: a monster with long yellow teeth, shaggy fur, and gleaming eyes. With a deep bark, the monster launched itself at the Christmas Pig, skidding on the linoleum and almost catching the pig between its dangerous jaws.

  “Run, run!” cried the Christmas Pig, sprinting back toward the door. Jack followed, Toby-the-dog’s smelly breath hot on the back of his neck, his claws scrabbling on the floor. Together, Jack and the Christmas Pig threw themselves onto their tummies and dived back under the door, into the hall.

  “You should have said there was a dog!” panted the Christmas Pig as he and Jack lay there, catching their breath.

  “I forgot!” said Jack. “He doesn’t usually live here!”

  Toby-the-dog was whining and scratching on the kitchen side of the door, trying to reach them.

  “It’ll have to be the front door instead,” said the Christmas Pig, picking himself up and dusting himself off. “Come on.”

  But at that moment, Toby-the-dog hurled himself against the kitchen door with such force that it burst open.

  Jac
k and the Christmas Pig pelted back down the hall, Toby-the-dog slipping and sliding on the wooden floorboards behind them. He chased them into the dark sitting room, so Jack and the pig dived under the sofa.

  Toby-the-dog’s shiny black nose appeared at the gap at the bottom, trying to snuffle them out. He whined loudly. Jack was afraid Toby-the-dog wouldn’t give up while he knew they were under there.

  “If we crawl behind the tree,” Jack whispered to the Christmas Pig, “we could sneak back out of the room while he thinks we’re still under here, and go to the kitchen door after all.”

  The Christmas Pig nodded. Holding his belly to keep his beans quiet, he followed Jack toward the gap at the other end of the sofa, where the Christmas tree stood. Its fairy lights were the only light in the room. Jack was now so small that the parcels beneath the tree loomed up in the darkness like higgledy-piggledy houses.

  Toby-the-dog was still snuffling and pawing at the other end of the sofa. Slowly and cautiously, Jack crawled out and began to climb the presents. One of them was wrapped in scarlet ribbon, which was wonderful, because it gave somewhere for his bare feet to grip, but another, which was covered in blue paper patterned with silver snowflakes, tore a little as Jack grabbed it: a huge new box of LEGOs was inside, and Jack was sure that was from Dad. The twinkling lights above, which had seemed so tiny when he and Mum put them on the tree, now seemed huge and dazzled his eyes. Slowly he climbed toward the top of the mound of presents until he reached the biggest, which was wrapped in shiny gold paper. He’d be able to walk straight across this and then he’d be out from under the tree—but he slipped! The paper was so shiny Jack’s feet slid on it, and unable to find anything to grab onto, he tumbled down a crevice, which was like a pitch-black ravine now that he was only eight inches tall. He tried to get out again, but he’d fallen between gigantic presents with smoothly wrapped sides.

  “Where are you?” whispered the Christmas Pig, but a second later he, too, had slid down the slippery golden package and landed on top of Jack.

  “Oh no!” said Jack, as they heard Toby-the-dog scampering toward the tree. “Why did you have to rattle?”

  “Which way to the kitchen?” cried the Christmas Pig, as Toby-the-dog’s growls grew ever louder.

  “I don’t know!” said Jack desperately. “I’m lost!”

  Chapter 15

  Beneath the Tree

  With the word “lost,” everything beneath Jack’s feet vanished. He was falling—or rather, slowly sinking—down through the place where the floor should have been. It was as though he was trapped in some thick substance he couldn’t feel or see. The tree lights had disappeared: all was inky blackness.

  “Christmas Pig?” Jack called in panic.

  “I’m here,” came the Christmas Pig’s voice out of the darkness. “Don’t worry! This is how you enter the Land of the Lost! It’ll be light in a moment!”

  Sure enough, within a few seconds, Jack was able to see the Christmas Pig again. Like Jack, he was floating downward. Their surroundings became gradually lighter until Jack realized they were both sinking through their own column of golden light. Above them were two round holes in a wooden ceiling that Jack thought must be the floor of the world they’d left—his world, where Mum lived, where everything he knew existed.

  Down, down, down they sank, and now Jack noticed that he and the Christmas Pig were far from the only Things sinking slowly through their columns of light. There were thousands upon thousands of them. Weightless, Jack was able to twist and turn, and in every direction he saw more sinking Things.

  Nearest to Jack were a teaspoon, a shiny red Christmas bauble, a dog whistle, a pair of false teeth, a hand puppet, a shiny coin, a long string of tinsel, a camera, a screwdriver, a plane ticket, some sunglasses, a single sock, a teddy bear, and a roll of wrapping paper patterned with reindeer.

  “You wouldn’t think it was possible, would you?” the wrapping paper called to Jack. One of the reindeer on her surface was talking and blinking. “Third time she’s lost me this evening! I’ve rolled under the radiator . . . She’s panicking . . . Left the wrapping too late, as usual!”

  The roll of paper had barely uttered these words when she reversed direction and began traveling up instead of down, toward the hole in the ceiling. As she rose out of sight, the wrapping paper shouted, “Yay, she’s found me! Good luck! Hope you’re back Up Top soon!”

  Jack didn’t answer, because he was too astonished by everything that was happening around him and, especially, what he could see of the floor below. At first, he thought he was looking down at a carpet of many different colors, but as he sank farther, he realized the carpet was really millions of Things. Scared, he scanned the floor for the Loser, but having no idea what the Loser looked like, he couldn’t tell whether he was there or not. The lower Jack sank, the louder the noise: the Things on the floor were chattering and clattering and clinking and rustling, until the sound was almost deafening.

  As their surroundings became lighter still, Jack realized that he was inside a gigantic building, like a warehouse, with immensely high brick walls and many holes peppering the wooden ceiling. The Things that had reached the ground, the rubber balls and diaries, the paper clips and tape measures, the cameras, pens, and purses, were all jabbering away in their groups. Jack was so fascinated by everything he was seeing that his landing took him by surprise. His bare feet touched the warm wooden floor, and the Christmas Pig landed beside him, in a pathway between a mass of jangling keys and an army of rustling umbrellas.

  “We’ll need a ticket,” said the Christmas Pig briskly. “Come on.”

  The Christmas Pig led Jack off along the path between the keys on one side and the umbrellas on the other. They passed a knife, a skewer, and a long knitting needle. Jack could tell they were all important, because they each wore a peaked black hat with an “L” on it, which somehow stayed balanced on the tops of them even while they were hopping along. The Things in the hats were patrolling the edges of the path, making sure the others remained in their groups and keeping the walkway free for Things that had only just arrived.

  “Those are the Loss Adjusters,” the Christmas Pig muttered to Jack. “I’ve heard about them from Things that have been here before. They’re the Loser’s servants. They enforce his laws in exchange for not being eaten.”

  A pair of long diamond earrings now landed in front of Jack and the Christmas Pig. They were sparkling so brightly Jack had to squint to look at them.

  “Who’s in charge here?” cried one of the earrings, in a grand voice.

  “We’re very valuable!” shouted her twin. “We require assistance!”

  “Calm down, ladies,” said a croaking tennis ball, bouncing up alongside Jack and the Christmas Pig. The ball looked as though it had been chewed by a dog, and was very smelly. “I’ve been through this a load of times before, I ’ave. It looks a mess, but they’re organized.”

  The earrings seemed offended at being addressed by an object so filthy.

  “I think we’re in the wrong place!” cried the first earring, glittering as she turned on the spot, looking for assistance.

  “Where do the precious Things go?” cried her sister.

  But nobody answered. To their right, the keys kept yelling up at the distant holes in the ceiling, saying things like, “I’m in your other coat, you idiot!” or “You’ve left me in the lock again!” The umbrellas seemed quieter and sadder. Jack heard an old black one say, “I expect it’s all over this time. He’s left me on the train. He’ll probably buy a new one . . .”

  A tin opener in a black hat now approached, walking on metal legs. She had a small box around her neck and thin metal arms just below her handle.

  “Tickets!” shouted the tin opener. “New arrivals, get your tickets here!”

  “Let me do the talking,” the Christmas Pig told Jack, but before he could ask for a ticket, the diamond earrin
gs pushed in front of him.

  “We’re in the wrong place!” said the first earring.

  “Where do important Things go?” asked the second.

  “Jewelry’s over there, by the west wall,” said the tin opener, pointing. “But you need tickets first. Here—” She tore off two blue tickets from the little box hanging round her neck and gave one each to the earrings. “West wall,” she repeated, because the earrings hadn’t moved.

  “I don’t think you understand,” said the first earring. “We’re made of real diamonds.”

  “You can’t put us in with a bunch of common plastic beads,” said the second earring. “Surely there’s a place for valuables?”

  “Get along to your waiting area,” snapped the tin opener. “Diamonds or plastic, it’s all the same down here. We’ll soon know how much you’re worth Up There.”

  Clearly offended, the earrings wiggled off toward the west wall.

  The Loss Adjuster gave the tennis ball a blue ticket, too.

  “Dog toys are over there, between shoes and schoolbooks.”

  It bounced away. The tin opener then turned to Jack and the Christmas Pig.

  “Have you just arrived, too?”

  “Yes, we were lost together,” said the Christmas Pig. “We fell out of our owner’s pocket.”

  “Kids!” snorted the tin opener, tearing off two more blue tickets and handing them to Jack and the Christmas Pig. “They’re responsible for half the Things down here, careless little brutes. When it’s quiet, we can hear them crying from Up There. Ought to keep a tighter hold on Teddy if they don’t want the Loser getting him, shouldn’t they?”

  “I suppose so,” said the Christmas Pig.

  “Nice workmanship,” added the tin opener, looking at Jack. “Good detailing.”

  “Thank you,” said Jack nervously.

  “Children’s toys are right over by the north wall,” she added. You’ll need a lift—it’s too far to walk.”