Future Ratboy and the Attack of the Killer Robot Grannies. Jim Smith

start on our really old TV.

      said my mum, and my dad scrabbled his hand down the side of the sofa, looking for the remote control. He pulled it out and pointed it at the TV.

      ‘Stupid twiddler!’ he grumbled, banging it against his knee, and the volume zoomed up to a hundred.

      cried my mum, and my dad got up and plodded over to the telly. ‘Blooming telly!’ he growled.

      

      Suddenly there was a tap on the window. A raindrop had hit the glass and was zigzagging down it like a tear.

      ‘Aw, don’t cry, little window!’ said my sister, who’s one of those sisters who feels sorry for things like windows.

      ‘Hmmm, looks like we’ve got a problem, Bird,’ I said to Bird, even though he was just a cuddly toy bird who didn’t understand anything. ‘Mr Window’s sad, and if we don’t cheer him up, my sister’s gonna be going on about it all the way through ATTACK OF THE KILLER ROBOT GRANNIES!’

      Bird’s shiny plastic eyes stared at the bowl of popcorn on the table. But only because that was the way he was facing.

      I grabbed a tissue, leapt off the sofa and forward-rolled across the living room towards the glass.

      ‘Colin Lamppost to the rescue!’ I boomed in my best superhero voice, and I handed the tissue to the window. But because the window didn’t have hands, it couldn’t take it. ‘Argh, foiled again!’ I said, crumpling the tissue up in my hand.

      Another raindrop tapped against the glass, then about seventeen more. ‘Hmmm . . . must be that storm the weatherman was talking about,’ I said to Bird.

      ‘Brilliant thinking, Colin!’ I squawked, doing Bird’s voice for him. ‘Thanks, Bird!’ I smiled, and I forward-rolled back to the sofa and grabbed a handful of popcorn.

      

      ‘WAAAAAHHH!’ screamed my sister, and I threw my popcorn in the air, which is something I’ve always wanted to do.

      ‘Nobody panic!’ said my dad, or at least I think it was him, because all I could see was pitch black. The TV had turned off, as well as all the lights in the living room, and everyone else’s in the whole street too. ‘The lightning must have blown the electrics!’ said my dad, and just as he said it, all the lights came back on.

      ‘Phew, that was close!’ I said to Bird. ‘Thought we might miss ATTACK OF THE KILLER ROBOT GRANNIES for a second there!’ I grinned, looking at the TV, which was still black.

      cried my mum.

      ‘RIGHT, THAT’S IT!’ boomed my dad, pulling the plug out and lifting the TV off its stand.

      ‘I’VE HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH OF THIS PIECE OF JUNK!’

      he shouted, marching into the hallway and out of the front door, towards our wheelie bin.

      ‘NOOO!’ I cried, running out of the living room and diving into the cupboard under the stairs. I grabbed my anorak and put it on, pulling up the hood.

      Hanging on a hook was an old scratched-up scuba-diving mask. I’d need that too, what with all the rain outside. ‘Operation Save The TV!’ I shouted, heading for the front door with Bird tucked underneath my arm.

      

      ‘COLIN SWEETIE, COME BACK HERE!’ shouted my mum, as I stretched the scuba mask over my head and zoomed out of the front door, past my dad who was coming back in, minus the TV.

      ‘I’VE GOT TO SAVE THE TELLY!’ I shouted. ‘OTHERWISE I’LL NEVER SEE ATTACK OF THE KILLER ROBOT GRANNIES!’

      A bolt of lightning hit the little apple tree in our front garden and a branch exploded, spraying tiny little bits of bark through the air.

      ‘WAAAAAHHH! BE CAREFUL, MY DARLING!’ screamed my mum, as I lifted the lid of our green plastic wheelie bin and dived into it, which is another thing I’ve always wanted to do.

      ‘Phew, that was close!’ I whispered, giving Bird a stroke and patting the TV. My eyes were getting used to the pitch blackness, and I noticed I was sitting on a half-filled-up bin bag, which was actually quite comfy.

      ‘Squeak!’ squeaked something, and seeing as it couldn’t have been Bird, because he was just a cuddly toy bird that couldn’t speak, I looked around the bin for something else that might have made the noise. AND THAT WAS WHEN I SPOTTED THE RAT.

      ‘RAAAAAT!’ I screamed. Not that anyone could hear me, what with the lightning bolt hitting the bin.

      

      I woke up and didn’t know where I was. Then I remembered I was in a bin.

      I lifted the lid and jumped out. It was morning and the little apple tree in my front garden was now a gigantic, ancient one. ‘Coooool!’ I said, and I looked up at my house, which was two times taller and more metal-looking than I remembered. ‘Also coooool!’ I smiled. I like saying ‘cool’, in case you haven’t noticed.

      ‘Mu-um! I’m ho-ome!’ I shouted, knocking on the front door.

      The door whooshed open like one of the ones at my local supermarket, and an old lady with a shiny metal head and red traffic-light eyes peered down at me. ‘HELLO DEAR,’ she bleeped, in a robotic voice.

      ‘Hmmm . . . you’re not my mum,’ I said, scratching my chin and looking her up and down. She had skinny metal legs, just like a robot would,