Free Just Stupid! by Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton Page A

you’re talking about,’ I say.
       ‘Try sitting up,’ he says.
       ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ I say.
       ‘I’d better get you inside,’ he says.
       He helps me to my feet. The ground is spongy. It’s like walking on a mattress.
       I look around me. We’re in somebody’s backyard. There is a clothesline in the centre. It’s bent over at a forty-five degree angle, one of the corners practically sticking into the ground. There’s a half burned-down fence running alongside the driveway. In the carport there’s a mangled pram that looks like it’s been run over by a truck. The whole area looks like it should be cordoned off with yellow tape and declared a disaster zone.

    ‘Where am I?’ I say.
       ‘In your backyard,’ says the boy.
       ‘My backyard?’ I say.
       He sighs.
       ‘Take it easy up the steps,’ he says.
       I wobble my way to the top of the porch.
       The boy opens a sliding glass door and guides me through it. Inside the house it’s dark and cool.
       ‘Mrs G!’ he calls. ‘Mrs G! Come quick! Andy’s been hurt!’
       ‘Who’s Mrs G?’ I say.
       ‘That’s your mother,’ he says. ‘You must remember your own mother.’
       ‘No,’ I say. ‘I can’t remember anything.’
       The boy looks around the room. He grabs my arm and leads me over to a shelf full of photographs.
       He points to one of a man and a woman.
       ‘That’s your mum,’ he says, pointing to the woman.
       ‘And who’s the guy with the big ears?’ I say.
       ‘That’s your dad,’ he says. ‘But you’d better not let him hear you saying he’s got big ears. He goes ballistic.’
       Hmmm. He’s obviously got a bad temper. That would explain the state of the backyard.

       ‘Here’s a photo of you,’ he says.
       He’s pointing to a picture of a group of people in a restaurant. They are all staring at someone in a gorilla suit. The gorilla has spaghetti all over its head.
       I recognise the man and woman from the other photo, but nobody else looks familiar.
       ‘Which one am I?’ I say.
       ‘You’re the one in the gorilla suit,’ he says. ‘Remember? You gave Jen a gorillagram for her birthday and she tipped spaghetti all over you.’
       ‘Jen?’ I say. ‘Who’s Jen?’
       ‘Your sister,’ he says, pointing to the girl in the middle of the photo.
       ‘She looks nice,’ I say.
       The boy looks at me closely.
       ‘You really do have amnesia, don’t you?’ he says.
       ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I can’t remember.’
       ‘Mrs G?’ he calls again.
       Nobody answers.
       ‘The mother must be out,’ I say.
       ‘Not the mother,’ he says. ‘ Your mother.

    You’re really starting to freak me out. Maybe you should go up to your room and have a rest.’
       ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
       ‘Somebody will be home soon,’ he says. ‘I’ll drop by later and see how you are.’
       ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘But where’s the bedroom?’
       ‘Upstairs. The one with the big red skull on the door,’ he says. ‘You can’t miss it.’
       ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m glad I met you.’
       ‘Get some rest,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you later.’ I go up the stairs and find the door with the skull on it. Underneath the skull there’s a sign that says ANDY’S ROOM. DANGER! ENTER AT OWN RISK!
       I walk in.
       Wow, what an amazing smell. Sort of like a sports changing room crossed with a rubbish tip. And the mess! It looks like a bomb went off. Not a normal bomb though. One filled with undies, socks and towels. They’re everywhere. Hanging off the light, the curtain rails and the desk.
       There is a gorilla suit thrown across the bed. A half-eaten banana on the floor. A fish tank full of green slimy water on the windowsill.
       And the bookshelves have some veryweird stuff on them. A severed hand. A jar with an eyeball in it. And a horrible