The 65-Storey Treehouse Read online

  ABOUT THE 65-STOREY TREEHOUSE

  Andy and Terry’s amazing 65-storey treehouse now has a pet-grooming salon, a birthday room where it’s always your birthday (even when it’s not), a room full of exploding eyeballs, a lollipop shop, a quicksand pit, an ant farm, a time machine and Tree-NN: a 24-hour-a-day TV news centre keeping you up to date with all the latest treehouse news, current events and gossip.

  Well, what are you waiting for? Come on up!

  ANDY GRIFFITHS

  The 65-STOREY TREEHOUSE

  ILLUSTRATED BY

  TERRY DENTON

  CONTENTS

  TIMELINE

  CHAPTER 1

  The 65-Storey Treehouse

  The Present

  CHAPTER 2

  Attack of the Ants!

  The Present

  CHAPTER 3

  Jill to the Rescue

  The Present

  CHAPTER 4

  Inspector Bubblewrap

  The Present

  CHAPTER 5

  Prehistoric Pond Scum

  650 Million BC

  CHAPTER 6

  Dancing with Dinosaurs

  65 Million BC

  CHAPTER 7

  Stone Age Art School

  65,000 BC

  CHAPTER 8

  Mummy Madness

  650 BC

  CHAPTER 9

  Bin Hur

  65 BC

  CHAPTER 10

  The Future

  65,000 AD

  CHAPTER 11

  The Future’s Future

  650 Million AD

  CHAPTER 12

  Back to the Present

  The Present

  CHAPTER 13

  The Last Chapter

  The Present

  CHAPTER 1

  THE 65-STOREY TREEHOUSE

  Hi, my name is Andy.

  This is my friend Terry.

  We live in a tree.

  Well, when I say ‘tree’, I mean treehouse. And when I say ‘treehouse’, I don’t just mean any old treehouse—I mean a 65-storey treehouse! (It used to be a 52-storey treehouse, but we’ve added another 13 storeys.)

  So what are you waiting for?

  Come on up!

  We’ve added a pet-grooming salon (run by Jill),

  a birthday room (where it’s always your birthday, even when it’s not),

  an un-birthday room where the longer you stay, the younger you get (so don’t stay too long or you’ll end up like a little baby),

  a cloning machine,

  a room full of exploding eyeballs,

  TREE-NN (Treehouse News Network): a 24-hour TV news centre, featuring regular updates on all the latest treehouse news, current events and gossip,

  a lollipop shop run by a lollipop-serving robot called Mary Lollipoppins (she serves every type of lollipop in the world—past, present and future),

  a screeching balloon orchestra,

  an owl house with three wise owls (we don’t always know what they mean, but that’s because they’re so wise),

  an invisible level,

  an ant farm (with 65 chambers),

  a quicksand pit

  and a bow and arrow level.

  As well as being our home, the treehouse is also where we make books together. I write the words and Terry draws the pictures.

  As you can see, we’ve been doing this for quite a while now.

  Living in a treehouse may not be for everybody …

  but it suits us just fine!

  CHAPTER 2

  ATTACK OF THE ANTS!

  If you’re like most of our readers, you’re probably wondering whether we have a building permit for our treehouse. Well, of course we do. Terry organised it. ‘Didn’t you, Terry? Terry?! Where are you?’

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ I say. ‘I was telling the readers how you got a permit for the treehouse.’

  ‘GRRRR!’ says Terry.

  ‘Terry,’ I say, ‘quit messing around.’

  ‘GRRRRR!’

  He looks kind of weird. And I think I know why. He’s covered in ants!

  ‘Have you been playing in the ant farm again?’ I say.

  But Terry doesn’t answer. He just reaches out and grabs me by the throat.

  ‘TERRY?!’ I gasp.

  Just when I can hardly breathe a moment longer, another Terry rushes in.

  ‘Don’t worry, Andy,’ says the second Terry. ‘I’ll save you!’

  The second Terry whacks the first Terry with a badminton racquet. WHAP!

  And all of a sudden the air is filled with …

  ANTS!

  There are ants everywhere (which is bad). But I’m not being strangled any more (which is good).

  ‘Are you okay, Andy?’ says Terry.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I think so, but what’s going on? Why did you attack me like that?’

  ‘That wasn’t me,’ says Terry. ‘It was the ants pretending to be me. I accidentally left the ant farm gate open and they escaped. I tried to get them all back in but they made themselves into a fake me and knocked me out. Then they must have come after you.’

  ‘But why?’ I say. ‘I didn’t do anything to them!’

  ‘Me, neither,’ says Terry. ‘All I know is that now they’ve turned into a giant foot and are about to stomp on us! Run!’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ says Terry.

  ‘There’s only one thing we can do,’ I say.

  ‘Become dog poo, of course!’

  ‘Dog poo?’ says Terry. ‘But I hate dog poo!’

  ‘So do feet,’ I say. ‘They will do anything to avoid stepping in it.’

  ‘Okay,’ says Terry. ‘How do we do it?’

  ‘Simple,’ I say. ‘Just make yourself soft, squishy and really stinky.’

  ‘How’s this?’ says Terry. ‘Stinky enough for you?’

  ‘Perfect,’ I say. ‘Perfectly disgusting.’

  And, sure enough, the ant foot stops stomping and just hovers cautiously in the air above us.

  ‘It’s working!’ says Terry. ‘They can’t squash us now!’

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘not unless they change shape again.’

  ‘Oh no,’ says Terry. ‘They are changing shape again—into a giant pooper scooper!’

  ‘No problem,’ I say. ‘We’ll just change ourselves into a puddle of water.’

  ‘We’ll be safe now,’ I say. ‘Pooper scoopers can scoop up poop … but they can’t scoop up water!’

  ‘We really fooled those ants,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Terry. ‘Ants may be smart, but we’re even smarter.’

  ‘But maybe not quite smart enough,’ I say. ‘Now the ants are becoming a giant paper towel. They’re going to absorb us!’

  ‘But I like being water!’ says Terry. ‘I don’t want to be absorbed.’

  ‘Me neither,’ I say. ‘But we will be unless we change back into us … right now!’

  We change back. We don’t get absorbed (which is good. But we do get scrunched up) which is bad.

  ‘If only we had some fire,’ says Terry, ‘we could burn the paper.’

  ‘I’ve got a match,’ I say, ‘but I don’t have a matchbox.’

  ‘That’s too bad,’ says Terry. ‘Because I’ve got a matchbox, but I don’t have a match.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ I say.

  ‘Hmmm,’ says Terry.

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Hey,’ I say, ‘I’ve got a great idea!’

  ‘What?’ says Terry.

  ‘Why don’t we put my match and your matchbox together?’

  ‘That sounds dangerous,’ says Terry. ‘It might start a fire.’

  ‘Exact
ly!’ I say. ‘Take that, ants!’

  ‘It’s working!’ says Terry. ‘The paper towel is burning up!’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But I think we’re burning up, too!’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Terry. ‘My head is getting quite hot.’

  ‘That’s probably because your hair is on fire,’ I say.

  ‘So is yours,’ says Terry.

  ‘AAAGGGGHHHH!’ we scream.

  But we don’t scream for long, because next thing we know the ants turn into a giant hose and start blasting us and themselves with cool, fresh, fire-quenching ant-water!

  They blast and they blast and they keep on blasting until we are trapped at the top of a gushing geyser of angry ants.

  ‘What do we do now?’ says Terry.

  ‘Call for help,’ I say, ‘and hope like crazy that Jill hears us.’

  CHAPTER 3

  JILL TO THE RESCUE

  ‘Help!’ I yell.

  ‘Help!’ yells Terry.

  ‘Andy?’ says a familiar voice. ‘Terry? What are you doing up there?’

  It’s Jill!

  ‘The ants went crazy and turned into a hose!’ I say.

  ‘Can you turn the tap off so we can get down?’ says Terry.

  ‘Sure thing,’ says Jill.

  Jill turns the hose off (at the ant-tap) …

  and Terry and I fall to the ground with a loud THUMP!

  ‘What did you do to upset the ants?’ says Jill. ‘They appear to be very agitated.’

  ‘It’s Terry’s fault,’ I say. ‘He left the ant farm gate open and all the ants got out and started attacking us.’

  ‘I only left it a little bit open,’ says Terry.

  Jill frowns. ‘When it comes to ants,’ she says, ‘a little can be a lot. I’d better have a talk to them.’

  She gets down on her knees, makes her fingers into pretend antennas and wiggles them around.

  ‘It’s not working,’ she says. ‘I’m too big. I need to be ant-sized. Can you draw me smaller, Terry?’

  ‘Sure, Jill,’ says Terry. ‘One ant-sized you coming up!’

  Soon Jill is deep in conversation with the ants—which is not surprising, really, because Jill can talk to any animal … even insects, and ants are insects, which is why she can talk to them.

  ‘What do you think they’re talking about?’ says Terry.

  ‘Beats me,’ I say. ‘I don’t speak Ant.’

  Finally Jill turns to us and starts explaining, but her voice is just a tiny little squeak.

  ‘Oh, great!’ I say.

  ‘Now we can’t understand her because she’s too small.’

  ‘No problem,’ says Terry. ‘I’ll give her this micro-mini-megaphone I made last week.’

  ‘Thanks, Terry,’ says Jill through the micro-mini-megaphone. ‘The ants said they are very cross because you and Andy keep wrecking their ant farm.’

  ‘But I’m always really careful around the ants!’ I say.

  ‘Me too!’ says Terry. ‘I’m even more careful than Andy!’

  ‘And I’m even more careful than Terry!’ I say.

  ‘Well,’ says Jill, ‘that may be true, but perhaps you’re not being as careful as you think you are. Take a look at this.’

  ‘Those poor little ants,’ says Jill. ‘You owe them a really big apology.’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I say.

  ‘Me too,’ says Terry. ‘I’m really, really sorry.’

  ‘I’m even sorrier than Terry,’ I say.

  ‘And I’m even sorrier than Andy,’ says Terry.

  ‘I think the ants will be okay now,’ says Jill. ‘Just promise that, whatever you do, you WILL NEVER DISTURB THEIR ANT FARM EVER AGAIN!’

  ‘We promise,’ I say. ‘Don’t we, Terry?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Terry. ‘We really, really promise.’

  ‘Good,’ says Jill, leading the ants away, back to the ant farm.

  Now, where was I? Oh yes, that’s right, I was telling you all about the permit. Like I was saying, Terry took care of that. ‘Didn’t you, Terry?’

  ‘What?’ says Terry.

  ‘The building permit. I was telling the readers that you organised it. You did, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, er, sort of,’ says Terry. ‘Except for one small problem …’

  ‘What problem?’ I say.

  ‘I can explain,’ says Terry. ‘Once upon a time …’

  (Hold on, readers, we’re going into a flashback.)

  ‘Once upon a time,’ says Terry, ‘you gave me some money to go and get a building permit for our treehouse.

  So off I went to the building permit office.

  ‘On my way through the forest, I met a friendly little man selling see-into-the-future peanuts … and, luckily, I had exactly the right amount of money to buy the whole bag!

  ‘I didn’t eat them, though, because I remembered that I’m allergic to see-into-the-future peanuts.

  So …

  ‘I traded the see-into-the-future peanuts for the fastest horse in the world …

  but it wasn’t fast enough so I traded it for a talking goat …

  but the goat only spoke French so I traded it for a singing monkey …

  but it turned out the monkey couldn’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’ so I traded it for a solid gold goldfish …

  but the solid gold goldfish was so heavy it couldn’t even swim, so I traded it for a mathematical mouse, but the mathematical mouse thought two plus two equalled five, so …

  I traded it for a performing flea …

  but the performing flea refused to do any tricks, so I traded it for a magic bean.

  ‘After all that trading I was really hungry …

  so hungry that I completely forgot and I ate the magic bean.’

  ‘You completely forgot what?’ I say. ‘About getting the permit?’

  ‘No,’ says Terry, ‘I completely forgot that as well as being allergic to see-into-the-future peanuts, I’m also allergic to magic beans!

  ‘I didn’t feel so good …

  and then I felt worse …

  and then I felt even worser …

  and then, just when I thought I couldn’t feel any more worser, I blew up!

  Now it’s time to come back to the present.’

  ‘So you’re telling me we don’t have a valid building permit for the treehouse?’ I say to Terry.

  ‘That’s right,’ he says. ‘But look on the bright side: I blew up but I didn’t die.’

  ‘That’s true,’ I say, putting my hands around his throat, ‘but you’re going to die now. Any last words?’

  ‘Yes,’ gasps Terry. ‘Who’s going to answer the phone?’

  ‘I will,’ I say. ‘And then I’ll finish strangling you!’

  I let go of Terry and answer the 3D video phone.

  (Did I mention we have a 3D video phone? Well we do—and it’s 3D!)

  It’s Mr Big Nose, our publisher.

  ‘What took you so long?’ he says.

  ‘Andy was trying to strangle me,’ says Terry.

  ‘I’ll strangle you both if your next book isn’t here by twelve o’clock today,’ says Mr Big Nose. ‘Goodbye!’

  ‘This is terrible,’ I say. ‘Not only do we not have a permit for the treehouse, but we haven’t written our book and it’s due in today!’

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ says Terry.

  ‘What bright side?’ I say.

  ‘I still didn’t die after I ate the magic bean and blew up,’ he says.

  I go back to strangling him.

  ‘Letter for you,’ calls Bill the postman, distracting me and accidentally saving Terry’s life.