Pete and the Five-A-Side Vampires

  Contents

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The Night of the Vampires

  The Night of the Werewolves

  The Night of the Bwca

  The Night of the Hell Hounds

  Fancy Dress Night

  Copyright

  Malachy Doyle has written more than a hundred books, from picture books to teenage novels. His books have won the Nestle Smarties Prize, the Tir na n-Og Award and the English Association Award. Malachy spent twenty-five years in Wales, before returning to Ireland, where he lives on a tiny island with his wife, cats, dogs and ducks.

  Hannah Doyle lives in a small village near Aberystwyth where she grows vegetables, goes for long walks in the hills and draws pictures.

  Pete and the Five-a-Side Vampires

  by

  Malachy Doyle

  illustrated by Hannah Doyle

  for Daniel

  The Night of the Vampires

  ‘Hey, Dad! Wake up!’

  Pete ran into his father’s room and started poking and prodding him.

  ‘Oh come on, Dad! It’s such a waste of time doing nothing for hours and hours in the middle of the long dark night. It’s just so boring! Let’s go out and have some fun!’

  But his father only snored and ignored him.

  So Pete wrote a note to say he was off to the park to get in some kicking practice. And he took Blob the basset hound instead.

  Pete wasn’t much of a sleeper, see. He just didn’t get the idea of spending half your life in bed when you could be out and about, doing stuff. And the night was always so … exciting. It was such a shame to waste it.

  So he pulled out his very special night-time ball, the one with the light inside, and hoofed it down the lane.

  Blob wagged and woofed and off he raced after the ball, with Pete chasing behind.

  Kick, bark, run. Kick, bark, run. Down Westgate Street, over the Severn they went, and all the way to the park.

  But there was a group of people there already, kicking a ball around, in the coal-black middle of the pitch-dark night.

  And there was something weird about them. Weirder even than the fact that they were playing football in the dark.

  And then Pete caught a glimpse of what was written on the backs of their … cloaks. The Five-a-Side Vampires!

  And do you think they played dirty, with a name like that? They certainly did!

  Did they dive? They did. Did they push? They did. Did they trip each other up? You can bet your bottom dollar.

  And what do you think was the worst thing they did when they got annoyed? Or when they got hungry? Or when they got thirsty?

  They sunk their fangs into one another’s necks!

  Yuk! Double-decker yuk! Triple-decker gory gruesome eeky-beeky vampire yuk!

  But was Pete scared? No way! He was a Night-time Wanderer, and Night-time Wanderers are brave as brave can be.

  ‘They’re the filthiest players I’ve ever seen, Blob!’ he said, delighted. ‘What they need is a ref, to keep them under control!’

  And Blob said nothing, because bassets can’t talk.

  So Pete tucked the ball into his bag and pulled out his extra-loud whistle, the one he always carried with him when he went out looking for excitement in the long dark night. Handy, in case you get lost. Useful, in case you meet a bunch of blood-sucking vampires acting up on the football pitch.

  ‘WHEEE, WHEEE, WHEEE!’

  he went. ‘Now get your act together, you lot! I don’t care if you’re alive or dead, ghosts or ghoulies. I’m the ref from now on, and we’ll have a bit of fair play round here!’

  Pete was proper Welsh, see – scared of nothing.

  ‘We’re not allowed to foul?’ asked Vladimir Vampire, giving him the evil eye.

  ‘That’s right!’ said Pete, facing up to him.

  ‘No diving, pushing or tripping?’ said one of the others.

  ‘Not with me as ref,’ said Pete.

  Veronica Vamp sidled up close to him. ‘No biting people when they annoy you?’ she asked, breathing down his neck.

  ‘Certainly not!’ said Pete, stepping away sharpish. ‘One go of that and you’ll be off the pitch and back in your coffin before you can say Gareth Bale!’

  Blob the basset growled at her, and Veronica slipped away.

  ‘Well, that’ll be no fun at all then!’ snapped Gnasher, the other team’s goalie, chucking the ball at Pete. ‘I mean, what’s the point of being a vampire if you can’t nibble people’s necks?’

  ‘This is football, not breakfast!’ Pete was staring him out. ‘So while I’m the ref, you do as I say! Now PLAY!’

  ‘Well, there’s no way we’re starting the game all over again just because some kid we’ve never seen before appears out of nowhere and starts bossing us about,’ said Gnasher, baring his teeth. ‘My side’s one nil up already, right? You’re not planning to take our goal away, are you?’

  ‘Fair enough, you can keep your score,’ said Pete, with a shrug of his shoulders.

  Veronica Vamp waited for the kick-off and thumped it past Gnasher, way down the other end of the field.

  ‘GOAL!’ she yelled. But Pete didn’t blow for it.

  ‘GOAL! IT’S A GOAL!’ screeched the furious vampire, dashing over to him, teeth bared.

  But Blob, who’d been racing up and down the line, being a ball-dog, came haring onto the pitch – bark, bark! – to defend his bestest friend.

  Veronica stepped back a bit as the brave young basset snapped and snarled at her pretty-pink vampire boots. ‘OK, OK!’ she said, dancing away from his snapping. ‘Keep your fearsome fangs to yourself, mutt!’

  Because maybe you didn’t know, but vampires don’t like dogs, see. Neither do ghosts, zombies or werewolves. That’s why it’s a good idea to bring one with you if you’re out and about walking in the pitch-dark night. That and a whistle.

  ‘And you can keep your fearsome fangs to yourself too, Veronica Vamp!’ said Pete, eyeing up the sharpness of her red-stained teeth, coming dangerously close to the soft skin of his neck again. ‘So what’s your problem, anyway?’ he asked her.

  ‘IT WAS A GOAL, REF!’ she screeched. ‘The ball crossed the line, as clear as…’ and her voice dropped as she looked all around, scared to say it, ‘…daylight!’ she whispered.

  Because that’s the other thing vampires don’t like. Daylight. They don’t even like the word. It’s bad for them, see. So bad that they have to be back in their coffins before the first rays of morning brighten the darkness, or else the poor unfortunate beings disappear, with a hiss, into nothingness.

  But you probably knew that already.

  ‘I didn’t see any goal,’ said Pete, shrugging his shoulders. ‘It’s too dark down that end of the pitch. So even though I’m sure you wouldn’t be telling porkie-pies, I can’t allow it, I’m afraid, Veronica. Refs can only call it as they see it. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do…’ He whistled to Blob to fetch the ball the two of them had brought with them – the one with the light inside. ‘We’ll use this one instead. Then we’ll all see it, no problem.’

  The vampires gasped as Pete pulled the ball out of his bag.

  ‘LIGHT!’ they hissed, shielding their eyes.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Pete. ‘It’s just ball-light, not daylight.’ Pete knew about the daylight thing. Most people do, these days.

  So the vampires passed the ball around between them, and soon decided it was safe.

  Pete was sorted now, too. He could see the glowing ball in the middle of the pitch-dark night, no bother.

  But he did still have one little problem. One pretty big problem, as a matter of fact.
And that was that Blob the basset hound was one hundred per cent convinced that the ball with the light inside was his and his alone. He just loved that ball, see.

  So every time anyone kicked it Blob hared onto the pitch, grabbed it between his teeth, gave it a jolly good shake to make sure it had stopped breathing, and then carried it back to Pete. Waggity-wag.

  And Pete had to restart the game. Over and over.

  ‘Oh, will someone just BITE THAT DOG!’ cried Vladimir Vampire, fed up because the other team had scored again, and were now two nil up. ‘I mean, he doesn’t know the first thing about five-a-side!’

  ‘Yes, he does! He just likes getting his teeth into things, like you lot do…’ said Pete, giving Vladimir a steely grin. Because you have to stick up for your best-ever pet, even when he is a bit annoying, now don’t you?

  And Blob sat at his feet and wagged. Waggity-wag.

  ‘Well, I’ll be the ball boy then, and Blob can play instead of me. Then we’ll see what sort of a five-a-sider he is!’

  So Gnasher launched the ball high (so Blob couldn’t reach it) … Dracula’s Daughter headed it on towards goal…

  And who was there in defence, grabbing it and running, all the way back down the field and stabbing it straight past the goalie?

  Who else but … BLOB! Who seemed to have got the idea of five-a-side straight away (rather than just worry-the-ball-till-it’s-dead, which is what he always did before).

  The brilliant young basset, woofing for joy, ran past an angry Gnasher, grabbed the football between his teeth, gave it a good shake, just to prove it was really his, and then darted back to the centre spot. Waggity wag! Woof, woof!

  ‘Well done, Blob,’ whispered Pete, as quietly as he could so no one would think he was favouring one team over the other. I mean, you can’t be seen to be doing that when you’re the referee, now can you?

  Then

  ‘WHEEEE!’

  he blew the whistle. ‘TWO ONE!’

  Dracula’s Daughter ran from the pitch, screaming. She was a bad loser, see.

  So Vladimir had to come back off the line and go on their team instead. (Because you can’t have four in a team in a five-a-side game. Or that’d be eight. Or is it nine?) Until he got crocked by Slurper Sue, who was going in for a tackle, hard.

  Pete showed her a yellow card, but it was too late to help Vladimir.

  ‘Aaiieee!’ squealed the very sore vampire. ‘That’s not exactly lady-like!’

  And he hobbled to the bench, clutching his poor ankle. ‘That’s me finished for the night,’ he moaned.

  So Pete gave him the whistle. ‘Here, you be the ref, Vlad…’ he said, ‘since you’re such an expert!’

  So Pete came on and joined Bert, Slurper Sue, Eeky Edward and Blob, so they still had five a side. (Veronica had hobbled off with cramp by then.)

  And the other side brought on Revolting Ronnie, to top up Verity V, Frankenstein’s Folly, Horrible Harvey and Gnasher, in goal.

  So it was five vampires on one side, versus

  three and a boy and a basset. So that’s ten. Or is it nine?

  And guess who got the upper hand? The team with the boy and the basset!

  They kicked it and whacked it and thumped it, nodded it, shook it and stabbed it and…

  ‘GOAL!’ yelled Pete. ‘TWO TWO!’

  But then Bloodsucking Bert fell down in a faint.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Pete, standing over him.

  ‘He’s run clean out of gas!’ Vladimir told him. ‘You stopped them sucking each other’s necks, so they’re all done in!’

  Because that’s the other thing about vampires. They don’t eat, like we do. Or drink, like we do. No, all they do is suck blood. And if there’s no blood to suck, they fall to the ground, exhausted.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Vlad, from the bench. ‘Now I’m the ref, it’s back to vampire rules – you can be as bloodthirsty as you like everyone! Now get stuck in!’

  Pete looked at Blob, and Blob looked up at Pete. And they both sat down on their bottoms on the cold wet night-time grass.

  ‘What’s up now, you pair of silly softies?’ said Gnasher.

  ‘We’ve had a bellyful of your bloodthirstiness,’ said Pete, ‘and now we’re on strike for fair play, aren’t we Blob? We don’t really want our necks sucked, thank you very much.’

  And Blob woofed in agreement.

  ‘Well, we’ll carry on without you then!’ snarled Gnasher.

  ‘We can’t,’ said Vladimir. ‘It’s five a side and there’d only be, eh…’ He counted on his fingers. ‘…eight of us. Or seven without Bert…’

  …who was eyeing up Pete’s juicy neck with a mind to plunging his ferocious fangs in, as soon as he got the go-ahead.

  So it was a bit of a stand-off. And things weren’t looking too good on the human / dog front, as they were heavily outnumbered by vampires.

  But suddenly there was a shout from the sidelines.

  ‘PETE, bach! What in the name of nightmares are you doing out here in the middle of the pitch-dark night!’

  It was Dad! In his pyjamas! He’d woken up and found his only son missing. But he’d soon guessed where Pete would be, especially with that footie-mad dog gone too. And especially when he’d found the note saying they were off down the park.

  ‘We’re playing five-a-side,’ said Pete, ‘with this lot.’

  ‘But they’re…’ Dad stared at the fiendish faces, leering in at him, fangs bared. ‘They’re…’

  ‘Yes, I know, Dad, but never mind. It’s all good clean fun, isn’t it, everyone?’

  ‘As long as your team don’t lose…’ sneered Gnasher the goalie.

  And everything went silent.

  ‘What do you mean by that, Gnasher?’ Pete looked all around, at each of the vampires in turn. ‘What happens if we lose?’

  The vampires laughed. In a nasty, vampire, sort of way.

  ‘We suck your blood, kiddily-wink!’ snarled Gnasher. ‘We suck it till we’re full to bursting!’

  Pete looked at Dad, and Dad was blinking fast, like he was trying to work out if he was really awake or not. Trying to work out if he was in the middle of a nightmare, or in the middle of Llani football pitch, surrounded by real live VAMPIRES!

  ‘I’d think of legging it, Dad,’ whispered Pete, ‘but even though they’re a bit short of blood, I don’t think they’d have much trouble catching us. Especially you. So we’re just going to have to make sure we beat them in the game. Maybe you could join the team…’

  ‘Me?’ said Dad, gasping for breath. ‘I haven’t played a proper game of footie in ten years or more! Never mind against a bunch of…’ he shook his head, afraid to even say the word ‘…who’d suck your blood as soon as look at you!’

  ‘Come on, Dad – don’t be such a scaredy-ba! We’ve got to win!’ muttered Pete.

  Blob was doing his best, but it was pretty much a two-man team by now (well, one boy and a long, low dog), because Pete’s Dad was huffing and puffing and barely getting a look-in. And the two other vampires who were supposed to make up their numbers (Eeky Edward and Slurper Sue) were both stumbling about, weak at the knees from their lack of blood-sucking.

  For some reason the other team didn’t seem to have run out of energy in the same way. Pete suspected them of guzzling away at each other in the darkest corners of the park when no one was watching, but he couldn’t prove it.

  And by this time Pete and his team were three-two down and in danger of losing more than just the match.

  ‘We’ve just got to win, Blob,’ gasped Pete. ‘Otherwise there’ll be ructions, and no mistaking. They’ll sink their teeth into us and we’ll become vampires ourselves!’

  Because that’s who vampires are, see. They’re humans who’ve had their necks sucked by vampires. (You knew that already, I suppose.)

  Which is why it’s a good idea to stay tucked up in bed all night, in case they’re out and about and on the prowl. But try telling that to Pete and Blob.

>   (Mind you, they’d have to have been particularly bloodthirsty to try chewing Blob, considering he was a dog. But that wasn’t going to help Pete much.)

  ‘We’re all done in,’ said Eeky Edward and Slurper Sue. And they fell to the ground, exhausted.

  ‘Uh oh,’ said Pete. ‘There’s only eh…’ He was looking around at what remained of his team. ‘Un … dau … tri of us left. We’re in right trouble now!’

  He booted the ball and up it flew, over the heads of the other team.

  And guess who’d gone zooming down the field like a bat out of hell, and was lurking on Gnasher’s goal-line, waiting for the ball to arrive?

  BLOB THE BASSET HOUND!

  He grabbed it with his front paws, did a quick one-two, and rolled it through Gnasher’s legs. (Gnasher was all discombobulated, because vampires don’t like dogs, remember?)

  Luckily Vladimir the vampire ref didn’t seem to know about the offside rule. Or because he was stuck on the bench, due to having been crocked by Slurper Sue, he couldn’t see the angles properly.

  Or hunger was getting the better of him, and he wasn’t paying full attention.

  ‘WHEE!’

  he blew, on Pete’s whistle. ‘THREE THREE!’

  Knowing there wasn’t a moment to spare, Blob grabbed the ball in his mouth, raced to the centre-spot and, without even bothering to shake it, he put it down at the feet of Verity V, the opposing team’s main striker.

  Straight from the kick-off, Pete stole it off her and booted it back down field.

  And would you believe it? The ball with the light inside bounced once, skidded off a lump of mud and trickled past the wrong-footed, red-faced Gnasher.

  FOUR THREE! They were winning!

  Pete and his Dad were running out of steam, so Blob decided that the only way to hang onto their lead was to play the Vampires at their own game. To play dirty.

  So what he did was wait in the darkest corners of the pitch, lying low to the ground in the shadows, wait for one of the opposing team to come running towards him and then run out in front of them. Trip!