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| ISBN-13: | 9781250102461 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Feiwel & Friends |
| Publication date: | 04/04/2017 |
| Series: | Treehouse Books Series , #5 |
| Pages: | 384 |
| Sales rank: | 683,294 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.70(w) x 8.55(h) x 1.30(d) |
| Lexile: | 610L (what's this?) |
| Age Range: | 6 - 10 Years |
THE 65-STORY 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-story treehouse! (It used to be a 52-story treehouse, but we've added another 13 stories.) 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 center, 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!
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 organized 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 racket. WHAP!
And all of a sudden the air is filled with ...
There are ants everywhere (which is bad). But I'm not being strangled anymore (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 poop, of course!" "Dog poop?" says Terry. "But I hate dog poop!" "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." "Exactly!" 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 2JILL 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 with 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-size. Can you draw me smaller, Terry?"
"Sure, Jill," says Terry. "One ant-size 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 organized 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 equaled 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 3-D videophone.
(Did I mention we have a 3-D videophone? Well, we do — and it's 3-D!) 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. "Good-bye!"
"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 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. "Cool," says Terry. "I love getting letters."
We sit down and read the letter. This is what it says:
INSPECTOR BUBBLEWRAP SAFETY CENTRAL HEADQUARTERS BUILDING PERMIT DEPARTMENT
Dear Andy and Terry,
This is to inform you that I will be visiting your treehouse in one minute to check that you have a current and valid building permit.
Regards, Inspector Bubblewrap
"What a nice letter," says Terry. "Are you crazy?" I say. "He's a building inspector and he's coming to check if our treehouse building permit is current — the very building permit we don't have!"
"Yikes!" says Terry. "When is he coming?" "In one minute," I say. "One minute?!" says Terry. "Double yikes!"
CHAPTER 3INSPECTOR BUBBLEWRAP
The doorbell rings and we go to answer it. "Hello," says the man at the door. "My name is Inspector Bubblewrap. I trust you received my letter."
"Well, yes, we did," I say, "but — " "Excellent," says the inspector. "May I please see your building permit for this treehouse?" "Well ... yes ..." I say, "although when I say yes, I mean no. We don't actually have one ... thanks to Terry."
"No permit?" says the inspector. "In that case I'll have to do an inspection to see if your treehouse conforms to all the current building regulations and safety codes."
"Building regulations?" I say. "Safety codes?" says Terry. "It's a mere formality," says the inspector. "Now, if you'll just be kind enough to let me in, I'll get started on my rhyme."
"Your rhyme?" I say. "Yes," says the inspector.
"I always do My reports in rhyme. It's fun for me And helps pass the time."
"Okay," says Terry. "That's fine by me. Please feel free To see our tree."
"Well, thank you very much, Young man. I'll do my inspection As fast as I can.
"If I may I'll start right here. Uh-oh — oh my — Oh no — oh dear.
"This staircase of yours Should have a railing. And no wheelchair ramp? That's a serious failing!
"And where are your fire escapes, Your hose reels and sprinklers, Your safety blankets and fire extinguishers? And I'd very much like to see (if I can) Your in-case-of-emergency exit plan.
"These man-eating sharks Should be swimming free. Not kept as pets In a tank in a tree.
"And your bowling alley Doesn't have any walls, Which puts penguins at risk From falling balls.
"Or a ball could fall On a person's head And that poor person Could end up dead.
"Racing rocking horses Around a track Could result in injury To the neck or back.
"This X-ray room Is in direct violation Of the current health and safety Radiation regulations.
"And what sort of stupid, lame-brained twit Would build himself a quicksand pit And not even have the sense or wit To put a warning sign on it?
"This swimming pool Should have a fence. (It really is just Common sense!)
"And chain saw juggling Is seriously dumb. You could easily lose A finger or thumb ...
"Or an ear or a knee Or an elbow or nose Or an arm or a leg Or a foot or some toes!
"Your trampoline Has no net, I see, And it's up really high Near the top of the tree!"
"But, apart from those few things," I say, "is everything else in our treehouse okay?"
Inspector Bubblewrap sighs and shakes his head.
"All things considered, I'm sorry to say There's no way I can issue A permit today.
"This treehouse of yours Is an unsafe construction And I must insist On its total destruction.
"A crew of wreckers Is now on its way, So you'd better get going; There's no way you can stay.
"By twelve noon today This place will be rubble. If you stay any longer You'll be in big trouble.
"It will all be knocked down — Level by level — Get out while you can. You remain at your peril!"
"Yikes," says Bill the postman. "I'm out of here." "Should we go, too?" says Terry. "No way!" I say. "This is our home!" "But it's going to be demolished!" "Not if I can help it," I say. "But how?" says Terry.
"I don't know," I say. "Why don't we go and ask the three wise owls?" says Terry. "Of course," I say. "They're so wise they'll know exactly what to do."
We jet-chair up to the owl house on our jet-propelled office chairs and hover in front of the owls.
"O wise owls," says Terry, "what should we do to avoid the total demolition of our treehouse?" "TICK!" says the first wise owl. "TOCK!" says the second wise owl. "HOO!" says the third wise owl.
"Tick? Tock? Hoo?" I say. "What does that mean?" "Hmmm," says Terry, frowning and repeating their words. "Tick-Tock-Hoo ... Tick-Tock-Hoo ..."
"Do you think Tick-Tock means something to do with time?" I say. "Yes!" says Terry. "And Hoo must mean Doctor Who. He's a time traveler, right?" "Yeah," I say, "but how does that help us?"
"Don't you see?" says Terry. "The wise owls are telling us we should travel back in time and get a permit for the treehouse."
"That would be a great idea," I say, "if we had a time machine." "We do!" says Terry. "I've built one on the level the Once-upon-a-time machine used to be on." "Fantastic!" I say. "Let's go."
We climb up to the time-machine level. "So we go in here?" I say, heading for the door. "That's not the time machine," says Terry. "That's an egg timer I built. I hate it when my eggs get overboiled. The time machine is over here."
"You put it in the trash bin?" I say. "No," says Terry. "It is the trash bin." "But why?" I say.
"Well, I was reading The Time Machine by H. G. Wells," says Terry, "and I thought that time travel sounded like fun." "Yes, but why a wheelie bin?" I say.
"Because it's all I had," says Terry. "It's not quite finished but it should be fine to just go back a few years to get our building permit."
"You go first, Andy," says Terry. I climb in and Terry climbs in after me and closes the lid.
"It's really cramped in here," I say. "I thought time machines were supposed to be small on the outside and big on the inside."
"Well, yeah," says Terry, "they are, but it was only designed for one person." "You were going to go time traveling without me?" I say. "No," says Terry. "Well ... when I say no ... I mean yes ... but no ... well, only a little bit ..."
Excerpted from The 65-Story Treehouse by Andy Griffiths, Terry Denton. Copyright © 2015 Backyard Stories Pty Ltd.. Excerpted by permission of Feiwel and Friends.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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