Granny by Anthony Horowitz

needles jerked forward like angry snakes. Joe didn’t see what happened next. He was already running toward the edge of the stage, searching for a way out. But he heard Elsie Bucket’s final scream as she was thoroughly punctured. He heard the great wail from the grannies in the audience. And he heard the sucking and bubbling as the Grannymatic Enzyme Extractor did what it had been built to do.
    Elsie Bucket had received her last royal telegram. The machine had attempted to extract her enzymes but, having failed to find any, had extracted everything else. There was nothing left of the granny apart from her clothes, punctured in thirteen places. These were now draped over the wooden seat with a few wisps of black smoke curling upward into the light. At the same time a horrible gray ooze traveled along the tangle of pipes and spat itself out into the waiting bottles.
    In the audience, the grannies moaned, yelled, and bit one another, uncertain what to do next. The machine had finished with Elsie Bucket and was now vibrating dangerously, trying to tear free of the stage. A few yards away, Joe found a fire exit and, taking a deep breath, reached for the handle. He felt the cold steel under his hand and pushed. Mercifully, the door was unlocked. He felt the handle give and the door open and then he was out, tumbling into the night air.
    And at that precise moment, the Grannymatic Enzyme Extractor exploded. Joe felt a fist of hot air punch him in the back. He was thrown forward, somersaulting twice and landing in a bed of flowers. He tried to stand up, then winced and covered his head as bricks, tiles, windows, wigs, and false teeth showered down all around him. It seemed to go on forever, but at last everything was silent again, and slowly, painfully, he got up.
    The Stilton International had been partially destroyed. There was nothing left of the Elsie Bucket Conference Room. Nor could he make out a single surviving granny. It was like pictures he had seen of the Second World War—jagged broken walls, thick smoke, fires burning in the wreckage. Already the fire department and ambulance service had been alerted. He could hear their sirens in the far distance.
    And then somebody moved, limping painfully through the smoke, coughing and spluttering. Joe tried to run, but he had sprained his ankle and he could only wait there as the figure approached.
    It was Granny.
    Somehow Joe wasn’t surprised that she had survived. But the explosion had not left her unharmed. She had lost a large clump of her hair and all her remaining teeth. Her arms and legs were covered in cuts and bruises and her twenty-seven-year-old coat hung off her in ribbons.
    The two of them stood gazing at each other in the debris. At last Granny spoke.
    â€œAre you all right, Jamie, my dear?”
    â€œMy name is Joe—and I’m not your dear!”
    â€œOh yes you are.” Granny’s eyes flickered over to what had been the Elsie Bucket Suite. “We’re very lucky,” she said. “We seem to be the only survivors of an unfortunate accident …”
    â€œAn accident?”
    â€œOh yes. It must have been the gas. Of course that’s what it was. Somebody must have left the oven on.”
    I’m going to tell the truth!” Joe snarled.
    Granny just smiled. “You could try telling your version of the truth, but do you really think anyone would believe you? A twelve-year-old boy? They’d think you were mad, Jeffrey. They’d lock you up.”
    Joe glanced at the wreckage of the hotel and realized that she was right. There would be nothing left of the Grannymatic Enzyme Extractor—and even if they managed to find a few tubes and valves, what expert would be able to work out what they were really for? Even as he watched, the flames leaped up, finding a way through the bricks and rubble.
    Granny took a step nearer. Joe stood his ground. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But you