Fing. David Walliams

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      “Good morning,” they said.

      “Are you all right under there, Mrs Meek?” enquired Mr Meek.

      “Yes. Are you all right?”

      “Me?”

      “Yes. You fainted.”

      “Did I?”

      “Yes.”

      “Oh dear.”

      “Oh dear indeed.”

      “Let me help you up.”

      “No, let me help you up!”

      This went on for quite a while until finally both of them were on their feet. Now the pair had to choose between two evils. Either they went down to the spooky vaults of the LIBRARY or they faced the wrath of their daughter.

      The lesser of the two seemed to be the vaults.

      “I don’t think we have a choice,” said Father.

      “Then follow me,” replied Mother.

      Mrs Meek led her husband to a battered old door in the far corner of the LIBRARY. Cobwebs covered the cracks, and a sign over it read “DO NOT ENTER".

      “Will it be dark down in the vaults?” he asked, his voice wavering.

      “Oh yes. Pitch black. To protect all the old books,” she replied.

      “Well then, ladies first…”

      “Me?” protested Mrs Meek.

      They were both scared of the dark.

      “I insist,” he pressed.

      “I insist.”

      “I am a gentleman. I have to let a lady go first.”

      “No, no, no, that’s very old-fashioned these days, Mr Meek. You should definitely go first.”

      “No, you.”

      “You.”

      “YOU!”

      The pair had reached something of a stand-off.

      “I know! Let’s both go together,” announced Mother.

      “Good plan,” replied Father. He took down the rusty old key that was sitting on top of the doorframe. Looking around to check no one was watching, he unlocked the door.

      C L I C K.

      He fumbled for his wife’s hand, and together they slowly descended the steps.

      “It’s not too bad, is it?” asked Mrs Meek.

      stammered Mr Meek.

      To his relief, Mr Meek found a candle and a box of old matches halfway down the stairs. His hands trembling uncontrollably, he passed them to his wife, who struck a match and lit the candle.

      STRIKE!

      The flickering light illuminated shelves and shelves of dusty old leather-bound books. The LIBRARY vaults were a treasure trove of titles that were ancient, obscure and bizarre. There were thousands of books down there, all of them long out of print.

      One by one, Mr and Mrs Meek pulled the books from the shelves. With just a candle to read by, they searched the millions upon millions of words for any reference to a “FING”. Just as they were about to lose all hope, Mr Meek thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.

      “What was that?” he whispered.

      “What was what?” she asked.

      “Something moved.”

      “Maybe it was a rat? I hate rats.”

      With the candle, Mrs Meek illuminated a dingy corner of the vault. Indeed, something was moving underneath a pile of old newspapers.

      RUSTLE! RUSTLE! RUSTLE!

      She pushed her husband towards it to investigate further.

      “Go on!”

      “I am going! I am going!”

      “Lift up the newspapers and see!” suggested Mrs Meek.

      “No, after you.”

      “Oh, for goodness’ sake! Let’s not start all this again.”

      Reluctantly, Mr Meek lifted the old damp sheets of paper. To his surprise, all that was underneath was a book.

      “It’s a book!”

      “Books can’t move,” she replied.

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