Page 19

This was it.

Harry had finally found the vandal who’d been defacing Mrs. Cackleberry’s posters and advertisements: the man who called himself Buben, as if he were some Renaissance artist.

This Buben, of course, didn’t want to be caught — so he fled. Harry gave chase and now had the vandal cornered in the neighbourhood cheese shop, Come to Cheeses.

“Just stop!” Harry shouted as he followed Buben inside, not even thinking to wonder why the door wasn’t locked.

“Gotta catch me first, flat-foot!” Buben yelled back. “Bet you can’t find me! Loser! Hahahahaha!”

Harry paused.

The store was big — almost warehouse big. He had no idea there were so many different types of cheese, nor that a single shop could hold so much. It did not smell pleasant.

Pulling out a flashlight, he set to work tracking down the vandal. He could hear Buben’s footsteps echoing through the aisles, but Harry kept his calm.

It was the middle of summer, and apparently Cheeses’ air conditioning had failed. Not only did the shop smell rank, but some of the cheeses seemed to be melting. A large round block of cheddar was withering in such a way that it seemed to have a face — a pained face.

It also had boobs.

Harry smirked. Cheese boobs.

Off in the distance, Buben was singing:
“Sweet dreams are made of cheese! Who am I to diss a brie?”

Harry walked casually. More cheese boobs. He knew he was closing in.

He turned down an aisle and saw Buben in front of a block of cheese, carving another boob into it. A brief chase ensued before Harry tackled him.

“Cheeses, man!” Buben yowled. “This is not gouda!” And then he burst into laughter.

Ugh. Harry was done. Just… done.

He grabbed a handful of half-melted Swiss and stuffed it into Buben’s mouth to shut him up.