Dedication

Formylatefather,David,whowouldhavetoldthetalewithdelight,andformyson,Michael,whowouldneverhavebelievedawordofit.

Withlove.—N.G.

Formydad,whowasatellerofstoriesandamakeroflaughs.Imissyoulikecrazy.—S.Y.

Contents

Dedication

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BooksbyNeilGaiman

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Therewasonlyorange juice in the fridge.Nothingelse thatyoucouldputoncereal, unless you think that ketchup ormayonnaise or pickle juicewould beniceonyourToastios,whichIdonot,andneitherdidmylittlesister,althoughshehaseatensomeprettyweirdthingsinherday,likemushroomsinchocolate.*

“Nomilk,”saidmysister.

“Nope,”Isaid, lookingbehind the jamin thefridge, just incase.“Noneatall.”

Our mum had gone off to a conference. She was presenting a paper onlizards. Before shewent, she reminded us of the important things that had tohappenwhileshewasaway.

Mydadwasreadingthepaper.Idonotthinkhepaysalotofattentiontotheworldwhileheisreadinghispaper.

“Didyouhearme?”askedmymum,whoissuspicious.“WhatdidIsay?”

“DonotforgettotakethekidstoOrchestraPracticeonSaturday;it’sViolinonWednesday night; you’ve frozen a dinner for each night you’re away andlabeled them; the spare house-key is with theNicolsons; the plumber will behere onMondaymorning anddonot use or flush the upstairs toilet until he’sbeen;feedthegoldfish;youloveusandyou’llbebackonThursday,”saidmyfather.

I thinkmymumwassurprised.“Yes, that’s right,” she said.Shekissedusall.Thenshesaid,“Oh,andwe’realmostoutofmilk.You’llneedtopicksomeup.”

Aftershewentaway,mydadhadacupoftea.Therewasstillsomemilkleft.WedefrostedMealNumberOne,butwemadeabitofamessofthings,so

wewenttotheIndianrestaurant.Beforewewenttosleep,DadmadeusmugsofhotchocolatetomakeupforthewholeMissingofMum.

Thatwaslastnight.

NowDad came in. “Eat your cereal,” he said. “Remember, it’s OrchestraPracticethisafternoon.”

“Wecan’teatourcereal,”saidmysister,sadly.“Idon’tseewhynot,”saidmyfather.“We’vegotplentyofcereal.There’s

Toastios and there’s muesli. We have bowls. We have spoons. Spoons areexcellent.Sortoflikeforks,onlynotasstabby.”

“Nomilk,”Isaid.“Nomilk,”saidmysister.Iwatchedmydadthinkaboutthis.Helookedlikehewasgoingtosuggest

that we have something for breakfast that you do not need milk for, likesausages,butthenhelookedlikeherememberedthat,withoutmilk,hecouldn’thavehistea.Hehadhis“notea”face.

“Youpoorchildren,”hesaid.“Iwillwalkdowntotheshoponthecorner.Iwillgetmilk.”

“Thankyou,”saidmysister.“Notthefat-freekind,”Itoldhim.“Thatstufftasteslikewater.”“Right,”saidmydad.“Notthefat-freekind.”Hewentout.IpouredsomeToastiosintoabowl.Istaredatthem.

Iwaited.

“Howlonghashebeen?”askedmysister.“Ages,”Isaid.“Ithoughtso,”saidmylittlesister.Wedrankorange juice.Mysisterpracticedherviolin. I suggested that she

stopplayingherviolin,andshedid.Mysistermadefacesatme.“Howlonghasitbeennow?”sheasked.“Agesandages,”Itoldher.

“Whathappensifhenevercomesback?”sheasked.“Isupposeweeatthepickles,”Isaid.“You can’t eat pickles for breakfast,” said my sister. “And I don’t like

picklesatanytime.Whatifsomethingawfulhashappenedtohim?Mumwouldblameus.”

“Iexpecthejustranintooneofhisfriendsatthecornershop,”Isaid,“andtheygottalkingandhelosttrackoftime.”

IateadryToastioasanexperiment.Itwassortofokay,butnotasgoodasinmilk.

Therewasathumpandabangatthefrontdoor,andmyfathercamein.“Wherehaveyoubeenallthistime?”askedmysister.“Ah,”saidmyfather.“Um.Yes.Well,funnyyoushouldaskmethat.”“Youranintosomeoneyouknew,”Isaid,“andyoulosttrackoftime.”“Ibought themilk,”saidmyfather.“And Idid indeedsayabriefhello to

MisterRonsonfromovertheroad,whowasbuyingapaper.Iwalkedoutofthecornershop,andheardsomethingoddthatseemedtobecomingfromaboveme.Itwasanoiselikethis:thummthumm.IlookedupandsawahugesilverdischoveringintheairaboveMarshallRoad.”

“Hullo,”Isaidtomyself.“That’snotsomethingyouseeeveryday.Andthensomethingoddhappened.”

“Thatwasn’todd?”Iasked.“Well,somethingODDER,”saidmyfather.“Theoddthingwasthebeamof

light that came out of the disc—a glittery, shimmery beam of light that wasvisibleeveninthedaylight.AndthenextthingIknew,Iwasbeingsuckedupintothedisc.Fortunately,Ihadputthemilkintomycoatpocket.

“The deck of the disc was metal. It was as big as a playing field, orBIGGER.”

“Wehavecometoyourplanetfromaworldveryfaraway,”saidthepeopleinthedisc.

I call them people, but they were a bit green and rather globby and theylookedverygrumpyindeed.

“Now, as a representative of your species, we demand that you give usownershipofthewholeplanet.Wearegoingtoremodelit.”

“Ijollywellwon’t,”Isaid.

“Then,” it said, “wewill bring all your enemieshere andhave themmakeyoumiserableuntilyouagreetosigntheplanetovertous.”

I was going to point out to them that I didn’t have any enemies when InoticedalargemetaldoorwithEMERGENCYEXITDONOTOPENFORANYREASON

THISMEANSYOU!onit.Iopenedthedoor.“Don’t do that,” said a green, globby person. “You’ll let the space-time

continuumin.”Butitwastoolate;Ihadalreadypushedopenthedoor.IJUMPED.IwasFALLING.

Fortunately,Ihadkepttightholdofthemilk,sowhenIsplashedintotheseaIdidn’tloseit.

“Whatwasthat?”saidawoman’svoice.“Abigfish?Amermaid?Orwasitaspy?”

IwantedtosaythatIwasn’tanyofthosethings,butmymouthwasfullofseawater.Ifeltmyselfbeinghauledupontothedeckofalittleship.Therewereanumberofmenandawomanonthedeck,andtheyalllookedverycross.

“Whobeye, landlubber?”said thewoman,whohadabighatonherheadandaparrotonhershoulder.

“He’saspy!Awalrusinacoat!Anewkindofmermaidwithlegs!”saidthemen.

“Whatareyoudoinghere?”askedthewoman.“Well,” I said. “I just set out to the corner shop for some milk for my

children’sbreakfastandformytea,andthenextthingIknew—”“He’slying,YourMajesty!”

Shepulledouthercutlass.“YoudarelietotheQueenofthePirates?”Fortunately,Ihadkepttightholdofthemilk,andnowIpointedtoit.

“If I did not go to the corner shop to fetch themilk,” I asked them, “thenwheredidthismilkcomefrom?”

Atthis,thepirateswerecompletelyspeechless.“Now,”Isaid,“ifyoucouldletmeoffsomewhereneartomydestination,Iwouldbemuchobligedtoyou.”

“Andwherewouldthathappentobe?”saidtheQueenofthePirates.“On thecornerofMarshallRoadandFletcherLane,” I said. “Mychildren

arewaitingtherefortheirbreakfast.”

“You’reonapirateshipnow,myfinebucko,”saidthePirateQueen.“Andyoudon’tgetdroppedoffanywhere.Thereareonlytwochoices—youcanjoinmypiratecrew,orrefusetojoinandwewillslityourcowardlythroatandyouwillgotothebottomofthesea,whereyouwillfeedthefishes.”

“Whataboutwalkingtheplank?”Iasked.“NEVERheardofit!”saidthepirates.“Walking the plank!” I said. “It’swhat proper pirates do! Look, I’ll show

you.Doyouhaveaplankanywhere?”Ittooksomelooking,butwefoundaplank,andIshowedthepirateswhere

toputit.Wediscussednailingitdown,butthePirateQueendecideditwassaferjusttohavethetwofattestpiratessitontheendofit.

“Whyexactlydoyouwanttowalktheplank?”askedthePirateQueen.I edged out onto the plank. The blue Caribbean water splashed gently

beneathme.“Well,”Isaid,“I’veseenlotsofstorieswithpiratesinthem,anditseemsto

methatifI’mgoingtoberescued—”Atthis,thepiratesstartedtolaughsohardtheirstomachswobbled,andthe

parrot took off into the air in amazement. “Rescue?” they said. “There’s norescueouthere.We’reinthemiddleofthesea.”

“Nevertheless,”Itoldthem.“Ifyouaregoingtoberescued,itwillalwaysbewhilewalkingtheplank.”

“Which we don’t do,” said the Pirate Queen. “Here. Have a SPANISHDOUBLOON and come and join us in our piratical adventures. It’s theeighteenth century,” she added, “and there’s always room for a bright,enthusiasticpirate.”

Icaught thedoubloon.“IalmostwishthatIcould,”I toldher.“ButIhavechildren.Andtheyneedtheirbreakfast.”

“Thenyoumustdie!Walktheplank!”

Iedgedouttotheendoftheplank.Sharkswerecircling.Sowerepiranhas—

AndthiswaswhereIinterruptedmydadforTHEFIRSTTIME.

“Hangon,”Isaid.“Piranhasareafreshwaterfish.Whatweretheydoinginthesea?”

“You’reright,”saidmyfather.“Thepiranhaswerelater.Right.So...”

Iwasoutattheendoftheplank,facingcertaindeath,whenaropeladderhitmyshoulderandadeep,boomingvoiceshouted,

“QUICKLY!CLIMBUPTHEROPELADDER!”

I needed nomore encouragement than this, and I grabbed the rope ladderwithbothhands.Fortunately, themilkwaspusheddeep into thepocketofmy coat. The pirates hurled insults at me, and even discharged pistols, butneitherinsultsnorpistol-shotfoundtheirtargetsandIsoonmadeittothetopoftheropeladder.

I’dneverbeeninthebasketofahotairballoonbefore.Itwasverypeacefulupthere.

Theperson in theballoonbasketsaid,“Ihopeyoudon’tmindmehelping,butitlookedlikeyouwerehavingproblemsdownthere.”

Isaid,“You’reastegosaurus!”“Iaman inventor,”hesaid.“Ihave invented the thingweare traveling in,

whichIcallProfessorSteg’sFloaty-Ball-Person-Carrier.”“Icallitaballoon,”Isaid.“ProfessorSteg’sFloaty-Ball-Person-Carrier is theoriginalname,”hesaid.

“Andrightnowweareonehundredandfiftymillionyearsinthefuture.”“Actually,”Isaid,“weareaboutthreehundredyearsinthepast.”“Doyoulikehard-hairy-wet-white-crunchers?”heasked.“Coconuts?”Iguessed.“I named them first,” said Professor Steg.He picked up a coconut from a

basketandateit,shellandall,justasyouorImightcrunchtoast.

He showedmehisTimeMachine.Hewasveryproudof it. Itwasa largecardboardboxwithseveralpebblesonit,andstonesstucktotheside.Therewasalso a large, red button. I looked at the stones. “Hang on,” I said. “Those arediamonds.Andsapphires.Andrubies.”

“Actually,” he said, “I call them special-shiny-clear-stones, special-shiny-bluey-stones,and,um—”

“Special-shiny-red-stones?”Isuggested.“Indeed,”hesaid.“IcalledthemthatwhenIwasinventingmyReallyGood

MovesAroundinTimeMachine,onehundredandfiftymillionyearsago.”“Well,”I toldhim,“itwasveryluckyformethatyouturnedupwhenyou

didandrescuedme.Iamslightlylostinspaceandtimerightnowandneedtoget home in order to make sure my children get milk for their breakfast.” Ishowed it to him. “This is themilk.Although I expect that one hundred andfiftymillionyearsagoyoucalledit‘wet-white-drinky-stuff.’”

“Dinosaursarereptiles,sir,”saidProfessorSteg.“Wedonotgoinformilk.”“Doyougoinforbreakfastcereal?”Iasked.“Ofcourse!”hesaid.“DinosaursLOVEbreakfastcereal.Especiallythekind

withnutsin.”

“Whatdoyouhaveonyourcereal?”Iasked.“Orangejuice,mostly.Orwejusteatitdry.ButIshallputthisinmybook:

In thedistant future,smallmammalsputmilkon theirbreakfastcereal. Ishallwriteawonderfulbook,whenIreturntothepresent.”

“Actually,”Isaid,“Ithinkthisisdefinitelythepast.Ithaspiratesinit.”“It’s the future,” he said. “All the dinosaurs have gone off into the stars,

leavingtheworldtomammals.”“Iwonderedwhereyouallwent,”Isaid.“Thestars,”hetoldme.“Thatiswherewewillhavegone.”“So,”Isaid.“Canyoutakemehome?”“Well,”hesaid.“Yesandno.”“Whatdoesthatmean?”“Yes,Iwouldlovetotakeyouhome.Nothingwouldmakemehappier.No,I

cannottakeyouhome.Inallhonesty,IdonotbelievethatIcantakemehome.

MyTimeMachineisbeingtemperamental.Ineedaspecial-shiny-greeny-stone.Ihavepressedthatbuttonmanytimesbutnothinghappens.”

“Button?Don’tyoumean‘big-red-flat-pressy-thing’?”Iasked.“Imostcertainlydonot.Itisabutton.InameditaftermyAuntButton.”“CanIpressit?”“Ifyouwish.”I pressed the button. The sun shot around the sky, and the sky started to

flickerinnightsandindays,andtheballoonbegantorockandlurchandzoomaroundlikeanangryfly.

Iheldon to the ropesashardas Icould.Fortunately, Iwasstillkeepingtightholdofthemilkinmyrighthand.

Whenwestoppedbeingblownallacrossthesky,itwasnightand,accordingtoProfessorSteg,wehadonlygonebackaboutathousandyears.Themoonwasnearlyfull.

“Iamevenfurtherfrommychildrenandourbreakfast,”Isaid.“Youhaveyourmilk,”hesaid.“Wherethereismilk,thereishope.Ah,over

there.That looks likeaperfect landingplatformfor time-travelingscientists inFloaty-Ball-Person-Carriers.”

We landed on the platform and got out. The platform stuck up out of thejungleandhadflaming torchesoneachside.Therewerepeoplestandingon itwithveryblackhairandsharpstoneknives.

“Isthisaballoon-landingplatform?”Iaskedthepeople.“Itisnot,”saidafatman.“Itisourtemple.Wehadaverybadharvestlast

yearandwehadjustaskedthegodstosendusasacrifice,tomakesurethatthisyear’s harvest is better, when you floated down in that thing, with yourmonster.”

“Thank you, by the way,” said a little thin man. “I was going to be thesacrificeifnooneelseturnedup.Muchobliged.”

“Sonowwewillsacrificeyouandyourmonster.”“Butmychildrenarewaitingfor theirbreakfast,”Isaid.“Look!”Iheldup

themilk.“Why did they all just fall to their knees?” asked Professor Steg. “Is this

usualhairlessmammalbehavior?PerhapsIshouldholdupsomehard-hairy-wet-white-crunchersandseewhathappens.”

“Coconuts!”Itoldhim.“Theyarecalledcoconuts!”“Whatisthatyouareholding?”thefatmanasked.

“Milk,”Isaid.“MILK!”theyexclaimed,andtheyprostratedthemselvesontheground.“We have a prophecy,” said the fat man, “that when a man and a spiny-

backedmonsterdescendfromtheskiesonaroundfloatything—”“Floaty-Ball-Person-Carrier,”saidthelittlethinman.“Yes.Oneofthose.Weweretoldthatwhenthathappened,ifthemanheld

upmilkthenwewerenottosacrificethem,butweweremeanttotakethemtothe volcano, and give them, as a present, the green jewel that is the Eye ofSplod.”

“Splod?”“Heisthegodofpeoplewithshort,funnynames.”“It is,” I said, “a remarkably specific sort of a prophecy. When did you

receiveit?”

“Last Wednesday,” said the fat man, proudly. “The priest of Splod waswokeninthenightbyavoicewhisperingfromtheheavens.Andwhenhewenttolookandseewhoitwas,therewasnobodythere.Also,hewassleepingonthetopofthetemple,andnobodyelsecouldhavebeenuptherewithhim.SoitmusthaveeitherbeenSplodhimselftalking,oroneofhisangelicmessengers.”

Wewalked togetherdowna junglepath.ProfessorStegcarried the rope inhismouththatleduptotheballoon,andhedraggedtheballoonalong.Afterhalfanhourwereachedthevolcano.

Itwasnotaverybigvolcano.Therewerewispsofsmokecomingfromthetopofit.

Onthesideofthevolcanotherewasacarvingofabigscaryfacewithoneeye in themiddleof its forehead.Theeyewas thebiggest emerald Ihadeverseen.

“Aspecial-shiny-greeny-stone!”saidProfessorSteg,withhismouthfullofrope.

Thefatmanclamberedupthesideofthevolcano.“ItisagoodthingthatSplodhimselftoldustogiveyoutheEyeofSplod,”

said the little thin man who had narrowly avoided being sacrificed, “becausethereisanotherprophecythatiftheEyeofSplodiseverremoved,GreatSplodwillawakenandspreadburningdestructionacrosstheland.”

“Hereyougo,”saidthefatman.

Hehandedustheemerald.ProfessorStegnippeduptheropeladderintotheballoon’sgondolaandbegantoinstalltheemeraldintheTimeMachine.

“Hangon.Hewasastegosaurus?”“Yes.”

“Thenhowcouldhejustnipuparopeladder?”

“Hewas,” saidmy father, “a large stegosaurus, but very light on his feet.Therearefatpeoplewhoareexcellentdancers.”

“Arethereanyponiesinthis?”askedmysister.“Ithoughttherewouldbeponiesbynow.”

Iwasstandingon theground,holdingon to the rope ladder,when thegroundshookandtheverysmallvolcanobegantobelchsmokeandlava.

“Splodisangry!”shoutedthelittlethinman.“Hewantshiseyeback.”Therewas a rushingwind, and theballoon jerkedmeup into the air, high

abovethesplurtinglava.Unfortunately,Idroppedthemilk.Iwasn’tholdingontoittightlyenough.It

landedonthetopofSplod’shead.ProfessorSteghauledtheropeladderupwithhistail.“I’VELOSTTHEMILK!”Itoldhim.“That’snotgood,”headmitted.“But I know where it is. It’s on top of Splod’s head, on the side of the

volcano.”ProfessorStegsaid,“GoodSplod!Whatonearthisthat?”Before our eyes, another balloon, just like ours, appeared, over by the

volcano. A man hurried down the rope ladder. He placed a large emerald inSplod’seye,pickedup themilk fromSplod’shead, ranup the ladder, and theballoonvanished.

Theverysmallvolcanostoppederuptingassuddenlyasifithadbeenturnedoff.

“Thatwasabitpeculiar,wasn’tit?”saidtheprofessor.“It was,” I agreed, gloom and despair and despondency overcoming me.

“Thatman in thatballoonstolemymilk.Weare lost in thepast,with junglesandpiratesandvolcanoes.NowIwillnevergethome.Mychildrenwillneverhavebreakfast.Wearedoomedtofloatforeverthroughthedustyairofthepastinahotairballoon.”

“Itisnotaballoon,”saidProfessorSteg.“ItisaFloaty-Ball-Person-Carrier.Whatnonsenseyoudotalk.Now,Ithinkthatshoulddothetrick.”

Hefinishedattachingtheemeraldtothebox,usingstring,mostly,andalsostickytape,andhepushedtheredbutton.

“Wherearewegoing?”Iasked.Itseemedlikethesunwaszoomingacrossthesky,asifnightswerefollowingdaysinaflickeringstrobe.

“Thefar,farfuture!”saidProfessorSteg.Themachinestopped.Wewere hanging in the air above a grassy plain, with a very small grey

mountainbeneathus.“There,”saidProfessorSteg.“Itisnowanextinctvolcano.BUTLOOK!”

On the side of the extinct volcano was carved the face of Splod, stillrecognizable,eventhoughitwasmucherodedbytimeandtheweather,andinthesingleeyewasahugegreenemerald,aperfecttwintotheonethatwehadattachedtotheTimeMachine.

“Right,”saidProfessorSteg.“Grabmethatspecial-shiny-greeny-stone.”Iwentover thesideof thegondolaanddown the rope ladder. Ipulled the

emeraldoutoftheeyesocket.Belowme,ontheplain,anumberofbrightlycoloredponiesweregathered,

andwhenIpickeduptheemerald,oneofthemshoutedupatme.“Youmustbethemanwithoutthemilk.Wehaveheardaboutyou,inourtales.”

“Whyareyouapinkponywithapalebluestarontheside?”Iasked.“Iknow,” said theponywith a sigh. “It’swhat everybody’swearing these

days.Palebluestarsaresolastyear.”ProfessorStegleanedover thesideof theballoon’sbasket.“Hurryup!”he

called.“Ifthevolcanoisgoingtogooff,itwilldoitanymoment.”Thevolcanomadeanoise likeahugeburp,and themiddleof itcollapsed

intoitself.“Wethoughtitwoulddothat,”saidagreenponywithasparklymane.“Therewasaprophecy,Isuppose,”Isaid.

“No.We’rejustveryclever.”Alltheponiesnodded.Theywereverycleverponies.

“Iamsogladtherewereponies,”saidmysister.

I got back into the balloon basket. Professor Steg unhooked the first emeraldfromhisTimeMachineandreplaceditwith theonethatIhadjust takenfromtheweatheredfaceofSplod-in-the-Future.

“Donot,whateverelseyoumightdo,”saidtheprofessor,“touchthosetwostonestogether.”

“Whynot?”“Because, according to my calculations, if the same object from two

differenttimestouchesitself,oneoftwothingswillhappen.EithertheUniversewill cease to exist. Or three remarkable dwarfswill dance through the streetswithflowerpotsontheirheads.”

“Thatsoundsastonishinglyspecific,”Isaid.“Iknow.But it isscience.Andit ismuchmoreprobable that theUniverse

willend.”“Ithoughtitwouldbe,”Isaid.“Youlooksosad,”ProfessorStegtoldme.“Iam!It’sthemilk.Mychildrenarebreakfastless—”“Themilk!”saidProfessorSteg.“Ofcourse!”Andwiththat,ProfessorSteg

pressedtheredbuttonwithhisheavilyarmoredtail.There was aZOOM, aTWORP, and aTHANG, and we were hurtling

throughthecosmicvoid.Andthenitwasdark.

Verydark.“Oops,” said Professor Steg. “Overshot a little. Only by a week, though.

Holdon....”ProfessorStegleanedoverthesideofthebasket.“Excuseme?”hesaid.“Isthereanyonearound?”“Onlyme,”saidaverysurprised-soundingvoicefrombelowus.“Thepriest

ofSplod.Whoisthatupinthesky?Isitabird?Youdonotsoundlikeabird.”“Iamnotabird,”saidProfessorSteg.“Iamamarvelousyetmysteriousand

propheticvoice,tellingyouamightyprophecy.Somightythat...Um...Verymightyindeed.Listen.Whenahugeandgood-lookingspiny-backedindividual—”

“Monster,”Itoldhim.“Theprophecysaidmonster.”“Accompaniedbya scrawnyhumanbeingof revoltingappearance—”said

ProfessorSteg.

“Thatwasnotnecessary.”“—lands inaFloaty-Ball-Person-Carrier,youmustnotsacrifice them.You

mustinsteadtakethemtothevolcanoandgivethemtheEyeofSplod.Andthisshallbethewaythatyoushallknowthem.Thehumanbeingwillholdupsomemilk.”

“Isthattheprophecy?”saidthevoice.“Yes.”“Isthereanythingaboutcropsinit?”“I’mafraidnot.”“Ohwell.Thankyouanyway,propheticandmysteriousvoicesfromtheair.”Ipressedtheredbutton.Daylight. We were in the middle of a very familiar volcanic eruption.

“Quickly!”Isaid.“Givemetheemerald!”

AlittlewayawayIcouldseeaballoonbeingblownthroughthesky,whilefire and ashwere swept around it by thewind. I could seeme in theballoon,standingnexttoProfessorSteg,withmymouthopen.Ilookedmiserable.

ProfessorSteg—MYProfessorSteg—gavemetheemerald.

Iraceddowntheropeladderandplacedtheemeraldbackintotheface’seye.Then,as thevolcanostoppederupting, I lookedaroundfor themilk. IknewithadlandedonSplod’sheadwhenitfell.

Fortunately,themilkhadfallenintoasmalldriftofvolcanicash,andwasunharmed.Ipickeditup,brusheditoff,andstartedbackuptheballoonladder.ProfessorStegpressedthebutton.

Theskywentdark.

WewereFLOATINGabovealandscapeofominoustowersanddisquietingcastles. It was not a friendly place. Bats flew across the sky in huge flocks,crowdingoutthewaningmoon.

“Idon’tlikethisplace,”Itoldtheprofessor.“Idon’tseewhynot,”hesaid.“Itlooksasifitwouldbeverynicewhenthe

suncomesup.”Therewas a loudFLUT!, andwhere the bats had been fluttering, several

pallidpeoplewerenowstanding.Themaninfronthadaverybaldhead.

THEYALLHADSHARPTEETH.

“Vearewumpires,”theysaid.“Votisthis?Whoareyou?Answerus,orvevillwiwisectyou.”

“I amProfessorSteg,”boomed theStegosaurus. “This ismyassistant.Weareonanimportantmission.Iamtryingtogetbacktothepresent.Myassistantistryingtogethometothefutureforbreakfast.”

AtthewordBREAKFASTallthewumpireslookedveryexcited.“Ve have not had our breakfast,” they told us. “Ve normally have

vigglyvorms, vith orange juice on them. Orange juice makes vorms ewenvigglier. Like vandering spaghetti. But if ve cannot eat vorms ve vill eatassistant,orewenroastprofessor.”

One of the wumpires took out a fork, and looked me up and down in ahungrysortofway.

The baldest,most bulging-eyed, rattiest of thewumpires said, “Vot is thisbox?”

“Itismyfinestinvention,”beganProfessorStegproudly,butIinterrupted.

“Itistokeepsandwichesin,”Isaid.“Sandviches?”saidthewumpire.

“Sandwiches,”Isaid,withasmuchcertaintyasIcouldmuster.“Ve thought it vos a TimeMachine,” said the head wumpire, with a sly,

sharpsmile.“Andvecoulduseittoinwadethevorld!”“Definitelysandwiches,”Itoldhim.“Vothappens if Ipress thisbutton, then?”askeda ladywumpire.Shehad

longblackhairthatcoveredmostofherface,andpeeredoutattheworldwithonesuspiciouseye.

Shepressedthebutton.Wewentforwardsixhoursintime.“See?”saidtheprofessorhappily.“Allthisplaceneedstobrightenitupisa

littlebitofsunshine.”

The head wumpire said, “Vot?” and dissolved into a cloud of oily blacksmoke.Sodidallhisfriends.

“Yes,”Isaid.“Itisaniceplacehere,afterall.Inthedaylight.”Theprofessortinkeredwiththejewelsandthestringandthebuttons.Then

he said, “I think I’ve got it properly fine-tuned, now. This next press shouldbringyoubacktoyourowntime,place,andbreakfast.”

Butbeforethetipofhistailcouldtouchthebutton,avoicesaid,“I’llexplainlater.Fateoftheworldatstake.”

Ahandgrabbed, and themilk,which Ihadcarried safely for so long,wasgone. I turned in time tocatchaglimpseofa fine-lookinggentlemanwithhisbacktome,holdingmymilk,andthentheholeinspacethroughwhichhehadreachedwasclosed.

“MYMILK!”“Hesaidhe’dexplain later,” said theprofessor. “I’dbe inclined tobelieve

him.”The hole in space opened again. A voice shouted, “Catch!” and the milk

camerocketingthrough.Fortunately,themilkstruckmeinthestomach,andinclutchingmyhands

tomybellyIcaughtthemilk.

“There,”saidtheprofessor.“Everythingisbacktonormal.”“Hedidsayhe’dexplainlater,”Ipointedout.“Andthatwasn’tmuchofan

explanation.”“Butit’snotlateryet,”saidProfessorSteg.“It’sstillnow.Itwon’tbelater

untillater.”

He was arranging pebbles and stones and string on the top of the TimeMachine box. “Final coordinates entered,” he said. “And then it’s off to yourhouseforbreakfast.”

“DoesthatmeanthatthereisaStegosaurusinahotairballoonoutside?”Iaskedmydad.

“Thereisnot,”hesaid.“Forreasonsthatwillbecomeapparent.”

“I think that there shouldhavebeen somenicewumpires,” saidmy sister,wistfully.“Nice,handsome,misunderstoodwumpires.”

“Therewerenot,”saidmyfather.

“Wouldyouliketopressthebutton?”saidProfessorSteg.I pressed the red button. Therewas an ear-popping noise and a flicker of

yearsandIwasfloating,inaballoonbasket,abovetheintersectionofMarshallRoad and Fletcher Lane. I could see our house from above. I could see thebicyclesinthebackgarden.Icouldseetherabbithutch.

“We’rehere!”Isaid,andIpattedProfessorStegonthebackridge-plates.“It was very nice, having you as a traveling compani—aargh,” said the

professor, because there was a familiar sort of a thumm-thumm noise, andbeforeIhadachancetopresstheredbutton,weweredeposited,balloonandall,ontheenormousmetaldeckofaflyingsaucer,withanumberofverygrumpy-lookinggreenglobbypeoplestaringatuswithtoomanyeyes.Theydidnotlook

pleased.“HaHA!”saidseveralglobbypeopleatthesametime.“Youthoughtyouhad

escapedus!Andyouwerewrong!Now,youmustsigntheplanetovertoussothat we can remodel it.Wewill take out all the trees, for a start, and put inplasticflamingoes.”

“Why?”“We like plastic flamingoes.We think they are the highest and finest art

formthatEarthhasachieved.Andtheyaretidierthantrees.”

“Also,wearegoingtoreplacethecloudswithscentedcandles.”“Welikescentedcandles,too,”explainedahugegreenglobbyperson,who

lookedlikehewasmostlymadeofsnot.“We also like decorative plates!” said another. “We will put a decorative

plateupwherethemoonisnow.”“AreallyBIGdecorativeplate,showinglandmarksoftheworld.”

“Andwewillthenreplaceallofthelandmarksoftheworldwithdecorativeplates with pictures of landmarks on them too, so the Eiffel Tower will bereplacedbyalargeplatewithapictureoftheEiffelToweronit.AndAustraliawillbereplacedbyareallyseriouslybigplatewithAustraliaonit.”

“Alsowewill replaceallofyourmountainswith throw-cushions,”said thesmallest,globbiestthingofall,withtriumphinitsglutinousvoice.

“We have learned a lot from our previousmeeting,” said some globs thatwerestickingtoawall.“Ifyoulookoverthere,youwillseethatthedoortothespace-time continuum you used to escape through last time is now securelylocked.”

Itwasdefinitelylocked.Ithadahugepadlockonit,andasignsaying

KEEPOUT

onit,inunfriendlyredletters.Therewerealsochainsaroundit,atapethatsaid

DONOTCROSS,andahandwrittennoticethatsaid

ForYourConvenience,PleaseUseAnotherDoor.

ESCAPEWASIMPOSSIBLE.

“AlsowehavedepoweredyourTimeMachine.”Ilookedattheprofessor.Hisarmoredback-flapsweredrooping,andhistail

was—well,notactuallybetweenhislegs,becausestegosaurusesaren’tmadethatway,butiftheywere,itwouldhavebeen.

“We have been tracking yourmovements through time and space,” said alargeglobbyalieninfrontofaconsolewithascreenonit.

“Now, see what happens when I press this grundledorfer,” said aparticularlydrippyalien. Itwashalf-sticking to thewall,next toa largeblack,shinybutton.

“It’scalledabutton,”Isaid.“Nonsense.Wenamed it afterourbrood-aunt,NessieGrundledorfer,” said

theglobbyaliens.Theparticularlydrippyalienpressedtheblackbuttononthemetalwallwith something thatmight have been a finger andmight just havebeenalongstrandofsnot.

TherewasaCRACKLE.TherewasaFIZZ.

Standingaroundus,inattitudesofangerandirritation,wereseveralpirates,some of the black-haired people from the jungle, a very unhappy-lookingvolcanogod,alargebowlfilledwithpiranhas,andsomewumpires.

“I’mnotsurethatIunderstandwhatthepiranhasaredoing,”saidmysister.

“TheywerefromanarrowescapeearlierthatIforgottomention,”saidourfather.“Fortunately,themilkfloatedatacrucialmomentanditallendedforthebest.”

“Ithoughtitmight,”Isaid.

“Uh-oh,”Isaid.“Preparetobekeelhauled,youscurvydogs,”shoutedthepirates.“LetusnowsacrificethembothtogreatSplod!”shoutedthemenwithshiny

blackhair.“Theystolemyeye!Twice!”rumbledmightySplod.“Ve vants thosewillains andwarmintswiolently vound up,” proclaimed a

tallladywumpirewithlongfingernails.Thepiranhassaidnothing,buttheythrashedaboutintheirbowl,ominously.

“Doomed,”moanedProfessorSteg.“Wecannotescape.Theyhavefrozenusintimeanddepoweredus.EvenmymightyTimeMachinecandonomorethanopen a small window in time and space—smaller than either of us could getthrough.”

“But can you do it?” I asked. “Open a little window in time to our lastlocation?”

“Ofcourse.Butwhatgoodwouldthatdo?”“Quickly!”Isaid.“Doit!”ProfessorStegpushedthebuttonontheboxwiththetipofhisnose.

Therewasazum!andaplip!andawindowopenedinspaceandtime,largeenoughforanarmtogetthrough.

Ireachedintoit.“I’ll explain later,” I said. “Fateof theworldat stake.” Igrabbed themilk

fromme,fifteenminutesearlier,throughthetinyspace-timeportal.“You must like milk a lot,” said the globby aliens. “But that craving for

lactic liquidswill notmake us take pity on you or let you go and spare yourbadly-designedplanet.”

“Itshould,”Isaid.“WhatamIholdinginmylefthand?”“Er.Themilk,”theysaid.“AndwhatamIholdinginmyrighthand?”

Theypaused.Thenonealien,sogreenandsmallandsoglobbyandcrustedthathemighthavebeenanenormoussnot-bubbleblownbyanelephantwithaterriblehead-cold,said,“...thesamemilkfromfifteenminutesearlier.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Now.Think about this one very carefully.WhatwouldhappenifItouchedthesetwothingstogether?”

Theglobbyalienswentaverypalegreen.Thepirates,shiny-black-hair-men,andthepiranhaslookedatthem,puzzled,seekingsomekindofexplanation,asdidthewumpires.

“If two things that are the same thing touch,”proclaimed thevolcanogod,“then the whole Universe shall end. Thus sayeth the great and unutterableSplod.”

“How does a volcano know so much about transtemporal meta-science?”askedoneofthepalegreenaliens.

“Beingageologicalformationgivesyoualotoftimetothink,”saidSplod.“Also,Isubscribetoanumberoflearnedjournals.”

Icoughed,inwhatIhopedwasanominoussortofway.“Well?”Iasked.“What he said,” admitted the green globby aliens. “The bit about the

Universeending.”“So,” I told them. “Unless you wish to spend the rest of your lives in a

universethatnolongerexists,youhadbetterreturnthingstothewaytheywere.

Andthengoaway.”

Thealienslookedateachother.Theygrinnedateachother.Oneofthempressedthegrundledorfer.

The wumpires, pirates, piranhas, volcano god, and the worshippers of thevolcanogodweregone.

“What if,” suggested one of the green globby aliens hopefully, “we onlyredecoratedtheSouthernHemisphere?”

“Notachance,”Isaid.“Now,releaseus,orthemilktouchesitself!Andthengoaway.Leavethisplanetforever.”

The aliens looked at me, then they looked at each other, and then theysighed, with a noise like a hundred elephantine snot balloons all deflating atonce.

“Right,”theysaid.ItwasatthatmomentthatavoicelouderthananythingIhaveeverheard—

and I had heard a volcano erupt at very close range—said, “GALACTIC

POLICE.DONOTMOVE.”

Myhandsshook,butthemilkdidnottouchthemilk,andtheUniversedidnotend.

Therewere red andblue flashing lights and then, steppingoff their space-bikes,wereabouthalfadozenuniformeddinosaurs,holdingunmistakablylargeandextremelyseriousweapons.Theypointedtheirweaponsatthegreenglobbyaliens.

“You are charged with breaking into people’s planets and redecoratingthem,”saidanobleand imposing-lookingTyrannosaurusRex.“And thenwithrunning away and doing it again somewhere else, over and over. You havecommittedcrimesagainsttheinhabitantsofeighteenplanets,andcrimesagainstgoodtaste.”

“WhatwedidtoRigelFourwasart!”arguedaglobbyalien.“Art?TherearepeopleonRigelFour,”saidanAnkylosaurus,“whohaveto

lookup,everynight,atamoonwiththreehugeplasterducksflyingacrossit.”Somethingvery longwith a headon the endof it cameover to us. Itwas

attachedtoaverylargebody,ontheothersideoftheroom.“Whoareyou?”itasked Professor Steg. “And why is your gorilla holding a transtemporallydislocatedmilkcontainer?”

“Iamnotagorilla,”Isaid.“Iamahumanfather.”

“The human is holding the milk in order to make these evil redecoratingsnot-bubbles go away and stop menacing this planet and us,” said ProfessorSteg.

TheDiplodocusinapolicecapopeneditsmouthanddidn’tsayanything.The Tyrannosaurus, who had handcuffed all of the green globby people

togetherwithsomethingthat lookedalotmorelikepinkstring-in-a-canthanitlooked like handcuffs, which was a good thing because they probably didn’thave hands and they definitely didn’t have wrists, stared at us and his eyesopenedwide.

“Great day in the morning!” he exclaimed. “A biped. A Stegosaurus. AFloaty-Ball-Person-Carrier....”Andhestopped,asifunabletogoon.

A Pteranodon flapped over to us, then landed at Professor Steg’s feet. Itlookedupathim,andsaid,hesitantly,“Wouldyoube . . . ?Couldyoube…?TheinventorofProfessorSteg’sPointyZooming-into-Outer-Space-Machine?Of Professor Steg’sReallyGoodMovesAround inTimeMachine?Wouldyou be the author ofMyTravels into theExtremelyFarFuture andWhat IFound There? Professor Steg, wisest of all dinosaur-kind?MADAM, IS ITTRULYYOU?”

“It is,” said theProfessor. (Madam? I thought, embarrassed.) “And this ismyassistant.”

ThePteranodonextendedawingtipformetoshake,andwithoutthinking,Imovedthesecondmilkfrommyrighthandtomyleft...

Wherethefirstmilkwas.EVERYBODYGASPED.

Unfortunately, the milk that had been in my right hand, which was thesameasthemilkthatwasalreadyinmylefthand,thesamemilkfifteenminutesapart,touchedeachother.

Iheldmybreath.Therewasafizzingnoise,andamewingasifahundredkittenswerebeing

agitatedinanenormousbasket.ProfessorStegclosedhereyes.“Ican’tlook,”shesaid.Threepurpledwarfswithflowerpotsontheirheadsappearedfromnowhere

andbegantodoalittledance.“Did the Universe end?” said the Tyrannosaurus, with his eyes tightly

scrunchedclosed.“LOOK!”ISAID.We all watched the dwarfs dance. They weren’t human and they weren’t

dinosaurs.Theyhadpurple skin and the flowerpots on their heads had lots offlowersgrowingoutofthem.Theydidacomplicatedsortofadance,withlotsoflegkickingandshoutsof“OY!”and“OLAY!”and“PERTUNG!”Andthen,asstrangelyastheyhadcome,theyvanished.

“Ah,” said Professor Steg. “It was always a possibility that this mighthappen.Andfortunately,theUniversehasnotended.”

Shepressed thebuttonagain,withher tail.Asmallhole inspaceand timeopened up. Iwas standing on the other sidewith a baffled expression onmyface.

“Catch!” I shouted, and threw the milk through the hole. As the portalclosed,Isawmecatchthemilkusingmystomach.

The green globby aliens having been rounded up and taken away, all thespace-dinosaursgatheredaround.

“I can’t believe it,” said the Diplodocus. “Professor Steg. Just like in thecomics.Thedinosaurwhotaughtus that in thefarfuture,smallmammalswilleat theirbreakfastcerealwithmilkon it. Inventorof thebutton.She’shere, infrontofus,withhergorilla.”

“Not a gorilla, but a human father,” said Professor Steg, and all the otherdinosaursgaspedandsaid things like“Howwiseshe is!”and“Whatabrain!”and“Howcanyou tell thedifferencebetween thatcreatureandagorilla? Is ittheshoes?”

Professor Steg said, “This human father has been my companion on mystrangejourneyintothefuture.Now,beforeI takemyleaveofhim,andcomewith you, O Space Dinosaurs, we should sing to him one of the great olddinosaursongs.”

Theysangmeasong insix-partharmonycalled“HowDoYouFeelThisMorningWhenYouKnowWhatYouDidLastNight?”Thentheysangmeasong called “Don’t Go Down to the Tar Pits, Dear, Because I’m GettingStuckonYou.”TheSpacePolicedinosaurssangmeasongaboutbeingSpacePolice and saving people all over the Universe, and driving very fast space-bikes. And then they all sang a song called “I’ve Got a Loverly Bunch ofHard-hairy-wet-white-crunchers,” which was an ancient dinosaur song thathadapparentlybeenwrittenbyProfessorSteg’sAuntButton.

Thereisnothinginthewholeofcreationasbeautifulasdinosaurssinginginharmony.

“Now,”saidProfessorSteg.“IshallgooffinmyFloaty-Ball-Person-Carrier,with my newfound Dinosaur Space Police friends, and I shall explore theUniverse,andthenIshallreturntomyowntime,andwriteabookaboutit.”

“Youactuallywriteseveralbooks,”saidtheDiplodocus.“ProfessorSteg’sGuideToEverythingInTheWholeOfTheFuturewasmyfavorite.It’sveryinspirational.”

Isaidgood-byetoallthedinosaurs.IthankedProfessorStegforsavingmylife.

“Notatall,” shesaid.“Wewereboth fortunate thatyouhad themilkwithyou.Itisnoteverycontainerofmilkthatsavestheworld,afterall.”

“Thatwasmethatsavedtheworld,”Isaid.“Notthemilk.”Thespacedinosaursallhadtheirpicturestakenholdingthemilkandsmiling

atthecamera.“Whatareyougoingtodowiththemilk?”theyaskedme.“Areyougoingto

putitinamuseum?”“No,Iamnot,”I toldthem.“Iamgoingtogiveit tomychildrenfor their

breakfastcereal.AndpossiblyIwillpoursomeinmytea.”ProfessorStegnippedbackuptheropeladderandclimbedintothegondola

ofherballoon.ThelastIsawofher—ofanyofthem—thewholeinsideofthesaucerwasfadingintolightsobrightIhadtoclosemyeyesandlookaway.

AndthenIwasstandingat thebackdoorofourhouse,nonetheworseforwear.Fortunately,thedinosaurshadgivenmebackthemilkaftertheyhadtheirphotostakenwithit.

SoIcamein.AndhereIam.

Thatwaswhatmydadsaid.Ilookedatmysisterandmysisterlookedatme.Thenwebothlookedaroundthekitchen.Atthecalendaronthewallwiththe

hot air balloons on it. At my dinosaur models and my sister’s ponies, at mysister’s vampire books, at the picture of a volcano I had painted when I waslittle,lastyear,andwhichisstilluponthewallbythefridge.

Welookedatthosethings,andwelookedatmydad.“Youknow,wedon’tbelieveanyofthis,”saidmysister.“Wedon’t,”Itoldhim.“Notanyofit.”“Especially not how you saved the world from being remodeled. Or the

pirates.”

“Not.Any.Of.It,”Isaid.Myfather shrugged.“Suityourselves,”he said. “But itwasall true.And I

canproveit.”“How?”

“Yes.How?”askedmylittlesister.“Well,” said my father, putting it down on the kitchen table, “here’s the

MILK.”

ANDHEWENTBACKTOREADINGHISPAPER.

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AbouttheAuthorandIllustrator

NEIL GAIMAN has written highly acclaimed books for both children andadults.Hehaswonmanymajorawards,includingtheHugoandtheNebula,andhisnovelTheGraveyardBook is theonlywork toeverwinboth theNewbery(US)andCarnegie (UK)Medals.Hisbooks for readersofallages include thebestselling Coraline, also an Academy Award-nominated film; Odd and theFrostGiants; andTheWolves in theWalls.Originally fromEngland,Gaimannow lives in the United States. Find out more about him and his books atwww.mousecircus.com.

SKOTTIEYOUNG is anaward-winningcartoonistandwriterwho illustratesNew York Times bestselling adaptations of L. Frank Baum’s Oz novels forMarvelEntertainment.Hisuniqueartstyleandsensibilitieshavedrawnacclaimworldwide,earninghimmultipleEisnerAwards.Hehasworkedincomics,toys,and animation for Marvel, Warner Bros., Image Comics, Mattel, CartoonNetwork,andmanymore.SkottielivesinIllinois,andyoucanvisithimonlineatwww.skottieyoung.com.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favoriteHarperCollinsauthors.

BOOKSBYNEILGAIMAN

BlueberryGirl

Chu’sDay

Coraline

CrazyHair

TheDangerousAlphabet

TheDayISwappedMyDadforTwoGoldfish

TheGraveyardBook

Instructions

InterWorld

MirrorMask

MIsforMagic

OddandtheFrostGiants

Stardust

TheWolvesintheWalls

Credits

Coverart©2013bySkottieYoungCoverdesignbySarahNicholeKaufman

Copyright

FORTUNATELY,THEMILKTextcopyright©2013byNeilGaimanIllustrationscopyright©2013bySkottieYoungAllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-American

CopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenon-exclusive,non-transferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthisebookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,down-loaded,decompiled,reverseengineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswritten

permissionofHarperCollinsebooks.www.harpercollinschildrens.com

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataGaiman,Neil.Fortunately,themilk/byNeilGaiman;illustratedbySkottieYoung.—Firstedition.pagescmSummary:Whilepickingupmilkforhischildren’scereal,afatherisabductedbyaliensandfindshimselfonawildadventurethroughtimeandspace.ISBN978-0-06-222407-1(hardcoverbdgs)ISBN978-0-06-229515-6(int’led.)[1.Adventureandadventurers—Fiction.2.Spaceandtime—Fiction.3.Fathers—Fiction.4.Humorousstories.]I.Young,Skottie,illustrator.II.Title.PZ7.G1273Fo2013

2012050670[Fic]—dc23

CIPAC

EPubEdition©AUGUST2013ISBN:97800622240951314151617LP/RRDH10987654321

FIRSTEDITION

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*Shedidnotactuallylikeeatingthem.AndIhadnotactuallytoldherthatthereweremushroomsinsidethechocolate.Itwasanexperiment.