Sherlock Sam and the Alien Encounter on Pulau Ubin Read online

  ALSO IN THE SERIES

  Sherlock Sam and the Missing Heirloom in Katong

  Sherlock Sam and the Ghostly Moans in Fort Canning

  Sherlock Sam and the Sinister Letters in Bras Basah

  Copyright © 2013 by Adan Jimenez and Felicia Low-Jimenez

  Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Epigram Books

  All rights reserved.

  Published in Singapore by Epigram Books.

  www.epigrambooks.sg

  Illustrations by drewscape

  Edited by Ruth Wan and Sheri Tan

  National Library Board, Singapore

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  Low, A. J.

  Sherlock Sam and the alien encounter in Pulau Ubin /

  A.J. Low. – Singapore : Epigram Books, 2013.

  pages cm

  ISBN : 978-981-07-6674-0 (paperback)

  ISBN : 978-981-07-6675-7 (ebook)

  1. Child detectives – Singapore – Juvenile fiction. 2. Extraterrestrial beings – Singapore – Ubin Island – Juvenile fiction. 3. Human-alien encounters – Singapore – Ubin Island – Juvenile fiction. 4. Ubin Island (Singapore) – Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

  PZ7

  S823 -- dc23 OCN857525705

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  FOR LIBRARIANS AND BOOKSELLERS:

  May You Live Long and Prosper

  “I-would-prefer-an-invisibility-cloak,” Watson said.

  “Unfortunately, Dad hasn’t invented that technology yet so you’ll just have to make do with this,” I replied. My hands were filled with coloured wires, and I was trying to focus on the task in front of me.

  “All-my-upgrades-have-served-one-purpose,” Watson continued.

  “To take over the world?” I asked distractedly. One of the wires had gotten tangled and I was having difficulty unwinding it so that it would fit onto Watson’s complicated circuit board.

  “To-let-you-eat-more,” Watson replied.

  “That’s not true at all!” I yelled. Outrageous! The first power I installed, extendable arms and legs, were for Watson to…well, to get the Khong Guan biscuits hidden on the top shelf in the kitchen. The second power, however, had nothing at all to do with food. It was for Watson to be able to record my case notes! So there!

  “So there!” I said.

  “You-were-talking-to-yourself-inside-your-head-again,” Watson replied.

  “Your voice and video recording functions had nothing to do with food!” I said.

  “You-used-the-video-recording-function-to-find-out-who-was-eating-your-favourite-Khong-Guan-biscuits,” Watson said.

  “Oh, right,” I said. “But, ha! I didn’t use the voice recording function for anything food-related!”

  “You-recorded-an-in-depth-report-on-all-the-chicken-wings-you-have-ever-eaten,” Watson replied.

  “That was just that one time,” I replied.

  “And-an-in-depth-report-on-all-the-satay—”

  “I’m done!” I exclaimed. I wasn’t quite sure I had positioned all the wires in the right place, but I had to do something to distract Watson. “Try your new power out!”

  There was a brief pause, then Watson shivered, and suddenly he was a bright luminous pink all over!

  “It works! You now have the ability to camouflage yourself!” I said. “I’m not sure when you’ll need to be neon pink though.”

  “Pink-is-cool,” Watson replied. “Pink-robots-are-cooler.”

  “Hmm, since I’m in here,” I said, pulling out a few more wires and twisting them about. “Perhaps it would be a good time to change your name to MEGA-TECHNO-DESTRO-BOT like I originally intended, before Dad interfered.”

  “I-am-always-ready-to-use-mega-technology-to-destroy-your-ability-to-make-me-leave-the-house,” Watson said, flushing to a light purple.

  I ignored him and prepared to flip the all-important switch that would allow me to change Watson’s name. He would acknowledge the next words that were said as his new name. “Okay, let’s try this again, soon to be MEGA-TECHNO-DESTRO-BOT!”

  I had hoped for a thunderstorm: thunder and lightning would have made this scenario way cooler. Alas, it was a clear day.

  I flipped the switch dramatically anyway.

  “What, son?” Dad said, popping into my room at exactly the wrong time.

  “My-name-is-Wat-son,” my almost MEGA-TECHNO-DESTRO-BOT said.

  “DAD!” I yelled out.

  “What? What did I do?” Dad replied.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

  “What? Dinner’s ready,” Dad said. He still looked confused. “Also, why is Watson purple?”

  “C’mon, Watson! Dinner!” I said, dragging my pale purple robot to the kitchen.

  Both Mom and Wendy, my older sister, looked at Watson curiously as he sat down at the dinner table.

  “Why is Watson purple, dear?” Mom asked.

  “Actually, Mom, that particular shade of purple is known as lilac,” my artistically inclined sibling said. Wendy was a year older than I was, and in Primary Five.

  “I see. Sam, why is Watson lilac?” Mom replied, not missing a beat as she scooped out piping hot bowls of bak kut teh for all of us. I love Mom’s bak kut teh. Her pork ribs are always boiled to succulent perfection, and her soup is never thick. It has just the right amount of spices to be full of flavour, but not overwhelmingly so. Mom is half-Peranakan and an amazing cook.

  “It’s his new camouflage power, Mom,” I said as I scooped out bowls of rice for everyone. I stopped heaping more rice into my bowl when I saw the look Mom gave me.

  “Sherlock-claims-it-serves-no-food-related-purpose,” Watson said. He changed back to his original colour as he tucked into his plate of recycled batteries that he consumed as his power source.

  Now that I thought about it, though, Watson would be a lot harder to spot when I needed a midnight ice cream treat. Not that I was going to say that out loud.

  “How are you feeling about not getting the highest grade for the first time, Samuel?” Mom asked.

  Earlier in the day, I had found out a new student named James Mok had beaten me on a test by half a point. I’d yet to meet this boy as he was in one of the other Primary Four classes in my school. He had apparently just moved back to Singapore after living in London most of his life.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “I don’t need to be the best; I just need to be my best.”

  “I’m very happy to hear that,” Mom said, ruffling my hair.

  Once everyone was seated and eating, Dad used his spoon to tap against his glass of ice-cold water. Clink. Clink. Clink.

  “I have an announcement to make!” Dad said, grinning widely.

  “Are we going camping?” I asked, slurping up a spoonful of broth.

  “That’s right! How did you guess, Sam?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t guess, Dad. I deduce,” I replied. “I noticed that you and Mom bought a bottle of mosquito repellent, a bottle of sunscreen, and two sleeping bags last week.”

  “Can you deduce where we are going?” Dad asked.

  “Elementary, my dear Dad. Pulau Ubin, of course,” I replied confidently.

  “How did you deduce that, Sam?” Mom asked.

  “I noticed that Dad has been cutting out and keeping clippings of wild boar sightings in Pulau Ubin for a while now.”

  “Good job,
son!” Dad said, patting me on the shoulder. “And I’ve already checked with the Supper Club, and all their parents have given permission for your friends to come with us to Pulau Ubin. Eliza’s mom was really excited about it.”

  “You invited Eliza?!” Wendy exclaimed.

  “Why, yes. She’s part of the Supper Club, isn’t she?” Dad replied, counting off with his fingers, “Jimmy, Nazhar, Eliza, Wendy, Watson and Sherlock.”

  “I think your deductive skills could use some practice, Dad,” I said. It didn’t take a genius detective to deduce that Eliza and Wendy were not the best of friends.

  “Perhaps-your-Dad-needs-detective-tuition,” Watson added.

  Dad looked rather bewildered. He might be a brilliant engineer, but the complexities of friendship between 11-year-old girls would likely always elude him.

  “But she’s always hanging around…” Dad muttered to himself, scratching the top of his head.

  “Well, it was a really nice thing your dad did, and I’m sure we’ll all have a great time. Am I right, Wendy?” Mom said, giving my sister a sidelong look.

  Wendy heaved a great big sigh before nodding. Right then, she froze as realisation hit her. “I’m going to have to share a tent with Eliza, aren’t I?” she asked, looking horrified.

  “You-could-share-a-tent-with-Sherlock,” Watson said. “Just-remind-him-that-crumbs-in-bed-will-attract-wild-animals.”

  I glared at my robot.

  “Though-his-farts-will-likely-be-a-natural-repellent.”

  Wendy and my parents erupted in laughter.

  “It’s okay. I can share the tent with Eliza,” Wendy said, wrinkling her nose at me and still laughing.

  “It’s confirmed then! We’ll take the boat to Pulau Ubin once school is out this Friday!” Dad said. He beamed at Mom, who nodded.

  A camping trip to Pulau Ubin! While I usually shunned the outdoors for the comfort of an air-conditioned library or bookshop, I had every faith that my dad would ensure that we spent the trip in relative comfort. I wondered if he had bought those special tents that came with air-conditioning. But first things first…

  “There are barbecue pits at the campsite, correct?” I asked.

  “I-am-going-to-rust,” Watson said. He extended his legs and strode off the boat onto the jetty easily. The rest of us clambered off the rickety bumboat that had brought us from the main island.

  Pulau Ubin was a small island to the northeast of mainland Singapore and its name was Malay for “Granite Island”, likely because many granite quarries used to be there. Nobody called it that, though it was occasionally called Ubin Island. There’s a legend that says Pulau Ubin was formed when a frog, a pig and an elephant raced each other from Singapore to Johor. They had agreed that whoever failed to reach Johor would turn to stone. All three ended up failing, and the elephant and pig became Pulau Ubin, while the frog became Pulau Sekudu, or Frog Island, a much smaller island between Singapore and Pulau Ubin.

  It was about 4pm and we had just arrived at the jetty. The salty sea air was making everyone’s hair stiff and slightly sticky. Everyone’s except Eliza’s. Her long hair was neatly tied in her usual braids. Wendy suddenly started spinning around in a circle, slapping her arms and legs.

  “Ouch, ouch, ouch!” Wendy cried as she continued to slap her calves and hop about irritably.

  “Is that a new dance we’re supposed to learn for camping?” Jimmy asked, grinning. He imitated Wendy perfectly, hopping up and down, and going “ouch, ouch, ouch.” Jimmy had a bright green baseball cap on to shield his face from the sun.

  “I don’t think Wendy is doing a dance, Jimmy,” Nazhar said. He quickly pulled a bottle of mosquito repellent from his backpack and offered it to Wendy. Nazhar had really cool, sporty sunglasses with an elastic band that wrapped around his head to hold them in place.

  “If you knew you were sensitive to mosquito bites, why didn’t you put the repellent on before we got on the boat?” Eliza asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. Eliza smelled of coconuts from the sun block that she had already put on.

  “Well, I didn’t think they would attack me immediately!” Wendy snapped back, enthusiastically spraying her arms and legs with the insect repellent. Too enthusiastically, as it turned out. By the time she was done, the rest of us were choking on the spray. Everyone except Watson of course.

  Dad reached out and grabbed the bottle from Wendy. “I think that’s enough, dear. You should be sufficiently protected.”

  “Even-I-am-protected-from-insects. But-I-am-definitely-going-to-rust,” Watson said. His metal body shone with repellent residue.

  “Is it time for food now?” I asked. I had done my research and had found out that the nearby open-air restaurant called Cheong Lian Yuen was well known for its zi char. Mom promised I could have a second lunch if I only had tuna sandwiches for the first one.

  “Yes, Sam,” Mom said. “We’re heading over to Ubin Town where all the restaurants are. We can have our zi char there.”

  “What’s zi char?” Nazhar asked as we all walked over to the restaurant. We noticed that there were many bicycle rental shops around. I also noticed a little hut that seemed to rent air-conditioned vans. I made a mental note to tell Dad so that he could book two vans for all of us. It was far too hot to cycle.

  “It’s like à la carte,” Mom said. “Single dishes you can select from a menu in a restaurant. Only it’s very economical.”

  We sat down at a round wooden table. I immediately picked up the menu and studied it carefully.

  “I’d like deep fried kampong chicken, kang kong with belachan, salted fish fried rice and chilli crab, please!” I said.

  “That’s for everyone to share, correct?” Mom asked, giving me a familiar look. I knew that look. It meant that I should agree with whatever Mom said. I quickly nodded.

  “Does anyone want anything else?” Dad asked. Everyone ordered ice-cold drinks. Mom took out a pack of used batteries for Watson.

  While we waited for the food and drinks to arrive, we watched two men struggle to release a net full of crabs into a Styrofoam box filled with water. The crabs were still alive and thrashing about!

  “The crabs are still alive!” Jimmy exclaimed. He leapt out of his seat and ran over to watch. “Sherlock! Look at them! I’m going to name this one Spotty because he has the most spots. And she’s Pinky because she’s the pinkest—”

  The aunties and uncles who were seated around us looked in amusement at Jimmy. No one had the heart to tell him that Spotty and Pinky were soon to be our meal.

  “…this is the third time this week I’ve seen it,” said one of the uncles from the table next to us. He was tanned and thin, and looked about 60 years old. He had a glass of black kopi in front of him.

  “My wife said the same thing. I didn’t see it because I was sleeping already,” another uncle said. This uncle was chubbier but was just as tanned as the first uncle.

  “Aiyah, the two of you, gossiping like old women,” the restaurant auntie said to the two elderly men as she put two plates of salted fish fried rice on our table. “Don’t frighten people, okay?”

  Jimmy ran back to the table once the food came and thanked the auntie cheerily.

  “What did you see, Uncle? Was it the wild boars?” Dad asked. He liked talking to people. He always said that the best way to learn was to talk to and observe the people around us. The people on Pulau Ubin had given up city life for a simpler one on a small island with few modern amenities! To Dad, who had to have all his technological gadgets with him all the time, this was something amazing.

  The two uncles looked around and the thinner one whispered, “No, not the boars. Something else. A lot of strange things have been happening around the island recently.”

  “What kind of strange things, Uncle?” I asked, my interest immediately piqued.

  “Strange lights in the night sky,” the chubbier uncle whispered.

  “What did I tell the both of you?” the restaurant auntie said as she bro
ught out the kampong chicken and kang kong. “These nice people are here to have fun. Don’t scare them with all this nonsense!”

  “It’s not nonsense!” the chubbier uncle said. “Last week I found my chicken covered in sticky goo!”

  “Goo? Like poo?” Wendy said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Was it green goo?” I asked.

  “How did you know the goo was green?” the chubbier uncle asked. He looked very shocked. “Have you seen it too? Where? When?”

  “No, I haven’t. However, from what you’ve told us, it’s easy to deduce what’s been happening.” I looked over at Dad for confirmation. He grinned and nodded his head. I heard Mom sigh deeply. Then she frowned and shot my dad a stern glance. He beamed a silly smile back at her and wiggled his eyebrows, which made Mom laugh.

  “What’s that?” the restaurant auntie asked. Even she seemed intrigued now. She stood there with a large plate of chilli crabs in her hands. She seemed to have forgotten she was holding it. I certainly hadn’t. The crabs smelled delicious. I needed to quickly explain so she would give them to us.

  “Strange lights in the sky. Unexplained green goo. These are classic signs of sightings,” I said, not taking my eyes off the plate of piping hot chilli crabs.

  “Sightings? Sightings of what?” the slender uncle asked. “Not ghost sightings, surely. We’ve seen plenty of those and that doesn’t bother us at all.”

  “Alien sightings!” I declared, and then said under my breath, “Ghosts don’t exist.”

  “Aliens?” the chubbier uncle asked. “Like on X-Files?”

  “Exactly!” I said. I dug into my pocket and pulled out three slightly damp and bent cards. I had printed them at home on Dad’s laser printer. Fortunately, the ink had survived a mix of sea water and my perspiration.

  “Please take one each, Uncles and Auntie,” I said as I handed out my name cards. “If you see anything strange, please call me.”

  “Wah, how come you have a name card?” the auntie said as she took one. “You’re still a small boy!”

  “He’s Singapore’s Great—” Jimmy started to say.