Unreal Collection!

by Paul Jennings

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ There was no reply, just a long reproachful look.

  ‘Where did you come from?’ I asked. ‘And how did you get here? What sort of creature are you? What is your name?’ I received no reply to my question. In fact, the eyes began to close. He was falling asleep.

  A nasty thought entered my mind. What if he was dying? There is not much air in a milk bottle. He might be suffocating if he was an air-breathing creature. I thought about opening the bottle and letting him out. But if I did I could be in for big trouble. He might not go back into the bottle and he could be dangerous. He might bite me or give me some terrible disease that would kill off the whole human race. He might nick off, spreading death and disease wherever he went.

  I went over to the window and looked outside. Maybe one of the kids from school would be passing. Two heads would be better than one, especially if the thing in the bottle attacked me. Then I remembered. It was Correction Day and there was no school. The only person in the street was poor old Mrs McKee who was hobbling down her steps to get the milk. She wouldn’t be any help. She had arthritis and it was all she could do to pick up one milk bottle at a time. It took her half an hour to shuffle back to the front door from the gate.

  Some weekends I used to go and do jobs for Mrs McKee because her hands were so weak that she couldn’t do anything by herself. Her garden was overgrown with weeds and her windows were dirty. All the paint was peeling off the house. I once heard Mum say that Mrs McKee would have to go into an old folks’ home soon because her fingers wouldn’t move properly. No, Mrs McKee wouldn’t be any use if the eyes in the bottle turned nasty.

  2

  I looked at my visitor again. His eyelids were beginning to droop. At any moment he might be dead. I decided to take the risk. With one swift movement I took the metal cap off the bottle.

  The expression in the eyes changed. They looked happy. Then they started to move slowly up to the neck of the bottle. I could tell that the little creature was climbing up the glass even though I couldn’t see his body. The eyes emerged from the bottle and floated in the air just above the rim. He sat on the top of the bottle staring at me happily. I couldn’t see his mouth or any part of his face but I knew he was smiling.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked. It might seem silly to talk to an unknown creature as if it could answer but I had a feeling that he would understand me. Even so, I got a shock when he did answer. He didn’t use words or speech. I could hear him inside my brain.

  The word ‘Snookle’ just sort of drifted into my mind.

  ‘Who are you, Snookle?’ I said. ‘And what do you want?’

  Again he answered without talking. His reply melted into my thoughts. ‘I am your servant. Your every thought is my command.’ They weren’t his exact words because he didn’t use words but it is more or less what he meant. Especially the bit about my every thought being his command. That was the next thing I found out – he could read my thoughts. He knew what I wanted without me saying anything.

  3

  My stomach suddenly rumbled. I was hungry. The eyes floated across the table and over to the pantry. Snookle could fly. The next thing I knew a packet of cornflakes and a bowl flew slowly back with the eyes following close behind. Then the fridge opened and the milk arrived the same way. The cornflakes and milk were tipped into the bowl and sugar added. Just the right amount and just the way I liked it. This was great. He knew I wanted breakfast and he got it for me without even being told. I didn’t eat it straight away because I like my cornflakes soggy.

  I decided to try Snookle out on something else. I thought about bringing in the papers from the letterbox. Snookle floated over to the front door and opened it. Then he stayed there hovering in the air. ‘Go on,’ I said. ‘Out you go.’ The eyes moved from side to side. He was shaking his head. I looked out the door and saw a man riding by on a bike. As soon as the cyclist had passed Snookle flew out and fetched the papers. I knew what had happened. Snookle didn’t want anyone to see him except his master. I was his master because I had let him out of the bottle. He would only show himself to me.

  I went back to my bedroom followed by Snookle. His preferred altitude was about two metres off the ground. I decided to wear my stretch jeans as there was no school that day. The moment the thought entered my mind Snookle set off for the wardrobe. My jeans, T-shirt and underwear were delivered by air mail and laid out neatly on the bed. The next bit, however, gave me a bit of a surprise. Snookle pulled off my pyjamas and started to dress me. I felt a bit silly. It was just like a little kid being dressed by his mother. I could feel long, thin, cold fingers touching me.

  ‘Cut it out, Snookle,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to dress me.’ He didn’t take any notice. That was when I found out that Snookle helped you whether you wanted it or not.

  My nose was itchy. I could feel a sneeze coming on. As quick as a flash Snookle whipped my handkerchief out of my pocket and held it up to my nose. I sneezed into the handkerchief and said, ‘Thanks, but that wasn’t necessary.’

  I went back to the kitchen for my breakfast. Snookle beat me to the spoon. I tried to grab it off him but he was too quick for me. He dipped the spoon into the cornflakes and pushed it into my mouth. I tried to stop him by keeping my lips closed but he prised them open with his chilly little invisible fingers and shoved the next spoonful in. He fed me the whole bowl of cornflakes just as if I was a baby.

  Now I hope you will understand about the next bit. I am not really a nose picker but I have thought about it now and then. My nose was still a bit itchy and the thought just came into my mind to pick it. I wouldn’t have done it any more than you would. Anyway, before I could blink, this cold, invisible finger went up my nose and picked it for me.

  Snookle was picking my nose! I nearly freaked out. I screamed and tried to push him off but he was too strong.

  After that things just got worse and worse. Snookle wouldn’t let me do a thing for myself. Not a single thing.

  4

  I went back to the kitchen and sat down. This wasn’t working out at all well. I could see my future looming in front of me with Snookle doing everything for me. Everything. He had to go. And quick.

  I dropped a cornflake into the empty milk bottle and thought hard about getting it out. Snookle floated over and went into the bottle to get it. I moved like greased lightning and put the top back on that bottle before Snookle knew what had hit him. He was trapped. He didn’t even try to get out but just looked at me with sad, mournful eyes as if he had expected nothing better.

  Now I was in a fix. I didn’t want to leave Snookle in the bottle for the rest of his life but I didn’t want him hanging around picking my nose for me either. I looked out of the window. Poor old Mrs McKee had managed to get back to the house with one of her bottles of milk. Soon she would make the slow trip back to the letterbox for the next one.

  I picked up Snookle and slowly crossed the road. Then I put his bottle down outside Mrs McKee’s house. I grabbed her full bottle of milk with one hand and waved goodbye to Snookle with the other. His eyes stared silently and sadly back at me.

  That was the last I ever saw of Snookle.

  Over the next few days a remarkable change came over Mrs McKee’s house. The grass was cut and the flowerbeds were weeded. The windows were cleaned and someone repainted the house. The people in the street thought it was strange because they never saw anyone doing the work.

  I went over to see Mrs McKee about a week later. She seemed very happy. Very happy indeed.

  Marcus felt silly. He was embarrassed. But he knocked on the door anyway. There was no answer from inside the dark house. It was as silent as the grave. Then he noticed a movement behind the curtain; someone was watching him. He could see a dark eye peering through a chink in the curtain. There was a rustling noise inside that sounded like rats’ feet on a bare floor.

  The door slowly opened and Ma Scritchet’s face appeared. It was true what people said �
� she looked like a witch. She had hair like straw and her nose was hooked and long. She smiled showing pointed, yellow teeth.

  ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘I have been waiting for you.’

  Marcus was not going to let this old woman fool him. ‘How could you be expecting me?’ he answered. ‘No one knew I was coming here.’ He felt better now. He could see that it was all a trick. She was a faker. A phoney. Did she really expect him to believe that she knew he was coming?

  ‘I knew you were coming,’ she said. ‘And I know why you have come.’

  This time Marcus knew she was lying. He had not told anyone about his problem. There was not one person in the world that knew about it, it was too embarrassing. The other kids would laugh if they knew.

  He decided to go home. But first he would stir this old bag up a bit. ‘Okay, Ma,’ he said. ‘Why have I come?’

  She looked him straight in the eye. ‘You are sixteen years old,’ she told him. ‘And you have never been kissed.’

  Marcus could feel his face turning red. He was blushing. She knew – she knew all about it. She must be able to read minds. The stories that were told about her must be true. He felt silly and small, and he didn’t know what to do.

  Ma Scritchet started to laugh, a long cackling laugh. It made Marcus shiver. ‘Come with me,’ she said. She led him along a dark, narrow passage and up some wooden stairs. The house was filled with junk: broken TV sets and old bicycles, piles of books and empty bottles. The stair rails were covered in cobwebs. They went into a small room at the top of the house.

  Inside the room was a couch and a chair. Nothing else. It was not what Marcus had expected. He thought there would be a crystal ball on a round table and lots of junk and equipment for telling fortunes. The room was almost bare.

  2

  Ma Scritchet held out her hand. ‘This will cost you twenty dollars,’ she said to Marcus.

  ‘I pay after, not before,’ said Marcus. ‘This could be a trick.’

  ‘You pay before, not after,’ said Ma Scritchet. ‘I only help those that believe in me.’ Marcus looked into her eyes. They were cold and hard. He took out his wallet and gave her twenty dollars, and she tucked it inside her dress. Then she said, ‘Lie down on the couch.’

  Marcus lay on the couch and stared at the ceiling. A tiny spider was spinning a web in the corner. Marcus felt foolish lying there on a couch in this old woman’s house. He wished he hadn’t come; he wanted to go home. But there was something about Ma Scritchet that made him nervous. And now that he had paid his twenty dollars he was going to get his money’s worth. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I suppose that you want me to tell you about my problem.’

  ‘No,’ said Ma Scritchet. ‘I will tell you about it. You just stay there and listen.’ Marcus did as she said.

  ‘You have never kissed a girl,’ said the old woman in a low voice. ‘You have tried plenty of times. But they always turn you down. They think you are stuck up and selfish. They don’t like the things you say about other people. Some girls go out with you once, but when you get home to their front door they always say, “ Thank you” and go inside.’

  Marcus listened in silence. Most of it was true. He knew he wasn’t stuck up and selfish, but the rest of it was right. He tried everything he could think of. He would take a girl to the movies and buy her chocolates. He would even pay for her to get in. But then, right at the end when they were saying ‘good night’, he would close his eyes, pucker up his lips and lean forward, to find himself kissing the closed front door of the girl’s house. It was maddening. It was enough to make him spit. And it had happened dozens of times. Not one girl would give him a kiss.

  3

  ‘Well,’ said Marcus to Ma Scritchet. ‘Can you help me? That’s what I gave you the twenty dollars for.’

  She smiled but said nothing. It was not a nice smile. It was a smile that made Marcus feel foolish. She stood up without a word and left the room, and Marcus could hear her footsteps clipping down the stairs. A minute or so later he heard her coming back. She came into the room and held out a small tube. ‘Take this,’ she said. ‘It’s just what you need. This will do the trick.’

  Marcus took it out of her hand and looked at it. It was a stick of lipstick in a small gold container. ‘I’m not wearing lipstick,’ Marcus told her. ‘You must think I’m crazy.’ He sat up and jumped off the couch. This had gone far enough. He wondered if he could get his money back.

  ‘Sit down, boy,’ said Ma Scritchet in a cold voice. ‘And listen to me. You put that on your lips and you will get all the kisses you want. It has no colour. It’s clear and no one will be able to see it. But it will do the trick. It will work on any female. Just put some of that on your lips and the nearest girl will want to kiss you.’

  Marcus looked at the tube of lipstick. He didn’t know whether to believe it or not. It might work. Old Ma Scritchet could read his mind; she knew what his problem was without being told. This lipstick could be just what he needed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll give it a try. But it had better work. If it doesn’t, I will be back for my twenty dollars.’

  ‘It will work,’ hissed Ma Scritchet. ‘It will work better than you think. Now it’s time for you to go. The session is over.’ She led Marcus down the narrow stairs and along the passage to the front door. He stepped out into the sunlight. It was bright and made him blink. As Ma Scritchet closed the door she told Marcus one more thing. ‘This lipstick will only work once on each person. One girl: one kiss. That’s the way it works.’

  She closed the door in his face without saying another thing. Once more the old house was quiet.

  4

  Marcus kept the lipstick for a week before he used it. When he got home to his room with his record player and the posters on the wall, the whole thing seemed like a dream. The old house and Ma Scritchet were from another world. He wondered whether or not the visit had really happened, but he had the lipstick to prove that it had.

  He held it in his hand. It had a strange appearance and he found that it glowed in the dark. He put it in a drawer and left it there.

  Later that week a new girl started at Marcus’s school. Her name was Jill. Marcus didn’t waste any time; he asked her out for a date on her first day at school. She didn’t seem too keen about going with him, but she was shy and didn’t want to seem unfriendly, especially as she didn’t know anyone at the school. In the end she agreed to go to a disco with him on Friday night.

  Marcus arranged to meet Jill inside the disco. That way he wouldn’t have to pay for her to get in. It wasn’t a bad turn and Jill seemed to enjoy it. As he danced Marcus could feel the lipstick in his pocket. He couldn’t forget about it; it annoyed him. It was like having a stone in his shoe.

  At eleven o’clock they decided to go home. It was only a short walk back to Jill’s house. As they walked, Jill chatted happily; she was glad that she had made a new friend so quickly. Marcus started to feel a bit guilty. He fingered the lipstick in his pocket. Should he use it? He remembered something about stolen kisses. Was he stealing a kiss if he used the lipstick? Not really – if it worked Jill would be kissing him of her own free will. Anyway, it probably wouldn’t work. Old Ma Scritchet had probably played a trick on him. He would never know unless he tried it. He just had to know if the lipstick worked, and this was his big chance.

  As they went inside the front gate of Jill’s house, Marcus pretended to bend down and do up his shoelace. He quickly pulled out the lipstick and smeared some on his lips. Then he stood up. His lips were tingling. He noticed that Jill was looking at him in a strange way; her eyes were wide open and staring. Then she rushed forward, threw her arms around Marcus’s neck and kissed him. Marcus was so surprised that he nearly fell over.

  Jill jumped back as if she had been burned. She put her hand up to her mouth and went red in the face. ‘I, I, I’m sorry, Marcus. I don’t know what came over me. What must you think of me? I’ve never done anything like that before.’

  ‘Don’t worry about
it. That sort of thing happens to me all the time. The girls find me irresistible.’

  Jill didn’t know what to say. She was blushing. She couldn’t understand what had happened. ‘I’d better go in,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’ Then she turned around and rushed into the house.

  Marcus whistled to himself as he walked home. ‘It works,’ he thought. ‘The lipstick really works.’ He couldn’t wait to try it on someone else.

  5

  It was not so easy for Marcus to find his next victim. None of the girls at school wanted to go out with him. It was no use asking Jill again, as the lipstick only worked once on each person. He asked ten girls to go to the pictures with him and they all said ‘no’.

  He started to get cross. ‘Stuck up snobs,’ he said to himself. ‘I’ll teach them a lesson.’ He decided to make the most popular girl in the school kiss him. That would show them all. Her name was Fay Billings.

  The trouble was that he knew she wouldn’t go out on a date with him. Then he had a bright idea: he wouldn’t even bother about a date. He would just go around to Fay’s house and ask to see her. He would put the lipstick on before he arrived, and when she came to the door she would give him a big kiss. The news would soon get around and the other kids would think he had something good going. It would make him popular with the girls.

  Marcus grinned. It was a great idea. He decided to put it into action straight away. He rode his bike around to Fay’s house and leaned it against the fence. Then he took out the lipstick and put some on his lips. He walked up to the front door and rang the bell with a big smile on his face.

  No one answered the door. He could hear a vacuum cleaner going inside so he rang the bell again. The sound of the vacuum cleaner stopped and Mrs Billings appeared at the door. She was about forty. She had a towel wrapped around her head and had dust on her face from the housework she had been doing. She had never seen Marcus before; he was not one of Fay’s friends.