Other Weird Stories Gone Wrong:
Jake and the Giant Hand
Myles and the Monster Outside
Carter and the Curious Maze
For Allister
Table of Contents
Cover
Dedication
This Part Is (Mostly) True
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
This Part Is (Also) Mostly True
Also by award-winning author Philippa Dowding
Copyright
Cover
Title Page
Table of Contents
Start of Content
Conclusion
This Part Is (Mostly) True
You should know, before you even start this book, that it’s a little scary. And parts of it are even a bit weird and strange. I wish I could make the story less scary and strange, but this is the way I heard it, so I really have no choice.
It starts like this:
A long time ago, an old farmer woke in the middle of the night, to the sound of his pigs.
They were screaming out in the pigpen.
Now, if you’ve never heard a pig scream, you’re lucky. They sound like, well “other-worldly,” might be the best word for what they sound like. It makes your hair stand up.
The old farmer looked out his bedroom window, and the pigs were going crazy. The piglets rammed into the fence again and again, and their mother, the old sow, tried to dig her way out of the pigpen (something that had never occurred to her before).
“Darn coyotes again,” the old farmer said. The pigs never liked coyotes. With good reason.
The old farmer grabbed his boots and ran into the winter night. He burst out the kitchen door, tramped across the crunchy snow …
… and stopped dead.
His pigs fell silent. They stood perfectly still and looked at him. Which was a bit unnerving.
A strange green fog swirled around them, like a swamp gas or a mysterious vapour. The moon was up and shone on the snow and on the pigs staring at the farmer.
“What the …?” The old farmer moved closer to get a better look and stopped again. At the edge of the green fog, two tall strangers in long overcoats stood beside the fence. Definitely not coyotes.
The strangers stood perfectly still. And watched him.
Just like the pigs.
The silent pigs and the tall figures stared at him in the eerie green fog and the moonlit silence. The farmer suddenly felt very exposed.
“Who are you? What are you doing to my pigs?” he called out. The weird fog swirled, and a green finger of fog stretched toward him.
There was no answer. He called again. “What do you want with my pigs?”
The wind blew, the green fog stretched across the ground toward him …
… and a strange voice answered, “We seek The Other.”
The old farmer swallowed hard. The voice! The voice was nothing like he’d ever heard before. A squeal. A rasp. A grunt. It made his hair stand up.
“What’s that? What’s The Other ? What do you mean?” He tried to get a better look at the tall strangers, but they were shrouded in the green fog. The pigs turned and looked at the strangers as though they were waiting for an answer, too.
“Beware The Other,” the awful voice said. It sounded … exactly … like a pig might if it decided to start talking to you. The farmer swallowed again.
“Who are you?” he called.
But as he watched, the strangers turned and vanished into the foggy trees.
Every piggy eye in the pigpen turned to look at the old farmer. A distinctly piggy voice said, “They’ll be back.”
Which was when the farmer turned, ran back into the house, and jumped under his bed. It took his wife a long time to coax him out. The next day a FOR SALE sign was on the farm and the old farmer never, ever spoke about that night again, not to anyone. The pigs were sold to a farmer down the lane. The odd thing was (although, really, what part of this story isn’t odd?), when it came time to count and sell them, there were two piglets missing. And then there weren’t. A little while later, they turned up again.
Who ever heard of a weird green fog that made pigs panic? Or vanish and reappear? Or talk, for that matter?
But every once in a while, in that time and place, a strange story popped up about a green fog that swirled across a winter barnyard and panicked the pigs. The story usually included a missing pig or two and mysterious, tall strangers looking for something, but no one was quite sure what it was.
It’s weird, I know, but as you’ve likely heard somewhere, sometimes truth can be stranger than fiction. Which you’re about to find out.
You don’t have to believe this story. But just because things are odd or a little strange or unbelievable doesn’t always make them untrue. Truth is an odd thing; one person’s truth can be another person’s lie. That’s the most important thing to remember about this story: sometimes things that seem like lies are actually true. And sometimes you never can tell.
That’s the spookiest thing of all.
Chapter 1
It Starts With a Wink
The hallway was dark and smelled like the boiler room and fresh oil paint.
Technically, Alex wasn’t supposed to be down there.
Technically.
But it was his favourite place in school at lunchtime, because it was quiet and dark. No one ever went down there except the old janitor. And even if he did, he never noticed Alex.
Because no one ever did.
No, the technically off-limits boy’s bathroom in the basement of Rosewood Public School was the perfect place to hide out at lunchtime. And Alex was good at hiding.
He was so good at hiding, he was practically invisible.
He slipped quietly past all the kids going for lunch. He snuck down the basement stairs and along the marble floor, past the boiler room. He passed the storage rooms full of buckets and mops and disinfectant and walked to the end of the dark hall. He opened the door.
And sighed.
The boy’s bathroom was empty, as always. Just the way Alex liked it.
Why was it empty?
Because it was haunted.
Or at least the mirror in the boy’s bathroom was, or so the story went. What public school doesn’t have the legend of a haunted bathroom mirror in the creepy, darkest place in the basement? Some boy was supposed to have vanished into the mirror the year the school was built, back in the 1930s. He went in to wash his hands and never came out.
Except now and then he popped up in the mirror, crying for help. Or so say the kids who claim to have seen him. But Alex never had and didn’t expect to because he didn’t believe that kind of thing.
And the haunted mirror story wasn’t really why the bathroom was closed. Nothing worked in the bathroom and hadn’t for years.
Alex settled on the floor and took his lunch out of his backpack. He leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling. It was silent, and he was alone. Just the way he liked it.
Another six weeks.
His parents were gone to Australia for six
weeks. Again. Except last time it was Egypt. And before that it was Nepal. And before that … he forgot where they went before that.
And the only person he had to take care of him was his older brother, Carl. Not that there was anything wrong with Carl, exactly. It was just he was so much older and didn’t even live with Alex. He only stayed at the farm when their parents were away. Plus he worked all day and hardly knew his little brother.
Carl also whistled. All. Day. Long.
The only real friend Alex had was his cat, Needles.
Alex chewed his sandwich. A snowball banged against the outside of the frosted bathroom window at ground level above him. Boots ran past the glass, and he heard kids shout at each other in the snowy field in the world above and outside.
He finished his soup. When he stood up to leave, he looked at himself in the mirror, like he did every day, before he went back up to the noisy world.
It was the same boy looking back at him: quiet, shy Alex. The loneliest boy in the world. Not exactly bullied or anything, because the school took a very stern stand on bullying and didn’t allow it. No, not bullied. But not popular, not well-liked. Pretty much friendless, if you wanted to know the truth. Well, except for his cat.
He was the boy who didn’t want anyone to see him. Not really.
“I almost wish I was someone else sometimes,” he said to his reflection.
He picked up his bag and walked out. Maybe just a little faster than usual. He did a quick peek over his shoulder before the door closed behind him. He wasn’t scared or anything, but he could have sworn that after he spoke, his reflection in the mirror …
… winked.
Just once.
And he knew he hadn’t winked at himself.
Because it wasn’t like him to wink.
It wasn’t like Alex at all.
Chapter 2
Alex the Invisible
In Alex’s first class after lunch, he tried not to think about the wink.
His teacher called his name twice before she noticed him. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard, which wasn’t that unusual.
“Oh! There you are, Alex! Next time, speak up!” Then she went on to the next name.
In gym, his class played basketball. And just like every week, his gym teacher, Mr. Timbert, put him on a team last.
“Oh, Alex! Right, I forgot about you. You can join the blue team,” he said absently, not even looking up. He handed Alex the rejected blue bib, rejected because it was torn and faded, which Alex pulled over his head without complaint. Alex didn’t think it was on purpose — Mr. Timbert was nice enough — it was just that, like everyone else, he hardly noticed Alex. Ever. Which wasn’t fair, since Alex was great at basketball. He called to get the ball, which only came to him if someone missed a pass. Which was almost never.
The truth was, he sank baskets whenever he actually got the ball. But no one noticed when he did, or they thought someone else had done it. He didn’t stop trying, though. Because one of the few things he knew for sure? He was good at basketball.
During library time, the librarian forgot once again to order the book he’d been waiting for: The World Book of Cats.
“I’m so sorry, Alex! I keep forgetting. I’ll order it for you now, okay?” Alex nodded. But he knew she’d forget. Again.
In science class, his bean plant wasn’t doing too well. Everyone else had a bean plant that was green and leafy and climbing toward the light, straining to live. But even though it was planted at the same time, his was just starting out. Struggling even. Two little leaves trembled on a sickly, skinny stalk. Mr. Timbert (who also taught him science) said, “Don’t worry, Allan, some beans take longer than others to get started.”
“Thanks, Mr. Timbert,” Alex said. He didn’t correct his teacher. After two years in his class, Mr. Timbert sometimes still got his name wrong and called him “Allan.” Alex wasn’t even sure if Mr. Timbert realized he also taught him gym.
The last class of the day was music. Alex played the only instrument that no one else wanted: the percussion section. Which sounds like it might be drums, but in fact wasn’t. Alex played everything but drums, which were played by a boy that everyone knew and liked.
Alex stood beside this popular boy whose name was Bertram, Ram for short (which was a good name), and played the triangle, or the maracas, or the xylophone, none of which was even a tiny bit interesting.
And no one noticed. Because they never did.
And Alex didn’t complain, or make a fuss, or draw any attention to himself.
Because he never did, either.
Chapter 3
The Clearing
That evening after dinner, Alex stomped through the snow to the barn. He patted the horses, Minnie and his own horse, Pins. He slipped Pins an apple, which she ate with big chomps. The barn was peaceful, warm, and Alex liked the smell of hay and horses.
His best friend, Needles, sat cleaning her fur on a straw bale.
Needles was a Norwegian Forest Cat. She was big and silver-haired, with enormous yellow eyes. She didn’t mind winter or snow at all. Her tufted paws kept her on top of the snow, and her thick fur kept her warm and dry. Needles was better than a dog. Because she was a cat.
She could climb trees, for one thing. What dog could do that?
The barn was really the only place that Alex felt happy. Or safe. With his two best friends, Needles and Pins.
He said good night to the horses, then slipped out of the barn. He looked over at the house. Carl sat in the living room in front of the computer. Alex could see him through the big kitchen window. Then Alex looked over at the dark woods.
Technically, he wasn’t supposed to go into the woods at night.
Technically.
There was an old wives’ tale about the place. About strange lights and voices and more nonsense, which Alex didn’t believe and had never seen.
Still, his parents had told him not to go in there after dark.
But his parents weren’t around, were they? If they didn’t want him to go in there, maybe they shouldn’t leave him alone all the time. Maybe they should rethink going halfway around the world for research. And Carl, the person who was supposed to be looking after him, wouldn’t even notice.
“Mrowl?”
“Yes, yes, let’s go,” Alex whispered.
Alex and Needles slipped across the yard and into the dark woods. Needles ran on top of the deep snow on wide, soft paws.
Alex stomped along the path. The trees blotted out the sky as the pair disappeared into the forest. But it didn’t matter, Needles could see in the dark perfectly, being a cat, and Alex knew where he was going, too. They walked the woods together all the time. The friends slipped along the winding pathway, farther into the gloom …
… and there it was.
The moonlit clearing. The dark trees stood, tall and a little spooky, all around the edge. At the centre of the clearing was a soft billow of snow.
At the far side stood a tiny abandoned cabin. The cabin was over one hundred years old, built back when trappers camped in the woods. It had an old, patched roof, a covered porch, and a creaky door, but no one ever came here. It was a perfect spot to be alone.
It was Alex’s secret place.
Alex watched the moonlight glow behind the trees. Then, as if on cue, a gentle snowfall started.
“Needles! It’s snowing!” Needles jumped and batted at snowflakes. They tried to catch snowflakes together at the edge of the woods.
Alex was about to step farther out of the trees …
… but stopped.
For the first time ever, there was something else in the clearing.
How did I not notice that?
He stared. Needles stared, too.
A pile of … something … lay in the snow. It wasn’t a big pile; if anything
it looked like a bicycle in a heap. Which was maybe why Alex hadn’t seen it at first.
But it was there.
And gently on fire.
It was glowing softly green, too.
Alex gulped.
“Meow?”
“Yes, I know, Needles. I see it,” Alex whispered.
Needles turned her yellow eyes on Alex and jumped onto the cabin porch. She began to carefully lick ice from her paws.
“What is it?” Alex asked his cat. She stopped licking her paws and watched him.
“I’m going to look,” Alex whispered. He crept into the clearing, closer and closer to the wisps of smoke — or was it steam? — rising slowly into the snowy moonlight.
A few more steps, and Alex stood over the pile. It didn’t make sense. A ball of metal, twisted and melted onto itself, lay in a clearing. The ground was scorched, the winter grass blackened, the snow melted away. A few puffs of smoke rose off the metal, so it hadn’t been there long. And it wasn’t very big. Not even as big as a bike, now that he was closer to it.
The strangest thing, though, was the glowing ooze. Little green puddles gathered at the edge of the pile.
“Maybe it’s toxic?” Alex backed away, keeping his boots clear. He didn’t know what he was looking at, but glowing green ooze probably wasn’t good.
“MREOWWL!” Alex looked up at his cat …
… and froze.
A tall figure stood at the edge of the forest.
No, there were TWO tall figures. Perfectly still. Watching him.
He slowly took a step backward.
“Are you The Other?” a strange, raspy voice called out.
“W-w-what?”
“Are you The Other?” the weird voice came again.
“N-n-o! I don’t think so?” Alex was too scared to run. The figures were tall, too tall, halfway-up-the-trees tall. They hid just behind the last tree, hard to see. A weird little breeze sprang up, and the trees around the cabin started to sway.
A foggy green light rose around them with the breeze.
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